"It hed to be did; thar war no help for it," said Wilder, as he hurriedly turned towards his companion, adding: "Have you got the guns charged?"

Hamersley made answer by handing him back his own rifle. It was loaded and ready. "Darn the stinkin' cowarts!" cried the guide, grasping the gun, and facing towards the plain. "I don't know how it may all eend, but this'll keep 'em off a while, anyhow."

As he spoke he threw himself behind the body of the slaughtered steed, which, sustained in an upright position between the counterpart walls, formed a safe barricade against the bullets and arrows of the Indians. These, now riding straight towards the spot, made the rocks resound with exclamations of surprise—shouts that spoke of a delayed, perhaps defeated, vengeance.

They took care, however, not to come within range of that long steel-grey tube, that, turning like a telescope on its pivot, commanded a semicircle of at least a hundred yards' radius round the opening in the cliff.

Despite all the earnestness of their vengeful anger, the pursuers were now fairly at bay, and for a time could be kept so.

Hamersley looked upon it as being but a respite—a mere temporary deliverance from danger, yet to terminate in death. True, they had got into a position where, to all appearance, they could defend themselves as long as their ammunition lasted, or as they could withstand the agony of thirst or the cravings of hunger. How were they to get out again? As well might they have been besieged in a cave, with no chance of sortie or escape.

These thoughts he communicated to his companion, as soon as they found time to talk.

"Hunger an' thirst ain't nothin' to do wi' it," was Wilder response. "We ain't a goin' to stay hyar not twenty minutes, if this child kin manage it as he intends ter do. You don't s'pose I rushed into this hyar hole like a chased rabbit? No, Frank; I've heern o' this place afore, from some fellers thet, like ourselves, made cache in it from a band o' pursuin' Kimanch. Thar's a way leads out at the back; an' just as soon as we kin throw dust in the eyes o' these yellin' varmints in front, we'll put straight for it. I don't know what sort o' a passage thar is—up the rocks by some kind o' raven, I b'lieve. We must do our best to find it."

"But how do you intend to keep them from following us? You speak of throwing dust in their eyes—how, Walt?"

"You wait, watch an' see. You won't hev yur patience terrifically tried: for thar ain't much time to spare about it. Thar's another passage up the cliffs, not far off; not a doubt but these Injuns know it; an' ef we don't make haste, they'll git up thar, and come in upon us by the back door, which trick won't do, nohowsomdever. You keep yurself in readiness, and watch what I'm agoin' to do. When you see me scoot up back'ards, follor 'ithout sayin' a word."

Hamersley promised compliance, and the guide, still kneeling behind the barricade he had so cruelly constructed, commenced a series of manoeuvres that held his companion in speechless conjecture.

He first placed his gun in such a position that the barrel, resting across the hips of the dead horse, projected beyond the tail. In this position he made it fast, by tying the butt with a piece of string to a projecting part of the saddle. He next took the cap from his head—a coonskin it was—and set it so that its upper edge could be seen alongside the pommel, and rising about three inches above the croup. The ruse was an old one, with some new additions and embellishments.

"It's all done now," said the guide, turning away from the carcase and crouching to where his comrade awaited him. "Come on, Frank. If they don't diskiver the trick till we've got time to speed up the clift, then thar's still a chance for us. Come on, an' keep close arter me!"

Hamersley went, without saying a word. He knew that Wilder, well known and long trusted, had a reason for everything he did. It was not the time to question him, or discuss the prudence of the step he was taking. There might be danger before, but there was death—sure death—behind them.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A DESCENT INTO DARKNESS.

In less than a dozen paces from its entrance the chine opened into a wider space, again closing like a pair of callipers. It was a hollow of elliptical shape—resembling an old-fashioned butterboat scooped out of the solid rock, on all sides precipitous, except at its upper end. Here a ravine, sloping down from the summit-level above, would to the geologist at once proclaim the secret of its formation. Not so easily explained might seem the narrow outlet to the open plain. But one skilled in the testimony of the rocks would detect certain ferruginous veins in the sandstone that, refusing to yield to the erosion of the running stream, had stood for countless ages.

Neither Walt Wilder nor the young Kentuckian gave thought to such scientific speculations as they retreated through the narrow gap and back into the wider gorge. All they knew or cared for was that a gully at the opposite end was seen to slope upward, promising a path to the plain above.

In sixty seconds they were in it, toiling onward and upward amidst a chaos of rocks where no horse could follow—loose boulders that looked as if hurled down from the heavens above or belched upward from the bowels of the earth.

The retreat of the fugitives up the ravine, like their dash out of the enclosed corral, was still but a doubtful effort. Neither of them had full confidence of being able eventually to escape. It was like the wounded squirrel clutching at the last tiny twig of a tree, however unable to support it. They were not quite certain that the sloping gorge would give them a path to the upper plain; for Wilder had only a doubtful recollection of what some trapper had told him. But even if it did, the Indians, expert climbers as they were, would soon be after them, close upon their heels. The ruse could not remain long undetected.

They had plunged into the chasm as drowning men grasp at the nearest thing afloat—a slender branch or bunch of grass, a straw.

As they now ascended the rock-strewn gorge both had their reflections, which, though unspoken, were very similar. And from these came a gleam of hope. If they could but reach the summit-level of the cliff! Their pursuers could, of course, do the same; but not on horseback. It would then be a contest of pedestrian speed. The white men felt confidence in their swiftness of foot; in this respect believing themselves superior to their savage pursuers. They knew that the Comanches were horse Indians—a significant fact. These centaurs of the central plateaux, scarce ever setting foot upon the earth, when afoot are almost as helpless as birds with their wings plucked or pinioned.

If they could reach the crest of the cliff, then all might yet be well; and, cheered by this reflection, they rushed up the rock-strewn ravine, now gliding along ledges, now squeezing their bodies between great boulders, or springing from one to the other—in the audacity of their bounds rivalling a brace of bighorns.

They had got more than half-way up, when cries came pealing up the glen behind them. Still were they hidden from the eyes of the pursuers. Jutting points of rock and huge masses that lay loose in the bed of the ravine had hitherto concealed them. But for these, bullets and arrows would have already whistled about their ears, and perhaps put an end to their flight. The savages were near enough to send either gun-shot or shaft, and their voices, borne upward on the air, sounded as clear as if they were close at hand.

The fugitives, as already said, had reached more than halfway up the slope, and were beginning to congratulate themselves on the prospect of escape. They even thought of the course they should take on arriving at the summit-level, for they knew that there was an open plain above. All at once they were brought to a stop, though not by anything that obstructed their path. On the contrary, it only seemed easier; for there were now two ways open to them instead of one, the ravine at this point forking into two distinct branches. There was a choice of which to take, and it was this that caused them to make a stop, at the same time creating embarrassment.

The pause, however, was but for a brief space of time—only long enough to make a hasty reconnoissance. In the promise of an easy ascent there seemed but little difference between the two paths, and the guide soon came to a determination.

"It's a toss up atween 'em," he said; "but let's take the one to the right. It looks a little the likest."

Of course his fellow-fugitive did not dissent, and they struck into the right-hand ravine; but not until Walt Wilder had plucked the red kerchief from his head, and flung it as far as he could up the left one, where it was left lying in a conspicuous position among the rocks.

He did not say why he had thus strangely abandoned the remnant of his head-gear; but his companion, sufficiently experienced in the ways and wiles of prairie life, stood in no need of an explanation.

The track they had now taken was of comparatively easy ascent; and it was this, perhaps, that had tempted Wilder to take it. But like most things within the moral and physical world, its easiness proved a delusion. They had not gone twenty paces further up when the sloping chasm terminated. It debouched on a little platform, covered with large loose stones, and there rested after having fallen from the cliff above. But at a single glance they saw that this cliff could not be scaled.

They had entered into a trap, out of which there was no chance of escape or retreat without throwing themselves back upon the breasts of their pursuers.

The Indians were already ascending the main ravine. By their voices it could be told that they had reached the point where it divided; for there was a momentary suspension of their cries, as with the baying of hounds thrown suddenly off the scent.

It would not be for long. They would likely first follow up the chasm where the kerchief had been cast, but, should that also prove a cul-de-sac, they would return and try the other.

The fugitives saw that it was too late to retrace their steps. They sprang together upon the platform, and commenced searching among the loose rocks, with a faint hope of finding some place of concealment.

It was but a despairing sort of search, again like two drowning men who clutch at a straw.

All at once an exclamation from the guide called his companion to his side. It was accompanied by a gesture, and followed by words low muttered.

"Look hyar, Frank! Look at this hole! Let's git into it!"

As Hamersley came close he perceived a dark cavity among the stones, to which Wilder was pointing. It opened vertically downward, and was of an irregular, roundish shape, somewhat resembling the mouth of a well, half-coped with slabs.

Dare they enter it? Could they? What depth was it?

Wilder took up a pebble and flung it down. They could hear it descending, not at a single drop, but striking and ricochetting from side to side.

