The Red Mustang

The chief had sent away that part of his many perils, but he had rapid orders to give now. He had also a very difficult report to make to Wah-wah-o-be, and she listened to most of it with her blanket over her head.

Kah-go-mish told her how well Ping and Tah-nu-nu had been treated, but she was inconsolable at first.

The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead, the young chief who had killed a cougar, and who was yet to surpass the fame of his great father, was a prisoner in the hands of the wicked pale-faces. So was the beautiful Tah-nu-nu, the most promising young squaw of the entire Apache nation. Wah-wah-o-be fully appreciated her children. She knew all their good qualities, and she mentioned most of them then and there. What if both Ping and his sister were to be carried away to some distant place among the great lodges and the terrible magicians of the pale-faces, and compelled to become themselves pale-faces? To be turned into something different from their noble father and mother? Such things had been done, and she had heard of them.

The light of her life seemed to have departed, and Wah-wah-o-be cared very little what further disasters might now come to her. She even valued all the horses of the band at only a fraction of what they had seemed to be worth that morning.

The blanket came down at last, for Kah-go-mish had given all his directions to his warriors, and there was work proposed which seemed to stir them to a high pitch of enthusiasm. Wah-wah-o-be had her duties also to attend to, and she knew that they must all get out of the chaparral. She saw her heroic husband ride away, followed by nearly all the best braves of the band. Then she and all who were left had some rapid packing to do, that every mule and pony might be ready for a sudden start whenever the war-party should return. It was understood that Kah-go-mish had outwitted the Mexicans, the blue-coats, and the cowboys, and that he was about to do something very remarkable. What, thought Wah-wah-o-be, if he should also succeed in winning back Ping and Tah-nu-nu?

He did not seem to go after them at once. He led his warriors, as nearly directly as the crooked paths permitted, to the very trail by which they had entered the chaparral. It was an especially wide and well-marked north-and-south path to Cold Spring for anybody coming from Mexico. Half a mile or more from the spring, among the bushes along the trail, Kah-go-mish carefully hid his dismounted warriors. All their horses were well away behind them, and they themselves seemed to be an exceedingly cheerful, hopeful, and self-satisfied lot of red men. If there was one thing more than another that was exactly suited to them, it was an ambush with a dead certainty of surprising somebody.

Chapter XX.

HOW CAL STARTED FOR MEXICO

Wah-wah-o-be and Kah-go-mish had an advantage over Colonel Evans, for they knew what had become of Ping and Tah-nu-nu while his uncertainty about Cal grew darker and darker. He and the cowboys faithfully and warily threaded the part of the chaparral through which they had marched in the earlier hours of that eventful day. The buglers blew regularly, taking care not to get out of hearing of each other, but the firing ceased after it was discovered that a clear bugle-note could be heard farther than could the report of a gun.

As Ping and Tah-nu-nu rode slowly along, they began to comprehend the remarkable proceedings which had so completely puzzled their father, lying under the bushes. Each had one arm connected by a lariat with the arm of a cowboy, but they were not far from one another. They asked no questions and had refused to answer any, but they now and then exchanged a few words in their own tongue when the Chiricahuas were out of hearing.

On went the fruitless search, and at last the two young Apaches were led to a place where two paths ran into one. They knew the spot, for Ping had lost an arrow there. He remembered, too, how he had lost it, and so he said nothing, but Tah-nu-nu had nothing upon her conscience, and she turned to her brother to say, "Ugh! Heap pony!"

"Ah ha! You saw him, did you?" said the sharp-eyed cowboy she was tied to, and he at once shouted to Colonel Evans, who was riding a little ahead of them.

"What is it, Bill?"

"Why, colonel, these two young redskins saw him pass, right here. The gal let it out and the boy doesn't deny it."

The secret was out. Ping himself gave up and was willing to use any English or Spanish words he knew in telling that he had seen "Heap red pony" gallop away by the path which led to the right.

"That's the red mustang," said the colonel, sadly. "Cal's away beyond the spring, long ago. No use to hunt hereaway any more. Call in the boys. We must try the western chaparral. Maybe he will fall in with the cavalry."

