The Talking Leaves: An Indian Story by William O. Stoddard (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗

when he reached the settlements, and how he should make a legal record of his ownership of that property.

"You must be careful to describe all these marks exactly; the ruins, too, the ca�on, the lay of the land, the points of the compass—everything. After all, it may be you'll never be able to work it. But you're young, and there's no telling. The first thing for you to do is to get out of the scrape you're in now."

Steve felt as if there were no longer any doubt of that.

During the busy hours spent on the ledge by their masters the two horses had been feeding and resting, and both Murray and Steve felt like following their example.

"Start a fire, Steve; it'll be perfectly safe. I'll try for a deer, and we'll cook enough to carry us for two days."

CHAPTER XIV

The advance of To-la-go-to-de and his Lipans that day had been a slow one. It grew slower and more cautious as hour after hour and mile after mile of rugged mountain riding went by without any word from the two pale-face scouts.

The chief himself grew uneasy, and he would have sent another party in search of No Tongue and the Yellow Head but for fear of defeating the very object he had in view.

They, he thought, would surely return or send him some word before nightfall; but the sun was nearly setting when at last he went into camp with his discontented warriors on the very spot where Steve and Murray had made their own halt before daylight.

Then, indeed, he could wait no longer, and several braves were ordered out on foot, with others on horseback, a little behind them, to explore what was left of the pass and see what they could find. They could have done more for their chief and themselves if the night had not been a somewhat cloudy one, and not a brave of them ventured to descend into the valley.

If they had done so they might have discovered two very important facts. The first was that the Apache hunting village had left it, bag and baggage, no one could guess whither. The second, and quite as important a discovery, would have been that the camping-ground abandoned by the Apaches had been promptly occupied by a strong party of pale-faces.

All the scouts could really do was to bring back word that the pass was clear of enemies to the border of the valley.

That was an anxious night, therefore, for To-la-go-to-de, and it would hardly have been less so if he had known all about the doings of No Tongue and Yellow Head during the day—about their capture and release of the three miners, and their return to their mine.

The morning would bring news, at all events, for To-la-go-to-de determined to dash on with all his warriors and find it for himself.

"No Tongue is wise. He is a great warrior. Sometimes wise old warrior gets knocked on the head. Then he not come back at all."

There was a possibility, as he well knew, that the Apaches themselves had something to do with the silence of his two pale-face friends; but the Lipan chief was not the man to lie awake over any such thing as that; he was not even anxious enough to dream about them after he got asleep.

Another head had been quite as busy and troubled as that of To-la-go-to-de all that day, and Captain Skinner also would have given something for a few minutes' conversation with "them two mining fellers."

He felt sure they could have given him both information and advice; but he said to himself, "Of course they won't come nigh our outfit. They know we've jumped their claim. Still, they did the friendly thing with Bill and the boys, and they sent word they didn't bear us any ill-will. That's 'cause they feel sure of their own ground. They're on good terms with the redskins. I wish I could say we were."

Well he might, considering how many of them there were in that country, and how near to him some of them were coming.

All the way down the pass the ragged little "Captain" had ridden in advance of his men, carefully scanning every rock, and bush, and tree. At last he paused at the very spot where Bill and his companions had had their little difficulty. He seemed to see some signs that needed studying, and he stooped down and picked up something—only a pair of strong thongs of buckskin, that looked as if they had been recently used in tying up something. He could make very little out of them; but he noticed the marks of horse's feet going up and out of the forest.

"Signs are getting pretty thick. Hullo! An arrow! Cut in two, and blood on it. Bill, isn't this the spot?"

"This 'ere's the very place, Cap. We came awful nigh havin' a fight right yer."

"Glad you made out not to have any. Did those two white men and the Indians ride away in company?"

"Wal, no. The redskins rid away first, and the two fellers promised to foller 'em after a while. Then I reckon they cut off into the timber. 'Peared like they must ha' been huntin'."

"Most likely they were; and waiting for us to get away, so they could go back to their mine. Boys, I'm afraid our claim there won't be worth a great deal by the time we get back."

"We'll take care of that when we come, Cap. They said they'd take thar chances. We'll jest take ours; that's all."

Slower, more and more cautiously, the mining train again moved forward, until, from under the last of the pine-trees, Captain Skinner could look out upon the valley and see that it was empty.

How would he and his men have felt if they could have known that at that very minute Murray was chipping away with his chisel at his inscriptions upon the central monument of the great Buckhorn Mine?

"Not a redskin in sight," he remarked. "If there were any there this morning they've moved on. They're always on the move. Glad of it. We'll go straight on down. There must be plenty of ways out of a valley like that."

