A THIRSTY MARCH
That was a hard day's toil for the mining expedition. It was the second
day of feasting by the Nez Perces upon the game won by Two Arrows, but
there was no feasting done by Judge Parks and his men. Even Sile had no
more questions to ask, and at nightfall their scanty supply of water was
nearly gone. Every old watercourse and even "tow-heads" of dying bushes
that they came to did but each give them another disappointment. The
animals were holding out well, with frequent rests, for they had been
taken care of even at the expense of the human beings.
Just before sunset, as they were plodding wearily along, Yellow Pine
drew his rein, turned in his saddle, and pointed away across the plain
in advance and to the right of them, exclaiming,
"Redskins!"
There was no mistake about it. In a few minutes more a pretty long line
of pony-riders could be seen travelling steadily southward.
"Will they attack us, father?"
"I guess not. We are too strong, even if they were hostile."
"They won't make any muss," said Pine, confidently, as he again rode
forward. "There's only some two dozen on 'em, and it isn't a good time
for a fight."
It was evident that the two lines of travel, crossing each other at
right angles, would bring the white and red men pretty near each other,
and the latter even went out of their way to have it so. Sile all but
forgot how thirsty he was when the train approached the straggling array
of lances, and a bare-headed warrior rode out to meet Yellow Pine. The
Roman-nosed sorrel mare sniffed at the pony as if she would have
preferred a bucket of water, and the two riders held out their hands.
"How?" said Pine.
"Ugh! bad. No water. How?"
A significant motion of his hand towards his mouth accompanied the
response, and Pine made one like it. Then he pointed at the wagons, and
again towards the west, and made motions as if he were digging. The
Indian understood, and nodded and pointed at himself:
"Ugh! Kiowa."
He made a motion as if pulling a bow, pointed southward and pretended to
drink something, but when he turned his finger towards the west he shook
his head.
"How?" said Pine again, and the two shook hands and all the Kiowas rode
on as if they were in a hurry.
"That's a pretty bad report," said Pine to Judge Parks, and Sile
muttered to himself:
"Why, he hardly uttered a word."
"What does he say?" asked his father.
"Worst kind," said Pine. "He says they have been hunting northerly for
several weeks. Little game, and the drought driving it all away. He
doubts if we find any water between here and the mountains. Hopes to
reach it by to-morrow night in the direction he's taking. The rest of
his band are down there now."
"Did he say all that?" exclaimed Sile in amazement.
"You wasn't a-watchin' of him. I told him what I thought about it and
what we meant to do. Tell you what, my boy, if you're to meet many
redskins you've got to learn sign language. It beats words all holler."
"Well, I did see his hands and yours a-going."
"Yes, and his face and mine too, and elbows and legs. It's as easy as
fallin' off a log when you once get the hang of it."
"What do you think we had better do after that?" asked Judge Parks.
"Read our own signs. Push on for water till we get some. It can't be
more'n one day, now. I know just about where I am. Risk my life on it."
So they went forward, but that night had to be taken for rest and the
morning found men and horses in a terrible plight. Not one drop of
water had they left, and all they had been able to do for the horses and
mules had been to sponge their parched mouths. They had camped near some
trees and bushes, as usual, and it was just about daylight that Yellow
Pine came to wake up his employer.
"Look a' here, jedge. I was too much played out to find it last night,
but here it is. Come."
"Well, what is it?" asked the judge, a moment later.
Yellow Pine was pointing at a broad, deeply trodden, flinty looking rut
in the surface of the prairie.
"That's the old bufler path I follered last year, when I went into the
mountains, or I'm the worst sold man you ever saw. It led me jest to
where we all want to go, 'zackly as I told you."
"We'd better hitch up and follow it now, then."
"We had. It'll take us west on a bee-line, and it'll go to all the
chances for water there are."
The buffaloes could safely be trusted for that, and before the sun was
up the mining party was following the very path which had led the big
game within reach of Two Arrows and One-eye. It was less than two hours
afterwards, without anybody to carry a report of it to anybody else,
that the whole Nez Perce camp disappeared, and all its human occupants
also took the advice of the buffaloes. It was necessary to carry all the
meat they had, and all the pappooses, and a number of other things, and
so it had not been possible to take all the lodges with their
lodge-poles. Two of the smaller and lighter found bearers, but there
were not squaws enough for the rest, and a sort of hiding-place was made
for them among the rocks until they could be sent for. Indians on a
journey load their ponies first, then their squaws, then the boys, but
never a "brave" unless it is a matter of life and death. A warrior would
as soon work for a living as carry a burden. It never takes long to
break up an Indian hunting-camp, for there are no carpets or stoves or
beds or pianos, and the band of Long Bear was on its way after Two
Arrows and his dog in remarkably short order.
Judge Parks and his men and all his outfit would have travelled better
and more cheerfully if they could have set out from beside a good spring
of water. As it was, the best they could do was to dream of finding one
before they should try to sleep again.
"Father," said Sile, at about twelve o'clock, "are we to stop anywhere
for dinner? I'm getting husky."
"So is everybody. Imitate old Pine; he's chewing something."
"All the men have stopped chewing tobacco; they say it makes 'em
thirstier."
"Of course it does. Try a chip or a piece of leather or a bit of
meat--not salt meat."
"There isn't anything else."
"The less we eat the better, till we get something to drink."
"We'll all die, at this rate."
"Stand it through, my boy. I hope Pine is right about his trail and
where it leads to."
He seemed confident enough about it, at any rate, and he and his
Roman-nosed mare kept their place steadily at the head of the little
column. So he was always the first to examine a hole or a hollow and
look back and shake his head to let the rest know that it contained no
water.
The sun seemed to shine hotter and hotter, and not a living creature
made its appearance upon the dry and desolate plain. Away in the western
horizon, at last, some dim and cloud-like irregularities began to show
themselves, and Sile urged his weary horse to the side of his father,
pointing at them.
"Will there be some rain?" he asked, in a dry and husky whisper.
"My poor boy! are you so thirsty as that? Those are the mountains."
Sile's mind distinctly connected the idea of mountains with that of
water, and he took off his hat and swung it, vainly trying to hurrah.
"They're a long way off yet, but we can get there. Old Pine is right."
It was wonderfully good news, but every man had been allowed to gather
it for himself. Nobody cared to say an unnecessary word to anybody else.
It was impossible to tell the horses, and the poor brutes were suffering
painfully.
"I reckon they'll hold out," said Pine; "but they'll only jest do it.
We're making the tightest kind of a squeeze."
So they were, and it grew tighter and tighter as they went on. Sile
managed finally to get up to Yellow Pine in the advance, and whisper,
"Were you ever any thirstier than this in all your life?"
"Yes, sir! This isn't much. Wait till you know yer tongue's a-turnin' to
a dry sponge and there's coals of fire on the back of yer neck. Keep
your courage up, my boy."
Sile had done so. His father had said a good deal to him about the pluck
with which young Indians endured that sort of thing, and he had
determined to show "Indian blood," as if he had some in him. It was the
hardest kind of hard work, and it kept him all the while thinking of
rivers and lakes and ice and even lemonade. At last he saw a sage-hen,
and he said to Pine,
"Isn't that a sign of water?"
"Them things never drink," said Pine "When you come to eat 'em they need
to be b'iled twice. They're jest the driest bird there is. There's the
mountains, though."
"Oh dear me!" groaned Sile. "But they're getting bigger, and perhaps
we'll reach 'em some time."