It was long before it reached the bottom and lay silent. No matter for that. The noise made in its descent told them of projecting points or ledges that might give them a foothold.

They lost not a moment of time, but commenced letting themselves down into the funnel-shaped shaft, the guide going first.

Slowly and silently they went down—like ghosts through the stage of a theatre—soon disappearing in the gloom below, and leaving upon the rock-strewn platform no trace to show that human foot had ever trodden it.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A STORM OF STONES.

Fortunately for the fugitives, the cavity into which they had crept was a shaft of but slight diameter, otherwise they could not have gone down without dropping far enough to cause death, for the echoes from the pebbles betokened a vast vertical depth.

As it was, the void turned out to be somewhat like that of a stone-built chimney with here and there a point left projecting. It was so narrow, moreover, that they were able to use both hands and knees in the descent, and by this means they accomplished it.

They went but slowly, and took care to proceed with caution. They knew that a false step, the slipping of a foot or finger, or the breaking of a fragment that gave hold to their hands, would precipitate them to an unknown depth.

They did not go farther than was necessary for quick concealment. There was noise made in their descent, and they knew that the Indians would soon be above, and might hear them. Their only hope lay in their pursuers believing them to have gone by the left hand path to the plain above. In time the Indians would surely explore both branches of the ravine, and if the cunning savages should suspect their presence in the shaft there would be no hope for them. These thoughts decided them to come to a stop as soon as they could find foothold.

About thirty feet from the top they found this, on a point of rock or ledge that jutted horizontally. It was broad enough to give both standing room, and as they were now in the midst of amorphous darkness, they took stand upon it.

The Indians might at any moment arrive on the platform above. They felt confident they could not be seen, but they might be heard. The slightest sound borne upwards to the ears of the savages might betray them, and, knowing this, they stood still, scarce exchanging a whisper, and almost afraid to breathe.

It was not long before they saw that which justified their caution—the plumed head of a savage, with his neck craned over the edge of the aperture, outlined conspicuously against the blue sky above. And soon half a dozen similar silhouettes beside it, while they could hear distinctly the talk that was passing overhead.

Wilder had some knowledge of the Comanche tongue, and could make out most of what was being said. Amidst exclamations that spoke of vengeance there were words in a calmer tone—discussion, inquiry, and conjecture.

From these it could be understood that the pursuers had separated into two parties, one following on the false track, by the path which the guide had baited for them, the other coming direct up the right and true one.

There were bitter exclamations of disappointment and threats of an implacable vengeance; and the fugitives, as they listened, might have reflected how fortunate they had been in discovering that unfathomed hole. But for it they would have already been in the clutches of a cruel enemy.

However, they had little time for reflection. The talk overhead at first expressed doubts as to their having descended the shaft, but doubts readily to be set at rest.

The eyes of the Indians having failed to inform them, their heads were withdrawn; and soon after a stone came tumbling down the cavity.

Something of this kind, Wilder had predicted; for he flattened himself against the wall behind, and stood as "small" as his colossal frame would permit, having cautioned his companion to do the same.

The stone passed without striking them, and went crashing on till it struck on the bottom below.

Another followed, and another; the third creasing Hamersley on the breast, and tearing a couple of buttons from his coat.

This was shaving close—too close to be comfortable. Perhaps the next boulder might rebound from the wall above and strike one or both of them dead.

In fear of this result, they commenced groping to ascertain if the ledge offered any better screen from the dangerous shower, which promised to fall for some time longer.

Good! Hamersley felt his hand entering a hole that opened horizontally. It proved big enough to admit his body, as also the larger frame of his companion. Both were soon inside it. It was a sort of grotto they had discovered; and, crouching within it, they could laugh to scorn the storm that still came pouring from above; the stones, as they passed close to their faces, hissing and hurtling like aerolites.

The rocky rain at length ended. The Indians had evidently come to the conclusion that it was either barren in result, or must have effectually performed the purpose intended by it, and for a short time there was silence above and below.

They who were hidden in the shaft might have supposed that their persecutors, satisfied at what they had accomplished, were returning to the plain, and had retired from the spot.

Hamersley did think so; but Walt, an old prairie man, more skilled in the Indian character, could not console himself with such a fancy.

"Ne'er a bit o' it," he whisperingly said to his companion. "They ain't agoin' to leave us that easy—not if Horned Lizard be amongst 'em. They'll either stay thar till we climb out agin, or try to smoke us. Ye may take my word for it, Frank, thar's some'ut to come yet. Look up! Didn't I tell ye so?"

Wilder drew back out of the narrow aperture, through which he had been craning his neck and shoulders in order to get a view of what was passing above.

The hole leading into the grotto that held them was barely large enough to admit the body of a man. Hamersley took his place, and, turning his eyes upward, at once saw what his comrade referred to. It was the smoke of a fire, that appeared in the act of being kindled near the edge of the aperture above. The smoke was ascending towards the sky, diagonally drifting across the blue disc outlined by the rim of rock.

He had barely time to make the observation when a swishing sound admonished him to draw back his head; then there passed before his face a ruck of falling stalks and faggots. Some of them settled upon the ledge, the rest sweeping on to the bottom of the abyss.

In a moment after the shaft was filled with smoke, but not that of an ordinary wood fire. Even this would have been sufficient to stifle them where they were; but the fumes now entering their nostrils were of a kind to cause suffocation almost instantaneously.

The faggots set on fire were the stalks of the creosote plant—the ideodondo of the Mexican table lands, well known for its power to cause asphyxia. Walt Wilder recognised it at the first whiff.

"It's the stink-weed!" he exclaimed. "That darned stink-weed o' New Mexico! It'll kill us if we can't keep it out. Off wi' your coat, Frank; it are bigger than my hunting skirt. Let's spread it across the hole, an' see if that'll do."

His companion obeyed with alacrity, stripping off his coat as quickly as the circumscribed space would permit. Fortunately, it was a garment of the sack specialty, without any split in the tail, and when extended offered a good breadth of surface.

It proved sufficient for the purpose, and, before the little grotto had become so filled with smoke as to be absolutely untenable, its entrance was closed by a curtain of broadcloth, held so hermetically over the aperture that even the fumes of Assafoetida could not possibly have found their way inside.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

BURIED ALIVE.

For nearly half an hour they kept the coat spread, holding it close around the edges of the aperture with their heads, hands, knees, and elbows. Withal some of the bitter smoke found ingress, torturing their eyes, and half stifling them.

They bore it with philosophic fortitude and in profound silence, using their utmost efforts to refrain from sneezing or coughing.

They knew that the least noise heard by the Indians above—anything to indicate their presence in the shaft—would ensure their destruction. The fumigation would be continued till the savages were certain of its having had a fatal effect. If they could hold out long enough, even Indian astuteness might be baffled.

From what Wilder had heard, their persecutors were in doubt about their having descended into the shaft; and this uncertainty promised to be their salvation. Unless sure that they were taking all this trouble to some purpose, the red men would not dally long over their work. Besides, there was the rich booty to be drawn from the captured waggons, which would attract the Indians back to them, each having an interest in being present at the distribution.

Thus reasoned Walt Wilder as they listened to detect a change in the performance, making use of all their ears.

Of course they could see nothing, no more than if they had been immured in the darkest cell of an Inquisitorial dungeon. Only by their ears might they make any guess at what was going on. These admonished them that more of the burning brush was being heaved into the hole. Every now and then they could hear it as it went swishing past the door of their curtained chamber, the stalks and sticks rasping against the rocks in their descent.

After a time these sounds ceased to be heard; the Indians no doubt thinking that sufficient of the inflammatory matter had been cast in to cause their complete destruction. If inside the cavern, they must by this time be stifled—asphyxiated—dead.

So must have reasoned the red-skinned fumigators; for after a while they desisted from their hellish task. But, as if to make assurance doubly sure, before taking departure from the spot, they performed another act indicative of an equally merciless intention.

During the short period of silence their victims could not tell what they were about. They only knew, by occasional sounds reaching them from above, that there was some change in the performance; but what it was they could not even shape a conjecture.

The interregnum at length ended with a loud rumbling noise, that was itself suddenly terminated by a grand crash, as if a portion of the impending cliff had become detached, and fallen down upon the platform.

Then succeeded a silence, unbroken by the slightest sound. No longer was heard either noise or voice—not the murmur of one.

It was a silence that resembled death; as if the vindictive savages had one and all met a deserved doom by being crushed under the falling cliff.

For some time after hearing this mysterious noise, which had caused the rock to tremble around them, the two men remained motionless within their place of concealment.

At length Wilder cautiously and deliberately pushed aside the curtain. At first only a small portion of it—a corner, so as to make sure about the smoke.

It still oozed in, but not so voluminously as at first. It had evidently become attenuated, and was growing thinner. It appeared also to be ascending with rapidity, as up the funnel of a chimney having a good draught. For this reason it was carried past the mouth of the grotto without much of it drifting in, and they saw that they could soon safely withdraw the curtain. It was a welcome relaxation from the irksome task that had been so long imposed upon them, and the coat was at length permitted to drop down upon the ledge.

