The Talking Leaves: An Indian Story, William O. Stoddard [best novels for beginners TXT] 📗

think. If we can make a bargain with them they'll be glad enough to go with us to the nearest trading-post. We can buy all we want when we get there. You've helped me out of my scrape."

"Seems to me it was easy enough to think of that."

It may have been, but Murray felt very grateful to Steve. The latter now put down his magazine and went to the door in his turn, for he, too, had a large amount of thinking to do.

"Murray, they are taking down the lodges again."

"Going forward to-night, eh? I'm glad of that. I must spur old Many Bears up to it. Don't want him to lose a day on the road."

"Nor I either. They'll move slowly enough anyhow."

"Oh, they'll find a good place to leave the village, while the chiefs and warriors go on to be present at the treaty talk."

"Suppose there isn't any?"

"There's pretty sure to be something of the kind at this season of the year. Anyhow, we will get them to the right place for us to buy our ponies and blankets, and we will have Rita with us."

It was pretty hard, and he felt it in every corner of his heart, that he could not send for her at once and tell her all about his plans for her release. Yes, and about the beautiful home to which he meant to take her, away beyond the great salt sea she had never seen.

CHAPTER XXIX

Captain Skinner and his miners were well mounted, and they were tough, seasoned horsemen. They were in a great hurry, too, for their minds were full of dreams of the grand good times they meant to have. Some of them talked and laughed and even sung over their plans for the future. Others, older or of more quiet disposition, rode forward in good-humored silence all the many long miles of that second day.

The only thing to be done, now they were once for all beyond the reach of enemies, was to get to a place where they could exchange their gold-dust and nuggets and ingots for coin, and then spend that.

Captain Skinner had been compelled to hear nearly all of them say, one after another, and in very much the same way,

"It's a great pity, Cap, we didn't get out them twenty-dollar pieces, and leave bullion instead."

He had only replied two or three times,

"No use, boys. All under the false bottom, at the hind end of the wagon. No time to go for 'em. Had to take what was handiest."

They made an astonishingly long day's march, and did not meet with the slightest sign of danger. Nor did they come across any better token of civilized life than two deserted "ranches," or farm-houses, made of "abode" or sunburnt brick.

That night they slept soundly on their blankets in the open air, and perhaps some of them dreamed that in a few nights more they would have roofs over their heads, and wake up in the morning to find hot coffee on the breakfast-table. No bell rung for them, however, when breakfast time came, and they had nearly completed their simple meal of broiled beef and cold water when their ears were saluted by a very different sound from that of a bell.

"Horses! Rifles! Mount, boys!" shouted the little Captain. "That's a cavalry bugle!"

Cavalry.

They sprung for their arms, and they mounted in hot haste, but before the last man was in the saddle the music of that bugle was close upon them. It was a good bugle, with a sweet, clear voice, and it was well played by the tall German who had somehow drifted away from the Rhine-land into that gayly dressed and glittering regiment of Mexican lancers.

"No use to fight, boys, even if they were enemies. There's more'n three hundred of 'em. Regulars, too. What on earth brings 'em away up here? Can't be there's any revolution going on."

Captain Skinner was not a man to be easily puzzled, but the appearance of such a force there and then was a remarkable circumstance—altogether unaccountable. So was the action taken by the Mexican colonel in command. No message of inquiry was sent forward. No greeting was offered. The only sound to be heard was that of the bugle as it repeated the signals called for by the few brief, sternly uttered orders that rung out from the head of the column.

"It isn't too late for us to run, Cap," suggested Bill.

"Yes, it is. They'd catch us in no time. Besides, we haven't done anything to run for."

"Not to them we haven't."

In a few minutes more it was too late, if it had not been just then, for the gleaming lances of a full company of the Mexicans began to shine above the grass and bushes behind the miners.

"Trapped, boys! I wonder what they're going to do?"

The Mexican commander was nearly ready to tell them now, for, as his really splendid-looking horsemen closed steadily in upon the silent squad of wild-looking desperadoes, he himself rode forward toward them, accompanied by two officers in brilliant uniforms.

Captain Skinner rode out as if to meet him, but was greeted by an imperative, loud-voiced,

"Halt! Dismount!"

The fire flashed from the eyes of the ragged little Captain.

"Close up, boys! Dismount behind your horses, and take aim across the saddle."

He was obeyed like clock-work, and it was the colonel's turn to "halt," for no less than three of those deadly dark tubes were pointing straight at him, and he saw with what sort of men he was dealing. Had they been six dozen instead of only less than two, they would not have hesitated a second about charging in upon his gay lancers, and would probably have scattered them right and left.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of Captain Skinner.

"Travelling."

"Where are you going?"

"Going to try and mind our own business."

"Where did you come from?"

"Across the border. Driven out of the mines by Apaches. Didn't expect to find Mexican regular cavalry worse than the redskins."

