HOW CAL EVANS RODE FOR HELP.
The excited boy on the red mustang was not allowed to use his own
judgment altogether as to the right place for riding out from the
forest. Hundreds and hundreds of cows and bulls and oxen took that
important matter into their own hoofs. They had not been so sensitive as
the horses, and had not been whipped or shouted at. They, therefore, had
not been stampeded so quickly, but they went wild enough as soon as the
craze took them. They may have been wondering whether a norther or a
prairie-fire or a travelling earthquake were after Sam and Cal and the
horses when over the grassy rolls came that squad of yelling red-men.
The whoops were an awful noise to hear, and one very thin, respectable
old cow set off at once. In another moment there were tossing horns and
anxious bellowing in all directions, while some half-grown calves threw
up their heels and followed the cow. A wiry, vicious-looking ox, with
only one horn, punched with it the ribs of his next neighbor. That
example spread like wildfire; and something said by the widest-horned,
longest-legged, deepest-throated old bull may have really meant:
"Now--ow, every fellow bellow and run like all ruin--uin--uin!"
Run like ruin they did, and, of course, they broke for the timber,
although the Indians who were threatening Sam Herrick were right ahead
of them. If a regiment of infantry had been in the way it would have
been scattered all the same, and what were a dozen or so of mere
pony-riders? Sam was safe among his fallen trees, but the Indians had to
get out of the way of that stampede. Cal Evans saw the cattle coming,
and he had his wits about him.
"Hurrah!" he shouted. "I'll put them between me and the redskins. Now,
Dick, it's our chance."
The red mustang knew that he had been called upon. There was a whinny, a
bound, a swift dash of nearly two minutes into the open plain, and then
a burst of whooping announced that he and his rider had been seen.
What of that, when all that tumult of tossing horns was streaming along
behind them, putting its barrier between Cal and the nearest Apache
warrior? Follow him? What would ponies already overdriven be worth
behind the long, swinging, elastic bounds of the red mustang?
"Hurrah, Dick! There's no other such horse living! Hurrah!"
On, on, on! and there was no need of a trail to follow, for Sam
Herrick's last advice had been, "Ride due north, Cal, and you won't lose
any distance."
At that very moment the brave cowboy was watching the course of events
almost breathlessly, but the only token of excitement was a glitter in
his black eyes, until he exclaimed, "Colorado! Cal's safe! The critters
have done it. They've done me a good turn, too, if I can manage to keep
out of their way."
He sprang to the saddle, and hurried along deeper into the forest. Just
as the foremost bulls were charging in among the trees, Sam rode out
into an open place on the bank of Slater's Branch. It was bare of trees,
but it was thronged with horses, and so was the wide, shallow pool
beyond; and now they all heard once more the crack of Sam's whip.
"The horned critters won't stop," he said to himself, "till their hoofs
are in the mud. The redskins may follow 'em, but there's time to put the
hosses on the other side."
There was fright enough among them to prevent any delay, and the last
mule was braying upon the opposite bank in reply to a shout of Sam's,
when the cattle began to show in the open space. Bushes and trees had
checked the stampede somewhat, but there were bellows of pleasure all
along the line--bellows of all sorts and sizes, as if calf and cow and
patriarch alike found mental relief in a sight of Slater's Branch.
"Colorado!" exclaimed Sam; "all the critters are as nigh safe as I can
make 'em. I'm free, now, to pick my way back to Saint Lucy. Redskins 'll
go slow through timber with a rifle in it. If the whole band came I'd be
of no manner of use. They can't catch Dick now he's got a clear start.
Cal's safe; but what I want now is a fresh mount. I've taken twenty odd
miles out of this one, and I may have racing to do. That gray's about
X."
The gray he singled out was caught and saddled and bridled, but no
ordinary groom could have performed that feat. Neither could any timid
horseman have compelled the gray to give up the disposition he had for
dancing horse-waltzes and polkas among the trees. Sam did it, and forced
him to go ahead with not more than three or four gaits at once.
"More fire and more mischief and more good running in him," he remarked,
exultingly. "Nothing could catch him, unless it might be Cal's red
mustang. My chance is a heap better than it was."
He seemed to have a habit of talking to some imaginary companion. Men
who pass much of their time alone are very apt to get such a habit, but
men who live among crowds never do. Away he went a mile or more down the
Branch, until he came to a place where he could cross it almost dryshod.
"The 'Paches won't come this way," he remarked. "They'll either try to
strike Saint Lucy, or else they'll head for the Mexican line with their
plunder."
Sam could make his calculations as coolly as if the Apaches had been so
many peaceable traders, but there was only one thought in the mind of
Cal Evans. It grew as he rode, and it kept his mind in a sort of mingled
fever and chill.
"The ranch and everybody in it! If father is there he might take them
for friendly Indians until it would be too late. He isn't likely to be
there. Men all gone! Mother is there! Vic is there!"
