THE PERIL OF SANTA LUCIA.
After Cal rode away from the cavalry camp on the black, Captain Moore
made a number of remarks about him.
"Plucky boy," he said. "Tough as whipcord, but he'll be pretty well used
up before he gets to the ranch."
The other officers and the men agreed with their commander in all he had
to say about Cal Evans or about his horse.
The red mustang was in the corral. He had been tethered, by a long
lariat, to the same pin with a mean-looking, wiry little pack-mule, and
he had given early tokens that he did not like his long-eared company.
Dick had travelled fast and far since sunrise of that day. Cal had given
him a friendly rubbing down after supper, and he felt pretty well. One
admiring cavalryman had given him a full army ration of corn, and
another had brought him some nice pieces of hard-tack, while several
more had said things about his shape and color and the miles he had
travelled, all in a way to rouse the jealousy of a sensitive mule. After
the men went away, Dick considered himself entitled to lie down and did
so, but the mule did not. There was moonlight enough to kick by, and it
was not long before the red mustang was suddenly stirred up. He was not
hurt, for that first kick had been seemingly experimental, as if the
mule were getting the exact range of Dick's ribs. A low squeal expressed
his satisfaction at his success, but it was followed by a
disappointment, for his own lariat was several feet shorter than the
brand-new one given to the red mustang, and the latter had stepped
almost out of danger. It was almost, but not quite, and Dick was
compelled to keep in motion to get out of harm's way. It was too bad not
to have quiet, after so hard a day's work, but that mule was a
bitter-hearted fellow. Dick moved along, backing away and watching, and
the mule slowly, sullenly, followed him. Santa Lucia was a better place
than this, Indians or no Indians. Dick had seen Cal depart, and he had
felt deserted and lonely then, but his homesickness increased rapidly
under the treatment he was receiving from the wickedly perverse beast he
was tied up with.
Back, back, back, until both lariats were tightly wound once more around
the pin. They were shortened eight inches by that twist, and the next
wind around shortened them nine inches more. The mule grew wickeder and
made a dash that did not cease until three more twists had shortened the
lariats. Meantime there had been all sorts of jerks and counter-jerks
upon the wooden pin, and it was getting loosened in the soft ground.
Winding up the lariats, the game went on until both tethers were short
indeed, and that of the mule was less than three yards long. The strain
of it disgusted him, and he gave a plunge and pull against it just as
Dick was drawing hard in the opposite direction. Up came the pin, but
once more the mule was disappointed. The next dash he made brought him
and Dick to a stand, for they were on opposite sides of the trunk of an
oak that caught the lariats in the middle. They could bring their heads
and shoulders together, but the tree protected Dick from his enemy's
heels. The tree and the knotted lariats held hard, and the red mustang
could not prevent that ugly head from coming close to his own.
Would he bite?
No, he was a bad mule, but the mischief in him, except such as naturally
settled in his heels, was of another kind. He preferred to gnaw a hide
lariat around a horse's neck rather than the neck itself. Dick was
compelled to stand still while the gnawing proceeded, and it was very
unpleasant.
The mule had good teeth, and he knew something about lariats. It was
remarkable how short a time elapsed before, as Dick gave a sudden start,
he found himself free.
Liberty was a good thing, but that camp was not an attractive place for
a horse which had seen his master ride away from it. Besides, it
contained the tormenting mule, and all of the red mustang's thoughts and
inclinations turned towards Santa Lucia.
Notable things had occurred there since Dick and Cal came away, and
after Mrs. Evans made her courageous appeal to her five servants. Four
of these were evidently Mexicans, and the fifth declared her own
nationality in the prompt reply that she made to her mistress.
"Wud I foight, ma'am? 'Dade'n I'll not be skelped widout foighting. I
want wan of thim double goons, and the big wash toob full of b'ilin'
wather and the long butcher knife and the bro'd axe. I'll make wan of
thim 'Paches pale like a potaty. There's plinty of good blood in Norah
McLory."
