[1] Begun in No. 101, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
How easy it would be even for large bodies of men to be quite near each
other without knowing it will be readily understood when the nature of
the country, full of sudden changes from mountain and table-land to
valleys and plains, is considered. Unless, indeed, they should send out
sharp-eyed scouts to find out about their neighbors, as did the miners
under Captain Skinner, and the Lipans of To-la-go-to-de, such a thing
might easily happen.
Neither of these "main bodies" remained in camp an hour longer than was
necessary, but even after they left their respective camps they moved
onward with some caution, half expecting at any moment to see one of
their scouts come riding back with important news.
"Motion" was decidedly the order of the day, even for the Apaches. To be
sure, there had been no known reason why they should bestir themselves
too early in the morning; but their chief himself had given orders the
night before, right after supper, that no more lodges should be set up,
and that all things should be in condition for a march.
He needed yet to make up his mind precisely in what direction the march
should be, and Rita's "talking leaves" had not given him a single hint
about that.
The fact that they had not was a trouble to him, but it was a little too
much to expect of a chief and warrior that he should seem to go for
counsel to a mere squaw, and not only a very young one, but a squaw of
the pale-faces at that. So Rita and Ni-ha-be had not been molested in
their lodge all the evening, and a grand talk they had of it all by
themselves, with Mother Dolores to listen.
Dolores had listened, but the girls had been almost surprised by the
fact that she asked almost no questions at all--not even about the
cavalry pictures.
She did not explain to them that her mind was all the while too
completely filled with the thought of the one picture which had spoken
to her, and made her shut her eyes and kneel down. There could not
possibly be any other which could do more than that, although it was a
great thing that Many Bears should have given them any attention.
Ni-ha-be had slept as soundly as usual that night, and Rita had "made
believe" do so, until her adopted sister ceased even to whisper to her,
and she could hear the loud breathing of Mother Dolores on the opposite
side of the lodge.
Then she opened her eyes in the darkness, and tried to recall all she
had seen in the three marvellous magazines, page by page.
How it all came back to her! Some of the words that she had not
understood began to have a meaning to her.
"They are talking now," she said to herself; "they are almost all
talking. They are helping me remember. I'm sure that was my mother, my
white mother. But where is my white father? He was not there at all. I
must look for him again to-morrow. We must ride off away from the camp,
where nobody can see us, and we can talk as much as we please."
"We" meant herself and Ni-ha-be, of course, but it also meant her three
prizes. She had brought them to bed with her on her soft buffalo-skin,
and she was hugging them now. It seemed to her as if they were alive,
and had come to tell her almost anything she could think to ask.
When morning came there was no need for Rita to propose a ride on
horseback. Ni-ha-be spoke of it first, and for the self-same reason; but
there was nothing unusual about it, for they almost lived in the saddle,
like genuine daughters of the great Apache nation.
For a while the very delight of galloping up and down the valley on such
swift and beautiful animals as they were riding almost drove out of
their minds the thought of the talking leaves. But when, a little later,
Many Bears slowly arose from a long fit of thinking there in front of
his lodge, and said to Red Wolf, "Call Rita," Rita was nowhere to be
seen.
"Find her. Tell her to come, and bring me the white men's medicine,
talking leaves."
Red Wolf sprang upon the nearest horse--and there were several standing
ready for sudden errands--and dashed away in search of his truant
sisters.
Mother Dolores could tell him nothing, but his loud, half-angry
questionings drew together a knot of squaws and children, two or three
of whom were ready to point toward the northeastern slope of the valley,
and tell him he would have to hunt in that direction.
He was ready for it, of course; but he reined in his mustang in front of
his father long enough to tell him the cause of the delay.
"Bring them back. They are as wild as rabbits. They will lose their
scalps some day."
The chief did not smile when he said that. He was beginning to feel
uneasy about the position of his affairs, and he could hardly have told
why. He said to himself, "Bad medicine. Can't see him. Great chief smell
him."
And then he gave sharp orders to his young braves to have all the ponies
caught and brought in from the pastures below, and the squaws to have
all their packs ready and their lodges taken down.
"Big talk come," he said again to himself. "Maybe big fight. Don't know.
Must be ready. Somebody catch the great chief asleep if he doesn't look
out."
Nobody had ever done that yet, for Many Bears had even a greater name
for his cunning than for his fighting.
Red Wolf was well mounted, and he darted away at full speed. His father
was not a man to forgive a slow messenger any more than a slow cook.
"I understand," he muttered. "Squaws not stay in valley. Go among trees
and rocks. Bears catch 'em some day. Eat 'em all up. Not afraid of
anything."
So he was really anxious about them, and afraid they would run into
danger?
Certainly.
The red man's family affection does not always show itself in the same
way with ours, but there is plenty of it. All the more in the case of a
young brave like Red Wolf, with every reason to be proud as well as fond
of his sister.
And of Rita?
He was thinking of her now, and wondering if she had learned anything
more about the cavalry from her talking leaves.
