STRANGERS
The signs of an approaching storm that had been noted with some
apprehension the night before, passed away. The sky revealed hardly a
cloud rift, and, when the sun had climbed the mountain crests, the
scene was grand beyond description. But for the grim errand of the
four men, holding relentlessly to the pursuit, they must have yielded
to its impressive influence.
The trail remained so favorable for a couple of miles further, that it
was passed at the same easy, swinging gallop. Vose Adams retained his
place a few paces in advance of the others, who saw him glance sharply
to the right and left, often to the ground and occasionally to the
rear, as if to assure himself that none of his friends was going
astray.
The moderate but continuous descent of the path took them so far
downward that the change of temperature again became noticeable. The
ground was rough and uneven and the animals dropped to a walk.
Sometimes the course led around boulders, through sparse growths of
cedar, beside brawling torrents, two of which they were compelled to
ford, where it was hard for their animals to keep their feet.
"Last fall," remarked the guide, at the most difficult of these
passages, "I had to wait two days before I dared try to cross with
Hercules and one of the other mules."
His companions nodded their heads but made no other answer. They were
not in the mood for talking.
They were now making their way through a canyon similar to Dead Man's
Gulch, with rents and yawning ravines opening on the right and left,
before which the party might have halted in perplexity, had it been in
the night time. But the path showed plainly and the familiarity of the
guide prevented any mistake on his part.
Adams had intimated that by a certain line of procedure the watchful
fugitives could be prevented from discovering the approach of the
pursuers until too late to escape them. In counting upon his ability
to do this, he overestimated his skill, for the task was clearly
impossible, and it was because of his efforts in that direction that
he made a serious blunder. He had crossed for the third time a stream
which was shallow, and, upon reaching the opposite bank, where the
ground was moist and soft, he reined up with an exclamation of
impatience.
"What's the matter?" asked Captain Dawson, in the same mood.
"We've passed 'em," was the reply; "they're somewhere behind us."
"How far?"
"That remains to be found out, but I don't think it's a great
distance."
The captain angrily wheeled his horse and re-entered the stream.
"If they don't get away, it won't be our fault," was his ungracious
comment; "we have done little else than throw away our chances from
the first."
The guide made no response, and the next minute the four were
retracing their course, their animals at a walk, and all scanning the
rocks on either hand as they passed them.
It was clear by this time that the fugitives held one important
advantage over their pursuers. The route that they were following was
so devious and so varied in its nature, that only at rare intervals
could it be traced with the eye for a quarter or half a mile. Certain
of pursuit, Lieutenant Russell and his companion would be constantly
on the lookout for it. They were more likely, therefore, to discover
the horsemen than the latter were to observe them. Even if their
flight was interrupted, there were innumerable places in this immense
solitude where they could conceal themselves for an indefinite
period.
The question the pursuers asked themselves was whether the others had
strayed unwittingly from the trail, or whether they had turned off to
elude their pursuers, whose desperate mood they could not but know.
The latter supposition seemed the more likely, since the path was
marked so plainly that it could be lost only by unaccountable
carelessness.
At the first break in the side of the vast mountain walls Vose Adams
again slipped from his mule and spent several minutes in studying the
ground.
"They haven't gone in here," was his comment, as he remounted.
"Make certain that we are not too far back," said the captain.
"I have made no mistake," was the curt reply of the guide. The party
had gone less than twenty rods further, when another rent opened on
the other side of the canyon, which was about an eighth of a mile wide.
It would not do now to slight anything, and Adams headed his mule
diagonally across the gorge, the animal walking slowly, while the
rider leaned over with his eyes on the ground. Suddenly he exclaimed:
"We've hit it this time! Here's where they went in!"
All four leaped from the back of their animals. Adams pointed out the
faint indentations made by the hoofs of two horses. Less accustomed
than he to study such evidence, they failed to note that which was
plain to him; the hoof prints of one of the animals were smaller than
those of the other, since they were made by Cap, the pony belonging to
Nellie Dawson. There could no longer be any doubt that the pursuers
were warm on the trail of the fugitives.