Evidently there was, but Mrs. Evans did not feel so sure of the others.
Anita, Manuelita, Maria, and a very old woman spoken to as Carlotta,
seemed at first disposed to call upon an immense list of saints rather
than listen to a plan which their mistress tried to explain, but Norah
succeeded in shutting them up.
It was a remarkable military plan, and, when it was all told, "Oh,
mother!" exclaimed Vic, and in a moment more she added: "Splendid!"
"'Dade, an' I'm ready, ma'am," said Norah, as she made a dash for the
boiler, and heaped the stove with fuel. "Faith, I'd rather bile thim
than ate thim."
A bustling time of it followed, and courage grew with work. Weapons were
plentiful, and the stockade had been regularly pierced for rifle
practice. All that was needed there or in the adobe was a supply of
riflemen. There was a tall flagstaff at one corner of the adobe, but its
halliards had swung emptily for many a day.
"Mother," said Vic, at the end of about twenty minutes, "what will they
say?"
"The Indians?" said Mrs. Evans, "They may not come at all. Take your
father's field-glass and go up to the roof. We must keep a sharp
lookout. I'll tend to things down here."
Up went Vic, her bright young face all aglow with excitement, and she
carried Cal's repeating rifle with her, as well as the double
field-glass with which to sweep the prairie for Indians.
"Not one in sight," she shouted down to her mother. "Guess Cal's safe,
anyhow. I don't believe they're coming."
She should have questioned Kah-go-mish about that. While she was
nervously patrolling the roof of the old hacienda and watching for him,
the prudent leader of the now well-mounted Mescaleros was pushing
steadily forward. He had given out a careful set of orders, which proved
his right to be considered an uncommon Apache.
"Ugh!" he said. "No kill. Borrow! Make pale-face lend poor Mescalero
gun, horse, mule, blanket, knife, cartridges, kettle. Keep 'calp on
head. No want 'calp now."
He hoped to find the ranch almost if not quite undefended and to take it
by surprise, getting what he wanted without doing anything to provoke
the altogether unforgiving vengeance of the military authorities.
Half an hour more went by that was very long to the watchers in the
adobe.
"Four Indians, mother," shouted Vic, at last, from her station on the
roof. "'Way off there, eastward. I can't see anything of father or the
men."
"They will come, Vic. Watch!" replied Mrs. Evans.
"If they were near enough," said Vic, "I'd fire at them. They've
halted."
They had done so, on a roll of the prairie, for they were a mere
scouting-party, and they quickly hurried away as if they had an
unexpected report to make concerning the state of things at Santa Lucia.
Five minutes later Vic laid down her field-glass and took up Cal's
rifle.
"More Indians, mother!" she shouted, and the loud report which followed
testified strongly to the condition of Vic's fighting courage.
Nobody seemed to be hit by that bullet; but the warning shot, long as
was the range, compelled one Indian to remark:
"Ugh! Kah-go-mish is a great chief! Pale-face heap wide-awake."
"They've halted, mother, but I didn't hit anybody. Hurrah! Hurrah!"
"What is it, Vic?" anxiously inquired Mrs. Evans. "Do you see anybody
else?"
"Not Indians, this time. On the other side. Key and Joaquin. Perhaps
they won't dare to ride in."
"Nothing could stop your father."
That was very true, and nothing did. Key and Joaquin had had somewhat
the start of him, but had been delayed on the way, repeatedly, by the
necessity of keeping out of sight of a dangerous-looking squad of
Apaches, so that they were but a little in advance of three more white
men who quickly rode up.
"Colorado!" exclaimed one of these. "What's lit on to the ranch?"
It was a fair question for Sam Herrick or any other man to ask. A
wide-winged American flag floated proudly from the flagstaff, at the
foot of which stood what seemed to be an army officer in very full
uniform, cocked hat, epaulets, sword, and all. Another flag fluttered at
the gate, and in front of it paced up and down a sentry in uniform,
while outside of him, at regular intervals, were ostentatiously stacked
a complete company's allowance of muskets, bayonets fixed, ready for
service.
