THE RESCUE
And Marta gave a low cry of delight when, far away to the
northeast, they saw the blue heights of the Santa Catalinas.
For a moment Marta could not speak. Then in spite of herself she gave a
low cry of joy which brought another whispered warning from the Indian.
Moving closer, he said:
“Hugh Edwards is waiting with the horses. We have the pinto and your
saddle but I fear you must leave everything else. Not all the men are in
there gambling and drinking. There are three in front of the house at
the farther end of the ramada. They are sitting with their backs toward
your door so I was able to get in. I dared not wait longer because, from
their talk, they are expecting some one to come any minute. Then the
party in the next room will break up and it will be too late for us to
move. We must hurry.”
“I am ready,” whispered the girl.
“You will be brave and do exactly what I say?”
“Yes.”
“Good!--Come.”
There was a burst of angry voices in the next room. The Indian waited
until he was satisfied that the gamblers were continuing their play,
then, leading Marta to the window in the end of the building toward the
west, he slipped through, and from the outside helped the girl to
follow.
At that moment they heard the sound of feet on the hard earth floor of
the ramada. Some one was coming toward that end of the house. With his
lips to the girl’s ear, Natachee bade her lie down. She obeyed
instantly, and the Indian, knife in hand, crept to the corner of the
building, toward which the sound was approaching, where he stood,
flattened against the wall.
The man who was coming along the front of the house walked leisurely to
the end of the ramada and stood almost within reach of the Indian’s
hand, looking out toward the west and toward the corrals. Natachee was
as motionless as the wall against which he stood. Had the fellow gone a
step farther or turned his head to look past the corner of the building,
he would have died that same instant. Presently he turned and started
back toward his companions, calling to them in Mexican as he did so:
“It is strange that they are so late. They should have been here an hour
ago.”
In a flash Natachee was again at Marta’s side. Lifting her to her feet,
he whispered:
“Follow me and do as I do.”
A hundred feet away, a hollow in the uneven ground made a deeper shadow.
Lying prone, the Indian crawled to the little depression. The girl
followed close behind. For a moment they lay side by side in the
hollow, then the Indian rose and stooping low ran for the dark mass of a
mesquite tree some fifty yards farther on.
Again Marta imitated his movements.
“Good!” whispered the Indian as she crouched, breathless, beside him.
“But from here on there are too many dry sticks and things for you to
stumble over and we must go swiftly.”
Before she realized his purpose, he had caught her up in his arms, and
keeping the tree between them and the house, was running swift and
silent as a wolf through the brush. When they were at a safe distance,
the Indian circled to the right and so gained the shelter of the corral
fence, with the corral which was north of the house between them and the
ramada where the three men were still sitting. Putting the girl down, he
whispered:
“If you should make any noise now, they will think it is the horses, but
be careful.”
Following the back fence of the corral, they were soon some distance
east of the house. Then, still keeping the fences between them and the
three men on the ramada, Natachee led the way toward a mesquite thicket
in a sandy wash between two low ridges where Hugh was waiting with the
horses.
There was no time for greetings. Scarcely had they gained their saddles
when a yell came from the house, and in the light that streamed from the
open door of the room where the gamblers had been carousing, they could
see the dark forms of the men gather in answer to the alarm. Clearly
they heard the voice of Sonora Jack crying:
“Se fue la muchacha! Los caballos! A seguir la!--The girl is gone! The
horses! To follow her!”
When the Indian made no move to go, but sat calmly watching the lights
and listening to the voices of the outlaws as they called to one another
while saddling their horses, Edwards said impatiently:
“Come, Natachee, we are losing valuable time here. If we go now, we will
have a good start ahead of them.”
“No,” returned the Indian. “That is exactly what they expect us to do
and their horses are much faster and fresher than ours. They think that
we are making for the United States by the most direct route, which is
there due north between those two mountain ranges--the Santa Rosas to
the left and the Nariz to the east. They will not waste time trying to
find our trail in the darkness but will try to outride us to the line
and, by scattering, to cover the country so as to prevent us from
crossing. Be patient and you will see.”
