TWO NIGHTS OF DANGER
At sight of the great array of armed and mounted savages facing the
little fort, the two lads from the East felt that sinking sensation
which usually comes to those not bred to physical danger. At the crisis
within the camp neither had felt the slightest fear; the thing was so
sudden and so desperate that they had no time to think of themselves.
But this new situation was different; their minds had time to grasp the
consequence of the attack and they felt uneasy. It is probable that Kit
Carson understood something of what they were feeling; more than likely
he had once gone through it himself; at any rate, he said:
“This doesn’t mean much, lads; the reds are going to run rings around
us, maybe, and do a little fancy shooting. But they’ll keep out of
range of our guns, and so, of course, we’ll be out of reach of their
bows. They are great fellows for that kind of exhibition.”
But Kit was mistaken. Instead of making the attack expected, a man
rode out the half circle of horsemen and approached the camp--one hand
uplifted, the palm toward the whites.
“It seems to me,” said Kit, his eyes upon the horseman, “I know that
gentleman.”
Dave Johnson uttered a cry.
“It’s Lopez!” exclaimed he.
“Down, lads, behind the wall; don’t let him see you; I’ll palaver him
and maybe strike some kind of a bargain for your property.”
Accordingly the boys crouched behind the bales of pelts; Lopez advanced
easily upon his pony until he was within a dozen yards of the camp.
Then he drew rein and sat grinning amiably at the trappers.
“Well, Spotted Snake,” said Kit Carson, leaning upon his rifle and
quietly surveying the half-breed, “how is it I find you in company with
a band of hostiles?”
Spotted Snake grinned more widely than ever.
“They are not hostiles,” he said, in Spanish. “Very good Indians. Mean
no harm. You got frightened.”
“They may be very good redskins, as you say,” replied Kit; “but good or
bad I’d rather not have many of them around with hatchets and scalping
knives hidden in their blankets.”
The half-breed laughed.
“They didn’t know you’d take anything they did in bad part,” said he.
“They are not used to dealing with white men, and so don’t know their
ways.”
Kit pointed to the crescent of armed warriors facing the camp.
“I suppose that, too, is a sign of good-will,” said he.
“Red Cloud is a big chief,” said the half-breed, “and he is very angry
at the way you’ve treated him. He’s mounted his men and put them in
fighting formation just to show you what he would look like if he
really wanted to do you harm. He told me to tell you that his five
hundred braves would dash over you as the waters of a mountain stream
dash over the rocks in the time of freshets.”
“You’ve lived long enough among whites and have enough white blood in
you, Spotted Snake, to know that talk of that sort won’t carry very
far. If Red Cloud wants to see how far his young men can dash over us
let him have them try it on. We can guarantee him twenty-five dead, and
himself among them.”
The half-breed grinned and nodded.
“I’ve told him that already,” said he. “But he was bound to have me
come and ‘make talk.’ If he could have scared you in the first place
your furs, traps, horses and rifles would have satisfied him, I think.
He’s not a half bad sort of fellow when you come to know him.”
“A while ago I asked you how you came to be in company with this band,”
said Kit. “I don’t think you answered me.”
“The trapping party I went out with fell in with them about ten days
ago. They made us a good offer of pelts if we’d join them in a big
buffalo hunt, they not having any rifles. As it was good business, the
chief trapper agreed.”
“The last time I saw you was at Taos,” said Kit. “How is it I find you
away up here?”
“I got out on the coast,” said the half-breed, “and joined a ship. But
the work was too hard,” with his ever present grin. “I left them at Los
Angeles.”
“Ah! you were the fellow, then,” spoke the trapper as though surprised.
“I heard about your desertion.”
“You heard?” and even from that distance Kit saw the man’s lids narrow
into slits through which his sharp eyes peered.
“A couple of the ship people were looking for you; they hinted that
you’d sort of clung to some property which wasn’t altogether yours,
when you left.”
The half-breed nodded.
“They told you that, eh? Well, maybe it was true and maybe it wasn’t.
But, anyway, I’m not sorry for my little voyage on the sea; it promises
to be something that will pay very well; and that’s the kind of thing
Manuel Lopez is looking for these days.”
“Suppose,” said the trapper, “the ship people were willing to pay
something down for what was taken. Would you consider it?”
Lopez, or Spotted Snake, snapped his fingers airily.
“This is a thing that could hardly be paid for,” he said. “It’s only a
chance, of course, but it’s such a big one that ready money is not much
temptation.”
“It happens that the folks who lost this property on the ship are
friends of mine,” said Kit. “And being friends, I’m willing to help
them out. Maybe, if money can’t buy back the things you’ve stolen, lead
can.”
As he spoke he threw forward his rifle, the stock against his hip, the
muzzle covering the half-breed. But the latter calmly sat his horse and
looked at the trapper.
“Don’t forget,” said he, “I came here under what the Indians regard as
a flag of truce; don’t forget that I am their spokesman, and that if
anything happens to me they will take their revenge.”
