Even before the Apaches set out to find their Lipan enemies Murray and
Steve made their way across the ford, and were guided by a bright-eyed
boy to the lodge which had been set apart for them. That one had been
given them at all was a mark of great respect; and this lodge belonged
to Many Bear himself, which added to the honor done them.
"Now, Steve," said Murray, "you stay here awhile. I can do some things
better if I'm alone."
"All right. But there's no danger of my going to sleep while you're
gone."
"Pretty wide awake, eh? Well, it's an exciting time all around."
"It is for me, Murray. I feel as if I had made a good start on my way
home."
"I guess you have. Your path is beginning to look pretty clear."
"I've escaped from the Lipans."
"But not yet from the Apaches. I can't say how soon I'll be back again
now, but you'd better not leave the lodge."
Steve threw himself down on the blanket he had spread upon the grass,
and his thoughts came to him in a perfect crowd.
Sleep--for a boy like him, who had been for three years a prisoner, and
was now getting free! He might as well have gone to sleep on his
horse, if he had been out there among the warriors on the prairie.
Murray walked away from the lodge very slowly.
"It's not a bad place for a camp," he said to himself, "but that side
of it is all bushes, and they have corralled all their loose ponies
right in there. Old Many Bears will make some changes when he comes to
see it. The squaws laid it out this time."
The lodges of the chief were not far apart from each other, and Murray
had not gone twenty steps before he found himself in front of them and
face to face with a very stout and dark-complexioned squaw. If she had
been a warrior in the most hideous war-paint she could not have
expected a man like Send Warning to be startled so at meeting her.
Perhaps she did not notice the tremor which went over him from head to
foot, or that his voice was a little husky when he spoke to her. At
all events she answered him promptly enough, for at that moment there
was nobody in sight or hearing for whose approval or disapproval Mother
Dolores cared a button.
She did not so much as give a thought to the youthful occupants of the
lodge behind her.
If Ni-ha-be and Rita were not asleep they should be, and they were mere
girls anyhow.
Ni-ha-be had not closed her black eyes for a moment, and Rita had only
refrained from talking because of the presence of Dolores.
"I am glad she's gone, Rita. It's too bad we are shut up here, where
we can't know a word of all that's going on."
"There will be noise enough when the chief and the warriors come."
"Or if the camp is attacked. My bow and arrows are ready."
"I don't believe we are in any danger. Hark! Ni-ha-be, don't speak."
"Somebody is talking with Dolores."
"Hark!"
They listened more and more eagerly, and they even crept to the outer
edge of the lodge and gently raised the bottom of the deer-skin
covering.
"Ni-ha-be, it is Send Warning."
Murray and Dolores were talking in Mexican Spanish. He was not saying
anything about the Lipans, or anything else that seemed to Ni-ha-be
very interesting. Neither did Rita understand why it should all be so
much so to her, or why her heart should beat and her cheeks burn as she
listened.
Murray had used his eyes to some purpose when he had watched Dolores at
her cookery, and his first words had made her his very good friend.
"Squaw of great chief. Squaw great cook. Know how."
"Is Send Warning hungry?"
"Not now. Eat enough. Great chief and warriors go after Lipans.
Pale-faces stay in camp."
"They will all eat a heap when they come back. Bring Lipan scalps,
too."
"The Lipans are enemies of the Apaches. The Mexicans are friends."
"The Mexicans!" exclaimed Dolores.
"Yes. Great chief marry Mexican squaw. Handsome. Good cook."
"I am an Apache!"
"Yes, Apache now. Mexican long ago. Forget all about it. All about
Santa Maria--"
"No, no; the talking leaf remembers that." And the poor woman
nervously snatched from her bosom the leaf of the magazine on which was
printed the picture of the Virgin and Child, and held it out to Murray.
He could but dimly see what it was, but he guessed right, for he said
instantly,
"You remember that, do you? I suppose you never knew how to read. Not
many of 'em do down there. The Apaches came one day and carried you
off. Horses, mules, cattle, good cook--killed all the rest."
"How do you know?" suddenly interrupted Dolores. "I remember all that.
Don't want to, but I can't help it. Same thing happen a great many
times. Apaches are great warriors. Many Bears is a great chief.
Bring back heap of prisoners every time."
She was telling Murray what he wanted to know, but he saw that he must
ask his questions carefully, for, as he said to himself, "I never saw a
woman so completely Indianized. She is more of an Apache than a
Mexican now."
He talked and Dolores answered him, and all the while the two girls
heard every word.
Ni-ha-be would have liked to make comments every now and then, and it
was quite a trial to be compelled to keep so still, but Rita would not
have spoken on any account. It seemed to her as if Dolores were
telling all that to her instead of to Send Warning. She found herself
thinking almost aloud about him.
"What a kind, sweet voice he has! He cannot speak Apache. I know he
is good."
In another moment she again came near betraying herself, for the words
were on her very lips before she could stop them and still them down to
an excited whisper.
"He is not talking even Mexican now. It is the tongue of the talking
leaves, and I can hear what he says."
More than that, for she soon found that she could repeat them over and
over to herself, and knew what they meant.