Very soon the Indian’s judgment was proved sound. The outlaws dashed
away as fast as their horses could run toward that gap in the mountains
through which Sonora Jack had brought Marta the day before. When the
last rider was gone and the rolling thunder of the horses’ feet had died
away in the darkness, Natachee spoke again.
“Good; now we will go. When the day comes, we must be on the northern
side of the Nariz Mountains and a little to the east of where Edwards
and I struck the hills yesterday. As we start behind the outlaws, we
need not fear pursuit, at least until daybreak.”
For two or three miles the Indian followed the northern course taken by
the outlaws, then, turning aside from the broad, well-traveled trail, he
led the way at a leisurely but steady pace to the northeast. Another
hour and they were well into the Nariz hills. By daylight they were on
the northern side of the range--in the United States.
Leaving their horses, they climbed to a point from which they could look
out over the wide plains of the Papago Reservation, with its scattered
groups of hills and small mountain ranges bounded by the mighty bulwark
of the Baboquivaris and the Coyotes on the east and by the Santa Rosa
and Gunsight Mountains on the west. And Marta gave a low cry of delight
when, far away to the northeast, they saw the blue heights of the Santa
Catalinas lifting boldly into the morning sky.
For some time the Indian scanned the country at the foot of the hills
where they stood. There was not a living creature moving within range of
his vision. With a smile, Natachee turned to his companions and pointing
to the west, said:
“Sonora Jack and his friends are very busy looking for us over there
between these hills and the Santa Rosas yonder.”
“Thanks to you, Natachee,” the girl answered with deep feeling.
As if he had not heard, the Indian pointed more to the north and
continued:
“That smoke which you see over there is from a little ranch--Mexican, I
think--toward which we trailed you and Sonora Jack yesterday. Did you
stop there?”
Marta told them briefly of her experience--of the old Mexican woman who
was evidently Sonora Jack’s mother, and of her conviction that it was
from those people that the old prospectors had taken her when she was a
little girl.
Hugh Edwards heard her story with many exclamations, comments and
questions. The Indian, who continued to scan the country before them
with ceaseless vigilance, listened without a word.
When Marta had finished her story, Natachee said:
“It is time we were moving, friends. Sonora Jack will be on our trail.
When he has made sure that we did not take the course he thought we
would take, he will ride east along the Mexico side of this range until
he picks up our trail; for he will know that we would not go into the
Santa Rosa Mountains. I think he will bring with him only one or two
men, because he will not wish to share the profit of his venture with so
many when one or two are all that he needs, now that it is no longer a
question of heading us off before we cross the border. There would be a
greater risk, too, with a large company--in the United States. He will
know that there are only three of us and will plan to follow and pick
us off at a safe distance when the opportunity offers or attack us
to-night. When he has again taken his prisoner, he can easily rid
himself of one or two helpers as he disposed of the Lizard.”
A quarter of a mile from where they had left their horses, the low
ridge, beyond which lay the open country, was broken by a narrow, sandy
wash. One side of this natural gateway of these hills is an irregular
cliff some twenty feet in height. The Indian, leading the way straight
to this opening, passed close under the cliff and, leaving the hills
behind, set their course straight toward the distant Santa Catalinas.
They had ridden but a short way when the Indian again halted. Pointing
to a peak in the northern end of the Baboquivaris, he said to Hugh:
“That is Kits Peak. If you ride toward it, you will come to Indian
Oasis. There is a store there where you can water and feed your horses
and purchase something to eat for yourselves. I am going back to wait
for Sonora Jack. I will overtake you later.”
He was turning his horse to ride away, when Edwards cried:
“Wait a minute. Do you mean that you are going back to meet those
outlaws?”
“Sonora Jack must be stopped,” returned the Indian.