"Colorado!" again exclaimed Sam Herrick; but the angry look was fading
from the face of his employer. It did not return, even when a score or
so of yelling Apaches came out in full view at the right.
"Boys," he shouted, "give 'em a volley and ride in. The drove is gone,
but the ranch is all right."
Crack went the rifles; but the range was long, and not one of the red
men was harmed. A whoop, a yell, and they wheeled away, for they had no
idea of storming a stockade defended by an infantry company in addition
to Colonel Abe Evans and his cowboys.
"Hurrah!" roared the deep voice of the colonel. "There's fun coming!"
Loud rang the answering cheers of the cowboys, but at that instant the
sentry at the gate threw away his musket, exclaiming: "Howly mother!"
The army officer on the roof made a quick motion as if he were gathering
his skirts to go down a ladder, and he disappeared, while four soldiers
inside the stockade dropped their muskets also, and their commander
ceased a remarkable use she was making of an old drum. The garrison of
Fort Santa Lucia had been seized with a sudden panic and had
disappeared, leaving the gate open for the colonel and his men to ride
in and take possession.
Mrs. Evans had not been in uniform. She had put down her drum, and she
was now in the doorway ready to meet her husband. Norah had dashed past
her, exclaiming: "'Dade, ma'am, I'd not let the owld man and the byes
see me wid the like o' this on me bones."
Reports were quickly exchanged between the colonel and his wife.
"Nothing lost but the horses and a few cattle," he said. "It was just
like you, Laura. You did the best thing, all around. Cal is safe, but if
the cavalry come, he and I are going to ride after the redskins with
'em, far as they go."
"Of course," she quietly responded.
"Laura," said he, "I'm glad all that old army stuff was in the
storeroom; but I shall not take Major Victoria Evans along. I shall
leave her here to garrison Santa Lucia, with General Laura Evans as
commander-in-chief."
Sam Herrick and the other cowboys brought in the stacks of muskets and
closed the gate.
"All that old iron is good for something, after all. So's the flag,"
said Bill.
"Colorado!" remarked Sam. "The redskins may think they've struck Fort
Craig, by mistake."
"They'll smell a mouse," said Key, "and they may not give it up so
easy."
"If they do try it on," said Sam, "it won't be till about daylight
to-morrow morning. Let's have something to eat."
"Byes," said Norah, as they entered the kitchen. "Hilp me off wid the
b'iler. It was put there to cook 'Paches, but I'll brile you some bacon
instid."
The kitchen table looked warlike enough with its collection of the
weapons required by Norah, but she was no longer in uniform, and looked
peaceful. She and her Mexican assistants cooked vigorously, but before
the coffee was hot the colonel sent for Joaquin.
"Eat your dinner," he said, in Spanish, "and then take a fresh horse and
ride to warn the upper ranches. We're safe enough; even if they try a
daylight attack, we can stand 'em off till help can get here. Bring me a
dozen good men. I'm going to chase that band of redskins, cavalry or no
cavalry."
"Si, senor," replied Joaquin, and he was quickly away, seeming to hardly
give a thought to any possible interruption by scouting Apaches.
Some work was done by scouting cowboys that afternoon in the vicinity of
the ranch. No Indians were seen; but for all that the night which
followed was not a sleep-night. The men slept fairly well, except the
sentry whose turn it might be, but they were all dressed and had their
weapons by them. It was nearly so with the female part of the garrison.
They did not sleep at all well, but they were all dressed, and they kept
more guns and swords and axes within grasping distance than did the men.
The dawn came at last, and it did not bring any alarm; but, just as the
sun was rising, the gate in the stockade swung wide open, and a man
stepped out, gazing earnestly towards the east.
"Colorado! What's that?" he exclaimed. "I won't rouse the ranch, but it
beats me all hollow. Hosses. Two of 'em."
