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[Illustration]
THE RED
MUSTANG
_by_ W. O. STODDARD
THE RED MUSTANG
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
NEW LARGE-TYPE EDITION
TOBY TYLER James Otis
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER James Otis
TIM AND TIP James Otis
RAISING THE "PEARL" James Otis
ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL W. F. Cody
DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT Mrs. L. C. Pyrnelle
MUSIC AND MUSICIANS Lucy C. Lillie
THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB W. L. Alden
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST" W. L. Alden
MORAL PIRATES W. L. Alden
A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE W. L. Alden
PRINCE LAZYBONES Mrs. W. J. Hays
THE FLAMINGO FEATHER Kirk Munroe
DERRICK STERLING Kirk Munroe
CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO. Kirk Munroe
WAKULLA Kirk Munroe
THE ICE QUEEN Ernest Ingersoll
THE RED MUSTANG W. O. Stoddard
THE TALKING LEAVES W. O. Stoddard
TWO ARROWS W. O. Stoddard
HARPER & BROTHERS
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration: "NOW FOR SANTA LUCIA!"]
THE
RED MUSTANG
BY
WILLIAM O. STODDARD
Author of "THE TALKING LEAVES"
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
THE RED MUSTANG
Copyright, 1890, by Harper & Brothers
Copyright, 1918, by William O. Stoddard
Printed in the U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 1
II. HOW CAL EVANS RODE FOR HELP 15
III. THE BAND OF KAH-GO-MISH 23
IV. THE GARRISON OF SANTA LUCIA 27
V. CAL AND THE CAVALRY AND THE RED MUSTANG 32
VI. THE PERIL OF SANTA LUCIA 38
VII. BOUND FOR THE BORDER 51
VIII. GETTING READY TO CHASE KAH-GO-MISH 56
IX. THE HACIENDA OF SANTA LUCIA 63
X. THE TARGET ON THE ROCK 67
XI. THE STORY OF A LOG 75
XII. PING AND THE COUGAR 82
XIII. THE RETURN OF KAH-GO-MISH 89
XIV. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE DESERT 94
XV. LOST IN THE CHAPARRAL 101
XVI. AN INVASION OF TWO REPUBLICS 107
XVII. HOW PING AND TAH-NU-NU GOT TO THE SPRING 114
XVIII. HOW DICK PLAYED SENTINEL 120
XIX. BAD NEWS FOR WAH-WAH-O-BE 126
XX. HOW CAL STARTED FOR MEXICO 132
XXI. THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING 139
XXII. ACROSS THE DESERT BY NIGHT 144
XXIII. AT THE RANCH AND IN THE CHAPARRAL 151
XXIV. CAL'S NIGHT UNDER A TREE 157
XXV. A STRANGE LETTER FROM MEXICO 163
XXVI. CAL'S VISITORS AND HIS BREAKFAST 169
XXVII. THE POST-BOY THAT GOT AWAY 174
XXVIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE STICKS 180
XXIX. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE FIRE? 186
XXX. THE MANITOU WATER 192
XXXI. PULL STICK AND THE HURRICANE 198
XXXII. UNDER A FALLEN TREE 204
XXXIII. LEAVING THE BAD-MEDICINE CAMP 210
XXXIV. TAH-NU-NU'S DISAPPOINTMENT 216
XXXV. HAND TO HAND BY FIRELIGHT 222
XXXVI. HOW CAL WAS LEFT ALL ALONE 227
XXXVII. RESCUED BY THE RED MUSTANG 234
XXXVIII. HOW THEY ALL REACHED SANTA LUCIA 239
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Now for Santa Lucia!" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
She and Ping Were Stealing Out upon the Broken Ledge 86
"Ugh!" They Said, as They Looked at Him. "Kah-Go-Mish" 110
Cal Took the Leaf, and Used His Knife for a Pen 184
THE RED MUSTANG THE RED MUSTANG:
_A STORY OF THE MEXICAN BORDER._
CHAPTER I.
THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.
Early one bright June morning, not long ago, a high knoll of a prairie
in southern New Mexico was occupied as it had never been before.
