A Waif of the Mountains, Edward Sylvester Ellis [reading a book .txt] 📗

He had crossed for the third time a stream which was shallow, and, upon reaching the opposite bank, where the ground was moist and soft, he reined up with an exclamation of impatience.

"What's the matter?" asked Captain Dawson, in the same mood.

"We've passed 'em," was the reply; "they're somewhere behind us."

"How far?"

"That remains to be found out, but I don't think it's a great distance."

The captain angrily wheeled his horse and re-entered the stream.

"If they don't get away, it won't be our fault," was his ungracious comment; "we have done little else than throw away our chances from the first."

The guide made no response, and the next minute the four were retracing their course, their animals at a walk, and all scanning the rocks on either hand as they passed them.

It was clear by this time that the fugitives held one important advantage over their pursuers. The route that they were following was so devious and so varied in its nature, that only at rare intervals could it be traced with the eye for a quarter or half a mile. Certain of pursuit, Lieutenant Russell and his companion would be constantly on the lookout for it. They were more likely, therefore, to discover the horsemen than the latter were to observe them. Even if their flight was interrupted, there were innumerable places in this immense solitude where they could conceal themselves for an indefinite period.

The question the pursuers asked themselves was whether the others had strayed unwittingly from the trail, or whether they had turned off to elude their pursuers, whose desperate mood they could not but know. The latter supposition seemed the more likely, since the path was marked so plainly that it could be lost only by unaccountable carelessness.

At the first break in the side of the vast mountain walls Vose Adams again slipped from his mule and spent several minutes in studying the ground.

"They haven't gone in here," was his comment, as he remounted.

"Make certain that we are not too far back," said the captain.

"I have made no mistake," was the curt reply of the guide. The party had gone less than twenty rods further, when another rent opened on the other side of the canyon, which was about an eighth of a mile wide. It would not do now to slight anything, and Adams headed his mule diagonally across the gorge, the animal walking slowly, while the rider leaned over with his eyes on the ground. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"We've hit it this time! Here's where they went in!"

All four leaped from the back of their animals. Adams pointed out the faint indentations made by the hoofs of two horses. Less accustomed than he to study such evidence, they failed to note that which was plain to him; the hoof prints of one of the animals were smaller than those of the other, since they were made by Cap, the pony belonging to Nellie Dawson. There could no longer be any doubt that the pursuers were warm on the trail of the fugitives.

Such being the fact, the interest of the men naturally centered on the avenue through which the others had made their way.

It was one of those fissures, sometimes seen among enormous piles of rock, that suggest that some terrific convulsion of nature, ages before, has split the mountain in twain from top to bottom. The latter was on a level with the main canyon itself, the chasm at the beginning being ten or twelve yards in width, but, occurring in a depression of the mountain spur, its height was no more than five or six hundred feet, whereas in other localities it would have been nearly ten times as great. The base was strewn with fragments of sandstone, some of the pieces as large as boulders, which had probably been brought down by the torrents that swept through the ravine in spring or when a cloudburst descended upon the upper portion.

Standing at the entrance, it was observed that the gorge trended sharply to the left, so that the view was shut off at a distance of fifty yards. It was noticeable, too, that the path taken by the fugitives sloped upward at so abrupt an angle that it must have sorely tried the horses.

"I thought so," was the comment of Vose Adams, when he returned from a brief exploration of the ravine; "they got off and led their animals."

"Have you any idea of the distance they went?" asked Captain Dawson, who was in a more gracious mood, now that he appreciated the value of the services of their guide.

"No; I've rid in front of that opening a good many times, but this is the first time I ever went into it."

"Well, what is to be done?" asked Parson Brush.

"Why, foller 'em of course," Wade Ruggles took upon himself to reply.

"That won't do," replied Adams, "for it is likely to upset everything; I'll leave Hercules with you and sneak up the gorge far enough to find how the land lays. I'll come back as soon as I can, but don't get impatient if I'm gone several hours."

Brush and Ruggles showed their displeasure, for, while admitting the skill of the guide, they could not see adequate cause for the impending delay. They had made so many slips that it seemed like inviting another. It was clear that they were close upon the fugitives, and the two believed the true policy was to press the pursuit without relaxing their vigor. But Captain Dawson, the one who naturally would have been dissatisfied, was silent, thereby making it apparent that Adams was carrying out a plan previously agreed upon by the two.

