At this moment, the cheery voice of Adams called:
“There’s only about a
hundred yards more of this, but we’ve now struck
the worst part of the whole trail.”
“If it is any worse than what
we have just passed, it won’t do to try it,”
replied Captain Dawson, with the memory of his recent
thrilling experience still vivid with him.
“We can do it, but we must foller a different
plan.”
“What is that?”
“We must lead our animals.
There are plenty of places where you can get off your
horses with more comfort, but we can’t stand
here doing nothing. Get to the ground the best
way you know how.”
It was clear that the advice of the
guide would have to be followed, and all four set
about the task with the cool daring shown from the
first. Since each man was to lead his animal,
it was necessary to dismount in front, instead of
slipping over the tail, as would have been easier.
The beasts showed striking sagacity in this delicate
task. The trail was so narrow that to dismount
to the left, on the side of the dizzying precipice,
made it impossible for a man to keep his poise, while
to descend on the right, directly beside the body of
the animal was almost certain to crowd him over into
the gorge. Each, therefore, lowered himself with
infinite care over the right shoulder of his steed,
so well forward, that the horse by turning his head
to the left afforded just enough room for the trick
to be done. Every one dismounted in safety, each
drawing a breath of relief when the exquisitely delicate
task was accomplished.
Looking around in the gloom, Vose
Adams saw that his friends stood on the ground.
“Are you all ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Brush from the rear.
“Hold the bridle so gentle that
you can let go if your animal slips off: if he
has to go over the precipice, there’s no need
of your follering him.”
Each man took his Winchester in hand,
and loosely grasping the bridle rein, began stealing
forward, the captain’s loss compelling him to
make his single arm answer for both purposes.
The advance was necessarily slow, for it was made
with the utmost care. The path could not have
been more dangerous than for the brief stretch between
them and the broad, safe support beyond.
Several times the trail so narrowed
that each trembled through fear of not being able
to keep his balance, while it seemed absolutely impossible
for a horse to do so; but one of the strange facts
connected with that intelligent animal is that, despite
his greater bulk, he is generally able to follow wherever
his master leads. So it was that when a miner
carefully turned his head, he saw his steed following
slowly but unfalteringly in his footsteps.
It was soon perceived that this perilous
stretch did not take a straight course, but assumed
the form of an immense, partial circle. When
half way around, the plodders came in sight of a huge
rent in the distant mountain wall, through which the
sky showed nearly from the zenith to the horizon.
In this immense V-shaped space shone the moon nearly
at its full, and without a rift or fleck of cloud in
front of its face.
A flood of light streamed through
and between the encompassing peaks, tinging the men
and animals with its fleecy veil, as if some of the
snow from the crests had been sprinkled over them.
On their left, the craggy wall sloped almost vertically
downward, the projecting masses of rock displaying
the same, fairy-like covering, ending in a vast, yawning
pit of night and blackness, into whose awful depth
the human eye could not penetrate.
On the right, the mass of stone, rock
and boulder, rugged, broken and tumbled together,
as if flung about by giants in sport, towered beyond
the vision’s reach, the caverns, abysses and
hollows made the blacker and more impenetrable by
the moonlight glinting against the protruding masses.
It was as if a party of Titans had
run their chisels along the flinty face of the mountain
from the rear, gouging out the stone, with less and
less persistency, until they reached the spot where
the men and animals were creeping forward, when the
dulled tools scarcely made an impression sufficient
to support the hesitating feet.
Captain Dawson was but a few paces
to the rear of Vose Adams’s mule, whose surety
of step he admired and tried to imitate.
“Training seems able to accomplish
anything,” reflected the captain; “I remember
how Lieutenant Russell and I stopped on the further
edge of this infernal place when we reached it one
forenoon and spent several hours trying to find a
safer path. It kept us in a tremor until we were
across. Had any one told me that on the next journey
I should try it in the night, I would have believed
him crazy, but,” he grimly added, “I would
have thought the same, if I had been told that a necessity
like this would compel us to do so.”