Rattlesnakes had coiled there; prairie-dog sentinels and wolves and
antelopes, and even grim old buffalo bulls, had used that swelling mound
for a lookout station. Mountains in the distance and a great sweep of
the plains could be seen from it. Never until that hour, however, since
the grass began to grow, had precisely such a horse pawed and fretted
there, while precisely such a boy sat in the saddle and looked around.
It is very uncommon for a mustang to show a bright and perfect blood bay
color, but this one did so, and it seemed as if the glossy beauty of his
coat only brought out the perfection of his shape and the easy grace of
his movements. He was a fiery, powerful fellow, and he appeared to have
some constitutional objection to standing still. The saddle upon his
back and the bridle held by his rider were of the best Mexican
workmanship, silver mounted, the very thing to complete the elegance of
the red mustang.
In the saddle sat a boy about fourteen years of age, a gray-eyed,
brown-haired young fellow, broad-shouldered and well made, whose
sunburned face was all aglow with health and who seemed to feel
altogether at home in the stirrups. He wore a palm-leaf sombrero, a blue
flannel shirt and trousers, while the revolver case at his belt and the
carbine slung at his back added to the dashing effect of his outfit.
"Cowboy! I a cowboy!" he exclaimed, as the mustang curveted under him.
"Look at those cattle! Look at all those horses! I'd rather own Santa
Lucia ranch and ride Dick all over the range, than to live in any city I
saw in the Eastern States. Hurrah!"
An exultant, ringing laugh followed the shout, but he still held in
Dick. He took a long look, in all directions, as if it were part of his
business to know if anything besides cattle were stirring between that
knoll and the dim, cloudlike mountain-peaks, or the distant trees which
marked the horizon of the plain.
Cattle and horses enough were in sight, as he turned from one point of
the compass to another. The horned animals were not gathered in one
great drove, but were scattered in larger and smaller gangs, here and
there, and were busily feeding. Something like half a regiment of
horses, however, had kept together somewhat better, and the red mustang
himself seemed to be taking an especial interest in them.
"Be quiet, Dick," said his master. "Are you set on springs?"
A low whinny and something like a suppressed curvet was Dick's reply,
and it was followed by a sharp exclamation.
"Dick, what's that? What's the matter with Sam Herrick?"
At the same instant Dick was wheeled in an easterly direction and was
permitted to bound away to meet a horse and rider who were coming
towards him at furious speed.
Hardly three minutes later both reins were drawn so suddenly as almost
to compel the two quadrupeds to sit down.
"What's the matter, Sam?"
"Indians, Cal, Indians!"
The news was of an exciting character and was given with emphasis, but
neither the voice nor the face of the black-bearded, undersized,
knotty-looking man who gave it betrayed the least trace of emotion. It
was as if he were mentioning some important but altogether
matter-of-course part of a cowboy's daily business. He added, in even a
quieter tone and manner, as his horse came to a standstill, "I scored
one of 'em. They've kind o' got the lower drove, but mebbe they won't
drive 'em far. We can race these hosses into the timber. That's what I
came for, and I'm right down glad you're here to help."
Cal's eager young face glowed with something more than health, and his
eyes were flashing, but he made an effort to seem as calm and
unconcerned as Sam Herrick himself.
"How far away are they now?" he asked, as he followed Sam's quick dash
towards the drove of horses.
"Mebbe a mile 'n a half. Mebbe not so much. Mebbe some more. All of 'em,
except the braves that took after me, went for hosses and fresh beef, or
seemed to. Guess we'll have time."
"Will they get many cattle? Were there enough of them to gather the
whole drove?"
"They won't gather any cattle. It's a kind of bufler hunt for 'em. Lots
of beef handy. They won't think of driving off any horned critters. Too
slow, my boy. They'll take all the hosses they can get, though, and load
'em up, too."
Cal's face was in strong contrast with the dark, almost wooden sternness
of the one he was looking into when he asked:
"Sam, did you say you killed one?"
"Can't say. Guess not. I meant to mark him, but it was his pony that
seemed to go down. Didn't either of 'em get up, that I saw. He was an
awful fool to follow me in the way he did."
