The Cave in the Mountain<br />A Sequel to In the Pecos Country, Edward Sylvester Ellis [best books to read for young adults .txt] 📗

Such was the fact. Only a few seconds more passed, when there was a general loosening up on the part of the redskins, as in the case of men who have just finished a laborious job. They looked into each others faces, and there were guttural exclamations, as if they were congratulating themselves upon what had been accomplished.

“And, now, what next?” asked the disgusted watcher. “Good luck seems to go with everything they undertake, and I suppose they’ll bring Mickey up by the heels.”

But such was not the sequel, and probably not the expectation of the Apaches. They had succeeded in planting a man in the breach, and their purpose was to follow him, as they speedily proved. The behavior of the group around the opening showed that the Indians were holding communication with their ally below, probably by a system of signals with the lasso, such as the man in the diving-bell employs when below the surface. These, too, must have been satisfactory, for, in a very brief time thereafter, the decisive operations were taken up and continued.

There was considerable of the lasso still left above ground—more than Fred imagined—and this was secured about a jutting point in a rock near at hand. It was fixed so immovably that it could not fail. “I wonder if they mean to roll that thing in upon Mickey’s head, or what is it?”

They speedily showed what their intentions were. In less than a minute after the lasso was fastened, one of the Apaches caught hold of it and slid down through the opening so rapidly, that it looked as if he had lost his hold and dropped out of sight. A second did precisely the same thing; then a third, fourth and fifth, until only one warrior was left above ground.

“Oh! I hope he’ll go,” whispered Fred to himself; “and then I can do something big.”

But the Apaches had evidently concluded that it would be an imprudent arrangement not to leave any of their friends on guard—not because they expected any interference from outside parties, but to provide against accident. If the lasso should fail them at a critical moment, they would be in a bad predicament, cut off from all means of getting out, as the skylight was the only avenue known to them, while, if a comrade remained above, all such danger would be escaped. Their purpose had been to send the five warriors down into the cave to attend to the case of the parties there.

The redskins were now down below and the whole thing was put in shape for operations to begin. All that remained was to find their man, and Fred could not tell what the prospects of success were in that direction; but he was almost ready to believe that they were all that the Indians could ask. The sixth Apache, who remained visible, took matters very comfortably. He stretched himself flat upon the ground, with his head hanging almost in the opening, so that he could catch every sound that came up from below. It was plain that he expected to be called upon to render important service, and he did not intend to let a signal escape him.

The hour that succeeded made little change in the situation. The action of this redskin showed that he occasionally received and sent messages—most probably by the subterranean telegraph—but he shifted his position very little. While he was thus engaged, Fred Munson was intently occupied with another scheme, and he had speedily wrought himself into a high pitch of excitement.

“I believe I can do it,” he muttered, more than once, as he revolved the desperate scheme in his mind; but, whatever his plan was, he waited in the hope that fortune would appear more propitious.

When the Apache had sat thus for some time, he changed his position. He had been lying with his side toward the lad, but now he sat up, with his back to him, and as close to the edge of the opening as was prudent, while he held the lasso in his hand, like the fisherman on the bank of a stream, who patiently waits and is sensitive to the slightest nibbling at the other end of his line.

He had scarcely settled himself in this position when Fred Munson changed his own. Rising from the ground where he had lain so long, he stepped over the ridge, and advanced directly toward the redskin, who harbored no suspicion that there was any of his race in his neighborhood. The plan the lad had resolved upon required nerve, resolution and quickness. He stepped as lightly as was consistent with speed until he had passed half the distance, when he began to slacken his gait and to proceed with greater caution than ever.

All depended upon his ability to keep from being heard or detected. Of course, he had no wish to engage in a fight with one of these fierce warriors, but he was prepared, even for that. His hand rested upon the hilt of his revolver, so that he could whip it out at an instant’s warning and discharge it, as he meant to do if necessary.

It was while he was yet some distance from the redskin that Fred felt that his position was one of frightful peril. His foe had his rifle within easy reach, and, if he turned too soon, he could pick off his young assailant before he should arrive within striking distance,—but each moment raised the hopes of the lad.

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A veteran Comanche warrior could not have advanced with greater skill than did young Munson approach the unconscious Apache. The warriors who had taken this little business in hand seemed to have cleared away the treacherous ground surrounding the opening, so that it was not likely to give way beneath their weight, even when they advanced close to the edge. The single redskin who remained seemed to have shifted his position more for the purpose of relieving himself from his cramped posture than anything else.

He was standing erect, about a foot away from the edge, with the lasso in both hands, looking down into the cavern of gloom below, listening and watching, with the sense of touch also on the alert. His blanket and rifle lay at one side, out of the way, but where they could be reached at a single leap, if necessary. The end of the lasso was still fastened to the rock, but the savage held it loosely, so that the slightest twitch upon it would become known to him on the instant.