There was evidently something curious in the fact that a pair of horses
were plodding slowly along towards Santa Lucia, all by themselves, at
that hour of the morning.
Sam stood by the gate as if waiting for an explanation, when there came
a sound of steps behind him.
"Sam," asked an anxious voice, "do you see anything?"
"I'd say 'twas the red mustang, if there wasn't a pack on him, and a
black hoss with him. Didn't know you was up, ma'am."
"Cal's mustang, Sam? I've not been abed or asleep."
"Mother, is it Dick? Is it Cal? Are there any Indians?"
"Vic, I'm afraid it's Cal. I'm going to see. He's wounded!"
"Most likely," said Sam, with a sharp change of voice. "They'd better
turn out. Stay here, madam."
He raised his repeater as he spoke and fired a random shot, the report
of which brought every soul in Santa Lucia bolt upright, and then he
started on a swift walk, followed closely by Cal's mother and sister.
There were the two horses, red and black, and Vic reached them first.
They stood stock-still, as if waiting for her, when she came near, and
she was sure that the black carried Cal's silver-mounted saddle.
Dick carried Cal!
Was he wounded? Was he dead? How came he on Dick's bare back? A dozen
excited questions burst from Mrs. Evans and Vic, but no answer came
until Sam Herrick drew a long breath and responded: "Sound asleep! The
boy's tired clean out, riding, and Dick's been caring for him. He walked
as if he was treading among eggs. 'Fraid Cal'd fall off."
There was nobody to tell just how many slow miles Cal had ridden,
unconsciously, or nearly so, with his arms around Dick's neck. Sam was
just about to lift him off when the deep voice of Colonel Evans, behind
him, said: "Don't wake him, Sam; I'll take him. There isn't money enough
anywhere to buy that red mustang."
Dick held as still as a post while his master was gently removed in the
strong arms of the old colonel, but the moment that was done he
accompanied a sharp whinny with a weary attempt to throw up his heels.
Another pair of arms was around his neck now, however, and Vic tried
hard to make him understand her intense appreciation of him.
"Hope he isn't hurt," said Sam. "I guess he isn't, nor Cal either."
No, Cal was not hurt, but he was a boy who had been through a tremendous
amount of excitement, as well as of hard riding. Just as he was being
carried through the gate he opened his eyes for a moment and saw the
flag floating over Santa Lucia.
"Glad the cavalry got here," he murmured. "Captain Moore said they'd
start at sunrise." He saw his mother and Vic, and tried to say
something, but he was sound asleep again before the smile on his lips
could be turned into words.
Cal was put upon a bed and his mother sat down by him. Norah McLory had
teetered fatly around them all the way to the house, whispering
remarkable exclamations, and she was evidently in great fear, even now,
of awaking the weary sleeper.
"Wud hot wather do him any good, ma'am?" she huskily suggested.
"Breakfast will, by and by," said Mrs. Evans. "Oh, my boy!"
"Glad the cavalry are coming," said the old colonel, as he turned away
from gazing down at Cal. "I'll know all about it when he wakes up."
The whole ranch had for many minutes been in a state of turmoil, and
mere quadrupeds had been left to take care of themselves, for even Sam
Herrick came pretty near to being excited about Cal. He was out in the
veranda now, and Cal's watchers heard him exclaim, "Colorado!"
"Something's up," said the colonel, and he and Vic hurried out.
There stood Dick, with no bridle or saddle, but with a look about his
drooping head which seemed to ask, "Is there anything more wanted of
me?"
The black waited a few paces behind Dick, as if he also had an idea that
his task was not completed.
"Dick!" shouted Vic. "What can we do for him, father? Would some milk do
him any good? Dick, you're the most beautiful horse in the world!"
Milk was not precisely the thing he needed, but Sam led him away, the
black following; and if rubbing, feeding, watering, and a careful
inspection of every hoof and joint could do a tired racer any good, all
that sort of comfort came abundantly to the red mustang.