Sam was shouting at the horses between his short, jerky sentences, and
his long-lashed, short-handled whip was whirling and cracking in a way
that they seemed to understand.
"How many were there of them?" asked Cal, the next opportunity he had.
"Hosses? Well, they must have scooped the eastern drove. More'n a
hundred head. We've got about two hundred here, but your father's lost
some real good ones, this time. No fault of mine."
"I didn't mean horses," said Cal. "How many Indians?"
"Oh, the redskins?" said Sam, with a tremendous crack of the long whip.
"Nobody can guess how many. They seemed to swarm all around. 'Paches, of
course, but it's a curiosity where they came from. We must work, now.
Further to the left, Cal. That's it. They're started. What are those
mules halting for!"
Nearly a score of long-eared fellows knew, in half a minute more, why
they were trying to reach the woods ahead of the horses. It must be
dreadfully aggravating to any mule to hear such a yell as that of Sam
Herrick behind him, and to feel himself whip-stung somewhere at the same
moment.
Cal Evans whooped and shouted remarkably well, but there was something
sepulchral and savage and startling in the sounds with which Sam
encouraged the whole drove to reach the long, irregular line of trees
and bushes, half a mile to the southward.
"Keep it up, Cal! Whoop it! They're all a-going. Never mind any cattle.
Whoop it!"
"There come the redskins!" shouted Cal, at that moment, and then he
seemed to almost hold his breath.
"I saw 'em," coolly responded Sam. "We'll reach good cover before they
get here. The drove's running fine."
Sam was cool enough, but every muscle of his wiry body seemed to be
uncommonly alive, and the horse he was on dashed hither and thither as
if he also understood the matter.
"They're gaining on us," shouted Cal, at the end of another minute.
"More'n a dozen of 'em. What can we two do against so many?"
"Keep cool, Cal. I'll show you when we get to the timber," replied Sam.
"We're going to save every hoof of this lot, but they may get away with
the other drove. I'm only half sure 'bout that, though."
The mob of mules and horses before them had been whipped and shouted
into a furious run, and the thud of their hoofs was worth hearing. The
best runners were streaming out ahead, and the heavier, slower animals
were sagging behind as a sort of rear-guard. Sam worked vigorously for
the rescue of those slow horses, and he hardly turned his head to take a
look at the Indians. Cal imitated him as well as he could, except about
the looking, and with every bound of the red mustang he justified Sam's
remark:
"He rides like an Indian. Isn't he a fine young feller? Reckon the old
colonel 'll say I was right. I'll save his boy for him if I have to lose
the whole drove--and my own hair, too; but they won't get that for
nothing."
Cal Evans could not know what was passing in the mind of the swarthy
cowboy. His own brain and every nerve of his body seemed to be all a
tingle of excitement. He was now able to think about it and to be proud
that he felt no fear. That is, no fear concerning anything but the
horses.
On, on, on, went that tumultuous race, and the line of forest was very
near now. It was a sort of natural barrier, stretching across the plain
as if put there to check the sweep of "norther" storms and prairie
fires, and any sort of stampedes. The middle of it was a winding ravine
or slough, and at some seasons it was a river, instead of a string of
ponds for buffalo wallows. All the wild or tame quadrupeds on that plain
knew the value of Slater's Branch, and some of them, and all of the men,
knew that it never quite went dry, and that its faculty to become a
river could be exercised at any time on short notice, when the snow in
the mountains melted rapidly or when a cloud-burst came on this side of
the Sierra.
The trees and bushes knew all about Slater's Branch, and they came and
settled for life on its banks, making a timber-belt thick and tall, with
here and there dense undergrowths for the deer to lie in.
Cal Evans could not quite understand the present value of that line of
forest, and yet he felt that it had a sort of sheltering look, and he
was particularly glad to be galloping nearer and nearer, for there was
an unpleasant chorus of whoops and yells only about a quarter of a mile
behind him, and it was manifestly growing louder.
"Cal," growled Sam Herrick, "they've gobbled hosses enough for this
trip. They can't have any more out of your father's corral. The critters
are getting into cover. Keep cool, Cal. We may have to throw lead, some;
but I reckon not much."
"Won't they follow us into the woods, then?" asked Cal, doubtfully.