Vose paid no heed to Ruggles and the parson, but started up the ravine, quickly disappearing from view. Believing a long wait inevitable, the three prepared to pass the dismal interval as best they could. Here and there scant patches of grass showed in the canyon, and the animals were allowed to crop what they could of the natural food. The men lounged upon the boulders at hand, smoked their pipes and occasionally exchanged a few words, but none was in the mood for talking and they formed a grim, stolid group.

Hardly ten minutes had passed, when Ruggles, with some evidence of excitement, exclaimed in a guarded undertone:

"Helloa! Something's up!"

He referred to the horses, who are often the most reliable sentinels in the presence of insidious danger. Two of them had stopped plucking the grass, and, with their ears pricked, were staring up the canyon at some object that had attracted their attention and that was invisible to their owners in their present situation.

Convinced that something unusual had taken place, Ruggles walked out into the canyon where he could gain a more extended view. One sweeping glance was enough, when he hurried back to his companions.

"Thunderation! all Sacramento's broke loose and is coming this way!"

The three passed out from the side of the gorge to where they had a view of the strange procession. There seemed to be about a dozen men, mounted on mules, with as many more pack animals, coming from the west in a straggling procession, talking loudly and apparently in exuberant spirits.

"I don't like their looks," said Brush; "it is best to get our property out of their way."

The counsel was good and was followed without a minute's delay. The four animals were rounded up and turned into the ravine, up which Vose Adams had disappeared. They gave no trouble, but, probably because of the steepness of the slope, none of the four went beyond sight. Had the three men been given warning, they would have placed them out of reach, for none knew better than they how attractive horses are to men beyond the power of the law. But it was too late now, and the little party put on a bold front.

As the strangers drew near, they were seen to be nine in number and they formed a motley company. Their pack mules were so cumbrously loaded as to suggest country wagons piled with hay. The wonder was how the tough little animals could carry such enormous burdens, consisting of blankets, picks, shovels, guns, cooking utensils, including even some articles of furniture.

Our older readers will recall that for years after the close of the war, tens of thousands of the blue army overcoats were in use throughout the country. It looked as if every man in the present company was thus provided, including in many instances trousers of the same material, though each person had discarded the army cap for a soft slouch hat, similar to those worn by the miners. All the garments were in a dilapidated condition, proving their rough usage as well as their poor quality. Many of the heavy boots disclosed naked toes, while the mules had not known a curry comb for weeks and perhaps months.

The faces of the men were anything but attractive. Most of them were heavily bearded, with long, frowsy, unkempt hair, dangling about the shoulders. Every one displayed side arms, and there could be no mistake in setting them down as a reckless lot, whom a peaceable citizen would not care to meet anywhere.

The leader of this mongrel gang was a massive man, who bestrode so small a mule that his feet were only a few inches from the ground. There was little semblance of discipline in the company, but a certain rude deference to the fellow, who kept his place at the head, and did the loudest talking, ornamented with plenty of expletives, indicated his prominence among his fellows.

The mountain tramps had descried the three men standing at the side of the canyon, watching them as they approached. They ceased their boisterous talking and studied them as they drew near.

"Howdy, pards?" called the leader, raising his two fingers to his forehead and making a military salute, to which our friends responded coolly, hoping the company would keep on without stopping.

But they were disappointed. Colonel Briggs, as his men called him, suddenly shouted "Whoa!" in a voice that could have been heard a mile off, and pulled so hard on his bridle rein that he drew the jaws of the mule against his breast, while the rider lay back almost on the haunches of his animal, who showed his contrariness by walking round in a short circle before standing still.

"Which way, pards?" asked the leader, while his followers, who with more or less effort succeeded in checking their mules, curiously surveyed the three miners.

"We intend to visit Sacramento," replied Captain Dawson.

"Huh! that's where we come from."

"On your way to the diggings I presume?" continued the captain courteously.

"That's what's the matter; we're going to New Constantinople, which is the name of a mining settlement in Dead Man's Gulch. Do you know anything of the place?"

"We live there."

"The deuce! Queer town, ain't it?"

"In what respect?"

"Don't like visitors; Red Tom and Missouri Mike, two of the gang with me, stopped there a year or so ago with the idee of staying; the best they could do was to sleep there one night and git fired the next morning. That went agin the grain," continued Colonel Briggs, "and the more the boys thought it over the madder they got. When they told the rest of us, we made up our minds that the trouble was the diggings had panned out so rich in them parts that the folks