It was, for all the world, just as if he had been a young white man from
"one of the first families."
He galloped onward, keenly eying the fringes of the forest and the
broken bases of the ledges, until he came to the broad opening below the
gap, and here he suddenly stopped and sprang to the ground at a place
where the green sod was soft and deeply marked with the prints of
horses' hoofs.
"The blue-coat horsemen came out here. Their tracks are old. Ugh! Those
are fresh. Ni-ha-be and Rita."
He was on his horse again in an instant, galloping up the not very steep
slope of the pass.
The two girls had been in no hurry, and it was not long before Red Wolf
came in sight of them.
He put his hand to his mouth, and gave a long, peculiar whoop, that
meant: "I am after you. Come back."
They understood it well enough, and Rita might have obeyed if she had
been left to herself, but there was more than a little mischief behind
the black eyes of Ni-ha-be.
"Let him catch us. He won't do anything worse than scold. I'm not afraid
of Red Wolf."
Rita was, just a little, but she rode on beside her sister without
turning her head.
"We shall not read any of the leaves this morning."
"Read? What is that?"
"Just the same as a warrior when he finds a trail of a deer. Just like
the trail of the blue-coat cavalry. Father and the gray-heads read it."
"Is that the way the leaves talk to you? I guessed it was. It is all
signs, like tracks in the mud."
Rita had used the only Apache word she could think of that came at all
near to meaning what she wanted, but there was no word for "book," or
for any kind of book.
Again they heard the shout of Red Wolf behind them. It was nearer now,
and a little angry.
"He is coming, Ni-ha-be. Don't let us ride fast."
"He is saying ugly things. But we will laugh at him and tell him he can
not whoop loud enough to be heard."
Red Wolf was proud of his powerful voice, and that would be a sure way
to tease him.
"Rita! The great chief is angry. He calls for you."
He was close upon them by this time, and they reined in their horses.
Teasing Red Wolf was one thing, but disobeying Many Bears was quite
another. They had seen squaws beaten for smaller offenses than that.
"We have done wrong, Ni-ha-be."
"Oh, not much. We can ride back as fast as our ponies can carry us. Turn
and meet him."
It had been a very little bit of a "runaway" on the part of the two
girls, but it threatened to have serious consequences.
There was no time even for Red Wolf to scold them before the
consequences began to come.
They had ridden just to the end of the spot where the rocks and bushes
at the road-side were so thickset and made so perfect a cover for
anybody hiding among them.
"Look, Red Wolf, look!"
"Oh, who are they? Enemies!"
The young brave pulled in his mustang so sharply that he almost tumbled
him over, and turned his head.
"Pale-faces? How came they here?"
He could hardly have been more astonished if one of the granite bowlders
near him had stood up and said, "Good-morning." So far as he could have
guessed, the nearest white man was many hundreds of miles away, and his
nation was at peace with them for the time; but here were three of the
hated race standing in the road to cut off his retreat and that of his
sisters.
[Illustration: "THE FOREMOST LEVELLED HIS GUN STRAIGHT AT RED WOLF."]
Three tall, brawny, evil-looking pale-faces with rifles in their hands,
and the foremost of them was levelling his gun straight at Red Wolf, and
shouting, "Surrender, you red-skinned coyote, or I'll put a pill into
ye."
An Indian brave like the son of Many Bears might deem it an honor to be
named after the large, dangerous wolf he had killed in single fight,
with only his knife, but to be called a coyote, a miserable prairie
wolf, jackal, was a bitter insult, and that was what it was meant for.
He had left his carbine in the camp, but his long lance was in his hand,
and his knife and revolver were in his belt.
What could one young brave do against three such powerful and well-armed
white men?
"Ni-ha-be!" exclaimed Rita.
"I am an Apache girl. I can fight. You are a pale-face."
Rita was stung to her very heart by her sister's scornful reply, for she
had also brought her bow and arrows. They never stirred from camp
without them, and squaws were not permitted to carry fire-arms.
Ni-ha-be had an arrow already on the string, and Rita followed her
example like a flash.
"Red Wolf is a warrior. He is not a coyote. He will show the
pale-faces--"
Twang!
The sound of Ni-ha-be's bowstring cut Red Wolf's haughty reply in two in
the middle, and it was well for the miner "Bill" that he was quick in
dodging. As it was, he dropped his rifle, for there was an arrow through
his right arm above the elbow, and Ni-ha-be was fitting another.
Twang!
But the man at whom Rita aimed her arrow was an old Indian fighter, and
he parried it easily.
"Red Wolf, your pistol!"
"Boys," exclaimed Bill, "they're a lot of young wildcats! We'll jest
have to shoot. Pick off the red-skin, quick, and knock over the two
girls before they make a hole into ye."
The two parties were hardly twenty yards apart, and all this had
happened in a few seconds; but just then Red Wolf was exclaiming,
"Two more!"
And Rita said, excitedly,
"Stop, Ni-ha-be! See! They are fighting each other. These two are
friends. Don't shoot!"
[TO BE CONTINUED.]