Part 51 (1/2)
The place we had chosen for our temporary bivouac--and where we had pa.s.sed the night--was at the upper extremity of the little valley, and close in to the cliff. We had selected this spot, from the ground being a little more elevated than the general surface, and in consequence drier. Several cotton-wood trees shaded it; and it was further sheltered by a number of large boulders of rock, that, having fallen from the cliff above, lay near its base. Behind these boulders, the men of our party had slept--not from any idea of the greater security afforded by them, but simply from a delicate motive--being thus separated from the _chamber_ occupied by our fair _protegees_.
It had never occurred to us that our place of concealment could be discovered in the night; and, even long after the day had arisen, so confident did we continue in our fancied security, that we had taken no precautions--neither to reconnoitre the cliffs in search of away of retreat, nor to adopt any means of defence in the event of our being a.s.sailed. As far as Wingrove and I were concerned, I have explained this negligence, for it was negligence of the most imprudent character.
The Mexican, feeling quite certain that he had succeeded in blinding our trail, was perhaps less cautious than he might otherwise have been; and Sure-shot equally trusted to his new comrade, for whose still the ex-ranger had conceived an exalted opinion.
I could see withal that Archilete was not without some apprehension. He had buckled on his artificial leg--the real one having become fatigued by pressing too long on the stirrup; and, as he hobbled over the ground, I noticed that from time to time he cast inquiring glances down the valley. Observing these signs of impatience more than once, I began to grow uneasy.
Prudence required that even that sweet scene should be interrupted--only temporality, I hoped--until some plan should be adopted, that would render us more secure against the contingency of our being discovered.
With my fair companion, I had turned away from the sweet whisperings of the cascade, and was facing to the upper end of the vallon--when, all at once, I observed a strange manoeuvre on the part of ”Peg-leg.” The trapper had thrown himself flat upon the gra.s.s; and with his ear placed close to the ground, appeared to listen. The movement was too significant not to attract the attention of everybody. My companion was the only one who did not comprehend it; but she observed that it had powerfully affected all the others; and an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of alarm escaped her, as she saw them hastening up to the place occupied by the prostrate trapper. Before we could arrive on the spot, the man had sprung back into an erect att.i.tude; and, as he stamped his timber leg with violence upon the ground, was heard to exclaim: ”_Carrambo, camarados_! The curs are upon our trail! _Oiga los_?--_el perro_--_el perro_!” (You hear them?--the dog--the dog!) The words were scarcely out of his mouth when their interpretation was given in the sound that came pealing up the valley. Borne upon the sighing breeze, it was heard above the rus.h.i.+ng noise of the waters--easily heard, and as easily understood. It was the bay of a dog, who ran ”growling” along a trail! Its deep tone was even identified. The huntress recognised it in the first note that fell upon her ear--as was evidenced by her quick exclamation: ”Wolf! my dog Wolf!”
The speech had scarcely escaped her, before the dog himself made his appearance, convincing us all of his ident.i.ty. The animal, seeing us, ran no longer by the scent; but with raised snout came galloping across the valley, and bounded forward to receive the caresses of his mistress.
We rushed to our weapons; and, having grasped them, ran behind the boulders of rock. It would have been idle to have taken to our horses.
If our pursuers were following the dog, and guided by him, they would already be near enough to intercept our retreat from the vallon?
Perhaps they were at that moment in the gorge? We had but one hope; and that was, that the dog might be _alone_. Missing Marian at the camp, he might have struck upon her trail, and been running upon it throughout the night! This seemed scarcely probable: for Holt could have detained him; and in all likelihood would have done so? Still less probable did it appear, as we watched the movements of the dog himself. Instead of staying by Marian, and continuing to receive her caresses, we noticed that at short intervals he ran off again, making demonstration in the direction he had come--as if in expectation of some one who was following at his heels! The slight hope we had conceived was quickly and rudely crushed, by the confirmation of this fact. The voices of men, echoing hoa.r.s.ely through the gorge, confirmed it! Beyond doubt, they were our pursuers, guided by the dog--who little comprehended the danger he was thus conducting towards the object of his instinctive affections!
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE.
AN UNEXPECTED DEFECTION.
Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were giving utterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of the chasm--another, and another--until eight had filed into the open ground!
They were all armed men--armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He in the lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the green blanket-coat, red s.h.i.+rt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that the foremost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rode Stebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons of the Mormon faith--the _Destroying Angels_!
On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening his speed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance of several lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, and ourselves too--for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks-- drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other--as if irresolute whether to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty paces of our position, he too reined in--keeping the body of Holt between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that we could note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult to understand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination--no doubt a determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolen her; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we were Indians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, had Stebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more than one rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation.
Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gun obliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands--as if ready to fire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gun on the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look of bewildered surprise. _White_ faces appearing over the rock instead of _red_ ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour.
Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glided from behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: ”O father! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is--” At the same instant her sister appeared by her side.
”Marian alive!” cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. ”My child Marian yet livin'! G.o.d be praised! Thur's one weight off o' my poor soul--an' now to eeze it o' another!” As he uttered the last words, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet upon the nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of the saddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins--who still sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle.
”Now, Josh Stebbins!” cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, ”the time's come to squar the yards wi' _you_!”
”What do you mean, Holt?” mechanically inquired the Mormon, in trembling surprise. ”What do you mean by that?”
”I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun', ye've got to make a clean breast o' it, an' clar me o' the crime o' murder.”
”What murder?” inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly.
”Oh! you know what I'm talkin' about! 'Twant _no_ murder. 'Twar only a suicide; an' G.o.d knows it broke my own heart.” Holt's voice was husky with emotion. He continued, after a pause: ”For all o' that, appearances wur agin' me: an' you invented proofs that wud a stood good among lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye've kep'
'm over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur's neither law nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur's witnesses o' both sides--yur own beauties down yander; an' some hyur o' a better sort, I reck'n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false, an' that I'm innocent o' the crime o' murder!”
There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange and unexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise.
Even the armed men at the bottom of the _vallon_ said not a word; and perceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gun against them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection of their apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate.
The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression of the most vindictive bitterness--as that of a tyrant forced to yield up some despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it mattered little to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance-- whatever it may have been--were likely to escape from his control in another way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even the shadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time for reflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites, which, however, he did--glancing back as if desirous of retreating towards them.
”Stan' yur groun'!” shouted the squatter in a tone of menace--”stan' yur groun'! Don't dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye'll only get the bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal G.o.d! you hain't another second to sit in that seddle!” The quick threatening manner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins that prevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: ”You committed no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!”
”No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o' it? Confess you invented proofs, an' kep' 'em over my head like a black shadder?