THE TWO SCOUTS.
The hunter was within a hundred yards or so of the clump of trees, when
he suddenly checked his mustang, or rather the mustang checked himself,
at the light of a camp fire, which all at once flashed out from among
them.
"That's either Dick or a lot of varmints," he muttered. "I think it's
varmints, for I don't b'lieve he meant to wait there."
However, it was a question easily settled. He slid from his horse, and,
rifle in hand, stole forward in the direction of the grove, moving as
silently and stealthily as a shadow, while his beast stood as if he were
an equestrian statue awaiting the placing of some metallic hero upon his
back. A phantom itself could not have glided forward with less noise
than did he, and yet he was fully twenty yards away from his
destination, with his eyes fixed upon the point of light, when he was
discovered by some horse that belonged to the stranger, or strangers,
which gave out a loud neigh, as a signal to his friends of the approach
of danger. At that moment, Tom dropped flat upon his face, as he had
done before at the approach of the Apaches, and the luxuriant grass
gathered about his form in such a way that he could not be seen by
anyone at a moderate distance. But close upon the heels of the neigh
came a low, tremulous whistle, scarcely uttered when Tom replied in a
precisely similar way, leaped to his feet and trotted toward the grove.
"That's Dick!" he exclaimed to himself, the signals which they had used
being the same that they had adopted years before, when approaching each
other in a dangerous neighborhood.
The next minute the two met and shook hands. There were many points of
resemblance and difference between the two comrades. Each was in middle
life, embrowned, hardened, and toughened by years of exposure and the
wild life of the border; but Tom Hardynge was taller, more sinewy and
active than Dick Morris, who was below the medium stature, with a
stunted appearance; but he was a powerful man, wonderfully skillful in
the use of the rifle, and the two friends together made the strongest
possible kind of a team.
"Ah! that's the talk," exclaimed Tom, as he snuffed the odor of the
cooking meat by the camp fire. "I'm hungry enough to chaw up my
moccasins. What have you there--buffalo, mule or grizzly bar?"
"Neither one," replied the other. "I fetched down an antelope a couple
of hours ago, and as I was expectin' you, I cooked enough of it for
both."
"You had to cook his hoofs and all to do that; but why don't you spread
the dining table?"
Little ceremony was indulged in at such a time. The toasting meat,
brown, crisp and juicy, was served in two equal portions, each of
immense size, and then, with no culinary articles but their keen hunting
knives, and their incisors, almost as keen, they went at the business
with the gusto of famishing wolves. Meanwhile the two mustangs were
feasting upon the rich grass which grew abundantly about them, and so
all members of the party were enjoying themselves to the fullest extent.
The two hunters scarcely spoke while this piece of mastication was going
on. They understood each other so well that there was no necessity of
any hurry in the way of inquiry or conversation. When at last they had
filled themselves to repletion, they drew their fingers through their
bushy hair, using the latter by way of napkins, and then, after a good
long draught from the brook running near at hand, lit their pipes and
leaned back in the very acme of bliss.
"How soon shall we start?" asked Tom.
"In a couple of hours," was the reply.
"Think the Apaches are through by this time?"
"No doubt of it."
If the hunters seemed to exhibit indifference in referring to the
terrible occurrence, it was not because they felt thus; but the lives
which they led had accustomed them to such frightful experiences.
"S'pose they've spared the younker?"
"Guess they have."
The conclusion to which both came was that the Apaches were incited to
this attack more by the desire to get possession of the lad than by
anything else, in view of the intense hatred with which Colonel Chadmund
was viewed by the hostile Indians of the Southwest. He had been
stationed over two years at Fort Havens, during which his administration
had been marked by extreme vigor, and he had retaliated upon the Apaches
especially in the severest way for many outrages committed by them.
"Yas, they've gone for that little younker," added Dick Morris, after
the discussion had been continued for some time. "Of course they haven't
killed him; for that would have sp'iled their game. The colonel, finding
what they'd done, would come down on 'em harder than ever, and you kin
make up your mind they'd get the worst of the bargain before he was
through with 'em; but as long as they hold the boy, you see, they've got
the hands of the old fellow tied, for he thinks a heap of his boy, and
he'll do anything to save him."
"And that's why he sends us arter him," said Tom.
"He knows that if he let a lot of the men go, they might get all chawed
up, and it wouldn't help the boy any, so he thinks we kin get him out of
their hands by some hocus pocus or other."
"And what do _you_ think, Tom?" asked his companion, in a confidential
voice. "Is there much show for ever saving the skulp of little Ned?"
His brother hunter looked into the fire for several minutes, with a very
serious expression upon his countenance. He was thinking intently upon
the situation, and trying to extract some comfort from the prospect.
"Wal, Dick, you know as well as me that it's mighty hard to tell in such
a case. We've both got the best of hosses, that kin hold thar own agin
anythin' the reds can scare up; but if they go to such pains to get the
chap into thar hands, they'll take the same pains to keep him thar."
"Exactly; but they won't be expectin' any such move as we're at so early
in the day, don't you see? and there's where we gain the advantage by
hurryin' on, afore they kin get off in the mountains with him."
There seemed to be reason in this conclusion, and both agreed upon it.
At the end of a couple of hours their horses had rested sufficiently,
and they were mounted again. They had trusted to the mustangs to act as
sentinels while they spent their time in eating and talking, and, no
alarm having been given, they were satisfied that there was no one in
the vicinity, and they rode off toward the northeast, without any
concern of present danger threatening them. By this time the moon was in
the sky; but a few clouds were occasionally scudding before his face, so
that the prairie was not illuminated with as much clearness as upon the
preceding night. The two hunters galloped along at a swinging gallop, a
rate of speed which their mustangs were capable of continuing for hours
and which it was the purpose of the riders to keep up until their
destination was reached. Now and then, through the stillness of the
night, the cries of wild animals came to their ears, and once or twice
these sounded very much like signals from parties of Indians.
Tom and Dick never once relaxed their vigilance, but, as far as the
gloom would permit, scanned the country about them in every direction.
Besides, they occasionally caught the glimmer of camp fires, but they
were all at such a distance that they paid no attention to them, but
continued on the even tenor of their way.
Just as day was breaking, they found themselves fairly among the
mountains. The wildest crags and peaks were all about them, and they
were compelled to keep close to the pass they were following. This wound
in and out among the fastnesses, not more than a hundred feet in width
in some places, while in others it was fully a quarter of a mile broad.
Here they were in constant apprehension of meeting with their old
enemies; but there was an air of solitude and desertion about them that
was impressive in the extreme. They halted but a short time to let their
animals "blow," while they themselves made an observation. Still nothing
new or alarming was discovered, and they hurried forward as before.
Just as the sun reached meridian, the two hunters came upon that place
known as Devil's Pass, which they were certain had witnessed a fearful
tragedy during the previous twenty-four hours.