THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING.
"Sorry about Cal," said Captain Moore, after he and Colonel Evans had
exchanged reports. "We must all get out early in the morning and scour
the western chaparral. We shall find him."
It was getting too late for any more searching that day. The shadows
were lengthening in the chaparral. Besides, both men and animals were in
need of rest.
Every cowboy and cavalryman felt and spoke strongly about Cal, but the
best that could be obtained from a Chiricahua was, "Ugh! 'Pache get
boy."
That was an idea in other minds, for even Ping told Tah-nu-nu: "Heap
pony find Kah-go-mish."
"Kah-go-mish no kill," she said.
Ping was all but dreaming of the red mustang. Never before had he looked
upon an animal which so fully came up to his idea of what a horse should
be. That is, a horse for a young Apache of about his size, and the son
of a great chief.
Tah-nu-nu was not thinking of horses. She and her brother had been
kindly treated. It was plain that they were not to be cruelly killed; at
least not right away, for they had been fed abundantly. They were now
provided with blankets, and the white chief of the cowboys even went
further. He was an old Indian trader, and he had not gone out upon such
an expedition unprepared to negotiate as well as to fight. The first
essential of any talk with red men is presents, and there were curious
things in a pack carried by one of the mules. From this collection Cal's
father now selected two little round mirrors, set in white metal, as
pretty as silver, and two startling red-white-and-blue yard-wide
handkerchiefs. The mirrors he hung around the necks of his captives, and
they puzzled themselves for half an hour over what they should do with
the brilliant pieces of cotton cloth. Tah-nu-nu found out, for she tied
hers around her head, and Ping followed her example.
They had been allowed to sit down by the spring, closely watched and
guarded by one of the Chiricahuas. They proudly refused to speak a word
to him, although Ping's pride was gratified now with any talk offered
him by the mighty blue-coats or the cowboy warriors of the pale-faces.
The Chiricahua, however, was quite an old man, and he managed to break
through the barrier of Ping's reserve.
"Ugh!" he said, pointing to the surveyor's chisel-marks upon the face of
the rock before them, which told of the boundary line between the two
republics. "Bad medicine. Drive away Apache manitou."
Wah-wah-o-be herself could not have more cunningly stirred a chord of
Indian curiosity. Tah-nu-nu was a young squaw, and remained silent, as
became her, but she stared at the tokens of pale-face magic. Ping did
the same for a moment.
"Ugh!" he said. "Bad medicine for Mescalero. Good for Chiricahua."
"No, no good," said the old man, with strong emphasis, pointing to some
dark-red stains upon the rock. "Chiricahua die there. Heap fool. Not
watch for bad manitou."
"Ugh!" replied Ping, and then for the first time he learned of the deed
his father had done there that very morning.
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" he said, swelling with pride, but the
old Chiricahua shook his head.
"Chief heap fool," he said. "Kill Indian. Get kill himself some day."
He had more to say about the spring. It had once been good medicine for
all Indians, especially for all the branches of the great Apache nation.
The Mexicans, whom he described in terms as picturesque as those
employed by Kah-go-mish, had come first. They had drunk of the spring,
but their medicine had been weak and had failed. The manitou of the
Apaches had not been driven away. Long afterwards had come the Northern
pale-faces, among whom were men with red beards, like that of Captain
Moore, and whose warriors wore blue coats. They had great guns, and
their medicine was powerful. They had forced the Mexicans to divide the
spring with them, and had cut a mark in the rock, so that the manitou of
the Apaches could not stay there.
"Ever since that time," said the old Chiricahua, "the Apache bands could
visit the spring and drink, but it was not well for them to camp there.
They were safer anywhere out in the chaparral."
He had evidently taken a deep interest in his own narration, and had
been listened to attentively by Ping and Tah-nu-nu. They had believed
every word, and wanted to hear more, although the darkness was beginning
to settle over the camp, and all the sentries and pickets had been
posted, but just at this moment a shout was heard, and then another,
among the southerly bushes.
There were sharp questions and answers in Spanish and English, while all
the men in camp sprang to their feet. So did the old Chiricahua and Ping
and Tah-nu-nu, and in a moment more they saw a dozen unarmed men, on
foot, file dejectedly out into the light of the camp-fires.
They were the rancheros who had been in charge of the Mexican spare
horses and pack-mules.
Captain Moore, his officers, Colonel Evans, and several cowboys listened
to the remarkable story, helped out as it was by many questions.
"Good thing we caught those youngsters," said Captain Moore. "You did
well not to fight, and you are lucky to have been allowed to keep your
scalps. We'll take care of you till morning."
He gave orders about that, and then he turned to Colonel Evans.
"No need for you to hunt for your horses any farther," he said. "They
are somewhere in Mexico. You may get back most of them, I think, for
Kah-go-mish has about as many as he knows what to do with."
"Horses!" exclaimed Colonel Evans. "I'm not thinking about horses."
"Cal is not in their hands," said the captain. "We must hunt for him. I
think, too, that we shall find him. It is not my duty to cross the
boundary line after Colonel Romero's lost mules."
"Of course not. Nor for mine either. Kah-go-mish is evidently not the
kind of red-skin to be easily caught by anybody."
"Perfect old fox!" said the captain, with strong emphasis. "But then he
has the boundary line to help him."
It was a curious fact, but the three Chiricahua scouts considered
themselves entirely at liberty to feel elated at the victory obtained by
Apaches of another band over the traditional Mexican enemies of their
race.
"Ugh!" said the old brave to Ping and Tah-nu-nu.
"The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead is the son of a great
chief."