Although there were no longer any sounds heard, or other signs to indicate the presence of the Indians, the fugitives did not feel sure of their having gone; and it was some time before they made any attempt to reascend the shaft. Some of the pursuers might still be lurking near, or straying within sight. They had so far escaped death, as if by a miracle, and they were cautious of again tempting fate. They determined that for some time yet they would not venture out upon the ledge, but keep inside the grotto that had given them such well-timed shelter. Some sulky savage, disappointed at not getting their scalps, might take it into his head to return and hurl down into the hole another shower of stones. Such a whim was probable to a prairie Indian.

Cautious against all like contingencies, the guide counselled his younger companion to patience, and for a considerable time they remained without stirring out of their obscure chamber.

At length, however, perceiving that the tranquillity continued, they no longer deemed it rash to make a reconnoissance; and for this purpose Walt Wilder crawled out upon the ledge and looked upward. A feeling of surprise, mingled with apprehension, at once seized upon him.

"Kin it be night?" he asked, whispering the words back into the grotto.

"Not yet, I should think?" answered Hamersley. "The fight was begun before daybreak. The day can't all have passed yet. But why do you ask, Walt?"

"Because thar's no light comin' from above. Whar's the bit o' blue sky we seed? Thar ain't the breadth o' a hand visible. It can't a be the smoke as hides it. That seems most cleared off. Darned if I can see a steim o' the sky. 'Bove as below, everything's as black as the ten o' spades. What kin it mean?"

Without waiting a reply, or staying for his companion to come out upon the ledge, Wilder rose to his feet, and, grasping the projecting points above his head, commenced swarming up the shaft, in a similar manner as that by which he had made the descent.

Hamersley, who by this time had crept out of the grotto, stood upon the ledge listening.

He could hear his comrade as he scrambled up; the rasping of his feet against the rocks, and his stentorian breathing.

At length Walt appeared to have reached the top, when Hamersley heard words that sent a thrill of horror throughout his whole frame.

"Oh!" cried the guide, in his surprise, forgetting to subdue the tone of his voice, "they've built us up! Thar's a stone over the mouth o' the hole—shettin' it like a pot lid. A stone—a rock that no mortal ked move. Frank Hamersley, it's all over wi' us; we're buried alive!"



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A SAVAGE SATURNAL.

Only for a short while had Wilder's trick held the pursuers in check. Habituated to such wiles, the Indians, at first suspecting it to be one, soon became certain. For, as they scattered to each side of the cleft, the steel tube no longer kept turning towards them, while the coonskin cap remained equally without motion.

At length, becoming convinced, and urged on by the Red Cross chief and the bearded savage by his side, they dashed boldly up, and, dismounting, entered the chine over the body of the butchered horse.

Only staying to take possession of the relinquished rifle, they continued on up the ravine fast as their feet could carry them. A moment's pause where the red kerchief lay on the rock, suspecting this also a ruse to mislead them as to the track taken by the fugitives. To make certain, they separated into two parties—one going up the gulch, that led left, the other proceeding by that which conducted to the place where the two men had concealed themselves.

Arriving upon the little platform, the pursuers at once discovered the cavity, at the same time conjecturing that the pursued had gone into it. Becoming sure of this, they who took the left-hand path rejoined them, these bringing the report that they had ascended to the summit of the cliff, and seen nothing of the two men who were chased.

Then the stones were cast in; after them the burning stalks of the ideodondo; when, finally, to make destruction sure, the rock was rolled over, closing up the shaft as securely as if the cliff itself had fallen face downward upon the spot.

The savages stayed no longer there. All were too eager to return to the waggons to make sure of their share in the captured spoils.

One alone remained—he with the bushed beard. After the others were gone he stepped up to the boulder, and, stooping down, placed his ear close to it. He appeared as if trying to catch some sound that might come from the cavity underneath.

None came—no noise, even the slightest. Within the shut shaft all was still as death. For death itself must be down there, if there ever was life.

For some time he crouched beside the rock, listening. Then rising to his feet, with a smile of satisfaction upon his grim, sinister features, he said, in soliloquy,—

"They're down there, no doubt of it; and dead long before this. One of the two must have been he. Who the other matters not Carrai! I'd like to have had a look at him too, and let him see who has given him his quietus. Bah! what does it signify? It's all over now, and I've had my revenge. Vamos! I must get back to the waggons, or my friend the Horned Lizard may be taking his pick of the plunder. Luckily these redskins don't know the different values of the goods; so I shall bestow the cotton prints with a liberal hand, keeping the better sorts to myself. And now to assist in the partition of spoils."

So saying, he strode away from the rock, and, gliding back down the gulch, climbed over the carcass of the dead horse. Then, finding his own outside, he mounted and rode off to rejoin his red-skinned comrades engaged in sacking the caravan.

On reaching it a spectacle was presented to his eyes—frightful, though not to him. For he was a man who had seen similar sights before—one with soul steeped in kindred crime.

The waggons had been drawn partially apart, disclosing the space between. The smoke had all ascended or drifted off, and clear sunlight once more shone upon the sand—over the ground lately barricaded by the bodies of those who had so bravely defended it. There were thirteen of them—the party of traders and hunters being in all but fifteen. Of those slain upon the spot there was not one now wearing his hair. Their heads were bare and bloody, the crown of each showing a circular disc of dark crimson colour. The scalping-knife had already completed its work, and the ghastly trophies were seen impaled upon the points of spears— some of them stuck upright in the sand, others borne triumphantly about by the exulting victors. Their triumph had cost them dear. On the plain outside at least thirty of their own lay extended, stone dead; while here and there a group bending over some recumbent form told of a warrior wounded.

By the orders of their chief, some had set about collecting the corpses of their slain comrades, with the intent of interring them. Others, acting without orders, still continued to wreak their savage spite upon the bodies of their white victims, submitting them to further mutilation. They chopped off their heads; then, poising these on the points of spears, tossed them to and fro, all the while shouting in savage glee, laughing with a cacchination that resembled the mirth of a madhouse.

Withal, there was stern vengeance in its tones. A resistance, they little expected, causing them such serious loss, had roused their passions to a pitch of the utmost exasperation; and they tried to allay their spiteful anger by expending it on the dead bodies of those who, while living, had so effectually chastised them. These were slashed and hacked with tomahawks, pierced with spears, and arrows, beaten with war clubs, then cut into pieces, to be tied to the tails of their horses, and dragged in gallop to and fro over the ground. For some time this tragical spectacle held play. Then ensued a scene savouring of the ludicrous and grotesque.

The waggons were emptied of their contents, while the rich freight, transported to a distance, was spread out upon the plain, and its partition entered upon—all crowding around to receive their share.

The distribution was superintended by the Horned Lizard, though he with the beard appeared to act with equal, or even greater, authority. Backed by the second personage, who wore hair on his cheeks, he dictated the apportionment.

And as he had said in soliloquy, the cotton prints of gaudy patterns satisfied the cupidity of his red-skinned companions, leaving to himself and his confidential friend the costlier fabrics of silken sheen. Among the traders' stock were knives of common sort—the cheapest cutlery of Sheffield; guns and pistols of the Brummagem brand, with beads, looking glasses, and such-like notions from the New England Boston. All these, delectable in the eyes of the Horned Lizard and his Tenawas, were left to them; while the bearded man, himself selecting, appropriated the silks and satins, the laces and real jewellery that had been designed to deck the rich doncellas of Santa Fe, El Paso, Chihuahua, and Durango.

The distribution over, the scene assumed a new aspect. It was now that the ludicrous came prominently into play. Though not much water had been found in the waggons, there was enough fluid of stronger spirit. A barrel of Monongahela whisky was part of the caravan stores left undestroyed. Knowing the white man's firewater but too well, the Indians tapped the cask, and quaffed of its contents.

In a short time two-thirds of the band became intoxicated. Some rolled over dead drunk, and lay a-stretch along the sand. Others tottered about, uttering maudlin speeches. Still others of stronger stomach and steader brain kept their feet, as also their senses; only that these became excited, increasing their cupidity. They wanted more than they had got, and would gamble to get it. One had a piece of cotton print, and so had another. Each wished to have both or none. How was it to be decided? By cards? By dice? No. There was a way more congenial to their tastes—more a propos to their habits. It should be done by their horses. They knew the sort of game, for it is not the first time they have played it. The piece of print is unrolled, and at each end tied to a horse's tail. The owners spring to the backs of the animals, then urge them in the opposite directions till the strain comes; at the pluck the web gives way, and he who holds the longer part becomes possessor of the whole.

Others, not gamblers, out of sheer devilry and diversion, similarly attach their stuffs, and gallop over the ground with the prints trailing fifty yards behind them. In the frenzied frolic that had seized hold of them they forgot their slain comrades, still unburied. They whoop, shout, and laugh till the cliffs, in wild, unwonted echo, send back the sound of their demoniac mirth. A riot rare as original—a true saturnal of savages.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A LIVING TOMB.