He did not say why he shuddered, but the thought he did not utter put the Apaches in place of the cavalry. Hot, weary, and disappointed, he rode back to the spring and there were Captain Moore and his tired-out veterans. They had ridden far enough to satisfy themselves that the Apaches had not at once returned to the United States, and they had neither a right nor a wish to follow any trail into Mexico.

"Captain," said Colonel Evans, "I wish we were on good terms with the Mescaleros. They'd be worth all the white men to hunt for Cal."

"Tell you what I believe, though," said Sam Herrick, "them 'Paches didn't go out of this 'ere chaparral. We're bound to hear from 'em again. I've heard of Kah-go-mish before."

At the mention of the chief's name Tah-nu-nu looked at her brother, for he was straightening up proudly.

"Kah-go-mish great chief! Ugh!" he said, with great emphasis, and then his vanity got the better of him, for he patted himself upon the breast, adding all the Apache syllables of "The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead" and ended with "Son of Kah-go-mish."

He did not feel called upon to say that Tah-nu-nu was a daughter, but her face told enough.

"That's it," exclaimed Sam Herrick. "We've caught exactly the right ones. I wish their dad knew we had 'em. Just as I said, though, we're bound to hear more from Kah-go-mish."

So they did, but in a somewhat unexpected manner. Away out near the southern border of the chaparral a string of pack-mules and led horses came plodding lazily along, late that afternoon, guided by a dozen rancheros. They were in no danger, for their own cavalry had swept the way before them. They were in no hurry, for they were mentally sure of encamping at Cold Spring and of meeting Colonel Romero there. The trail before them was abundantly plain. No quadruped would or could wander from the train, and two of the rancheros rode ahead, more were scattered in the middle, and a pair who seemed almost asleep brought up the rear.

A more helpless military procession never marched anywhere.

The two rancheros in front and the pair in the rear suddenly waked up to find themselves accompanied by a dozen or more of Indian warriors, all apparently in a friendly and agreeable frame of mind. Not a whoop was uttered, not a shot was fired, and it almost looked as if no harm were intended. The forward rancheros were greeted by a tall chief in a cocked hat, with red stocking-legs upon his arms. It was a striking uniform for even an Apache commanding officer.

"How!" he said, as he held out his hand. "Kah-go-mish is a great chief. Mexican good fellow. Bring heap pony, heap mule, heap plunder. Give all to poor Indian. Ugh!"

The warriors at the rear smiled and said, "How," but then they took away the lances and other weapons of the train-guards, as fast as they could get at them. Resistance was out of the question, of course, and Kah-go-mish had good reasons for not wishing any bloodshed. It might have interfered with his wonderful plan.

The entire train was quickly under the care of the Mescaleros, and every animal in it was turned around, with his head in a southerly direction. The unlucky rancheros were collected, on foot, in the very path they had expected to follow on horseback. They were then addressed, in tolerably good Mexican Spanish, by the chief himself. He told them how great a man he was, and gave them a vivid picture, a series of animal and insect illustrations, of his opinion of all pale-faces, all Mexicans, and all Chiricahuas. He told them they would find some blue-coats at the spring, and some Gringo cowboys. The chief of the Gringos was a great man. He had given some horses to the great chief Kah-go-mish. All of those horses were to be given back to him, but the chief could not bring them now. There were too many bad blue-coats in the chaparral. The great chief had given his two children in exchange for the horses, and wanted to trade back again. He would do so, but not now. He was on his way to Mexico, to carry back the pack-mules and horses he had just received from the rancheros. The Mexicans might want them. He hoped the rancheros would succeed in catching up with the cavalry. They all looked like good runners.

It was a great speech, and much of it was cheerfully satirical. Part of it meant that Kah-go-mish knew very well that Captain Moore and Colonel Evans would deem it their duty to rescue the pack-train if an opportunity were given them, and that he must get as far away as he could before the news of his exploit reached them.

It was only an hour before sunset when the plundered rancheros were set free to find their way to Cold Spring, for they had not so very far to go, and Kah-go-mish was cautious. As soon as they were out of sight he and his warriors and their prize were in motion. It was very needful that they should reach grass and water before morning.