It is not often that an Indian can be taken off the guard. Years of danger have made the senses of the savages preternaturally acute, and they are as distant as the timid antelope of the plains. But, for all that, there was a boy within a dozen yards of a swarthy warrior whose senses were on the alert, and yet had failed to detect his proximity.

Fred gazed upon him with the fixed intensity of the jungle tiger stealing upon his prey. With his right hand resting upon the hilt of his revolver, he never removed his eyes from the muscular figure of the Apache, bending over the entrance to the cavern.

“Shall I shoot, or push him over?”

“SHALL I SHOOT OR PUSH HIM OVER?”

This was the question the lad kept revolving in his mind, as he advanced step by step. With the pistol he could bury two or three balls in the body of the redskin before he could suspect where they came from, and thus completely clear the path before him. But there were doubts in the way. The revolver might miss fire, in which case all hope would be gone. In a hand-to-hand tussle the Apache would be more than a match for a dozen such lads. True, the weapon had not failed when he pulled the trigger in the cave, but there was no certainty that it would not do so when he most needed it.

Then, too, he felt a natural repugnance against stealing upon a foe in this fashion, and shooting him in the back. It had a cowardly look, even when certain that the threatened party would have done precisely the same thing, had the opportunity come in his way.

“I will push him over, if he don’t make me shoot him.”

But to do this necessitated a much closer approach. He must literally be within “striking distance.” Could he place himself there without discovery? If the redskin were asleep, or if his mind was occupied with something of a different nature, or if there were some extraneous noise, the case would be different. The blowing of the wind, the murmur of a waterfall (such as Fred had heard when lying upon the ground in the same spot) would have been a most fortunate diversion. But there was nothing of the kind. There was a dead calm, not a breath of air stirring, and the day was hot.

Fred had approached within twenty feet, and still the Apache did not stir. How vivid and indelibly his appearance was impressed upon the vision of the boy! He could never forget it. The redskin, although of powerful build, was anything but pleasing in appearance, even when viewed from the rear.

His blanket being thrown aside, he was naked, with the exception of a breech-cloth. His feet were of large size, encased in shabby moccasins, while frowsy leggins dangled between the knee and ankle. His body, from the breech-cloth to the shoulders, was splashed and daubed with a half dozen kinds of paint, while his black, thin hair straggled about his shoulders and was smeared in the same fashion. Like most of the Indians of the Southwest, he wore no scalp-lock, but allowed his hair to hang like a woman’s, not even permitting it to be gathered with a band, nor ornamenting it with the customary stained eagle-feathers. His arms were also bare, with the exception of the wrists, around which were tied bracelets, which, no doubt, he considered very attractive. The boy could fancy what a repulsive face he possessed.

Step by step, inch by inch, the young hero made his way, his eyes fixed upon the savage with a burning intensity, until it seemed that he would burn him through and through. And the Apache heard him not, although they were no more than ten feet apart.

“He will hear the thumping of my heart,” was the constant fear of the boy.

Slowly lifting one foot, he put in on the ground as softly as if it were held in a slipper of eiderdown. He was treading upon a thin growth of grass, interspersed plentifully with gravel, but he never once looked to see what he was stepping upon. Indeed, he could not remove his eyes from the one central figure of his thoughts and vision.

One obstruction, no matter how slight—the turning of a pebble, a slip, even the most trivial, and the Apache would turn like lightning, and be upon him in a flash. Two more steps were taken, and only eight feet separated the lad and the Indian, and still the latter remained all unconscious of what was going on. Fred’s heart was throbbing violently, but he retained control of himself. He felt that the critical moment was close at hand. A slight advance more, and the attempt was to be made.

He grasped the handle of the revolver more firmly than ever, but he raised his foot for another step, feeling that the distance was still too great. At this juncture the Indian moved!

He stepped one pace backward directly toward the boy, and he looked up and away. But not behind him. The glance was a mere casual one. He had heard nothing, and he expected to see nothing, when he looked off in the manner mentioned.

The Apache remained standing in this attitude for a minute. Then he stepped forward and resumed his former position on the edge of the opening, still clinging to the lasso, as if in constant expectation of some signal.

During this little episode Fred remained as motionless as if cast in bronze. His eyes were still centred upon the Indian, and he partially drew his revolver from the girdle he wore about his body, with the expectation of using it. But when his foe gave his attention to the cave below, the lad softly shoved the weapon back in its place, and again raised his foot.

The movement was slow and painful, but it was accomplished successfully. Only a single step more remained to place him where he wanted to be. That taken, and one bound was all that he needed to make. Finally, and for the last time during the advance, the right foot ascended from the ground, was poised for a