Literally buried alive, as Walt Wilder had said, were he and his companion.

They now understood what had caused the strange noise that mystified them—the rumbling followed by a crash. No accidental debacle or falling of a portion of the cliff, as they had been half supposing; but a deed of atrocious design—a huge rock rolled by the united strength of the savages, until it rested over the orifice of the shaft, completely coping and closing it.

It may have been done without any certain knowledge of their being inside—only to make things sure. It mattered not to the two men thus cruelly enclosed, for they knew that in any case there was no hope of their being rescued from what they believed to be a living tomb.

That it was such neither could doubt. The guide, gifted with herculean strength, had tried to move the stone on discovering how it lay. With his feet firmly planted in the projections below, and his shoulder to the rock above, he had given a heave that would have lifted a loaded waggon from its wheels.

The stone did not budge with all this exertion. There was not so much as motion. He might as successfully have made trial to move a mountain from its base. He did not try again. He remembered the rock itself. He had noticed it while they were searching for a place to conceal themselves, and had been struck with its immense size. No one man could have stirred it from its place. It must have taken at least twenty Indians. No matter how many, they had succeeded in their design, and their victims were now helplessly enclosed in the dark catacomb—slowly, despairingly to perish.

"All up wi' us, I reck'n," said the guide, as he once more let himself down upon the ledge to communicate the particulars to his companion.

Hamersley ascended to see for himself. They could only go one at a time. He examined the edge of the orifice where the rock rested upon it. He could only do so by the touch. Not a ray of light came in on any side, and groping round and round he could detect neither crevice nor void. There were weeds and grass, still warm and smouldering, the debris of what had been set on fire for their fumigation. The rock rested on a bedding of these; hence the exact fit, closing every crack and crevice.

On completing his exploration Hamersley returned to his companion below.

"Hopeless!" murmured Wilder, despondingly.

"No, Walt; I don't think so yet."

The Kentuckian, though young, was a man of remarkable intelligence as well as courage. It needed these qualities to be a prairie merchant— one who commanded a caravan. Wilder knew him to be possessed of them— in the last of them equalling himself, in the first far exceeding him.

"You think thar's a chance for us to get out o' hyar?" he said, interrogatively.

"I think there is, and a likely one."

"Good! What leads ye to think so, Frank?"

"Reach me my bowie. It's behind you there in the cave."

Wilder did as requested.

"It will depend a good deal upon what sort of rock this is around us. It isn't flint, anyhow. I take it to be either lime or sandstone. If so, we needn't stay here much longer than it would be safe to go out again among those bloodthirsty savages."

"How do you mean, Frank? Darn me if I yet understan ye."

"It's very simple, Walt. If this cliff rock be only sandstone, or some other substance equally soft, we may cut our way out—under the big stone."

"Ah! I didn't think o' thet. Thar's good sense in what ye say."

"It has a softish feel," said the Kentuckian, as he drew his hand across one of the projecting points. "I wish I only had two inches of a candle. However, I think I can make my exploration in the dark."

There was a short moment of silence, after which was heard a clinking sound, as of a knife blade being repeatedly struck against a stone. It was Hamersley, with his bowie, chipping off a piece from the rock that projected from the side of the shaft.

The sound was pleasant to the Kentuckian's ear, for it was not the hard metallic ring given out by quartz or granite. On the contrary, the steel struck against it with a dull, dead echo, and he could feel that the point of the knife easily impinged upon it.

"Sandstone," he said; "or something that'll serve our purpose equally as well. Yes, Walt, there's a good chance for us to get out of this ugly prison; so keep up your heart, comrade. It may cost us a couple of days' quarrying. Perhaps all the better for that; the Indians are pretty sure to keep about the waggons for a day or so. They'll find enough there to amuse them. Our work will depend a good deal on what sort of a stone they've rolled over the hole. You remember what size the boulder was?"

"'Twas a largish pebble; looked to me at least ten feet every way. It sort o' serprised me how the skunks ked a budged it. I reck'n 'twar on a coggle, an' rolled eezy. It must ha' tuk the hul clanjamfry o' them."

"If we only knew the right edge to begin at. For that we must go by guess-work. Well, we mustn't lose time, but set about our stone-cutting at once. Every hour will be taking the strength out of us. I only came down for the bowie to make a beginning. I'll make trial at it first, and then we can take turn and turn about."

Provided with his knife, the Kentuckian again climbed up; and soon after the guide heard a crinkling sound, succeeded by the rattling of pieces of rock, as they got detached and came showering down.

To save his crown, now uncovered by the loss of both kerchief and cap, he crept back into the alcove that had originally protected them from the stones cast in by the Indians. Along with the splinters something else came past Walt's face, making a soft, rustling sound; it had a smell also that told what it was—the "cussed stink-weed."

From the falling fragments, their size and number, he could tell that his comrade was making good way.

Walt longed to relieve him at his work, and called up a request to this end; but Hamersley returned a refusal, speaking in a cautious tone, lest his voice might be borne out to the ear of some savage still lingering near.

For over an hour Wilder waited below, now and then casting impatient glances upward. They were only mechanical; for, of course, he could see nothing. But they were anxious withal; for the success of his comrade's scheme was yet problematical.

With sufficient food and drink to sustain them, they might in time accomplish what they had set about; but wanting these, their strength would soon give way, and then—ah! then—

The guide was still standing on the ledge, pursuing this or a similar train of reflection, when all at once a sight came, not under but above his eyes, which caused him to utter an exclamation of joy.

It was the sight of his comrade's face—only that!

But this had in it a world of significance. He could hot have seen that face without light. Light had been let into their rock-bound abode, so late buried in the profoundest darkness.

It was but a feeble glimmer, that appeared to have found admission through a tiny crevice under the huge copestone; and Hamersley's face, close to it, was seen only in faint shadow—fainter from the film of smoke yet struggling up the shaft.

Still was it light—beautiful, cheering light—like some shore-beacon seen by the storm-tossed mariner amid the dangers of a night-shrouded sea.

Hamersley had not yet spoken a word to explain what had occurred to cause it. He had suddenly left off chipping the rock, and was at rest, apparently in contemplation of the soft silvery ray that was playing so benignly upon his features.

Was it the pleasure of once more beholding what he lately thought he might never see again—the light of day? Was it this alone that was keeping him still and speechless?

No, something else; as he told his comrade when he rejoined him soon after on the ledge.

"Walt," he said, "I've let daylight in, as you see; but I find it'll take a long time to cut a passage out. It's only the weeds I've been able to get clear of. The big rock runs over at least five feet, and the stone turns out harder than I thought of."

These were not cheering words to Walt Wilder.

"But," continued Hamersley, his speech changing to a more hopeful tone, "I've noticed something that may serve better still; perhaps save us all the quarrying. I don't know whether I'm right; but we shall soon see."

"What hev ye noticed?" was the question put by Wilder.

"You see there's still some smoke around us."

"Yes, Frank, my eyes tell me that plain enuf. I've nigh nibbed 'em out o' thar sockets."

"Well, as soon as I had scooped out the crack that let in the daylight. I noticed that the smoke rushed out as if blasted through a pair of bellows. That shows there's a draught coming up. It can only come from some aperture below, acting as a furnace or the funnel of a chimney. We must try to get down to the bottom, and see if there's such a thing. If there be, who knows but it may be big enough to let us out of our prison, without having to carve our way through the walls, which I feel certain would take us several days. We must try to get down to the bottom."

To accede to this request the guide needed no urging, and both—one after the other—at once commenced descending.

They found no great difficulty in getting down, any more than they had already experienced, for the shaft continued all the way down nearly the same width, and very similar to what it was above the ledge. Near the bottom, however, it became abruptly wider by the retrocession of the walls. They were now in a dilemma, for they had reached a point where they could go no further without dropping off. It might be ten feet, it might be a hundred—in any case enough to make the peril appalling.

Wilder had gone first, and soon bethought himself of a test. He unslung his powder-horn and permitted it to drop from his hand, listening attentively. It made scarce any noise; still he could hear it striking against something soft. It was the brush thrown in by the Indians. This did not seem far below; and the half-burnt stalks would be something to break their fall.

"I'll chance it," said Walt, and almost simultaneous with his words was heard the bump of his heavy body alighting on the litter below.

"You may jump without fear, Frank. 'Taint over six feet in the clar."

Hamersley obeyed, and soon both stood at the bottom of the chimney—on the hearthstone where the stalks of the creosote still smouldered.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

OFF AT LAST!

On touching terra firma, and finding plenty of space around, they scrambled from off the pile of loose stones and stalks cast down by the Indians, and commenced groping their way about. Again touching the firm surrounding of rock, they groped searchingly along it.

