The Golden Dream, Robert Michael Ballantyne [e books free to read .TXT] 📗

contortions with his limbs, in the vain efforts to make himself understood by one who does not speak his language! Ned's powers of endurance were tested in this way by the chief of the tribe, an elderly man with a beard so sparse that each stumpy hair might have been easily counted.

This individual was clad in the rough, ragged blue coat usually worn by Irish labourers of the poorest class. It was donned with the tails in front; and two brass buttons, the last survivors of a once glittering double row, fastened it across the back of its savage owner.

"What _can_ he mean?" said Ned, at the close of a series of pantomimic speeches, in which the Indian vainly endeavoured to get him to understand something having reference to the mountains beyond, for he pointed repeatedly towards them.

"It seems to me that he would have us understand," said Tom, "that the road lies before us, and the sooner we take ourselves off the better."

Ned shook his head. "I don't think that likely; he seems rather to wish us to remain; more than once he has pointed to his tent, and beckoned us to enter."

"Perhaps the old fellow wants us to become members of his tribe," suggested Tom. "Evidently he cannot lead his braves on the war-path as he was wont to do, and he wishes to make you chief in his room. What think you? Shall we remain? The blue coat would suit you admirably."

During this colloquy the old savage looked from one speaker to another with great eagerness, as if trying to comprehend what they said, then, renewing his gesticulations, he succeeded at last in convincing the travellers that he wished them not to pursue their journey any further, in the direction in which they were going. This was a request with which they did not, however, feel disposed to comply; but seeing that he was particularly anxious that they should accept of his hospitality, they dismounted, and, fastening their horses to a tree close beside the opening of the chief's hut, they entered.

The inside of this curious bee-hive of a dwelling was dirty and dark, besides being half-full of smoke, created by the pipe of a squaw--the old man's wife--who regaled herself there with the soothing weed. There were several dogs there also, and two particularly small infants in wooden cradles, who were tied up like mummies, and did nothing but stare right before them into space.

"What's that?" inquired Tom, pointing to a basketful of smoking water.

"It looks like a basket," replied Ned.

"It _is_ a basket," remarked Tom, examining the article in question, "and, as I live, superb soup in it."

"Tom," said Ned Sinton, solemnly, "have a care; if it is soup, depend upon it, dogs or rats form the basis of its composition."

"Ned," said Tom, with equal solemnity, "eat, and ask no questions."

Tom followed his own advice by accepting a dish of soup, with a large lump of meat in it, which was at that moment offered to him by the old chief who also urged Ned Sinton to partake; but he declined, and, lighting his pipe, proceeded to enjoy a smoke, at the same time handing the old man a plug of tobacco, which he accepted promptly, and began to use forthwith.

While thus engaged, they had an opportunity of observing how the squaw boiled water in a basket. Laying aside her pipe, she hauled out a goody-sized and very neatly-made basket of wicker-work, so closely woven by her own ingenious hands, that it was perfectly water-tight; this she three-quarters filled, and then put into it red-hot stones, which she brought in from a fire kindled outside. The stones were thrown in in succession, till the temperature was raised to the boiling point, and afterwards a little dead animal was put into the basket.

The sight of this caused Tom Collins to terminate his meal somewhat abruptly, and induced Ned to advise him to try a little more.

"No, thank you," replied Tom, lighting his pipe hastily, and taking up a bow and several arrows, which he appeared to regard with more than usual interest. The bow was beautifully made;--rather short, and tipped with horn.

The arrows were formed of two distinct pieces of wood spliced together, and were shod with flint; they were feathered in the usual way. All the articles manufactured by these natives were neatly done, and evinced considerable skill in the use of their few and simple tools.

After resting half-an-hour, the two friends rose to depart, and again the old Indian manifested much anxiety to prevail on them to remain; but resisting all his entreaties, they mounted their horses and rode away, carrying with them the good wishes of the community, by the courtesy of their manners, and a somewhat liberal distribution of tobacco at parting.

The country through which they passed became wilder at every step, for each hour brought them visibly nearer the mountain-range, and towards night-fall they entered one of the smaller passes or ravines that divided the lower range of hills at which they first arrived. Here a rugged precipice, from which projected pendent rocks and scrubby trees, rose abruptly on the right of the road, and a dense thicket of underwood, mingled with huge masses of fallen rock, lay on their left. We use the word road advisedly, for the broad highway of the flowering plains, over which the horsemen had just passed, narrowed at this spot as it entered the ravine, and was a pretty-well-defined path, over which parties of diggers and wandering Indians occasionally passed.

