Part 31 (1/2)
Hank cleared his throat, his painted face terrible to look upon. ”h.e.l.l!”
he growled, squirming on his box. ”Them as know ye, Tom Boyd, know ye ain't neither dog ner liar! Takes a good man ter stand what ye have, day arter day, feelin' like you do, an' keep from chokin' th' life outer him. We've all took his insults, swallered 'em whole without no salt; ye wouldn't say _all_ o' us war dogs an' liars, would ye? Tell ye what; we've been purty clost, you an' me--suppose I slip back from th'
Canadian an' git his ears fer ye? 'Twon't be no trouble, an' I won't be gone long. Reckon ye'd feel airy better then?”
Zeb moved forward on his cask. ”That's you, Hank Marshall!” he exclaimed eagerly. ”I'm with ye! He spit in my face two days ago, an' I want his ha'r. Good fer you, ol' beaver!”
For the next hour the argument waxed hot, one against three, and Armstrong had to come in and caution them twice. It was Jim Ogden who finally changed sides and settled the matter in Tom's favor.
”Hyar! We're nigh fightin' over a dog that ain't worth a cuss!” he exclaimed. ”Mebby Tom will be comin' back ter Bent's afore winter sets in. Then we kin go ter Green River by th' way o' this town, stoppin'
hyar a day ter git Salezar's ears. Won't do Tom no good if us boys git th' skunk. If ye don't close yer traps, cussed if I won't go out an' git him now, an' then h.e.l.l sh.o.r.e will pop afore th' caravan gits away. Ain't ye got no sense, ye bloodthirsty Injuns?”
CHAPTER XXI
THE KIDNAPPING
Patience and her Mexican escort rode out of the town along the trail to Taos Valley, the road leading up the mountain and past her favorite retreat. She could not resist the cool of the morning hours and the temptation to pay one more visit to the little niche in the mountain side. The few farewell calls that she had to make could wait until the afternoon. They were duties rather than pleasures and the shorter she could make them the better she would like it. She pa.s.sed the mud houses of the soldiers and soon left the city behind. At intervals on the wretched road she met and smiled at the friendly muleteers and gave small coins to the toddling Mexican and Indian children before the wretched hovels scattered along the way. Well before noon she reached the little nook and unpacked the lunch she had brought along. Sharing it with her humble escort, who stubbornly insisted on taking his portion to one side and eating by himself, she spread her own lunch under her favorite tree and leisurely enjoyed it as she watched the mules pa.s.sing below her along the trail. This last view of the distant town and the mountain trail enchanted her and time slipped by with furtive speed. Far down on the road, if it could be called such, b.u.mped and slid a huge _carreta_ covered with a soiled canvas cover, its driver laboring with his four-mule team. The four had all they could do to draw the ma.s.sive cart along the rough trail and she smiled as she wondered how many mules it would take to pull the heavy vehicle if it were well loaded. She tried to picture it with the toiling caravan, and laughed aloud at the absurdity.
While she idly watched the _carreta_ and the little _atejo_ pa.s.sing it in the direction of the city, a flash far down the trail caught her eye and she made out a group of mounted soldiers trotting after an officer, whose scabbard dully flashed as it jerked and bobbed about. The _carreta_ was more than half way up the slope, seeming every moment to be threatened with destruction by the shaking it was receiving, when the soldiers overtook and pa.s.sed it. When the squad reached the short section of the trail immediately below her it met an _atejo_ of a dozen heavily-laden mules and the arrogant officer waved his sword and ordered them off the trail. Mules are deliberate and take their own good time, and they also have a natural reluctance to forsake a known and comparatively easy trail to climb over rocks under the towering packs.
Their owners tried to lead them aside, although there was plenty of room for the troops to pa.s.s, but the little beasts were stubborn and stuck to the trail.