This result was very well understood by Kit; to shoot or otherwise harm
a man sent forward to parley by the savages was a very great indignity
and one which would excite them to the limits of their fury. But that
he held the matter at all seriously was kept hidden from Lopez.
“You saw us drive them out of camp a while ago,” said he, coolly; “that
ought to have shown you how much we fear them.”
“Another thing,” said the half-breed, equally calm, “even if I had
taken the things you speak of, would I be so great a fool as to carry
them about with me? If they were of value, wouldn’t I have cached them
somewhere along the trail?”
Kit Carson knew that Spotted Snake was a cunning, covetous fellow,
brave and willing to go a long way to carry out his desires. As the
matter stood, he feared that he had spoiled any chance that the boys
might have had to recover the map, by putting the man on his guard. He
was considering what he had best do under the circumstances, when the
half-breed shook his rein and rode nearer the barrier.
“In Santa Fé,” said he, “there is an old man by the name of Diaz--Goat
Beard, the Indians call him. He keeps a storeroom at one side of the
town, buys furs and sells goods of all sorts to the Indians.”
“I know him,” said the trapper. “An old rascal.”
Lopez grinned.
“Maybe,” said he. “But he is very useful at times. He has often
transacted little matters of business for me in a very capable way.”
The trapper got a glimmer of the man’s meaning, but more by his manner
than his words. He nodded, as though he understood; but he said nothing.
“Maybe,” proceeded the half-breed, “if you were to go to old Diaz
during the summer when the trapping season is done, some arrangements
could be made in any matter that you care to speak of.”
Again the trapper nodded.
“California is a fine country; but I don’t care as much for it as I do
for New Mexico,” said Lopez. “And, then, trapping is my business and
not----” but he stopped short, as though not willing to commit himself
to anything that would definitely incriminate him. “Anyway,” he
continued, “look for old Diaz in the hot months; he may have something
to say to you.”
Here he wheeled his horse, calling over his shoulder:
“And remember, Red Cloud is a friend to the paleface. His brother does
him wrong when he thinks Red Cloud means anything but good feeling.”
The spotted pony which the man rode raced back to the solid crescent
of braves. Whatever Lopez reported had the effect of dismounting them;
they picketed their horses and went into camp, outside the range of the
white man’s fire.
The fire at which the supper of the six was cooked after nightfall was
masked so that the light might not attract a flight of arrows from any
of the bucks who might be lurking in the darkness. The horses were well
within rifle shot and were hobbled so that to stampede them would be
impossible. However, a guard was kept over them; and during the night
not more than one of the whites slept at a time.
Morning dawned, and they saw the smoke ascending from the redskins’
camp-fires; apparently the warriors had remained all night as they
had been at sunset. During the day Red Cloud and one of his braves
visited the fort and were admitted; the chief in his halting Spanish
protested the utmost friendship; but all the time the whites noted his
evil little eyes coveting everything he saw in the camp, and so their
suspicions were not abated. The second night passed much as the first;
the little party did not dare sleep, for there was no telling at what
moment the quiet of the night would be broken by the yells of the red
horde, a sleet of arrows, and the leaping of demon figures over the
barricade. At the beginning of the second day there was a stir in the
Indian camp; preparations were being made for a movement of some sort.
“They mean either an attack, or to break camp,” said Kit Carson, as he
watched them for a space. “I am not sure which.”
The braves swung themselves upon the backs of the ponies, fully armed
as before; in a sweeping line they faced the little fort, the ponies
snorting and prancing, the grim riders as still as death.
“Fire when they reach a distance of seventy-five yards,” said Kit,
resting his rifle barrel upon the wall of furs, and throwing himself
upon the ground. “You’ll then have time to reload. And make every shot
tell.”
The five remaining rifles were also rested upon the wall, and the
five riflemen sought cover behind it. The air was charged with the
electricity of a coming struggle; and when the very moment seemed
to have arrived, there was a shout from the river, the sound of
hoof-beats, and up dashed the chief trapper, Young, and his six
buckskinned followers. At the sight of these reinforcements the
redskins fell into a sort of confusion. And while this lasted Kit
explained the situation to Young.
“I don’t think they’ll make any movement against us now,” said the head
trapper. “What do you say?”
“I think you’re right,” replied Kit Carson. “If they took two days to
make up their minds to tackle six men, it’ll take ’em a week to get to
the point of facing twice that many.”
“Well, by that time,” said Young, grimly, “there will be still more of
us; for I mean to break camp, move down the stream, pick up the rest of
the boys and then strike for the Gila.”
Half the party set to work, adjusting the bundles of pelts upon the
backs of the mules; the remainder, with ready rifles, watched the
Indians. When everything was in marching shape the trappers started
along the river bank. The band of savages followed in their track
during the entire day; but one by one the remaining trappers were
picked up; and when at last the sun went down it showed the hostile
band encamped upon a hillside not more than a half mile away. But now
instead of six there were a full score of deadly rifles between them
and their prey.