They were not long engaged in their game of blind-man's buff, when the necessity of trusting to the touch came abruptly to an end—as if the handkerchief had been suddenly jerked from their eyes. The change was caused by a light streaming in through a side gallery into which they had strayed. It was at first dim and distant, but soon shone upon them with the brilliance of a flambeau.

Following the passage through which it guided them, they reached an aperture of irregular roundish shape, about the size, of the cloister window of a convent. They saw at once that it was big enough to allow the passage of their bodies. They saw, too, that it was admitting the sunbeams—admonishing them that it was still far from night.

They had brought all their traps down along with them—their knives and pistols, with Hamersley's gun still carefully kept. But they hesitated about going out. There could be no difficulty in their doing so, for there was a ledge less than three feet under the aperture, upon which they could find footing. It was not that which caused them to hesitate, but the fact of again falling into the hands of their implacable enemies.

That these were still upon the plain they had evidence. They could hear their yells and whooping, mingled with peals of wild demon-like laughter. It was at the time when the firewater was in the ascendant, and the savages were playing their merry game with the pieces of despoiled cotton goods.

There was danger in going out, but there might be more in staying in. The savages might return upon their search, and discover this other entrance to the vault. In that case they would take still greater pains to close it and besiege the two fugitives to the point of starvation.

Both were eager to escape from a place they had lately looked upon as a living tomb.

Still, they dared not venture out of it. They could not retreat by the plain so long as the Indians were upon it. At night, perhaps, in the darkness, they might. Hamersley suggested this.

"No," said Walt, "nor at night eyther. It's moontime, you know; an' them sharp-eyed Injuns niver all goes to sleep thegither. On that sand they'd see us in the moonlight 'most as plain as in the day. Ef we wait at all, we'll hev to stay till they go clar off."

Wilder, while speaking, stood close to the aperture, looking cautiously out. At that moment, craning his neck to a greater stretch, so as to command a better view of what lay below, his eye caught sight of an object that elicited an exclamation of surprise.

"Darn it," he said, "thar's my old clout lyin' down thar on the rocks."

It was the red kerchief he had plucked from his head to put the pursuers on the wrong track.

"It's jest where I flinged it," he continued; "I kin recognise the place. That gully, then, must be the one we didn't go up."

Walt spoke the truth. The decoy was still in the place where he had set it. The square of soiled and faded cotton had failed to tempt the cupidity of the savages, who knew that in the waggons they had captured were hundreds of such, clean and new, with far richer spoil besides.

"S'pose we still try that path, Frank. It may lead us to the top arter all. If they've bin up it they've long ago gone down agin; I kin tell by thar yelpin' around the waggons. They've got holt of our corn afore this; and won't be so sharp in lookin' arter us."

"Agreed," said Hamersley.

Without further delay the two scrambled out through the aperture, and, creeping along the ledge, once more stood in the hollow of the ravine, at the point of its separation into the forks that had perplexed them in their ascent. Perhaps, after all, they had chosen the right one. At the time of their first flight, had they succeeded in reaching the plain above, they would surely have been seen and pursued; though with superior swiftness of foot they might still have escaped.

Once more they faced upward, by the slope of the ravine yet untried.

On passing it, Walt laid hold of his "clout," as he called it, and replaced it, turban fashion, on his head.

"I can only weesh," he said, "I ked as convenient rekiver my rifle; an', darn me, but I would try, ef it war only thar still. It ain't, I know. Thet air piece is too precious for a Injun to pass by. It's gone back to the waggons."

They could now more distinctly hear the shouts of their despoilers; and, as they continued the ascent, the narrow chine in the cliff opened between them and the plain, giving them a glimpse of what was there going on.

They could see the savages—some on foot, others on horseback—the latter careering round as if engaged in a tournament.

They saw they were roystering, wild with triumph, and maddened with drink—the fire-water they had found in the waggons.

"Though they be drunk, we mustn't stay hyar so nigh 'em," muttered Walt. "I allers like to put space atween me and seech as them. They mout get some whimsey into their heads, an' come this ways. They'll take any amount o' trouble to raise ha'r; an' maybe grievin' that they hain't got ourn yit, an' mout think they'd hev another try for it. As the night's bound to be a mooner, we can't git too far from 'em. So let's out o' this quick's we kin."

"On, then!" said Hamersley, assenting; and the next moment the two were rapidly ascending the gorge, Wilder leading the way.

This time they were more fortunate. The ravine sloped on up to the summit of the cliff, debouching upon a level plain. They reached this without passing any point that could bring them under the eyes of the Indians.

They could still hear the shouts of triumph and wild revelry; but as they receded from the crest of the cliff these grew fainter and fainter, until they found themselves fleeing over an open table-land, bounded above by the sky, all round them silent as death—silent as the heart of a desert.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

INTO THE DESERT.

The cliff, up which the young prairie merchant and his guide, after their series of hairbreadth escapes, have succeeded in climbing, is the scarped edge of a spur of the famous Llano Estacado, or "Staked Plain," and it is into this sterile tract they are now fleeing.

Neither have any definite knowledge of the country before them, or the direction they ought to take. Their only thought is to put space between themselves and the scene of their disaster—enough to secure them against being seen by the eye of any Indian coming after.

A glance is sufficient to satisfy them that only by distance can they obtain concealment. Far as the eye can reach the surface appears a perfect level, without shrub or tree. There is not cover enough to give hiding-place to a hare. Although now in full run, and with no appearance of being pursued, they are far from being confident of escaping. They are under an apprehension that some of the savages have ascended to the upper plain, and are still on it, searching for them. If so, these may be encountered at any moment, returning disappointed from the pursuit.

The fugitives draw some consolation from the knowledge that the pursuers could not have got their horses up the cliff; and, if there is to be another chapter to the chase, it will be on foot—a contest of pedestrian speed. In a trial of this kind Walt Wilder, at least, has nothing to fear. The Colossus, with his long strides, would be almost a match for the giant with the seven-leagued boots.

Their only uneasiness is that the savages may have gone out upon the track they are themselves taking, and, appearing in their front, may head them off, and so intercept their retreat. As there is yet no savage in sight—no sign either of man or animal—their confidence increases; and, after making a mile or so across the plain, they no longer look ahead, but backward.

At short intervals the great brown beard of the guide sweeps his left shoulder, as he casts anxious glances behind him. They are all the more anxious on observing—which he now does—that his fellow-fugitive flags in his pace, and shows signs of giving out.

With a quick comprehension, and without any questions asked, Wilder understands the reason. In the smoke-cloud that covered their retreat from the corralled waggons—afterwards in the sombre shadow of the chine, and the obscurity of the cave, he had not observed what now, in the bright glare of the sunlight, is too plainly apparent—that the nether garments of his comrade are saturated with blood.

Hamersley has scarce noticed it himself, and his attention is now called to it, less from perceiving any acute pain than that he begins to feel faint and feeble. Blood is oozing through the breast of his shirt, running down the legs of his trousers, and on into his boots. And the fountain from which it proceeds is fast disclosing itself by an aching pain in his side, which increases as he strides on.

A moment's pause to examine it. When the vest and shirt are opened it is seen that a bullet has passed through his left side, causing only a flesh wound, but cutting an artery in its course. Scratched and torn in several other places, for the time equally painful, he had not yet perceived this more serious injury.

It is not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The guide and hunter, like most of his calling, is a rough practical surgeon; and after giving the wound a hurried examination, pronounces it "only a scratch," then urges his companion onward.

Again starting, they proceed at the same quick pace; but before they have made another mile the wounded man feels his weakness sensibly overcoming him. Then the rapid run is succeeded by a slow dog-trot, soon decreasing to a walk, at length ending in a dead stop.

"I can go no farther, Walt; not if all the devils of hell were at my heels. I've done my best. If they come after you keep on, and leave me."

"Niver, Frank Hamersley, niver! Walt Wilder ain't the man to sep'rate from a kumrade, and leave him in a fix that way. If ye must pull up, so do this child. An' I see ye must; thar's no behelp for it."

"I cannot go a step farther."

"Enuf! But don't let's stan' to be seen miles off. Squat's the word. Down on yer belly, like a toad under a harrer. Thar's jest a resemblance o' kiver, hyar 'mong these tussocks o' buffler-grass; an' this child ain't the most inconspicerousest objeck on the plain. Let's squat on our breast-ribs, an' lay close as pancakes."

Whilst speaking he throws himself to the earth, flat on his face.

Hamersley, already tottering, drops down by his side; as he does so, leaving the plain, as far as the eye can reach, without salient object to intercept the vision—any more than might be seen on the surface of a sleeping ocean.

It is in favour of the fugitives that the day has now well declined. But they do not remain long in their recumbent position before the sun, sinking behind the western horizon, gives them an opportunity of once more getting upon their feet.

They do so, glad to escape from a posture whose restraint is exceedingly irksome. They have suffered from the hot atmosphere rising like caloric from the parched plain. But now that the sun had gone down, a cool breeze begins to play over its surface, fanning them to fresh energy. Besides, the night closing over them—the moon not yet up—has removed the necessity for keeping any longer in concealment, and they proceed onward without fear. Hamersley feels as if fresh blood had been infused into his veins; and he is ready to spring to his feet at the same time as his comrade.