“All right,” agreed Hugh, “but Sonora Jack is not alone. Do you think I
am going to ride on and leave you to face those fellows single-handed?”
“You faced three of them single-handed for me. I, Natachee, do not
forget.”
“But that was different,” argued Edwards. “There were several things in
my favor. No--no, Natachee, it won’t do. When you meet those fellows who
are following our trail, I must be there to do my little bit with you.”
“But Miss Hillgrove,” said the Indian.
Marta spoke quickly. “Hugh is right, Natachee.”
The Indian yielded.
“Come, then, we must not delay longer, or it will be too late.”
Swinging in a wide circle to the right, Natachee led the way swiftly
back to a point at the foot of the ridge, a short distance east of that
rocky gateway. They dismounted at a spot that was well hidden and the
Indian, directing Marta to stay with the horses and telling Edwards to
follow, ran quickly along the ridge to the top of the cliff directly
above the tracks they had made when first leaving the hills.
When he had assured himself that there was no one in sight following
their trail, the Indian stood before his companion and Hugh knew that it
was not the Natachee of the schools that was about to speak. Drawing
himself up proudly, the red man said:
“Hugh Edwards, listen--seven days ago this stealer of women, Sonora
Jack, and his companions, crawled like three snakes into Natachee’s hut.
Hiding, they struck, when Natachee alone crossed the threshold of his
home. In the night, they bound the Indian to a rock, and but for you
would have put live coals from their fire on his naked breast. One of
the three who did that thing is dying in the Cañon of Gold--is even now,
perhaps, dead, but I, Natachee, did not strike him. The body of another
is over there in the Vaca Hills. He did not die by the hand of the
Indian he had trapped. Sonora Jack alone is left. He is left for me. Do
you understand?”
The white man, remembering the Indian’s face and manner when he had
found the Lizard’s body, understood. Slowly--reluctantly, he said:
“This is your affair, Natachee, have it your own way.”
They had not waited long when Natachee saw Sonora Jack and a Mexican
riding down through the hills. The Indian, fitting an arrow to his bow,
said to his companion:
“When I give the word, stand up and cover Sonora Jack with your rifle.”
With their eyes on the tracks they were following, the outlaws rode
swiftly toward the rocks where Natachee and Edwards were waiting. Sonora
Jack was a little in advance. They were just past the cliff when the
Mexican, with a cry, tumbled from his saddle. Sonora Jack pulled his
horse up sharply and whirled about to see what had happened. At the
moment he caught sight of the arrow in the body of his fallen companion,
Natachee’s voice rang out from the rock above with the familiar command:
“Put up your hands.”
And looking up, the outlaw saw the Indian with another arrow drawn to
its head, and the white man with his menacing rifle.
While Edwards covered the trapped outlaw, the Indian relieved their
captive of his guns and ordered him to dismount. Then Natachee motioned
for Edwards to lower his rifle and stood face to face with Sonora Jack.
From his position on the rocks, Hugh Edwards looked down upon them with
intense interest.
At last the red man spoke.
“The snake that crawled into Natachee’s hut to strike when the Indian
was not looking is caught. One of his brother snakes he left to die in
the home he robbed. Another, he killed with his own hand. It is not well
that even one of the three snakes that hid in Natachee’s hut should
remain alive. When Sonora Jack, with the help of his two brother snakes,
had bound Natachee to a rock, Sonora Jack was very brave. He was so
brave that he dared even to strike the helpless Indian. Now, he shall
strike the Indian again--if he can.
“When the snake, Sonora Jack, would have put his coals of fire on the
naked breast of the Indian, he required the help of two others. If I,
Natachee, could not alone kill a snake, I would die of shame. The one
who frightened Sonora Jack and his brave friends so that they ran like
rabbits into the brush is here. But Natachee is not bound to a rock now.
