THE MYSTERY OF THE STICKS.
Cal Evans, sitting by the fire and toasting his bacon in the camp of the
Apaches, knew nothing of what was to happen that day in all those other
places. He was ignorant of what had already occurred, except to himself.
His strongest feeling, at that moment, was grief for what he knew must
be the anxiety of his father, and for what he feared that his mother
would suffer when his father should get home without him. He had passed
a wonderful night, and it seemed to have made an older boy of him.
The dawn was brightening fast when he took his first cup of coffee. He
was very hungry, and he picked up a piece of corn bread to eat with it.
The fact that it was stale, and that it had been upon the ground, did
not make any difference to a fellow who had been staked out, and who was
very likely to be upon his back again very soon, or tied to a
torture-post.
As for his two guards, he did not know nor care that they had aroused
several other braves, and that all of them were rummaging the forest,
near the cypress, in search of any trail he might have left behind him.
Each brave in turn had re-examined the forked stakes and had expressed
his wonder. According to them, Cal was "Heap snake" and "Heap bad
medicine." They were at work upon their mystery, and he upon a piece of
toasted bacon, when he heard an almost musical "Ugh," behind him,
followed by other grunts, in which there was no music whatever.
The first sound came from a woman's voice, and, when he turned around,
there stood Wah-wah-o-be. She had risen early in order that the chief's
breakfast might be ready for him upon his return from his morning look
at the corral. The other exclamations were uttered by three
dog-soldiers, whose patrol duty had brought them to that camp-fire.
"How," said Cal, holding out his hand. "Good squaw. Give boy water."
Then he remembered that she had answered him very well in Spanish, and
he said something in that tongue about the coffee and bacon, and told
the three dog-soldiers that they were very fine-looking fellows.
It was not impudence, and it was not cunning, for it was nothing more
nor less than desperation, but he could not have acted more wisely.
While he was exchanging morning greetings with the dusky policemen, yet
another brave came hurriedly up, and, the moment he saw Cal, he uttered
an astonished whoop. He was one of the pair set to watch him, and he had
come in great trepidation to announce the escape of the prisoner. Under
other circumstances he might have even used violence, but a captive was
safe in the hands of the dog-soldiers, and he did but stare in Cal's
face as if in doubt as to his being there.
Cal's mocking coolness was not at all exhausted, for he felt too badly
to be afraid. He held out his hand.
"How," he said. "Good-looking Indian. Drive heap stick."
"Ugh!" said the puzzled savage. "How boy get away?"
"Leave stick there," said Cal. "Pull off arm. Put hand on again. Cut off
foot. Put on again. Want coffee."
He explained more fully, by signs, that he had taken himself to pieces
to get out of his wooden fetters, and had put himself together again to
come and eat his breakfast.
Almost all Indians have a vein of satirical fun in them, and Cal's
explanation was thoroughly appreciated by his hearers, excepting the
wrinkled-faced warrior who was made to look like a cheated watchman.
Wah-wah-o-be laughed aloud, and a deep, sonorous voice behind them
joined her in what was half-way between a chuckle and a cough.
"Ugh!" it added. "Heap boy. Son of long paleface chief. How boy like
stake out? Kah-go-mish!"
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief," said Cal. "Steal heap pony. Hear a great
deal about him. Bad Indian."
He had touched, half bitterly, the right chord--the Apache leader's
intense vanity about his fame. Wah-wah-o-be was also pleased to hear
that the pale-faces talked about Kah-go-mish.
Before the chief could unbend for any more conversation, however, his
duty required that he should investigate the affair of the forked
stakes. They were a mystery even to him for a moment. He reprimanded
the two guards severely for using them at all. They were needless. They
had been carelessly put down. The braves who had done it were mere
squaws, and did not know how to drive a stake. He was stooping over one
of the fetters when he said that, and the truth flashed upon him. Cal
had driven it down hard, and it was plain that no human ankle had ever
been under that fork. The chief's derision of the unlucky guards broke
out afresh, but he expressed great admiration for the skill and conduct
of the young pale-face brave, the worthy son of the long,
broad-shouldered chief of the Santa Lucia cowboys.
Wah-wah-o-be had no need to explain to the dog-soldiers that Cal was to
be permitted to finish his breakfast in peace. They were decidedly
inclined to favor a youngster who had performed a feat so remarkable,
and whose courage was evidently equal to his cunning.
Other Indians and other squaws came and went, and boys and girls,
although the larger part of the band was inclined to sleep a little late
that morning.
Kah-go-mish came back from his inspection of the stakes, and he came
with another part of his plan ready for action. He now felt pretty sure
of getting back Ping and Tah-nu-nu without giving up too many horses,
and he had decided upon a safe method for opening negotiations with the
pale-faces. Nothing whatever could be done successfully as long as the
blue-coats were in the way. He had dealt with army officers before, and
their methods had been unpleasant. They had always persisted in speaking
of captured horses as stolen property, and they were in a sort of
league with the Mexicans as to such matters. His first business was to
get beyond their reach, after letting them know that he held a hostage
for their present good behavior. He ate his breakfast while he was
thinking over the matter, and then he summoned one of his most cunning
warriors and told him to bring his swiftest horse and a cactus-leaf.
Cal's heart jumped for joy when he found that he was to write to his
father, even with such materials. He took the leaf and he used his knife
for a pen. He saw the Apache messenger spring upon his horse and ride
away, and it seemed to him that one of the heaviest parts of his burden
had been taken off.
Kah-go-mish took pains to explain to his prisoner that if he should run
away to the northward he would die of thirst in the desert, and if to
the southward, he would only lose himself among forests and mountains.
"Stake him out again?" said Cal. "Pull up stakes and come for coffee."
Once more the grim Apache smiled not unkindly, and there was less danger
of any sort of handcuffs or shackles.
As soon as the entire band had eaten its morning meal, Cal had something
worth looking at. The packs taken from the Mexican army mules had not
been searched, up to that hour, except for present supplies. It was now
needful to ascertain exactly what they contained, and they were all
brought out and laid upon the ground in order. It was speedily evident
that a company of Mexican cavalry, with a reinforcement of mounted
militia, required few luxuries, but meant to have enough of such as it
wanted.
[Illustration: CAL TOOK THE LEAF, AND USED HIS KNIFE FOR A PEN.]
Corn-meal for tortillas, or Mexican cakes, was plentiful, and the Apache
squaws knew what to do with it. So was bacon. There was an abundance of
coffee and a fair supply of sugar. There were several small bales of
tobacco in the leaf, for cigaritas, and some in manufactured shape.
There were whole mule-loads of blankets, for possible use in mountain
camps. There was ammunition, as if Colonel Romero had expected much
fighting. Miscellaneous plunder filled out the list, and the band of the
great Kah-go-mish considered itself very rich indeed.