"That's the question," replied Sam. "If they're young bucks they may;
but not if there's a chief or an old brave among 'em. I'll show you."
Cal was conscious of understanding the feelings of young braves who
needed an old chief to hold them back. He knew that it would be almost a
disappointment if he and Sam should succeed in saving the horses without
any shooting. He had no desire to hurt anybody or to be hurt, but then
the idea of a skirmish and a victory and all that sort of glory made him
think of all the Indian battles he had ever read about.
Sam Herrick was armed to the teeth, as became a cowboy in that region,
and yet it had been a long time since any hostile savages had troubled
it. The herds and droves had multiplied, year after year, almost
unmolested, for the Apache bands were either driven over the Mexican
border, or into Arizona, or were gathered on their reservations. If Cal
had been asked, that morning, why he carried his own weapons, his best
excuse would have been "I thought I might hunt a little," and his real
reason would not have been told unless he had said: "I love a gun, and
I'd rather carry one than not, and a fellow can keep thinking what he'd
do with it if he had a chance."
He had not tried to do any hunting, but his chance to do something else
had come, or it looked like it, very suddenly.
"There, Cal. Glad we're here--"
Sam Herrick said that as he reined in his horse and sprang to the
ground. Cal followed his example, and one glance around him made him
draw a breath of relief. There were great oaks, in all directions.
Several of the largest had fallen before the hands of time and some
strong wind, and he and Sam had ridden in behind them, followed by a
gust of angry whooping.
"Take your tree, Cal," said Sam, as he raised his repeater and sent a
warning shot in the direction of the whoops. "Now, my boy, if you was
one of them 'Paches, how'd you feel about riding into short range of two
good rifles, knowing what lead'll do for a careless Indian?"
"I'd think twice about it," said Cal, "and so 'll they; but they may
ride into cover above or below us, and creep up. There's more than a
dozen of 'em."
"Another time, perhaps, they might," said Sam, "but this isn't that
other time. They haven't any to spare for scouting and skirmishing if
they're to get away with their plunder. You and I can stand 'em off. Let
drive, Cal! They're riding in too near."
Crack, crack, went the two rifles, although the distance was over three
hundred yards.
"I declare!" exclaimed Sam. "One of us has knocked over a cow, on the
rise, away beyond. They've seen it, though, and it's a good notice to
'em. There's just one thing troubles me. Word ought to be sent to the
ranch. They ought to be warned before any mischief comes to 'em. I don't
half know what to do."
He fired again, as if in vexation as well as in doubt, and the red men
wheeled away as they also were uncertain what to do next.
Cal was silent for a moment, but a terrible thought had flashed into
his mind. The ranch was his home.
"Sam," he said, in a changed, anxious voice, "is there any danger to
them? I could dodge these fellows. I could carry the warning."
"I'd never answer to your father for letting you run any risk, Cal.
You're perfectly safe here, but it might be an awful race to Saint
Lucy."
Sam Herrick's idea of perfect safety was all his own, but Cal responded:
"I'd be just as safe on Dick's back. There isn't a horse in New
Mexico--"
"I know," said Sam, "but a bullet or an arrer 'll out-travel any hoss
living. If you could ride along under cover, to the left, 'bout half a
mile, and set off behind the herd, without their sighting you--"
"Yes," said Cal, "but why can't you come along and get to the ranch with
me?"
"My name's Sam Herrick, and I never went back on myself since I was
born. Colonel Evans's hosses was in my keep, and nigh half on 'em's
gone, and I'm bound to save the other half. I can stand off this lot of
red-skins. They haven't an hour to throw away, and they know it. Mount
and ride! Good-bye, Cal. You're taking all the risk there is."
Cal sprang to the saddle, shook Sam's hand, and cantered away through
the trees, but he did not hear the muttered words of the man who watched
his departure.
"I reckon," said Sam, "that was the only way I could have got him to try
it on. He's clear grit, like his father, and he'd have stayed to fight
it out in this here death-trap. I couldn't bear to have 'em get him.
Besides, what I told him may be true. He may be saving the women folks
at the ranch, and perhaps these chaps won't ride in. I'll give 'em a
shot, now and then, till he's well away."