Sonora Jack need not fear the one from whom he and his brothers ran in
such haste. Hugh Edwards will not point his rifle toward the snake that
I, Natachee, will kill.
“Sonora Jack boasted that with live coals of fire he would burn the
heart out of Natachee’s breast. There is no fire here, but here is a
knife. Sonora Jack also has a knife. Let the snake, who was so brave
with his two brother snakes when they hid in Natachee’s hut and bound
the Indian to a rock, keep his heart from the knife of the Indian
now--if he can.”
The two men were by no means unevenly matched in stature or in strength.
Both were men whose muscles had been hardened by their active lives in
the desert and the mountains. Both were skilled in the use of the knife
as a weapon. Sonora Jack fought with the desperate fury of a cornered
animal. The Indian, cool and calculating, seemed in no haste to finish
that which in his savage pride he had set himself to accomplish. So
swiftly did the duelists change positions, so closely were they locked
together as they wheeled and twisted in their struggles, that the white
man, who was trembling with tense excitement, could not have used his
rifle if he would. At his repeated failures to touch the Indian with his
knife, the outlaw lost, more and more, his self-control, until he was
fighting with reckless and ungoverned madness. Natachee, wary and
collected, smiled grimly as he saw the fear in the straining face of his
enemy.
Then twice, in quick succession, the point of the Indian’s knife reached
the outlaw’s breast but with no effect. Edwards gasped in dismay as he
saw the baffled look which came into Natachee’s face. Again the Indian,
with all the strength of his arm, drove his weapon at the outlaw’s heart
and again Sonora Jack was unharmed. Suddenly the Indian changed his
method of attack. To Edwards, the duel seemed to become a wrestling
match. For a moment they struggled, locked in each other’s arms, their
limbs entwined, writhing and straining. Then they fell, and to Edwards’
horror, the Indian was under the outlaw. But the next instant, while
Sonora Jack was struggling to free his knife arm for a death blow, the
Indian, hugging his antagonist close, forced his weapon between Sonora
Jack’s shoulders.
The muscles of the outlaw relaxed--his body became limp. Natachee rolled
to one side and leaped to his feet. As if he had forgotten the solitary
witness of the combat, the Indian calmly recovered his knife and stood
looking down at the man who was already dead.
Sick with horror of the thing he had been forced to witness, Hugh
Edwards called to the Indian:
“Come, Natachee, for God’s sake let’s get away from here.”
“The snake that crawled into Natachee’s hut is dead,” returned the
Indian. “The stealer of women will not again steal the woman Hugh
Edwards loves.”
Hugh was already starting back to the place where they had left Marta.
When he noticed that the Indian was not following, he paused to call
again:
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Go on,” returned Natachee, “I will join you in a moment.”
And Hugh Edwards, from where he now stood, could not see that Natachee
was examining the body of the outlaw to learn why the point of his knife
had three times been kept from Sonora Jack’s breast.
When Hugh reached Marta, the Indian was just behind him. To the girl,
Natachee said simply:
“You can ride home in peace now. There is no one to follow our trail.
Sonora Jack will never come for you again.”
And Marta asked no questions.
On the homeward journey, Natachee did not follow the course they had
come, but took a more direct route. Near Indian Oasis they stopped,
while Natachee went to the store to purchase food. When they camped for
the night, Marta would let them rest only an hour or two, insisting that
she must push on.
In the excitement and dangers of that first night, there had been no
opportunity for Hugh Edwards to speak to Marta of his love. And now, as
the hours of their long, trying journey passed, he still did not speak.
There really was no need for him to speak--they both knew so well. The
girl was so distressed by her anxiety for Thad and by her grief over
Bob’s death and so worn by her terrible experience, that Hugh could not
bring himself to talk of the plans that meant so much to him.
When they were safely back in the Cañon of Gold and Marta was
rested--when she had found comfort and strength in Mother Burton’s arms,
then he would tell her his love and ask her to go with him to a place of
freedom and happiness.