The bridle rein was looped over his
elbow, which extended behind him, the same hand grasping
his rifle, so that he advanced partly sideways over
the treacherous trail. He attempted to do nothing
but look after his own footsteps. Sometimes,
when it was a little harder to pull the rein, he slackened
his pace. It would not do to hurry the animal,
since a slight disturbance might cause him to loose
his footing. The horse knew what was required
of him and would do it better by being left wholly
to himself.
It was because of this concentration
of his mind upon the one thing that the captain failed
to perceive that the mule in his front had stopped
walking, until the rim of his slouched hat touched
the tail of the motionless animal.
“Helloa, Vose, what’s the matter?”
The guide said something, but kept
his face turned away, and his words, instead of being
in the nature of an answer, were addressed to some
one who confronted him. Adams was of slight stature,
so that, although he stood erect, it was easy for
the captain to look over his head and see what was
beyond. That which was thus revealed was another
horseman leading his animal and coming toward them.
He was advancing in the same manner as the miners,
that is by leading his horse, and, meeting our friends
thus face to face, it was impossible for either party
to pass: one or the other must give way and retreat.
A startling feature of this meeting
was that the individual who thus confronted them was
an Indian of gigantic stature. He was more than
six feet in height and of massive proportions.
He belonged to what were known as the “mountain
Indians,” who were brave and of irrestrainable
ferocity. They were the most dangerous people
met by the miners in the early days on the Pacific
slope.
Equity demanded that this particular
specimen should back his horse over the few yards
to the point where the trail broadened, for the task
was possible of accomplishment, while the white men
were unable to force their animals in safety for one-half
of the distance behind them. Moreover, it was
evident that this Indian had deliberately started
over the trail, with the knowledge of the four white
men approaching, so that a meeting was inevitable.
He courted an encounter with them and was in a murderous
mood.
Vose Adams knew all this and recognized
the warrior as one of the dreaded Indians, with whom
he was better acquainted than were his friends.
He had had several scrimmages with them on his trips
through the mountains, and held them in such wholesome
fear that he contrived to avoid a direct conflict.
The diminutive miner overflowed with pluck, but in
a hand to hand encounter, must be only a child in the
grasp of the aboriginal giant. The present situation,
however, was peculiar.
There can be no doubt that this savage
sought the meeting with the party, for on no other
supposition can his acts be explained. He must
have reasoned that on the narrow ledge his enemies
would have to meet him one by one and engage him single
handed. He was like a chamois that had lived
all its life in these wild solitudes and was surer-footed
than any white man. What a triumph it would be
(and was it unreasonable to expect it?) for him to
slay the insignificant pale face immediately in his
front, shove his mule over the precipice, and then
serve the remaining three in same fashion!
“Get out of this!” were
the words which Vose Adams addressed to the Indian,
directly after the question of Captain Dawson to himself,
and when the enemies were within six feet of each
other; “there isn’t room for both of us;
you knew that before you started; one of us has got
to give way and I’ll be hanged if I do!”
Inasmuch as the red man did not understand
a word of English, it is not to be supposed that he
grasped the whole meaning of this command, but the
situation must have made it evident that he had been
ordered to back his horse and to open a way for the
white men, and inasmuch as he had come upon the trail
for the express purpose of bringing about this encounter,
it seems hardly necessary to say that he failed to
obey the order. Instead, he repeated some words
in his own language, which it is not unlikely were
of the same import as those addressed to him, for
he resolutely maintained his place.
“I tell you,” added Vose,
raising his voice, as if that could help make his
meaning clear; “if you don’t do as I say,
somebody is going to get hurt!”
The warrior, who was carrying a rifle,
stooped and gently let it fall beside him. At
the same moment he let go of the thong which served
as a bridle. Thus both hands were free and he
crouched down with his hideous face thrust forward
and took a slow, half-step toward Adams.
The coarse black hair dangling loosely
about his shoulders, the broad frightful countenance,
which, however, was devoid of paint, the glittering,
basilisk-like eyes, the sinewy half-bent finger, with
the right fingers closed like a vise around the handle
of the knife at his waist, while gently drawing it
forth, the catlike advance, all these made
him so terrible an enemy that the bravest man might
well doubt the result of a meeting with him.