Cal's thoughts took terrible shapes as he galloped onward, borrowing
horrors from all he had ever heard of the deeds of pitiless savages.
More than once a fierce kind of shout burst from him, but he had no
need for urging Dick. The red mustang's racing-blood was up, as if he
knew that he were riding a great match against danger and death. He
responded to his master with a short, excited whinny, and seemed to
lengthen the splendid stride that swept the miles away. He had been set
free to run his best and wildest, with only a light weight to carry, and
the distance vanished behind him.
Cal had ridden Dick more than once when there were running deer to
catch, and had thought him a miracle of speed, but now there were
moments when he almost found fault with him for going slowly. That, too,
with the warm wind whistling past him, and his own best horsemanship
called for to keep the saddle. He guided Dick a little with reference to
burrows and ant-hills. He knew that there were no ravines worth
mentioning. He even kept a lookout for possible Indians between him and
the northern horizon.
"I'll charge through them if I do see any," he said to Dick.
His face had undergone a change for the time, and was hardly boyish, it
was so full of desperate determination and awful anxiety. He was riding
for the safety of his home--of his father, mother, sister. At last
before him arose a long, gentle roll of prairie that he seemed to know.
"Mother!" burst from him, as Dick sprang up the slope, and at the crest
of it the good horse was reined in.
"Santa Lucia! The ranch! All right yet, and not an Indian to be seen.
Hurrah for Dick!"
He deserved it, although he did not look is if he had been specially
exerting himself. There was hardly a fleck of perspiration upon his
glossy coat, and he drew only two or three long breaths, not so much
because he needed them, perhaps, as that he also was relieved at finding
everything serene about the ranch.
It was, in fact, a very picture of peace that lazy summer morning. The
stout stockade, containing fully two acres of ground around the spring
and the buildings, seemed almost deserted, except for a few cows, some
dogs, and a couple of tethered horses. The house itself, of one story,
built of large blocks of sunburned "adobe," made three sides of a
square, the main entrance being through a gateway in the palisades and
covered veranda that guarded the fourth side. Each face was over fifty
feet long, and the outer windows were mere slips. The Spanish Mexicans
who built Santa Lucia, years and years ago, had planned it for a pretty
strong fort as well as dwelling, and Cal Evans felt very kindly towards
them at the present moment.
The gate of the stockade was wide open, unguarded, and he dashed through
it and up to the house in a manner which attracted attention. The sound
of a piano ceased at once, and a dignified elderly lady, who came out to
the veranda, was quickly joined by a younger and slighter form.
"Cal," exclaimed the latter, "has anything happened to father?"
"No, Vic, nothing much has happened--not yet--"
"Cal, something has happened! What is it?" said the old lady, with a
quick flush of anxiety.
"I must out with it. The Apaches have scooped the lower drove, every
horse. They came for the upper drove, but Sam and I got them into the
timber--"
"Was he hurt?" asked Mrs. Evans.
"No, mother, but he isn't safe yet--" and Cal went on to give a rapid
account of all he knew.
Sam Herrick himself could hardly have shown better nerve than did Cal's
mother. She grew calm and steady-eyed as she listened, but Victoria's
pretty face paled and reddened again and again, for she was hardly two
years older than her brother.
"Oh, if only father were here!" she said.
"Where's he gone?" asked Cal.
"Out on the range," replied his mother. "He and all of them will come in
at the first sign of danger. Everybody knew that the Indians were
dissatisfied, but I didn't dream of their coming this way."
"They wanted horses, mother, and they may try and strike the ranch,"
said Cal.
"I think not," she said, decidedly, "but you must carry the news to Fort
Craig."
"And leave you and Vic here? Never!"
"You must not pause one minute. Not even to eat. Victoria and I and the
servants can bar the stockade and the house, but no Indians will come.
If there is really any danger, the sooner the cavalry get here the
better. Do you think you've tired Dick?"
"No, mother, but it seems as if I'd rather die than leave you here
alone."
"Ride for our safety, my son. Ride steadily. It's a long push for any
horse, and Dick must last till you get there."
"Yes, mother," said Cal, "but he can do it."
"Leave your rifle," she added. "You'll not need it, and it's an extra
weight."
She did not let him forget to water the red mustang, and while Dick was
drinking she packed a small haversack with cold meat and bread for Cal's
use on the road.
He was ready to mount.
"Oh, mother, I want to stay and fight for you and Vic--"
"Bring the cavalry! Go!" she said, and it seemed to cost her something
to say it.
He hardly knew, after he was in the saddle, in what words he put his
good-bye. He saw two faces that watched him as Dick sprang through the
gate. It seemed almost as if he had seen them for the last time, and
then he thought, again, that perhaps the best hope for Santa Lucia and
all in it had been confided to the swift feet of the red mustang.