So far the deep plan of the Indian leader had worked remarkably well, even the changes called for by the capture of Ping and Tah-nu-nu being as yet in the future. This first success had been indicated by Colonel Romero himself, when he told Captain Moore about the pack-train. The old sage-hen had been listening at the same time, but she had not profited to any known extent. She lacked the ears and the genius of Kah-go-mish, and perhaps she was not at war with Mexico.

In due season, among the webby paths of the chaparral, the two sections of the Apache band came together. Cold Spring, the blue-coats, and the cowboys were far away; the Mexican cavalry were farther; it was entirely safe for everybody to whoop, and whoop they did. Once more had the chief they were all proud of proved himself one of the greatest men of the Apache nation.

Wah-wah-o-be had even a more hopeful feeling concerning Ping and Tah-nu-nu when she saw the Mexican pack-mules and the long string of horses, but she and all the rest were quickly in motion, for they knew that ten miles of desert lay between them and the nearest grass and water to the southward. More than one path led from the camping-place to the edge of the chaparral, and the Apaches used several in order to get out quickly. Suddenly, as they pressed forward, a loud whoop of exultation that arose upon one of those lanes was heard by the red wayfarers in all the others. It sounded about two minutes after the red mustang sentinel awoke his master.

Cal Evans, weary, thirsty, astonished, and wondering what might be best for him to do, stood in the shadows, watching the wonderful moonlight procession. There was not anything left for him to do. Another part of the procession came trampling along behind him, and a loud neigh from Dick told him that it was coming. His heart beat very hard for a moment, and then the whoop of triumph which went to the ears of Kah-go-mish and the rest of the band announced that Cal and the red mustang were prisoners of the Mescalero Apaches.

Chapter XXI.

THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING

"Sorry about Cal," said Captain Moore, after he and Colonel Evans had exchanged reports. "We must all get out early in the morning and scour the western chaparral. We shall find him."

It was getting too late for any more searching that day. The shadows were lengthening in the chaparral. Besides, both men and animals were in need of rest.

Every cowboy and cavalryman felt and spoke strongly about Cal, but the best that could be obtained from a Chiricahua was, "Ugh! 'Pache get boy."

That was an idea in other minds, for even Ping told Tah-nu-nu: "Heap pony find Kah-go-mish."

"Kah-go-mish no kill," she said.

Ping was all but dreaming of the red mustang. Never before had he looked upon an animal which so fully came up to his idea of what a horse should be. That is, a horse for a young Apache of about his size, and the son of a great chief.

Tah-nu-nu was not thinking of horses. She and her brother had been kindly treated. It was plain that they were not to be cruelly killed; at least not right away, for they had been fed abundantly. They were now provided with blankets, and the white chief of the cowboys even went further. He was an old Indian trader, and he had not gone out upon such an expedition unprepared to negotiate as well as to fight. The first essential of any talk with red men is presents, and there were curious things in a pack carried by one of the mules. From this collection Cal's father now selected two little round mirrors, set in white metal, as pretty as silver, and two startling red-white-and-blue yard-wide handkerchiefs. The mirrors he hung around the necks of his captives, and they puzzled themselves for half an hour over what they should do with the brilliant pieces of cotton cloth. Tah-nu-nu found out, for she tied hers around her head, and Ping followed her example.

They had been allowed to sit down by the spring, closely watched and guarded by one of the Chiricahuas. They proudly refused to speak a word to him, although Ping's pride was gratified now with any talk offered him by the mighty blue-coats or the cowboy warriors of the pale-faces.

The Chiricahua, however, was quite an old man, and he managed to break through the barrier of Ping's reserve.

"Ugh!" he said, pointing to the surveyor's chisel-marks upon the face of the rock before them, which told of the boundary line between the two republics. "Bad medicine. Drive away Apache manitou."

Wah-wah-o-be herself could not have more cunningly stirred a chord of Indian curiosity. Tah-nu-nu was a young squaw, and remained silent, as became her, but she stared at the tokens of pale-face magic. Ping did the same for a moment.

"Ugh!" he said. "Bad medicine for Mescalero. Good for Chiricahua."

"No, no good," said the old man, with strong emphasis, pointing to some dark-red stains upon the rock. "Chiricahua die there. Heap fool. Not watch for bad manitou."