And yet the closest scrutiny of Vose
Adams would not have discovered any tremor in his
frame, or so much as a blanching of his face.
He fully comprehended the nature of the peril that
impended, but with the cool readiness of a veteran,
he had fixed upon his line of action, in the same
moment that he read the purpose of his formidable enemy.
The preliminary actions of the guide
were similar to that of the warrior. The bridle
rein dropped from his hand, and, slightly stooping,
he let his Winchester fall to the ground beside him.
Then his knife flashed out and he was ready.
Since only the mule was between Captain
Dawson and the combatants, he observed all this and
interpreted its meaning.
“Vose, what do you mean to do?” he sharply
asked.
“Have a little dispute with
the fellow,” replied Adams, without removing
his gaze from the face of the savage.
“You mustn’t do it.”
“It sorter looks as if it can’t be helped,
captain.”
“I shall prevent it.”
“How?”
“Thus!”
The captain had laid down his rifle
and drawn his revolver, in the use of which he was
an expert. While thus engaged, he stooped down,
so that the interposing body of the mule, prevented
the Indian from observing what he was doing.
When his weapon was ready and just as he uttered his
last word, he straightened up like a flash. Adams
being of short stature and in a stooping posture,
gave him just the chance he needed. His single
arm was extended with the quickness of lightning and
he fired. The bullet bored its way through the
bronzed skull of the Indian, who, with an ear-splitting
screech, flung his arms aloft, leaped several feet
from the ground, toppled sideways over the edge of
the trail and went tumbling, rolling and doubling down
the precipice far beyond sight, into the almost fathomless
abyss below.
“That’s what I call a
low down trick!” was the disgusted exclamation
of Adams, looking round with a reproachful expression.
“Do you refer to the Indian?” asked the
captain.
“No; to you; I had just got
ready for him and had everything fixed when you interfered.”
“Vose, you are a fool,” was the comment
of his friend.
“And why?”
“That fellow was twice as big
as you and you hadn’t an earthly chance in a
fight with him.”
“Do you ’spose that is the first time
I ever met a mountain Injin?”
“You never fought one of that size in this spot.”
“What difference does the spot make?”
“I want you to understand,”
said the captain with assumed gravity, “that
I didn’t interfere out of any regard for you.”
“What the mischief are you driving at?”
demanded the puzzled guide.
“Under ordinary circumstances,
I would have stood by and watched the flurry, only
wishing that the best man might win. That means,
of course, that you would have been the loser.
But we need some one to guide us through the mountains;
you haven’t done it yet; when your work is over
you may go and live on wild Indians for all I care.”
Vose quickly regained his good nature.
He returned his knife to its resting place, picked
up his rifle, grasped the bridle rein and gently pulled.
“Come, Hercules; I don’t
know whether they appreciate us or not; steady now!”
“What are you going to do with
that horse in front of you?” asked the captain.
“Hang it! if I didn’t
forget about him; back with you!” he commanded
with a gesture, moving toward the animal, who showed
the intelligence of his kind, by retrograding carefully
until he reached the broad safe place so anxiously
sought by the others. There he wheeled and trotted
off, speedily disappearing from sight.
“Vose, you might have traded Hercules for him.”
“Not much! I wouldn’t
give that mule for a drove of horses that have belonged
to these mountain Injins.”
“What’s the matter with
them? Aren’t they as good as ours?”
“They’re too good; you
can’t tell what trick they’ll sarve you;
I was once riding through these very mountains, on
the back of a horse that I picked up it
isn’t necessary to say how when his
owner gave a signal and the critter was off like a
thunderbolt. If I hadn’t slipped from his
back at the risk of breaking my neck, he would have
carried me right into a camp of hostiles and
you would have been without your invaluable guide
on this trip.”
“That is important information if
true helloa! it is growing light off there
in the east!”
“Yes, day is breaking,” added
Vose.
The captain looked at his watch and
found the time considerably past five o’clock.
They had been longer on the road than any one supposed,
and the coming of morning was a vast relief to all.
The party were now grouped together,
for the trail was broad and safe. Parson Brush
asked, as he pointed almost directly ahead:
“Isn’t that a light off yonder?”