Such being the fact, the interest of the men naturally centered on the
avenue through which the others had made their way.
It was one of those fissures, sometimes seen among enormous piles of
rock, that suggest that some terrific convulsion of nature, ages
before, has split the mountain in twain from top to bottom. The latter
was on a level with the main canyon itself, the chasm at the beginning
being ten or twelve yards in width, but, occurring in a depression of
the mountain spur, its height was no more than five or six hundred
feet, whereas in other localities it would have been nearly ten times
as great. The base was strewn with fragments of sandstone, some of the
pieces as large as boulders, which had probably been brought down by
the torrents that swept through the ravine in spring or when a
cloudburst descended upon the upper portion.
Standing at the entrance, it was observed that the gorge trended
sharply to the left, so that the view was shut off at a distance of
fifty yards. It was noticeable, too, that the path taken by the
fugitives sloped upward at so abrupt an angle that it must have sorely
tried the horses.
"I thought so," was the comment of Vose Adams, when he returned from a
brief exploration of the ravine; "they got off and led their
animals."
"Have you any idea of the distance they went?" asked Captain Dawson,
who was in a more gracious mood, now that he appreciated the value of
the services of their guide.
"No; I've rid in front of that opening a good many times, but this is
the first time I ever went into it."
"Well, what is to be done?" asked Parson Brush.
"Why, foller 'em of course," Wade Ruggles took upon himself to reply.
"That won't do," replied Adams, "for it is likely to upset everything;
I'll leave Hercules with you and sneak up the gorge far enough to find
how the land lays. I'll come back as soon as I can, but don't get
impatient if I'm gone several hours."
Brush and Ruggles showed their displeasure, for, while admitting the
skill of the guide, they could not see adequate cause for the
impending delay. They had made so many slips that it seemed like
inviting another. It was clear that they were close upon the
fugitives, and the two believed the true policy was to press the
pursuit without relaxing their vigor. But Captain Dawson, the one who
naturally would have been dissatisfied, was silent, thereby making it
apparent that Adams was carrying out a plan previously agreed upon by
the two.
Vose paid no heed to Ruggles and the parson, but started up the
ravine, quickly disappearing from view. Believing a long wait
inevitable, the three prepared to pass the dismal interval as best
they could. Here and there scant patches of grass showed in the canyon,
and the animals were allowed to crop what they could of the natural
food. The men lounged upon the boulders at hand, smoked their pipes
and occasionally exchanged a few words, but none was in the mood for
talking and they formed a grim, stolid group.
Hardly ten minutes had passed, when Ruggles, with some evidence of
excitement, exclaimed in a guarded undertone:
"Helloa! Something's up!"
He referred to the horses, who are often the most reliable sentinels
in the presence of insidious danger. Two of them had stopped plucking
the grass, and, with their ears pricked, were staring up the canyon at
some object that had attracted their attention and that was invisible
to their owners in their present situation.
Convinced that something unusual had taken place, Ruggles walked out
into the canyon where he could gain a more extended view. One sweeping
glance was enough, when he hurried back to his companions.
"Thunderation! all Sacramento's broke loose and is coming this way!"
The three passed out from the side of the gorge to where they had a
view of the strange procession. There seemed to be about a dozen men,
mounted on mules, with as many more pack animals, coming from the west
in a straggling procession, talking loudly and apparently in exuberant
spirits.
"I don't like their looks," said Brush; "it is best to get our
property out of their way."
The counsel was good and was followed without a minute's delay. The
four animals were rounded up and turned into the ravine, up which Vose
Adams had disappeared. They gave no trouble, but, probably because of
the steepness of the slope, none of the four went beyond sight. Had
the three men been given warning, they would have placed them out of
reach, for none knew better than they how attractive horses are to men
beyond the power of the law. But it was too late now, and the little
party put on a bold front.