Impatiently waiting for perhaps a full minute that his conceit might be pampered, the officer drew his sword again and peremptorily ordered the trail cleared for his pa.s.sing. The muleteers did their best, but it was not good enough for the puffed-up captain, and he spurred his horse against a f.a.ggot-burdened animal. The load swayed and then toppled, forcing the little burro to its knees and then over on its side, the tight girth gripping it as in a vise. The owner of the animal stepped quickly forward, a black scowl on his face. At his first word of protest the officer struck him on the head with the flat of the blade and broke into a torrent of curses and threats. The muleteer staggered back against a huge bowlder and bowed his head, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The officer considered a moment, laughed contemptuously and rode on, his rag-tag, wooden-faced squad following him closely.
As the soldiers pa.s.sed from his sight around a bend in the trail the muleteer leaned forward, hand on the knife in his belt, and stared malevolently at the rocks on the bend; and then hastened to help his two companions unpack the load of f.a.ggots and let the mule arise. The little animal did not get up. Both its front legs were broken by the rocky crevice into which they had been forced. The unfortunate Pueblo Indian knelt swiftly at the side of the little beast and pa.s.sed his hands along the slender legs. He shook his head sorrowfully and stroked the burro's flank. Suddenly leaping to his feet, knife in hand, he took two quick steps along the trail, but yielded to his clinging and frightened friends and dejectedly walked back to the suffering animal. For a moment he stood above it and then, changing his grip on the knife, leaned quickly over.
Patience had seen the whole tragedy and her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. As the muleteer bent forward she turned away, sobbing. The throaty muttering of her guide brought him back to her mind and she called him to her.
”Sanchez!” she exclaimed, taking a purse from her bosom. ”Take this money to him. It will buy him another burro.”
The Mexican's teeth flashed like pearls and he nodded eagerly. In a moment he was clambering down the rocky mountain side and reached the trail as the noisy _carreta_ lumbered past the waiting _atejo_. He need not have hastened, for each mule had seized upon the stop as a valuable moment for resting and was lying down under its load. Here was work for the angry muleteers, for every animal must be unloaded, kicked to its feet and loaded anew.
Sanchez slid down the last rocky wall, flung up his arms and showed the two gold pieces, making a flamboyant speech as he alternately faced the wondering muleteer and turned to bow to the slender figure outlined against the somber greens of the mountain nook. Handing over the money, he slapped the Indian's shoulder, whirled swiftly and clambered back the way he had come.
The Indian seemed dazed at his unexpected good fortune, staring at the money in his hand. He glanced up toward the mountain niche, raised a hand to his forelock, and then pushed swiftly back from his eager, curious, crowding friends. They talked together at top speed and for the moment forgot all about the mules they had so laboriously re-packed; and when they looked behind them they found they had their work to do over again. Again the fortunate muleteer looked up, his hand slowly rising to repeat his thanks; and became a statue in bronze. He saw the ragged troops seize his benefactress and leap for the guide. Sanchez was no coward and he knew what loyalty meant and demanded. He fought like a wild beast until the crash of a pistol in the hands of the officer sent him staggering on bending legs, back, back, back. Reaching the edge of the niche he toppled backward, his quivering arms behind him to break his fall; and plunged and rolled down the rocky slope until stopped by a stunted tree, where he hung like a bag of meal.
Patience's strength, multiplied by terror, availed her nothing and soon, bound, gagged and wrapped up in blankets, she was carried to the trail and placed in the _carreta_ which, its canvas cover again tightly drawn, quickly began its jolting way down the trail. As it and its escort pa.s.sed the _atejo_, now being re-packed, the officer scowled about him for a sight of the impudent muleteer, but could not see him.
Salezar stopped his horse: ”Where is that Pueblo dog?” he demanded.
”He is so frightened he is running all the way home,” answered a muleteer. ”He has left us to do his work for him! Are we slaves that we must serve him? Wait till we see him, Senor Capitan! Just you wait!” He looked at his companion, who nodded sourly. ”Always he is like that, Senor Capitan.”
Salezar questioned them closely about what they had seen, and found that they had been so busy with the accursed mules that they had had no time for anything else.
”See that you speak the truth!” he threatened. ”There is a gringo woman missing from Santa Fe and we are seeking her. Her gringo friends are enemies of the Governor, and those who help them also are his enemies.
Then you have not seen this woman?”
”The more gringos that are missing the louder we will sing. We have not seen her, Senor Capitan. We will take care that we do not see her.”