Sam seemed wonderfully relieved, as if a great load had been taken off
his mind. It was a great thing to him to have nothing but Apaches to
watch and to have no awful responsibility concerning the boyish rider of
the red mustang.
If one of Sam's troubles had been in some small part removed, there was
another question which from time to time came to his lips, and he now
seemed almost satisfied with his own answer.
"Where did they come from? Well, I'd say they was from the
Mescalero--'Pache reservation, east of the mountains. They got tired of
being cooped up on poor rations. How'd they get through at El Paso? I
don't know how. Where'll they go next? I don't know that, neither."
When Sam first saw those Indians that morning, no time at all was given
him for taking notes. He had been suddenly compelled to put spurs to his
horse and to ride for his life. He had been followed by the only
Indians, out of more than a hundred, that were mounted, for all the rest
were on foot. The hundred, and as many more as there might be, included
dozens of warriors, besides squaws and children. There were a score of
heavily laden pack-ponies, besides the ponies ridden by the mounted
braves, but that band was particularly in need of the kind of property
which Sam Herrick had been set to guard. He guessed very correctly about
them. They had broken away from the region of country set apart as
their reservation, for what they deemed good reasons. They had taken
with them only such few miserable ponies as a series of disastrous
seasons had left them.
They saw Sam before he saw them; for, in spite of his customary
watchfulness, he had been taking things lazily. They had no idea of a
grand prize so near at hand, and the news brought back by their scouts
who first made the discovery came as a thrilling surprise to the entire
band. All the voices of all the dusky men, women, boys, and girls,
exclaimed "Ugh!"
That was followed by silence and by crouchings in the grass and behind
ant-hills. The pack-ponies were led back a little distance. A tall
warrior on foot gave orders with motions of his hands, hardly uttering a
sound, and, in obedience to his directions, warriors, squaws, boys, and
even girls, darted off to the right and left.
The horses were feeding quietly, and were not widely scattered, and Sam
Herrick sat in the saddle, looking at them listlessly and not dreaming
of peril to them or to himself. He did not see the dusky forms which
were creeping behind tufts and knolls behind him and away on either side
of him. So it came to pass that when, at last, all was ready, and the
braves who had ponies came galloping towards him, it was just as he
afterwards described it to Cal Evans, "the prairie seemed to swarm with
them."
His only course was to dash away at the best speed of his horse, and the
squad that followed him had cared very little whether or not they should
catch him, except to prevent him from carrying news of their arrival.
Their miserable used-up ponies had been no match for the racer he was
riding, but the whole band seemed likely to be better mounted, speedily,
than it ever had been before.
There was very little whooping done by the horse collectors, for there
was no wish to cause a stampede. The first horses caught and mounted
were employed to catch others, and the packs of the pack-ponies were
rapidly searched for lariats and bridles. Of course there was more than
a little dismounting as well as mounting, for a number of unbroken colts
did their entire duty in the way of refusing to be ridden barebacked.
That would have been better fun at any other time. Just now it was a
delay, and so a probable danger, and some of the most vigorous kickers
carried their point, and were driven away instead of being ridden.
There was work for the entire band, for the cattle were next attended
to, and once more Sam Herrick proved to be a good guesser. Beef was
wanted, but not on the hoof, and horse after horse and mule after mule
was laden with fresh meat. A poor, hungry, dismounted gang of Apaches,
escaped from their reservation limits, had suddenly become almost rich.
Not a soul of them had ever been taught that there was anything unlawful
in what they were doing, and there was glee all around, marred only by
the fact that there was nothing there to cook with, and by the fear that
the solitary cowboy might get away and bring a lot of angry palefaces to
take that magnificent plunder away from them. All of that wide plain had
once been Apache land, with its buffalo, its deer, and its other game,
and whatever might now be found upon it by a band who considered
themselves very good Indians, was fair game for them. They believed
themselves to have been plundered by the whites, and to be now obtaining
something like a part payment for their lost rights. Sam Herrick,
standing behind the fallen trees, rifle in hand, was obstinately
interfering with their effort to secure a much larger and better payment
of the same old debt.