"Does not this wild spot remind you of the nursery tales we used to read?" said Ned, as they entered the somewhat gloomy defile, "which used to begin, `Once upon a time--'"

"Hist, Ned, is that a grizzly?"

Both riders drew up abruptly, and grasped their rifles.

"I hear nothing," whispered Ned.

"It must have been imagination," said Tom, throwing his rifle carelessly over his left arm, as they again advanced. The gloom of the locality, which was deepened by the rapidly-gathering shades of night, quieted their spirits, and induced them to ride on in silence. About fifty yards further on, the rustling in the bushes was again heard, and both travellers pulled up and listened intently.

"Pshaw!" cried Ned, at last, urging his horse forward, and throwing his piece on his shoulder, "we are starting at the rustling of the night wind; come, come, Tom, don't let us indulge superstitious feelings--"

At that moment there was a crash in the bushes on both sides of them, and their horses reared wildly, as four men rushed upon them. Before their steeds became manageable, they were each seized by a leg, and hurled from their saddles. In the fall, their rifles were thrown out of their grasp into the bushes; but this mattered little, for in a close struggle pistols are better weapons. Seizing their revolvers, Ned and Tom instantly sprang up, and fired at their assailants, but without effect, both being so much shaken by their fall. The robbers returned the fire, also without effect. In the scuffle, Ned was separated from his friend, and only knew that he maintained the fight manfully, from the occasional shots that were fired near him. His whole attention, however, had to be concentrated on the two stalwart ruffians with whom he was engaged.

Five or six shots were fired at a few yards' distance, quick as lightning, yet, strange to say, all missed. Then the taller of the two opposed to Ned, hurled his revolver full in his face, and rushed at him. The pistol struck Ned on the chest, and almost felled him, but he retained his position, and met the highwayman with a well-directed blow of his fist right between the eyes. Both went down, under the impetus of the rush, and the second robber immediately sprang upon Ned, and seized him by the throat. But he little knew the strength of the man with whom he had to deal. Our hero caught him in the iron grasp of his right hand, while, with his left, he hurled aside the almost inanimate form of his first assailant; then, throwing the other on his back, he placed his knee on his chest, and drew his bowie-knife.

Even in the terrible passion of mortal combat, Ned shuddered at the thought of slaying a helpless opponent. He threw the knife aside, and struck the man violently with his fist on the forehead, and then sprang up to rescue Tom who, although he had succeeded at the outset in felling one of the robbers with the butt of his pistol, was still engaged in doubtful strife with a man of great size and power. When Ned came up, the two were down on their knees, each grasping the other's wrist in order to prevent their bowie-knives from being used. Their struggles were terrible; for each knew that the first who freed his right hand would instantly take the other's life. Ned settled the matter, however, by again using his fist, which he applied so promptly to the back of the robber's neck, that he dropped as if he had been shot.

"Thank you--God bless you, Ned," gasped Tom, as soon as he recovered breath; "you have saved my life, for certainly I could not have held out a minute longer. The villain has all but broken my right arm."

"Never mind," cried Ned, stooping down, and turning the stunned robber over on his face, "give me a hand, boy; we must not let the fellows recover and find themselves free to begin the work over again. Take that fellow's neckcloth and tie his hands behind his back."

Tom obeyed at once, and in a few minutes the four highwaymen were bound hand and foot, and laid at the side of the road.

"Now," said Ned, "we must push on to the nearest settlement hot-haste, and bring a party out to escort--Halloo! Tom, are you wounded?"

"Not badly--a mere cut on the head."

"Why, your face is all covered with blood!"

"It's only in consequence of my wiping it with a bloody handkerchief, then; but you can examine, and satisfy yourself."

"The wound is but slight, I see," rejoined Ned, after a brief manipulation of Tom's skull; "now, then, let us away."

"We'll have to catch our horses first, and that won't be an easy matter."

Tom was right. It cost them half-an-hour to secure them and recover their rifles and other arms, which had been scattered over the field of battle. On returning to the spot where the robbers lay, they found them all partially recovered, and struggling violently to free themselves. Three of them failed even to slacken their bonds, but the fourth, the powerful man who had nearly overcome Tom Collins, had well-nigh freed his hands when his captors came up.

"Lie quiet," said Ned, in a low tone, "if you don't want the butt of my rifle on your skull."

The man lay down instantly.

"Tom, go and cut a stake six feet long, and I'll watch these fellows till you come back."

The stake was soon brought and lashed to the robber's back in such a manner that he was rendered utterly powerless. The others were secured in a similar manner, and then the two travellers rode forward at a gallop.

For nearly an hour they continued to