"We will see about that, se�or. You are our prisoners."

"All right, so long as none of you come too near. It won't be healthy for any of you to try."

"No harm is intended you, se�or. We are sent to guard this frontier against the Apaches, and to put down a small pronunciamento."

Captain Skinner knew what that meant. There had been some sort of a little revolution in that part of Mexico, and he and his men were suspected of having crossed the border to take part in it.

"All right, colonel. All we want is to march right along. We can pay our own way."

That was the first blunder the wily Captain had made.

The regiment of lancers, like a great many other Mexican regiments, was only "regular" because it happened just then to be employed by the national government. Its pay had not been regular at all, and the minds of both officers and men were excited by the mention of such a thing.

A half-scornful smile shot across the dark face of the colonel as he looked at those ragged men, and wondered how much they would be likely to pay for anything, even if they were not disposed to help themselves without paying. A young officer at his side was more sagacious, and suggested,

"I beg a thousand pardons, colonel, but they are miners."

"Ah! They may have been successful."

The expression of his face underwent a rapid change, and there was nothing scornful in it when he remarked to Captain Skinner that the price of a written "safe-conduct" for him and his men would be a hundred dollars each.

"That's reasonable, Cap."

"We won't mind that."

"Pay him. It's the best we can do."

"All right, Se�or Colonel," said the Captain. "We will pay you in gold as soon as it's written."

One of the young officers at once dismounted, and produced a supply of writing materials.

The "safe-conduct" was a curious document, and nothing exactly like it could have been had or bought of any cavalry officer in the United States. It was written in Spanish, of course, and it appeared to vouch for the peaceable and honest character and intentions of the entire company of miners.

The latter stood sternly behind their horses, in a dangerous looking circle, while the bargain was making, and the Captain himself had coin enough to pay for them all without calling for contributions.

The colonel was very polite now, and gave very accurate advice and instructions as to the route the miners would do well to follow.

Captain Skinner's second blunder was that he determined to go by the road laid out for him by the colonel.

Perhaps he might not have done so if he had read one other piece of paper that the young officer wrote for his colonel to sign. Or if he had seen it handed to a lancer, who rode away with it at full speed along the precise path the colonel was describing.

It was addressed, with many titles and formalities, to "General Vincente Garcia," and it was delivered by the lancer postman within three hours.

There was something remarkable in the quantity and quality of the politeness expressed by the Mexican officers after that money had been paid. Not only did they declare their great pleasure at meeting so distinguished a party of "caballeros," but also a great deal of regret at parting with them.

"That's all serene, Cap," said Bill, "but they'd have rid right over us if we'd ha' let 'em."

"We're all right now. Let's make a long push today."

The colonel showed no disposition to detain them, and it was not until they had been on their southward march for an hour that he wheeled his glittering column in the same direction.

Captain Skinner and his men knew nothing about that, and when noon came they found a capital camping-place, precisely as it had been described to them. A beautiful spot it was, with groves of shady trees and a fine spring of water, and there was more than one drove of long-horned cattle in sight.

"Somebody or other's careless about his critters," remarked one of the miners; but the Captain's face was sober.

"It looks too much as if they'd been driven up this way to feed the cavalry on. I don't like it."

"Cap, do you hear that? If it ain't another bugle you can shoot me!"

More than one was heard within the next half-hour, and three consecutive squadrons of lancers rode within sight of the miners' camp and dismounted for their noon-day meal.

They had a perfect right to do so. They were in their own country. Besides, they were not interfering with anybody. There was a good many of them, to be sure, and it was a curious thing that they should happen to come.

"Thar's too big a crop o' lancers this year to suit me," muttered Bill. "Thar's a squad of 'em coming now."

Not a large squad; only a couple of officers and their orderlies, on a very proper errand, very politely done.

It was their duty, they said, with many apologies. General Garcia desired to know who were his neighbors, and so forth.

The colonel's "safe-conduct" was shown them, and they actually touched their hats when they read it.

It was entirely satisfactory, they said. Perfect. The general would be glad to know that all was in due form. Would Captain Skinner do them the great favor to go with them and pay his respects to the general? Or would one of the other caballeros? The general would be glad to sign the "safe-conduct" himself, as the officer In supreme command of the district.

That was precisely what the Captain thought he wanted, and he consented at once.

"Cap," said Bill, "can't you get one of them civil-talkin' chaps to let us have some coffee? Or a side o' bacon?"

The officer understood him, and his bow and smile were of the most polished order as he replied, "Certainly, se�or. We will be only too happy. But we hope to have the happiness of your presence at our own mess at dinner to-day. We can promise you something better than camp-fare."

"We are too many, se�or," said Captain Skinner.

"Too many, Captain! We shall not have a caballero at each mess. Some of us will be disappointed."

He repeated his invitation, with a tempting list of the good things to be had at the regimental campfires, and the miners assented like