"Frank! d'ye think ye kin go a little furrer now?" is the interrogatory put by the hunter.

"Yes, Walt; miles further," is the response. "I feel as if I could walk across the grandest spread of prairie."

"Good!" ejaculates the guide. "I'm glad to hear you talk that way. If we kin but git a wheen o' miles atween us an' them yelpin' savages, we may hev a chance o' salvation yit. The wust o' the thing air, that we don't know which way to go. It's a toss up 'tween 'em. If we turn back torst the Canadyen, we may meet 'em agin, an' right in the teeth. Westart lies the settlement o' the Del Nort; but we mout come on the same Injuns by goin' that direckshun. I'm not sartin they're Tenawas. Southart this Staked Plain hain't no endin' till ye git down to the Grand River below its big bend, an' that ain't to be thort o'. By strikin' east, a little southart, we mout reach the head sources o' the Loozyany Red; an' oncest on a stream o' runnin' water, this child kin generally navigate down it, provided he hev a rifle, powder, an' a bullet or two in his pouch. Thank the Almighty Lord, we've stuck to your gun through the thick an' the thin o't. Ef we hedn't we mout jest as well lie down agin' an' make a die at oncest."

"Go which way you please, Walt; you know best. I am ready to follow you; and I think I shall be able."

"Wal, at anyhow, we'd best be movin' off from hyar. If ye can't go a great ways under kiver o' the night, I reck'n we kin put enough o' parairia atween us an' these Injuns to make sure agin thar spyin' us in the mornin'. So let's start south-eastart, an' try for the sources o' the Red. Thur's that ole beauty o' the North Star that's been my friend an' guide many's the good time. Thar it is, makin' the handle o' the Plough, or the Great Bar, as I've heern that colleckshin o' stars freekwently called. We've only to keep it on our left, a leetle torst the back o' the shoulder, an' then we're boun' to bring out on some o' the head-forks o' the Red—if we kin only last long enough to reach 'em. Darn it! thar's no danger; an' anyhow, thar's no help for't but try. Come along!"

So speaking, the guide started forward—not in full stride, but timing his pace to suit the feeble steps of his disabled comrade.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST.

Guiding their course by the stars the fugitives continue on—no longer going in a run, nor even in a very rapid walk. Despite the resolution with which he endeavours to nerve himself, the wounded man is still too weak to make much progress, and he advances but laggingly. His companion does not urge him to quicken his pace. The experienced prairie man knows it will be better to go slowly than get broken down by straining forward too eagerly. There is no sign or sound of Indian, either behind or before them. The stillness of the desert is around them—its silence only interrupted by the "whip-whip" of the night-hawk's wings, and at intervals its soft note answering to the shriller cry of the kid-deer plover that rises screaming before their feet. These, with the constant skirr of the ground-crickets and the prolonged whine of the coyote, are the only sounds that salute them as they glide on—none of which are of a kind to cause alarm.

There appears no great reason for making haste now. They have all the night before them, and, ere daylight can discover them, they will be sure to find some place of concealment.

The ground is favourable to pedestrianism in the darkness. The surface, hard-baked by the sun, is level as a set flagstone, and in most places so smooth that a carriage could run upon it as on the drive of a park. Well for them it is so. Had the path been a rugged one the wounded man would not go far before giving out. Even as it is, the toil soon begins to tell on his wasted strength. His veins are almost emptied of blood.

Nor do they proceed a very great distance before again coming to a halt; though far enough to feel sure that, standing erect, they cannot be descried by any one who may have ascended the cliff at the place where they took departure from it.

But they have also reached that which offers them a chance of concealment—in short, a forest. It is a forest not discernible at more than a mile's distance, for the trees that compose it are "shin oaks," the tallest rising to the height of only eighteen inches above the surface of the ground. Eighteen inches is enough to conceal the body of a man lying in a prostrate attitude; and as the Lilliputian trees grow thick as jimson weeds, the cover will be a secure one. Unless the pursuers should stray so close as to tread upon them, there will be no danger of their being seen. Further reflection has by this time satisfied them that the Indians are not upon the upper plain. It is not likely, after the pains they had taken to smoke them in the cave and afterwards shut them up. Besides, the distribution of the spoils would be an attraction sure to draw them back to the waggons, and speedily.

Becoming satisfied that there is no longer a likelihood of their being pursued across the plain, Wilder proposes that they again make stop; this time to obtain sleep, which in their anxiety during their previous spell of rest they did not attempt. He makes the proposal out of consideration for his comrade, who for some time, as he can see, has evidently been hard pressed to keep up with him.

"We kin lie by till sun-up," says Walt; "an' then, if we see any sign o' pursoot, kin stay hyar till the sun goes down agin. These shin oaks will gie us kiver enuf. Squatted, there'll be no chance o' thar diskiverin' us, unless they stumble right atop o' us." His companion is not in the mood to make objection, and the two lay themselves along the earth. The miniature forest not only gives them the protection of a screen but a soft bed, as the tiny trunks and leaf-laden branches become pressed down beneath their bodies.

They remain awake only long enough to give Hamersley's wound such dressing as the circumstances permit, and then both sink into slumber.

With the young prairie merchant it is neither deep nor profound. Horrid visions float before his rapt senses—scenes of red carnage—causing him ever and anon to awake with a start, once or twice with a cry that wakes his companion.

Otherwise Walt Wilder would have slept as soundly as if reposing on the couch of a log cabin a thousand miles removed from any scene of danger. It is no new thing for him to go to sleep with the yell of savages sounding in his ears. For a period of over twenty years he has daily, as nightly, stretched his huge form along mountain slope or level prairie, and often with far more danger of having his "hair raised" before rising erect again. For ten years he belonged to the "Texas Rangers"—that strange organisation that has existed ever since Stephen Austin first planted his colony in the land of the "Lone Star." If on this night the ex-Ranger is more than usually restless, it is from anxiety about his comrade, coupled with the state of his nervous system, stirred to feverish excitement by the terrible conflict through which they have just passed. Notwithstanding all, he slumbers in long spells, at times snoring like an alligator.

At no time does the ex-Ranger stand in need of much sleep, even after the most protracted toil. Six hours is his usual daily or nocturnal dose; and as the grey dawn begins to glimmer over the tops of the shin oaks, he springs to his feet, shakes the dew from his shoulders like a startled stag, and then stoops down to examine the condition of his wounded comrade.

"Don't ye git up yit, Frank," he says. "We mustn't start till we hev a clar view all roun', an' be sure there's neery redskin in sight. Then we kin take the sun a leetle on our left side, an' make tracks to the south-eastart. How is't wi' ye?"

"I feel weak as water. Still I fancy I can travel a little farther."

"Wall, we'll go slow. Ef there's none o' the skunks arter us, we kin take our time. Durn me! I'm still a wonderin' what Injuns they war; I'm a'most sartint thar the Tenawa Kimanch—a band o' the Buffler-eaters an' the wust lot on all the parairia. Many's the fight we rangers used to hev wi' 'em, and many's the one o' 'em this child hev rubbed out. Ef I only hed my rifle hyar—durn the luck hevin' to desart that gun—I ked show you nine nicks on her timmer as stan' for nine Tenawa Kimanch. Ef't be them, we've got to keep well to the southart. Thar range lays most in the Canadyen, or round the head o' Big Wichitu, an' they mout cross a corner o' the Staked Plain on thar way home. Tharfer we must go southart a good bit, and try for the north fork o' the Brazos. Ef we meet Indian thar, they'd be Southern Kimanch—not nigh sech feeroshus varmints as them. Do you know, Frank, I've been hevin' a dream 'bout them Injuns as attacked us?"

"A dream! So have I. It is not strange for either of us to dream of them. What was yours, Walt?"

"Kewrus enuf mine war, though it warn't all a dreem. I reck'n I war more 'n half awake when I tuk to thinkin' about 'em, an' 'twar somethin' I seed durin' the skrimmage. Didn't you observe nothin' queery?"

"Rather say, nothing that was not that way. It was all queer enough, and terrible, too."

"That this child will admit wi' full freedom. But I've f't redskin afore in all sorts an' shapes, yet niver seed redskin sech as them."

"In what did they differ from other savages? I saw nothing different."

"But I did; leastways, I suspeck I did. Didn't you spy 'mong the lot two or three that had ha'r on thar faces?"

"Yes; I noticed that. I thought nothing of it. It's common among the Comanches and other tribes of the Mexican territory, many of whom are of mixed breed—from the captive Mexican women they have among them."

"The ha'r I seed didn't look like it grew on the face o' a mixed blood."

"But there are pure white men among them—outlaws who have run away from civilisation and turned renegades—as also captives they have taken, who become Indianised, as the Mexicans call it. Doubtless it may have been some of these we saw."