No doubt of it; but the first business of those wanderers, after they reached the spring and unhitched their mule-teams, was to carefully examine every hoof-mark and foot-print they could find.

The fact that there had been lodges there was proof that the Apaches were not a war-party, but there was plenty of evidence that they were numerous enough to be dangerous.

"Glad Bill didn't pick a quarrel with such a band as that," grumbled Captain Skinner. "But how did he happen to show so much sense? I never suspected him of it."

That was not very complimentary to Bill, and it was evident that the Captain's opinion of him had not changed.

"Some kind of an accident," he said. "Nobody need waste any time looking out for another one just like it."

It was getting late in the day, and a better place for a camp could not have been found.

"This'll do for to-night, won't it, Cap?" asked one of the miners.

"Of course it will. We'll try to move east from here, or south, when we leave it."

"Shall any of the boys go for game? Must be plenty of it all around."

"Game? Oh yes; plenty of it, after a hundred Apache hunters have been riding it down for nobody knows how long! The redskins leave heaps of game behind 'em, always."

The bitter sarcasm of the Captain's answer prevented any farther remarks on the subject of hunting that afternoon. They had plenty of fresh meat with them, nevertheless, and there was no reason why they should not cook and eat.

There was a reason why they could not at once be altogether pleased with their camping-ground. It was because they found the ashes of one fire still hot enough to kindle with.

"The Apaches haven't been out of this a great while," said Captain Skinner; "but the trail of their lodge-poles when they went shows that they set off to the west'ard. That isn't our direction. I don't care how far they go nor how fast."

When he came to talk with the other miners he found that they hardly felt as he did about it; neither did they like the looks of the mountain range through which the Apaches had come.

"Danger behind us or not," said one of the men. "I move we spend a day or so in huntin', and findin' out jest what's best to be done, before we light out of this. We must be getting pretty close to the Mexican line."

They were even closer than he had any idea of; but, when their evening conference ended, Captain Skinner was outvoted, and a "hunt and scout" was agreed upon for the next day.

CHAPTER XV

Ni-ha-be and Rita had escaped any scolding from Many Bears; but when the story of their morning's adventure was related to Mother Dolores that plump and dignified person felt bound to make up for the chief's neglect. She scolded them in the longest and hardest words of the Apache language; and when she could not think of anything new to add she begun again, and said it all over in Mexican Spanish. By that time she was out of breath, and Ni-ha-be exclaimed,

"I don't care, Mother Dolores—I hit one of them in the arm with an arrow. It went right through. Rita missed; but she isn't an Apache."

"Two young squaws!" said Dolores, scornfully. "Where would you have been now, and Red Wolf too, if it wasn't for that old pale-face and his boy?"

"He wasn't his boy," said Rita. "He didn't look like him a bit."

"Didn't he? And what are all your talking leaves good for? Why didn't they tell you to stay in camp?"

"I didn't ask them. Besides, that isn't what they're good for."

"Not good for much, anyhow. I don't believe they can even cure the rheumatism."

Poor Dolores had never heard the story of the squaw who had a tract given her by a missionary, and who tied it on her sore foot, but that was a good deal her idea of some of the uses of printing.

"No," said Rita, "I don't believe they're good for rheumatism."

"Anyhow," said Ni-ha-be, "the whole camp is getting ready to move. Come, Rita, let's you and I ride on ahead."

"No you won't, not either of you. You'll stay near me now. If the great chief wants you again, I must have you where I can find you."

The girls looked at one another, but there was no wisdom in a rebellion. They had offended quite enough for one day.

"Ni-ha-be," said Rita, "we can keep close together. They won't go fast, and we can look at the leaves all the way."

On an ordinary march a good many of the squaws would have had to go on foot and carry their pappooses, and perhaps heavy loads besides; but the orders of Many Bears prevented that this time. The poorest brave in camp had a pony provided for his wife and children, and as many more as were needed for all his baggage, for the chief was in a hurry, and there was to be no straggling. His orders were to push on as fast as possible until the squad of braves who had ridden ahead should find a safe spot to camp in—one that could be more easily defended than the exposed level they were leaving.

The idea of coming danger, too, was going around among the squaws themselves, and they were in as great a hurry as Many Bears. They did not know exactly what to be afraid of, but they did not feel any better on that account, with such a swarm of little copper-colored children to take care of.

Some ponies had more to carry and some had less, but there was one poor little, long-eared, patient-looking mule who had more than his share. There was no saddle on him, but where a saddle might have been sat a very fat and dreadfully homely squaw, with a pappoose on her back, his round head popping out, as if all he wanted was to look at the country as they went along.

The squaw rode her mule after the fashion of her people, and that was just as if she had been a brave instead of a squaw.