Murray had talked to Dolores as long as was permitted by Indian ideas
of propriety, and it was just as he was turning away from her that he
said to himself, aloud and in English, "I am not mistaken. She is the
same woman. Who would have thought she could forget so? I am on the
right track now." And then he had walked pretty swiftly for a short
distance, in a way that made Dolores wonder if he were not taken with
some sharp and sudden pain. Then he stopped suddenly, and muttered,
"I don't care to see Steve just now. It is too bitter. I'll go down
to the corral and see how our horses are getting along. We may need to
have them in good condition to-morrow."
The horse corral was just beyond the line of bushes at the back of the
lodges of Many Bears, and contained a good deal of wealth in the form
of ponies and mules. Those of Murray and Steve were tethered to young
trees, but with long lariats, so that they were feeding.
There was no one to watch Murray's movements. Only a brave of high
rank would have presumed to go with him, and none of these were left in
camp.
Steve Harrison, sitting alone in the lodge, staring out of the door at
the smouldering camp-fires, and listening to the neighing of many
horses and the barking of many dogs, wondered why his friend did not
return, as the time went by, but could not guess at a reason. At last
other sounds, distant but growing nearer, began to break in among those
that belonged to the camp.
"Hear them whoop!" exclaimed Steve. "It isn't a fight, for there is no
firing. Nothing but yells."
A great abundance of noise, to be sure, and it was rapidly coming
toward the ford.
"The Lipans must have been beaten," said Steve, for he now saw that the
Apache horsemen were crossing the river, and that every squaw and child
in the village was pouring out to welcome them. "Squaws can do more
whooping than the braves know how to. But I wonder what's become of
Murray!"
It was but a few minutes before Red Wolf rode up to tell him the news,
and ask him to come and take a look at the prisoners. It flashed
across Steve's mind that it would not do for him.
"Lipans! They must not see me." And then he said aloud to Red Wolf,
"I must wait for Send Warning. He may tell me I must not look upon
them. He is my chief."
"Ugh! Good. Knotted Cord wait. Red Wolf go. Back soon."
As for Murray, he had not failed to hear the noise made by the
triumphant braves on their return, and he had understood it better than
Steve, for he exclaimed,
"That's the whoop for prisoners. If they bring in any, I must not let
them see me here. I never hated Apaches more in my life. It won't do
to lose my friends. Here they come."
He crept to the edge of the bushes and lay still. There would be a
council called at once, he knew, and he would be sent for; but he was
determined to wait and see what was done with the prisoners.
"That's one thing they will consult over. Hullo!"
He sunk down again in the bushes, for a squad of Apache warriors was
approaching, bringing with them four men securely bound.
They were the great To-la-go-to-de and his three chiefs, neither of
them hurt to speak of; but they were all that were left of the foremost
rank of the Lipans in that brief, terrible combat.
Other braves kept back the swarming mob of squaws and children, while
the four distinguished captives were almost carried into one of the
lodges at the border of the bushes.
Here more thongs of strong deer-skin were tightened upon their helpless
limbs, a strong guard of armed braves was stationed in front of the
lodge, and the Lipans were left in the dark to such thoughts as might
come to them.
Not an Apache among their guards dreamed that anything more dangerous
than thoughts could or would come. And yet, within two minutes from
the time he was spread upon his back and left alone, old Two Knives
heard inside the lodge a low, warning hiss.
His companions also heard it, but neither of them was so unwise as to
answer by a sound.
The hiss was repeated, and now it was close to the chief's ear.
"Friend come. No Tongue is here. Great chief must be snake. Creep
through hole in back of lodge. Find plenty horse. Ride fast. Get to
pass. Never forget friend. No Tongue come some time."
Even while he was whispering the sharp edge of Murray's knife was busy
with the thongs, and in a moment more all four of the prisoners were
free--free to lie silently while their friend repeated to each in turn
his advice as to what they were to do next.
Their nerves had not been shaken by their defeat, and when Murray
slipped away again through the slit he had cut in the lodge cover, he
was followed by four forms that made their way every bit as quietly as
so many snakes could have done.
What puzzled To-la-go-to-de and his friends was that when they ventured
to rise upon their feet, out in the dark among the horses, No Tongue
was not with them.
"Ugh! Gone!"
"Cunning snake. Stay and strike Apaches. Then come."
"Good friend. Big warrior."
They could not quite understand the matter, but of one thing they were
sure: No Tongue had penetrated the Apache camp in the most daring
manner, and had set them free at the risk of his own life.
He had disappeared now, but they felt abundantly able to look out for
themselves.
Even the ordinary watchers of the corral had left their stations to
join the shouting crowd in camp, who were boasting of their victory,
and the escaping Lipans could do about as they pleased.
They could find no weapons, but there were saddles and bridles, and
scores and scores of fleet steeds to choose from, and it was but a few
minutes before Two Knives and his friends were leading their selections
through the darkness toward the river. They did not hunt for any ford.
Horses and men alike knew how to swim. Once safely across, there was a
great temptation to give a whoop, but the chief forbade it.
"No. Keep still. No Tongue is on the trail of the Apaches. Noise bad
for him."
With that he sprung into his saddle, and led the way at a fierce
gallop. If their horses should not fall with them and break their
necks they would soon be beyond pursuit. It was a somewhat reckless
thing to do, considering how many squads of Apaches were on that
prairie, but they had no weapons, not so much as a knife, among them,
and speed seemed to be their only hope.