"Wall, you may be right, Frank. Sartint thar war one I seed wi' a beard 'most as big as my own—only it war black. His hide war black, too, or nigh to it; but ef that skunk wan't white un'erneath a coatin' o' charcoal an' vermilion then Walt Wilder don't know a Kristyun from a heethun. I ain't no use spek'latin' on't now. White, black, yella-belly, or red, they've put us afoot on the parairia, an' kim darned nigh wipin' us out althegither. We've got a fair chance o' goin' un'er yet, eyther from thirst or the famishment o' empty stomaks. I'm hungry enuf already to eat a coyat. Thar's a heavy row afore us, Frank, an' we must strengthen our hearts to hoein' o' it. Wall, the sun's up; an' as thar don't appear to be any obstrukshun, I reck'n we'd best be makin' tracks."

Hamersley slowly and somewhat reluctantly rises to his feet. He still feels in poor condition for travelling. But to stay there is to die; and bracing himself to the effort, he steps out side by side with his colossal companion.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS.

On the day after the capture of the caravan the Indians, having consumed all the whisky found in the waggons, and become comparatively sober, prepared to move off.

The captured goods, made up into convenient parcels, were placed upon mules and spare horses. Of both they had plenty, having come prepared for such a sequel to their onslaught upon the traders.

The warriors, having given interment to their dead comrades, leaving the scalped and mutilated corpses of the white men to the vultures and wolves, mounted and marched off.

Before leaving the scene of their sanguinary exploit, they had drawn the waggons into a close clump and set fire to them, partly from a wanton instinct of destruction, partly from the pleasure of beholding a great bonfire, but also with some thoughts that it might be as well thus to blot out all the traces of a tragedy for which the Americans—of whom even these freebooters felt dread—might some day call them to account.

They did not all go together, but separated into two parties on the spot where they had passed the night. They were parties, however, of very unequal size, one of them numbering only four individuals.

The other, which constituted the main body of the plunderers, was the band of the Tenawa Comanchey, under their chief, Horned Lizard. These last turned eastward, struck off towards the head waters of the Big Witches, upon which and its tributaries lie their customary roving grounds.

The lesser party went off in almost the opposite direction, south-westerly, leaving the Llano Estacado on their left, and journeying on, crossed the Rio Pecos at a point below and outside the farthest frontier settlement of New Mexico towards the prairies. Then, shaping their course nearly due south, they skirted the spurs of the Sierra Blanca, that in this latitude extend eastward almost to the Pecos.

On arriving near the place known as Gran Quivira—where once stood a prosperous Spanish town, devoted to gathering gold, now only a ruin, scarcely traceable, and altogether without record—they again changed their course, almost zigzagging back in a north-westerly direction. They were making towards a depression seen in the Sierra Blanca, as if with the intention to cross the mountains toward the valley of the Del Norte. They might have reached the valley without this circumstance, by a trail well known and often travelled. But it appeared as if this was just what they wanted to avoid.

One of the men composing this party was he already remarked upon as having a large beard and whiskers. A second was one of those spoken of as more slightly furnished with these appendages, while the other two were beardless.

All four were of deep bronze complexion, and to all appearance pure-blooded aboriginals. That the two with hirsute sign spoke to one another in Spanish was no sure evidence of their not being Indians. It was within the limits of New Mexican territory, where there are many Indians who converse in Castilian as an ordinary language.

He with the whiskered cheeks—the chief of the quartet, as well as the tallest of them—had not left behind the share of plunder that had been allotted to him. It was still in his train, borne on the backs of seven strong mules, heavily loaded. These formed an atajo or pack-train, guided and driven by the two beardless men of the party, who seemed to understand mule driving as thoroughly as if they had been trained to the calling of the arriero; and perhaps so had they been.

The other two took no trouble with the pack-animals, but rode on in front, conversing sans souci, and in a somewhat jocular vein.

The heavily-bearded man was astride a splendid black horse; not a Mexican mustang, like that of his companions, but a large sinewy animal, that showed the breed of Kentucky. And so should he—since he was the same steed Frank Hamersley had been compelled to leave behind in that rapid rush into the crevice of the cliff.

"This time, Roblez, we've made a pretty fair haul of it," remarked he who bestrode the black. "What with the silks and laces—to say nothing of this splendid mount between my legs—I think I may say that our time has not been thrown away."

"Yours hasn't, anyhow. My share won't be much."

"Come, come, teniente! don't talk in that way. You should be satisfied with a share proportioned to your rank. Besides, you must remember the man who puts down the stake has the right to draw the winnings. But for me there would have been no spoils to share. Isn't it so?"

This truth seeming to produce an impression on Roblez's mind, he made response in the affirmative.

"Well, I'm glad you acknowledge it," pursued the rider of the black. "Let there be no disputes between us; for you know, Roblez, we can't afford to quarrel. You shall have a liberal percentage on this lucky venture; I promise it. By the bye, how much do you think the plunder ought to realise?"

"Well," responded Roblez, restored to a cheerful humour, "if properly disposed of in El Paso or Chihuahua, the lot ought to fetch from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars. I see some silk-velvet among the stuff that would sell high, if you could get it shown to the rich damsels of Durango or Zacatecas. One thing sure, you've got a good third of the caravan stock."

"Ha! ha! More than half of it in value. The Horned lizard went in for bulk. I let him have it to his heart's content. He thinks more of those cheap cotton prints, with their red and green and yellow flowers, than all the silk ever spun since the days of Mother Eve. Ha! ha! ha!"

The laugh, in which Roblez heartily joined, was still echoing on the air as the two horsemen entered a pass leading through the mountains. It was the depression in the sierra, seen shortly after parting with the Horned Lizard and his band. It was a pass rugged with rock, and almost trackless, here and there winding about, and sometimes continued through canons or clefts barely wide enough to give way to the mules with the loads upon their backs.

For all this the animals of the travellers seemed to journey along it without difficulty, only the American horse showing signs of awkwardness. All the others went as if they had trodden it before.

For several hours they kept on through this series of canons and gorges—here and there crossing a transverse ridge that, cutting off a bend, shortened the distance.

Just before sunset the party came to a halt; not in the defile itself, but in one of still more rugged aspect, that led laterally into the side of the mountain. In this there was no trace or sign of travel—no appearance of its having been entered by man or animal.

Yet the horse ridden by Roblez, and the pack-mules coming after, entered with as free a step as if going into a well-known enclosure. True, the chief of the party, mounted on the Kentucky steed, had gone in before them; though this scarce accounted for their confidence.

Up this unknown gorge they rode until they had reached its end. There was no outlet, for it was a cul-de-sac—a natural court—such as are often found among the amygdaloidal mountains of Mexico.

At its extremity, where it narrowed to a width of about fifty feet, lay a huge boulder of granite that appeared to block up the path; though there was a clear space between it and the cliff rising vertically behind it.

The obstruction was only apparent, and did not cause the leading savage of the party to make even a temporary stop. At one side there was an opening large enough to admit the passage of a horse; and into this he rode, Roblez following, and also the mules in a string, one after the other.

Behind the boulder was an open space of a few square yards, of extent sufficient to allow room for turning a horse. The savage chief wheeled his steed, and headed him direct for the cliff; not with the design of dashing his brains against the rock, but to force him into a cavern, whose entrance showed its disc in the facade of the precipice, dark and dismal as the door of an Inquisitorial prison.

The horse snorted, and shied back; but the ponderous Mexican spur, with its long sharp rowel-points, soon drove him in; whither he was followed by the mustang of Roblez and the mules—the latter going in as unconcernedly as if entering a stable whose stalls were familiar to them.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A TRANSFORMATION.

It was well on in the afternoon of the following day before the four spoil-laden savages who had sought shelter in the cave again showed themselves outside. Then came they filing forth, one after the other, in the same order as they had entered; but so changed in appearance that no one seeing them come out of the cavern could by any possibility have recognised them as the same men who had the night before gone into it. Even their animals had undergone some transformation. The horses were differently caparisoned; the flat American saddle having been removed from the back of the grand Kentucky steed, and replaced by the deep-tree Mexican silla, with its corona of stamped leather and wooden estribos. The mules, too, were rigged in a different manner, each having the regular alpareja, or pack-saddle, with the broad apishamores breeched upon its hips; while the spoils, no longer in loose, carelessly tied-up bundles, were made up into neat packs, as goods in regular transportation by an atajo.

The two men who conducted them had altogether a changed appearance. Their skins were still of the same colour—the pure bronze-black of the Indian—but, instead of the eagle's feathers late sticking up above their crowns, both had their heads now covered with simple straw hats; while sleeveless coats of coarse woollen stuff, with stripes running transversely—tilmas—shrouded their shoulders, their limbs having free play in white cotton drawers of ample width. A leathern belt, and apron of reddish-coloured sheepskin, tanned, completed the costume of an arriero of the humbler class—the mozo, or assistant.