"Ugh!" replied Ping, and then for the first time he learned of the deed his father had done there that very morning.

"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" he said, swelling with pride, but the old Chiricahua shook his head.

"Chief heap fool," he said. "Kill Indian. Get kill himself some day."

He had more to say about the spring. It had once been good medicine for all Indians, especially for all the branches of the great Apache nation. The Mexicans, whom he described in terms as picturesque as those employed by Kah-go-mish, had come first. They had drunk of the spring, but their medicine had been weak and had failed. The manitou of the Apaches had not been driven away. Long afterwards had come the Northern pale-faces, among whom were men with red beards, like that of Captain Moore, and whose warriors wore blue coats. They had great guns, and their medicine was powerful. They had forced the Mexicans to divide the spring with them, and had cut a mark in the rock, so that the manitou of the Apaches could not stay there.

"Ever since that time," said the old Chiricahua, "the Apache bands could visit the spring and drink, but it was not well for them to camp there. They were safer anywhere out in the chaparral."

He had evidently taken a deep interest in his own narration, and had been listened to attentively by Ping and Tah-nu-nu. They had believed every word, and wanted to hear more, although the darkness was beginning to settle over the camp, and all the sentries and pickets had been posted, but just at this moment a shout was heard, and then another, among the southerly bushes.

There were sharp questions and answers in Spanish and English, while all the men in camp sprang to their feet. So did the old Chiricahua and Ping and Tah-nu-nu, and in a moment more they saw a dozen unarmed men, on foot, file dejectedly out into the light of the camp-fires.

They were the rancheros who had been in charge of the Mexican spare horses and pack-mules.

Captain Moore, his officers, Colonel Evans, and several cowboys listened to the remarkable story, helped out as it was by many questions.

"Good thing we caught those youngsters," said Captain Moore. "You did well not to fight, and you are lucky to have been allowed to keep your scalps. We'll take care of you till morning."

He gave orders about that, and then he turned to Colonel Evans.

"No need for you to hunt for your horses any farther," he said. "They are somewhere in Mexico. You may get back most of them, I think, for Kah-go-mish has about as many as he knows what to do with."

"Horses!" exclaimed Colonel Evans. "I'm not thinking about horses."

"Cal is not in their hands," said the captain. "We must hunt for him. I think, too, that we shall find him. It is not my duty to cross the boundary line after Colonel Romero's lost mules."

"Of course not. Nor for mine either. Kah-go-mish is evidently not the kind of red-skin to be easily caught by anybody."

"Perfect old fox!" said the captain, with strong emphasis. "But then he has the boundary line to help him."

It was a curious fact, but the three Chiricahua scouts considered themselves entirely at liberty to feel elated at the victory obtained by Apaches of another band over the traditional Mexican enemies of their race.

"Ugh!" said the old brave to Ping and Tah-nu-nu. "The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead is the son of a great chief."

Chapter XXII.

ACROSS THE DESERT BY NIGHT

The evening which passed under such remarkable circumstances in the neighborhood of Cold Spring was uncommonly long and busy at the Santa Lucia ranch.

Tallow was abundant where so many cattle were raised and slaughtered every season, and Mrs. Evans prided herself upon her skill in the manufacture of candles. Whatever other comforts of life in the settlements were lacking in the old hacienda, there was always plenty of illumination after nightfall. There was usually but a short time for candle-light in June, for people who arose so soon after daylight were accustomed to go to bed early. On this particular evening, however, the parlor wore a very brilliant appearance for two hours longer than ordinary.

The first look at the precious things brought by the tilted wagon had been only a look, and every article had to undergo another inspection.

All were dropped at last, or, rather, there they lay, except such things as were under Norah McLory's care, all scattered around the room.

"I can't help it," said Mrs. Evans; "I feel uneasy about Cal."

"So do I, mother," said Vic, leaning back, upon the sofa; "but you never said as much before."

"Somehow I didn't feel so, Vic; but it seems to me – Well, I do wish he could be here, looking over his new books, instead of away out there."

"We sha'n't hear from him for ever so long," said Vic. "All sorts of things might happen and we not know it."