The guide gazed in that direction and replied:
“Yes, but it comes from a camp
fire, which isn’t more than a half mile away.”
The men looked in one another’s
faces and the captain asked in a guarded voice, as
if afraid of being overheard:
“Whose fire is it?”
“There’s no saying with
any sartinty, till we get closer, but I shouldn’t
be ’sprised if it belong to the folks you’re
looking for.”
The same thought had come to each.
There was a compression of lips, a flashing of eyes
and an expression of resolution that boded ill for
him who was the cause of it all.
In the early morning at this elevation,
the air was raw and chilling. The wind which
blew fitfully brought an icy touch from the peaks of
the snow-clad Sierras. The party had ridden nearly
all night, with only comparatively slight pauses,
so that the men would have welcomed a good long rest
but for the startling discovery just made.
Over the eastern cliffs the sky was
rapidly assuming a rosy tinge. Day was breaking
and soon the wild region would be flooded with sunshine.
Already the gigantic masses of stone and rock were
assuming grotesque form in the receding gloom.
The dismal night was at an end.
The twinkling light which had caught
the eye of Felix Brush appeared to be directly ahead
and near the trail which they were traveling.
This fact strengthened the belief that the fire had
been kindled by the fugitives. The illumination
paled as the sun climbed the sky, until it was absorbed
by the overwhelming radiance that was everywhere.
The pursuers felt well rewarded for
the energy they had displayed in the face of discouragement
and danger. Valuable ground had been gained,
and even now when they had supposed they were fully
a dozen miles behind the fugitives, it looked as if
they had really caught up to them, or at least were
within hailing distance.
Every eye was fixed on the point which
held so intense an interest for them. As the
day grew, a thin, wavy column of smoke was observed
ascending from the camp fire, which was partly hidden
among a growth of scrub cedars, some distance to the
right of the trail, whither it must have been difficult
for the couple to force their horses.
“That leftenant ought to have
knowed better than to do that,” remarked Vose
Adams, “his fire can be seen a long way off.”
“What else could they do?” asked the captain.
“The rocks give all the cover he needs.”
“But they could have no idea
that we were so near,” suggested the parson.
“It isn’t that, but the
leftenant had ’nough ’sperience with Injins
on his way through here before to know he’s
liable to run agin them at any time. I never
dared to do a thing like that on my trips.”
“Let’s push on,”
said the captain, who saw no reason for tarrying now
that they had located the game.
The ground was so much more favorable
that the animals were forced to a canter, though all
were in need of rest. Little was said, and Captain
Dawson spurred forward beside Adams, who as usual was
leading.
Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush also
rode abreast. They were far enough to the rear
to exchange a few words without being overheard.
“From the way things look,”
said Brush; “we shall have to leave everything
with the captain and he isn’t likely to give
us anything to do.”
“He’s mad clean through;
I don’t b’leve he’ll wait to say
a word, but the minute he can draw bead on the leftenant,
he’ll let fly.”
“He is a fine marksman, but
he may be in such a hurry that he’ll miss.”
“No fear of that; I wonder,”
added Ruggles, startled by a new thought, “whether
Vose has any idée of stickin’ in his oar.”
“Likely enough.”
“I must git a chance to warn
him that we won’t stand any nonsense like that!
The best that we’ll do is to promise him a chance
for a crack after you and me miss.”
“That won’t be any chance
at all,” grimly remarked the parson.
“Wal, it’s all he’ll
have and he mustn’t forgit it. There’s
some things I won’t stand and that’s one
of ’em.”
“We can’t do anything
now, but we may have a chance to notify him. If
the opportunity comes to me, he shall not remain ignorant.”
They were now nearly opposite the
camp and the two noticed with surprise that Adams
and the captain were riding past it.
“What’s that fur?” asked the puzzled
Ruggles.
“That’s to prevent them
from fleeing toward Sacramento. When they find
we are on the other side, they will have to turn back.”
This was apparently the purpose of
the men in advance, for they did not draw rein until
a hundred yards beyond the camp. Suddenly the
two halted, and half-facing around, waited until Brush
and Ruggles joined them. The explanation of the
guide showed that his plan had been rightly interpreted
by Parson Brush.