TAH-NU-NU'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
Santa Lucia seemed to be under a cloud, in spite of the bright June
weather. Vic grew more and more uneasy, and did not try to conceal it.
She was not able to understand how her mother maintained such an
external appearance of self-possession.
"I wish we had two letters a day from them," she exclaimed for the third
or fourth time.
"One would satisfy me. Oh dear! Why can't we know something about them!"
responded Mrs. Evans, and the broken serenity helped Vic.
Perhaps it was as well that no letter came, since any written from Cold
Spring would have carried the dark tidings which Colonel Evans was
bringing home with him.
Captain Moore made a push that morning straight across the desert, that
he might reach water and pasturage before noon if possible. The sun was
hot, and frequent halts were needful for the horses, but the forced
march was made with perfect success.
"Well, boys," exclaimed the captain, at last, "I'm glad to see grass
again."
"Seven hours," the sergeant responded, "is a sharp pull, captain; how
far do you think we've come?"
"Twenty-five miles of gravel," said the captain. "There! Glad of that!"
A whoop from a Chiricahua scout, in advance, announced at that moment
that water had been found. It was a tree-shaded pool, evidently fed by
springs. Around it was a bit of forest, and outside of that were
scattered patches of chaparral.
"Well on my way home!" groaned Colonel Evans, "and Cal is not with me."
Through all that weary ride Ping and Tah-nu-nu had plodded along
cheerfully. They had talked with anybody who wished to have a chat, and
had given no token of discontent. They did not look at all like a pair
of plotters, but they had conferred much in their own tongue when no
Chiricahua was within hearing. They had plenty of opportunities, for
those three red-men had undergone a change. Even the story-teller had
been moody and silent ever since the great spirit of the Manitou Water.
Although of another band, which had become nominally friendly to the
pale-faces, the Chiricahuas were as much Apaches as were the Mescaleros,
and had been every way as bitterly opposed to life on any Reservation.
Their present friendship was with American blue-coats only, and not with
Mexicans, and Kah-go-mish had smitten their old enemies in a way to
merit their approbation. All that, and their traditions and
superstitions, laid a capital foundation for the Manitou Water to work
upon. To their minds they had been notified that it was "bad medicine"
for them to do anything against Kah-go-mish upon his present war-path.
If they were ever to kill him, it must be at some future time when
things were going against him and his medicine was defective.
Stronger and stronger grew the pressure of the vague ideas that took
possession of the minds of the three scouts. They even looked hard at
the pool of water they now led their horses to, as if this also might
present some supernatural tokens. They had been there before, and they
now found nothing new, but they felt as if they did, and each in turn
remarked, "Bad medicine." Something rippled the water away out in the
middle. Perhaps it was a fish, perhaps it was a frog or a snake or a
water-rat, or it may be that an old ripple had been tied up at the
bottom and had just broke loose and come up for air. Whatever it may
have been, the old story-teller winced when he saw it.
"Ugh!" he said. "More manitou. Chiricahua no fight Kah-go-mish. Bad
medicine."
None of the white men overheard that remark, and none of them dreamed of
watching Chiricahuas after what had occurred at the spring. The feud
between the two bands was supposed to be more bitter than ever.
It was decided by Captain Moore that several miles must be added to the
day's journey as soon as the horses had fed and were rested, in order
that something might be done towards catching up with the possible
movements of Kah-go-mish.
Ping and Tah-nu-nu mounted their ponies, but just before they did so the
old Chiricahua came and seemed to be spinning to them some of his yarns.
It must have had reference to the pool, for he pointed at it, and both
of them nodded as if it were an interesting story.
No story of the past had been told, but one of the immediate future had
been suggested. In fact, it was all carefully planned out, and all that
remained was to act it out, for there was no one there to write it.
The intention of the cavalry and cowboys was to take things easy that
afternoon, and they rode on in a long, straggling cavalcade, among
groves of trees, reaches of grass, clumps of bushes, and occasional bits
of rocky ground, while away to the south were evidently mountains such
as Kah-go-mish led his band through after his great feat in the
character of a log with a knot on it.
Up to this time Ping and Tah-nu-nu had hardly been separated for a
moment, but now he seemed willing to lag towards the rear, talking with
the old Chiricahua, while she rode forward with the others, as if she
too had become a scout. If any white man had suspected them of a purpose
of getting away, the suspicion disappeared when this was seen.
Colonel Evans had no suspicion concerning Tah-nu-nu or the two
Chiricahuas, but he almost wanted to put away his thoughts of Cal, and
he pushed his big black horse on alongside of her pony. There were
flashes in her dark eyes and there were tightenings of her lips, and now
and then she glanced right and left half excitedly. She drew her breath
very hard and glanced at the Chiricahuas as she and the colonel rode
past a rugged patch of craggy forest. His face was as if made of wood,
but he said "Ugh!"
The whip in Tah-nu-nu's hand fell sharply upon her pony's flank. It was
a blow given in utter vexation, rather than purposely, but the pony
sprang forward all the same. So did the big black, and the strong hand
of Colonel Evans reined in the pony.
"No, Tah-nu-nu," he said, "you can't get away."
"Ping is the son of a great chief!" she exclaimed, angrily. "Got away!
Whoop! Heap good! Tah-nu-nu stay! Die! No pale-face!"
She was intensely excited, her dark, regular features were flushed, and
the colonel said to himself that she looked like another girl. All three
of the Chiricahuas were with him at that moment. Not one of them took
any notice of Tah-nu-nu's utterances, but the colonel straightened in
the saddle. "Boys," he shouted to the nearest men behind him, "where's
that young 'Pache? Go for him! The girl's been trying to escape!"
Men in blue uniforms and men in red shirts wheeled at once, shouting to
others farther in the rear. The whole line wheeled and shouted and
searched hither and thither, and not any were more active than were the
three Chiricahuas.
It was all in vain. There was not a trace to be found of
The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.
Tah-nu-nu was suffering a terrible disappointment, and so was somebody
else. Colonel Evans felt badly enough, but his caprice for a chat with
Tah-nu-nu had prevented the superstitious Chiricahuas from entirely
avoiding the "bad medicine" of Kah-go-mish. Part of it had been put away
when the old story-teller, riding by Ping's side, had remarked, "Ugh!
Heap bush." He came out of that bit of chaparral all alone, and, for
some reason, Ping knew where he ought to expect a meeting with
Tah-nu-nu. He did not at once walk his pony as the rest were doing, but
galloped hard for quite a distance. He made a wide circuit in advance
and at last dismounted upon the summit of a ledgy hill, among crags and
forest trees. Here he could look down and see what occurred, and almost
hear what was said as the cavalcade went by.
"Heap rock!" he had exclaimed. "Now Tah-nu-nu come."
Then he saw why she did not, could not come, and his disappointment was
as bitter as any human disappointment well could be. A light which had
grown in his dark young face faded from it. He hung his head almost
listlessly as he wheeled his pony southward. He had escaped and he could
not return into captivity, but Tah-nu-nu was still a prisoner. What
should he say to Kah-go-mish and Wah-wah-o-be? That is, indeed, if he
should succeed in finding his own perilous way to the lodges of his
band.