As the strangers drew near, they were seen to be nine in number and
they formed a motley company. Their pack mules were so cumbrously
loaded as to suggest country wagons piled with hay. The wonder was how
the tough little animals could carry such enormous burdens, consisting
of blankets, picks, shovels, guns, cooking utensils, including even
some articles of furniture.
Our older readers will recall that for years after the close of the
war, tens of thousands of the blue army overcoats were in use
throughout the country. It looked as if every man in the present
company was thus provided, including in many instances trousers of the
same material, though each person had discarded the army cap for a
soft slouch hat, similar to those worn by the miners. All the garments
were in a dilapidated condition, proving their rough usage as well as
their poor quality. Many of the heavy boots disclosed naked toes,
while the mules had not known a curry comb for weeks and perhaps
months.
The faces of the men were anything but attractive. Most of them were
heavily bearded, with long, frowsy, unkempt hair, dangling about the
shoulders. Every one displayed side arms, and there could be no
mistake in setting them down as a reckless lot, whom a peaceable
citizen would not care to meet anywhere.
The leader of this mongrel gang was a massive man, who bestrode so
small a mule that his feet were only a few inches from the ground.
There was little semblance of discipline in the company, but a certain
rude deference to the fellow, who kept his place at the head, and did
the loudest talking, ornamented with plenty of expletives, indicated
his prominence among his fellows.
The mountain tramps had descried the three men standing at the side of
the canyon, watching them as they approached. They ceased their
boisterous talking and studied them as they drew near.
"Howdy, pards?" called the leader, raising his two fingers to his
forehead and making a military salute, to which our friends responded
coolly, hoping the company would keep on without stopping.
But they were disappointed. Colonel Briggs, as his men called him,
suddenly shouted "Whoa!" in a voice that could have been heard a mile
off, and pulled so hard on his bridle rein that he drew the jaws of
the mule against his breast, while the rider lay back almost on the
haunches of his animal, who showed his contrariness by walking round
in a short circle before standing still.
"Which way, pards?" asked the leader, while his followers, who with
more or less effort succeeded in checking their mules, curiously
surveyed the three miners.
"We intend to visit Sacramento," replied Captain Dawson.
"Huh! that's where we come from."
"On your way to the diggings I presume?" continued the captain
courteously.
"That's what's the matter; we're going to New Constantinople, which is
the name of a mining settlement in Dead Man's Gulch. Do you know
anything of the place?"
"We live there."
"The deuce! Queer town, ain't it?"
"In what respect?"
"Don't like visitors; Red Tom and Missouri Mike, two of the gang with
me, stopped there a year or so ago with the idee of staying; the best
they could do was to sleep there one night and git fired the next
morning. That went agin the grain," continued Colonel Briggs, "and the
more the boys thought it over the madder they got. When they told the
rest of us, we made up our minds that the trouble was the diggings had
panned out so rich in them parts that the folks meant to keep 'em to
themselves. I don't call that square, so we're going down to divvy
with 'em. Big scheme, ain't it?"
Our three friends were astounded. The addition of this gang to New
Constantinople meant nothing less than its moral ruin. It would bring
a peril from the first hour and doubtless precipitate a murderous
conflict with a doubtful issue.
"They are a peculiar people," said Captain Dawson, repressing all
evidence of his anger; "it's a mistake to attribute their prejudice
against immigrants to the richness of the diggings, for though they
have been worked for years, they have not produced much. But they want
no strangers among them, and I know they will not allow you and your
friends to make your homes in their settlement."
Colonel Briggs threw back his head, opened his enormous mouth and
broke into uproarious laughter, most of his companions joining him to
the extent of a broad grin.
"Do you hear that, boys? Won't let us settle among 'em, eh? And there
are nine of us and we hain't had a scrimmage since we left Sacramento,
except with the Injins, which don't count. Stranger, we're yearning to
hear your folks say we shan't jine 'em, 'cause if they try to stop it,
it'll make things lively."
It was not a pleasant recollection of our friends that, since their
departure from New Constantinople, the force left behind would be
hardly a match for this desperate gang of marauders, who no doubt were
as eager for trouble as they professed to be.