But the change in the two other men—the chief and him addressed as Roblez—was of a far more striking kind. They had entered the cave as Indians, warriors of the first rank, plumed, painted, and adorned with all the devices and insignia of savage heraldry. They came out of it as white men, wearing the costume of well-to-do rancheros—or rather that of town traders—broad glazed hats upon their heads, cloth jackets and trousers—the latter having the seats and insides of the legs fended with a lining of stamped leather; boots with heavy spurs upon their feet, crape sashes around the waist, machetes strapped along the flaps of their saddles, and seraphs resting folded over the croup, gave the finishing touch to their travelling equipment. These, with the well appointed atajo of mules, made the party one of peaceful merchants transporting their merchandise from town to town.

On coming out of the cave, the leader, looking fresh and bright from his change of toilet and late purification of his skin, glanced up towards the sky, as if to consult the sun as to the hour. At the same time he drew a gold watch from his vest pocket, and looked also at that.

"We'll be just in the right time, Roblez," he said. "Six hours yet before sunset. That will get us out into the valley, and in the river road. We're not likely to meet any one after nightfall in these days of Indian alarms. Four more will bring us to Albuquerque, long after the sleepy townsfolk have gone to bed. We've let it go late enough, anyhow, and mustn't delay here any longer. Look well to your mules, mozos! Vamonos!"

At the word all started together down the gorge, the speaker, as before, leading the way, Roblez next, and the mozos with their laden mules stringing out in the rear.

Soon after, they re-entered the mountain defile, and, once more heading north-westward, silently continued on for the valley of the Rio del Norte. Their road, as before, led tortuously through canons and rugged ravines—no road at all, but a mere bridle path, faintly indicated by the previous passage of an occasional wayfarer or the tracks of straying cattle.

The sun was just sinking over the far western Cordilleras when the precipitous wall of the Sierra Blanca, opening wider on each side of the defile, disclosed to the spoil-laden party a view of the broad level plain known as the valley of the Del Norte.

Soon after, they had descended to it; and in the midst of night, with a starry sky overhead, were traversing the level road upon which the broad wheel-tracks of rude country carts—carretas—told of the proximity of settlements. It was a country road, leading out from the foot-hills of the sierra to a crossing of the river, near the village of Tome, where it intersected with the main route of travel running from El Paso in the south through all the riverine towns of New Mexico.

Turning northward from Tome, the white robbers, late disguised as Indians, pursued their course towards the town of Albuquerque. Any one meeting them on the road would have mistaken them for a party of traders en route from the Rio Abajo to the capital of Santa Fe.

But they went not so far. Albuquerque was the goal of their journey, though on arriving there—which they did a little after midnight—they made no stop in the town, nor any noise to disturb its inhabitants, at that hour asleep.

Passing silently through the unpaved streets, they kept on a little farther. A large house or hacienda, tree shaded, and standing outside the suburbs, was the stopping place they were aiming at; and towards this they directed their course. There was a mirador or belvidere upon the roof—the same beside which Colonel Miranda and his American guest, just twelve months before, had stood smoking cigars.

As then, there was a guard of soldiers within the covered entrance, with a sentry outside the gate. He was leaning against the postern, his form in the darkness just distinguishable against the grey-white of the wall.

"Quien-viva?" he hailed as the two horsemen rode up, the hoof-strokes startling him out of a half-drunken doze.

"El Coronel-Commandante!" responded the tall man in a tone that told of authority.

It proved to be countersign sufficient, the speaker's voice being instantly recognised.

The sentry, bringing his piece to the salute, permitted the horsemen to pass without further parley, as also the atajo in their train, all entering and disappearing within the dark doorway, just as they had made entrance into the mouth of the mountain cavern.

While listening to the hoof-strokes of the animals ringing on the pavement of the patio inside, the sentinel had his reflections and conjectures. He wondered where the colonel-commandant could have been to keep him so long absent from his command, and he had perhaps other conjectures of an equally perplexing nature. They did not much trouble him, however. What mattered it to him how the commandant employed his time, or where it was spent, so long as he got his sueldo and rations? He had them with due regularity, and with this consoling reflection he wrapped his yellow cloak around him, leaned against the wall, and soon after succumbed to the state of semi-watchfulness from which the unexpected event had aroused him.

"Carrambo!" exclaimed the Colonel to his subordinate, when, after looking to the stowage of the plunder, the two men sat together in a well-furnished apartment of the hacienda, with a table, decanters, and glasses between them. "It's been a long, tedious tramp, hasn't it? Well, we've not wasted our time, nor had our toil for nothing. Come, teniente, fill your glass again, and let us drink to our commercial adventure. Here's that in the disposal of our goods we may be as successful as in their purchase!"

Right merrily the lieutenant refilled his glass, and responded to the toast of his superior officer.

"I suspect, Roblez," continued the Colonel, "that you have been all the while wondering how I came to know about this caravan whose spoil is to enrich us—its route—the exact time of its arrival, the strength of its defenders—everything? You think our friend the Horned Lizard gave me all this information."

"No, I don't; since that could not well be. How was Horned Lizard to know himself—that is, in time to have sent word to you? In truth, mio Coronel, I am, as you say, in a quandary about all that. I cannot even guess at the explanation."

"This would give it to you, if you could read; but I know you cannot, mio teniente; your education has been sadly neglected. Never mind, I shall read it for you."

As the colonel was speaking he had taken from the drawer of a cabinet that stood close by a sheet of paper folded in the form of a letter. It was one, though it bore no postmark. For all that, it looked as if it had travelled far—perchance carried by hand. It had in truth come all the way across the prairies. Its superscription was:—

"El Coronel Miranda, Commandante del Distrito Militario de Albuquerque, Nuevo Mexico."

Its contents, also in Spanish, translated read thus:—

"My dear Colonel Miranda,—I am about to carry out the promise made to you at our parting. I have my mercantile enterprise in a forward state of readiness for a start over the plains. My caravan will not be a large one, about six or seven waggons with less than a score of men; but the goods I take are valuable in an inverse ratio to their bulk— designed for the 'ricos' of your country. I intend taking departure from the frontier town of Van Buren, in the State of Arkansas, and shall go by a new route lately discovered by one of our prairie traders, that leads part way along the Canadian river, by you called 'Rio de la Canada,' and skirting the great plain of the Llano Estacado at its upper end. This southern route makes us more independent of the season, so that I shall be able to travel in the fall. If nothing occur to delay me in the route, I shall reach New Mexico about the middle of November, when I anticipate renewing those relations of a pleasant friendship in which you have been all the giver and I all the receiver.

"I send this by one of the spring caravans starting from Independence for Santa Fe, in the hope that it will safely reach you.

"I subscribe myself, dear Colonel Miranda,—

"Your grateful friend,—

"Francis Hamersley."

"Well, teniente," said his Colonel, as he refolded the far-fetched epistle, and returned it to the drawer, "do you comprehend matters any clearer now?"

"Clear as the sun that shines over the Llano Estacado," was the reply of the lieutenant, whose admiration for the executive qualities of his superior officer, along with the bumpers he had imbibed, had now exalted his fancy to a poetical elevation. "Carrai-i! Esta un golpe magnifico! (It's a splendid stroke!) Worthy of Manuel Armilo himself. Or even the great Santa Anna!"

"A still greater stroke than you think it, for it is double—two birds killed with the same stone. Let us again drink to it!"

The glasses were once more filled, and once more did the associated bandits toast the nefarious enterprise they had so successfully accomplished.

Then Roblez rose to go to the cuartel or barracks, where he had his place of sleeping and abode, bidding buena noche to his colonel.

The latter also bethought him of bed, and, taking a lamp from the table, commenced moving towards his cuarto de camara.

On coming opposite a picture suspended against the sala wall—the portrait of a beautiful girl—he stopped in front, for a moment gazed upon it, and then into a mirror that stood close by.

As if there was something in the glass that reflected its shadow into his very soul, the expression of exultant triumph, so lately depicted upon his face, was all at once swept from it, giving place to a look of blank bitterness.

"One is gone," he said, in a half-muttered soliloquy; "one part of the stain wiped out—thanks to the Holy Virgin for that. But the other; and she—where, where?"

And with these words he staggered on towards his chamber.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES.

It is the fourth day after forsaking the couch among the shin oaks, and the two fugitives are still travelling upon the Llano Estacado. They have made little more than sixty miles to the south-eastward, and have not yet struck any of the streams leading out to the lower level of the Texan plain.

Their progress has been slow; for the wounded man, instead of recovering strength, has grown feebler. His steps are now unequal and tottering. In addition to the loss of blood, something else has aided to disable him—the fierce cravings of hunger and the yet more insufferable agony of thirst.

His companion is similarly afflicted; if not in so great a degree, enough to make him also stagger in his steps. Neither has had any water since the last drop drank amid the waggons, before commencing the fight; and since then a fervent sun shining down upon them, with no food save crickets caught in the plain, an occasional horned frog, and some fruit of the opuntia cactus—the last obtained sparingly.