Somehow or other, as the talk drifted on, the varied assortment with which the floor and chairs were littered lost its charm. Mrs. Evans even got to telling stories of other times when her husband had been away from her. She had more than once been compelled to wait long for news of him, and had heard tidings of danger before anything better came. He had fought his way out of perilous circumstances, and her eyes kindled, now and then, as she related how. Wah-wah-o-be herself was not prouder of the deeds of Kah-go-mish.

Vic listened, but her imagination was a little out of joint, for she found herself unconsciously putting Cal in his father's place. She knew very well that he could not pick up one Indian and knock over another with him, as Colonel Abe Evans had done upon an occasion described by her mother. She had altogether more confidence in the heels of the red mustang, and she said so.

"I hope he will bring Dick back safe and sound," she said. "He's almost one of the family."

"Cal would be dreadfully sorry to lose him," said Mrs. Evans. "Come, Vic, I don't want to talk any more."

Neither of them was in good condition for going to sleep, nevertheless, and it may be that their eyes were hardly closed when those of Cal were opened at the summons of Dick to watch the moonlight procession in the chaparral.

The warrior who first laid a hand upon the rein of the red mustang did so with a loud whoop. Cal summoned all his presence of mind and held out his right hand.

"How," he said, "good friend."

"Ugh!" responded the savage. "Heap boy."

No violence was offered, for none seemed to be called for, and it is a mistake to suppose that all the instincts and customs of the red men are in favor of slaughter. Just now, moreover, the clansmen of Kah-go-mish were under orders of mercy, and Cal was led on at once to the presence of the chief. Dick was led with him, and the two friends stood side by side in front of the distinguished Mescalero. He had kept on his cocked hat, and Cal thought he had never before seen so remarkable a figure, especially by moonlight.

One of Cal's accomplishments, a matter of course to a boy with Mexican servants in his own house, was a good acquaintance with Spanish, and it helped out the chief's English in the questions and answers which followed.

Great was the delight of Kah-go-mish. He and the cowboy commander were now even. Each had a son of the other as a sort of security, and all the horses gathered upon Slater's Branch seemed more likely to remain Apache property.

The bugling and random firing among the bushes that day was all explained now, and the great plan of Kah-go-mish looked very well indeed. It was needful, however, to put a goodly distance between him and the blue-coats, for whose conduct he had no security whatever.

Cal's weapons were taken from him, and he was ordered to mount and ride. He at once explained that neither he nor Dick had tasted water since morning, that the red mustang was worth several common horses, and that he must now be too tired to carry a rider. As for himself, he had slept, was rested, and was ready to travel.

Water was scarce in the band of Kah-go-mish at that time, but several gourds half full were obtained by the chief. He proposed to treat his prisoner pretty well, and was willing to save so very good a pony.

Cal could hardly swallow when the water was brought to him. Not only his mouth was parched and his throat husky, but his very heart was sick.

He had heard of the terrific things done by Apaches to their prisoners, and he had no confidence at all in the present appearance of good-will. He had not been told of Ping and Tah-nu-nu in his own camp, or he might have felt better. As it was, he drank a little, and then turned his attention to the red mustang. Only a small part of what Dick was ready for could be given him, and he was glad enough when his downcast master divided water-rations with him. He felt better, and whinnied eagerly for more. He pawed the ground and looked around to see if anything like grass or corn was also forthcoming. Nothing of the kind came, but a Mexican pony was led up, Cal's saddle and bridle were transferred to him, and Dick was hitched to a long lariat by which several other quadrupeds were being led. The last he saw of Cal that night was when the latter rode forward, side by side with a very lean-looking brave who carried a long lance, and who had warned Cal that it would be used at once upon any attempt to escape. Before long the entire cavalcade was out of the chaparral, and Cal noted that the north star was directly behind him.

"Down into Mexico," he said to himself. "It will be long enough before I see Santa Lucia again."

It was cooler travelling by night than by day, but the hard-baked soil sent up an uncomfortable amount of heat, and it was only now and then that even a cactus or a sage-bush was seen along the dreary way. One of the captured Mexican horses gave out and was left for the buzzards. An hour later an old pony which had travelled all the way from the Mescalero Reservation was unable to go any farther, and he too lay down.