"Why not make a settlement of your own?" was the conciliating question
of Parson Brush; "there's plenty of room in this country."
"That would be too peaceable like; it don't suit us; we're looking for
trouble."
"And you'll find it powerful quick," said Wade Ruggles, "if you try to
shove that gang of yours into New Constantinople."
"That's music in our ears; that's what we're hungry for; we're ready
to start an opposition hotel to the Heavenly Bower, too; we've got the
stock to furnish it."
"Wade," said the parson, "keep your temper; we can't afford to quarrel
with these men."
"It wouldn't take much for me to shoot that chap off his mule as he
sets there."
"Leave matters to the captain; it looks as if we shall have a fight,
but it is best to keep cool."
The observant trio had noticed an additional cause for uneasiness.
More than one of the party were surveying the three horses and mule
with admiring eyes. Some of them spoke to one another in low tones,
and there could be no doubt they looked with envy upon the animals,
which, tiring of their confinement in the ravine, had come forth as if
with the purpose of passing under review, on their way to crop the
grass from which they had been driven.
"Colonel," called one of the men behind him, "them is likely
animals."
"I had obsarved that fact myself; strangers, I've made up my mind to
buy them critters; what's your price?"
"They are not for sale," replied Captain Dawson.
"Why not?"
"We need them for our own use."
"Then we'll trade."
"You won't do anything of the kind," said the captain, speaking with
the utmost coolness, but with that paling of the countenance and
glitter of the eyes that Colonel Briggs would have done well to heed.
"Strikes me, stranger, you're rather peart in your observations," said
the leader with an odd chuckle; "we ain't used to having people speak
to us in that style."
"It is my custom to say what I mean; it saves misunderstanding."
"It's my opinion, stranger, you'd better say trade."
"It is of no importance to me what your opinion is; we need the horses
and the mule for our own use and we shall keep them."
"But you've got one more than you want."
"He belongs to a friend who is not far off and will soon return; we
can't spare one of them."
"If we give you four of ours for the lot, that'll make an even thing
of it. Besides, we'll throw in something to boot."
"I wouldn't give one of the horse's shoes for all the trash you have
piled on top of your animals; the stuff isn't worth house room, but it
is what I should expect to see in the hands of a lot of tramps like
you and yours; I wouldn't trade our mule for the whole party which, to
judge by their looks, ought to be in jail."
Brush and Ruggles were amazed to hear the captain use such language,
for it sounded as if he was trying to provoke instead of avoid a
fight. The truth was the veteran was thoroughly enraged by the
evident purpose of the fellow before him. Although his voice was low
and deliberate, the captain's temper was at a white heat. The point
had been reached where a desperate struggle seemed unavoidable, and he
wished to precipitate the crisis, inasmuch as it had to come.
Colonel Briggs did not laugh, but turning his head, talked for a
minute with the man nearest him, their words so low that no one else
heard them. Then the leader turned back in a quick, decisive way.
"There don't seem much use in talking, stranger, so 'spose we make a
fight of it."
"As you prefer."
The gang hardly expected so firm a front. Some of them muttered to one
another. They were not a unit on the question, though it was evident
that the majority preferred to fight.
The three men stood with their backs almost against the mountain wall.
Each had a Winchester and revolver and all were expert in the use of
the weapons. The others were gathered in an irregular group around
their leader. They, too, were provided with all the weapons they could
use, not to mention the extra guns strapped upon the pack mules. They
outnumbered our friends three to one.
Captain Dawson could use his rifle as well with his single arm as
formerly with two.
"He can't fire before me," he said in an undertone to Brush, standing
next to him; "when the shooting begins, I'll drop him off his mule
before he knows what's coming. When I say the word, let fly as quick
as lightning! Likely enough they'll win, but we'll make them pay high
for their victory."
"Do you notice that tall thin man at the rear?" asked Brush, in the
same guarded voice; "his eyes shine like a rattlesnake's; he'll be
_my_ first target."