HAND TO HAND.
The Apaches surrounding Hurricane Hill were more closely watched through
the forenoon, for Dick more than once gave it as his opinion that they
would make a rush before the day was over. To protect themselves as much
as possible, the rock of which the hunter had spoken was forced into the
passage-way, and an unremitting guard maintained, to prevent any sudden
surprise.
It was near noon, when three Apaches were seen to leap upon their
mustangs, one going north, another south and the third due west.
"Spies," explained Dick. "Lone Wolf is a little anxious about what Tom
may do, and he sends them out to watch. If they find out anythin'
they'll manage to telegraph him in time to get ready for anythin'
comin'."
"Can you see Lone Wolf among them?"
"Can't make sartin of it," returned the hunter. "He knows that if I can
get a crack at him he'll go, and so he takes care not to let me have the
chance. Can you see anythin' off toward the mountains in the west?"
"Nothing but that Apache horseman going away like an arrow."
"There's the p'int from which our friends will come, if they ever come
at all. Keep your eye on it while I take a look below."
The scout moved down the declivity, until he reached the place where it
had been barricaded, when he stationed himself behind the obstruction,
quite certain that something stirring would soon take place. It was his
belief that when the time came, the Apaches, at a preconcerted signal,
would rush tumultuously up the steep in a determined effort to overwhelm
them all. Such a movement, of course, from the very nature of things,
would give timely notice of its coming. His astonishment, therefore, may
be imagined when, after he had stood in his position for a few minutes,
rather listlessly and looking for no immediate demonstration, he
perceived a dark body suddenly pass over his head. Turning about, he saw
an Indian warrior speeding like a deer up the path toward the top of
Hurricane Hill, where Ned Chadmund stood, all unconscious of his coming.
The hunter, astonished as he was at the daring feat, was not thrown off
his guard. He knew that the Apache was not seeking the life of the lad,
but only to open the way for the rest of the warriors to follow over the
barricade. They believed that in the excitement Dick would turn and dash
after the redskin, leaving the way open for the whole horde to swarm to
the top of the Hill. But the clear-headed Dick maintained his position,
only uttering a shout of warning to Ned Chadmund, in the hope that he
might be prepared and "wing" the redskin the instant he should appear in
view. Then, having done this, he stood back behind the jutting rock and
held his rifle ready.
Within ten seconds a second Apache scrambled over the barricade, and
started at full speed up the pathway, but he had no more than fairly
started, than he fell headlong to the ground, pierced through and
through by the rifle fired almost in his face. Almost the same instant a
second appeared, when he tumbled backward, driven thence by the revolver
of the hunter, who was as cool as an iceberg. This stemmed the tide, the
crowding warriors hurrying back before the lion that lay in their path.
All this was the work of a very few seconds, but it was scarcely
effected, when a cry from the lad on top of the rock showed that he had
discovered his danger. The next instant, white-faced and scared, he came
dashing down the path, shouting to the hunter:
"Oh, Dick, save me! save me! there's an Indian after me!"
The savage, however, did not follow, and Dick, as the lad rushed into
his arms, shook him rather roughly, and said:
"Keep still! Why do you make such a thunderin' noise?" The lad speedily
controlled himself, and then the scout placed his revolver in his hand,
and said: "Stand right here, and the minute a redskin shows himself,
crack him over. Can you do it?"
"Haven't I proved it?"
"Yes; but you made such a racket here that I've lost faith in you."
"Try me and see."
Adding a few hasty words, the scout left him, and hurried to the top of
the hill, without pausing to approach with his usual precaution.
His expectation was to encounter the redskin at once upon reaching it,
but, to his surprise, he was nowhere to be seen, and he paused somewhat
bewildered.
"I wonder whether he's got scart 'cause none of the rest followed him,
and jumped overboard--"
At that instant something descended like a ponderous rock, and he
realized that he was in the grip of the very redskin about whom he had
been meditating. The miscreant had managed to crouch behind a rocky
protuberance, and then made a sudden leap upon the shoulders of the
hunter. As the Apache's scheme had miscarried thus far, and instead of
being backed up by the other warriors, he was left alone to fight it
out, he did not pause to attempt to make him prisoner, but went into the
scrimmage with the purpose of ending it as briefly as possible. As he
landed upon the shoulders of Dick the latter caught the gleam of his
knife, and grasped his wrist just in time. Fearful that it would be
wrenched from him, the Apache managed to give his confined hand a flirt,
which threw it beyond the reach of both. By a tremendous effort Dick
then succeeded in flinging him over his shoulder, although the agile
redskin dropped upon his feet, and instantly flew at his antagonist like
a tiger.
For several minutes the struggle raged with the greatest fury; but the
Apache, in a contest of this kind, was overmatched. The hunter was much
the superior, and he began crowding his foe toward the margin of the
rock. Divining his purpose, he resisted with the fury of desperation;
but it was useless, and the two moved along toward the brink like the
slow, resistless tread of fate. Neither of them spoke a word, nor was a
muscle relaxed. The scout knew that the instant the struggle was
detected by those below, there would be a rush up the incline such as
Ned Chadmund with his loaded and cocked revolver could not withstand.
The fighting, therefore, was of the hurricane order from the beginning
to the close.
There was one terrific burst of strength, and then, gathering the
writhing savage in his arms, Dick Morris ran to the very edge of the
plateau and hurled him over.
Down, down from dizzy heights he spun, until he struck the ground far
below, a shapeless, insensible mass, falling almost at the feet of the
horror-bound Apaches, who thus saw the dreadful death of one of their
most intrepid and powerful warriors.
Without waiting to see the last of the redskin, the scout turned and
hurried down to the relief of his young charge, and to be prepared for
the rush which he was confident would be made the next minute. But it
was not. The redskins had learned, from dear experience, the mettle of
this formidable white man, and they had no wish to encounter it again.
The time wore away until the sun was at the meridian, and the heat
became almost intolerable. Even the toughened old scout was compelled to
shelter himself as best he could from its intolerable rays, by seeking
the scant shadow of jutting points of the rock. Ned Chadmund suffered
much, and the roiled and warm water in the old canteen was quaffed
again, even though they were compelled to tip it more and more, until,
toward the close of the day, Dick held it mouth downward, and showed
that not a drop was left.
"No use of keeping it when we are thirsty," was the philosophic remark
of the hunter. "It's made to drink, and we needn't stop so long as any
is left; and bein' there ain't any left, I guess we'll stop. I've a
mouthful or two of meat left, and we may as well surround that."
So they did; and when the sun sank down in the west, not a particle of
food nor a drop of water remained to them.
"Now, Ned, my boy," said Dick, who always maintained a certain
cheerfulness, no matter what the circumstances might be, "go to the
lookout and tell me what you see."
The lad was absent some ten minutes, during which he carefully scanned
every part of the horizon and took a peep down upon their besiegers.
"I find no sign of a living soul," he said, when he returned, "except
the Apaches, and they're waiting until they can get us without
fighting."
"Stay here while I take a peep."
Long and carefully Dick Morris gazed off to the west, in the direction
of the mountains, and then something like a sigh escaped him, as he
shook his head and muttered:
"It looks bad, it looks bad. If Tom succeeded, he ought to be in sight
by this time. I see nothing of 'em, and from the way the redskins act
down there, they seem to be sartin he's gone under. I don't mind for
myself, for I'm ready to go any time; but I feel powerful sorry for the
little fellow down there."