Produced by David Edwards, Barbara Kosker and the Online

 THE RED

 MUSTANG

 _by_ W. O. STODDARD

THE RED MUSTANG

 HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
 NEW LARGE-TYPE EDITION

 TOBY TYLER                      James Otis

 MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER            James Otis

 TIM AND TIP                     James Otis

 RAISING THE "PEARL"             James Otis

 ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL      W. F. Cody

 DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT           Mrs. L. C. Pyrnelle

 MUSIC AND MUSICIANS             Lucy C. Lillie

 THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB    W. L. Alden

 THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST"       W. L. Alden

 MORAL PIRATES                   W. L. Alden

 A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE           W. L. Alden

 PRINCE LAZYBONES                Mrs. W. J. Hays

 THE FLAMINGO FEATHER            Kirk Munroe

 DERRICK STERLING                Kirk Munroe

 CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO.            Kirk Munroe

 WAKULLA                         Kirk Munroe

 THE ICE QUEEN                   Ernest Ingersoll

 THE RED MUSTANG                 W. O. Stoddard

 THE TALKING LEAVES              W. O. Stoddard

 TWO ARROWS                      W. O. Stoddard

 HARPER & BROTHERS
 PUBLISHERS

[Illustration: "NOW FOR SANTA LUCIA!"]

 THE
 RED MUSTANG

 BY
 WILLIAM O. STODDARD

 Author of "THE TALKING LEAVES"

 ILLUSTRATED

 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
 NEW YORK AND LONDON

 THE RED MUSTANG

 Copyright, 1890, by Harper & Brothers
 Copyright, 1918, by William O. Stoddard
 Printed in the U. S. A.

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                                                PAGE

       I. THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER                          1

      II. HOW CAL EVANS RODE FOR HELP                     15

     III. THE BAND OF KAH-GO-MISH                         23

      IV. THE GARRISON OF SANTA LUCIA                     27

       V. CAL AND THE CAVALRY AND THE RED MUSTANG         32

      VI. THE PERIL OF SANTA LUCIA                        38

     VII. BOUND FOR THE BORDER                            51

    VIII. GETTING READY TO CHASE KAH-GO-MISH              56

      IX. THE HACIENDA OF SANTA LUCIA                     63

       X. THE TARGET ON THE ROCK                          67

      XI. THE STORY OF A LOG                              75

     XII. PING AND THE COUGAR                             82

    XIII. THE RETURN OF KAH-GO-MISH                       89

     XIV. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE DESERT                      94

      XV. LOST IN THE CHAPARRAL                          101

     XVI. AN INVASION OF TWO REPUBLICS                   107

    XVII. HOW PING AND TAH-NU-NU GOT TO THE SPRING       114

   XVIII. HOW DICK PLAYED SENTINEL                       120

     XIX. BAD NEWS FOR WAH-WAH-O-BE                      126

      XX. HOW CAL STARTED FOR MEXICO                     132

     XXI. THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING                     139

    XXII. ACROSS THE DESERT BY NIGHT                     144

   XXIII. AT THE RANCH AND IN THE CHAPARRAL              151

    XXIV. CAL'S NIGHT UNDER A TREE                       157

     XXV. A STRANGE LETTER FROM MEXICO                   163

    XXVI. CAL'S VISITORS AND HIS BREAKFAST               169

   XXVII. THE POST-BOY THAT GOT AWAY                     174

  XXVIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE STICKS                      180

    XXIX. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE FIRE?                       186

     XXX. THE MANITOU WATER                              192

    XXXI. PULL STICK AND THE HURRICANE                   198

   XXXII. UNDER A FALLEN TREE                            204

  XXXIII. LEAVING THE BAD-MEDICINE CAMP                  210

   XXXIV. TAH-NU-NU'S DISAPPOINTMENT                     216

    XXXV. HAND TO HAND BY FIRELIGHT                      222

   XXXVI. HOW CAL WAS LEFT ALL ALONE                     227

  XXXVII. RESCUED BY THE RED MUSTANG                     234

 XXXVIII. HOW THEY ALL REACHED SANTA LUCIA               239

ILLUSTRATIONS

 "Now for Santa Lucia!"                            _Frontispiece_

                                                      FACING PAGE

 She and Ping Were Stealing Out upon the Broken Ledge          86

 "Ugh!" They Said, as They Looked at Him. "Kah-Go-Mish"       110

 Cal Took the Leaf, and Used His Knife for a Pen              184

THE RED MUSTANG THE RED MUSTANG:

_A STORY OF THE MEXICAN BORDER._

CHAPTER I.

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.

Early one bright June morning, not long ago, a high knoll of a prairie
in southern New Mexico was occupied as it had never been before.
Rattlesnakes had coiled there; prairie-dog sentinels and wolves and
antelopes, and even grim old buffalo bulls, had used that swelling mound
for a lookout station. Mountains in the distance and a great sweep of
the plains could be seen from it. Never until that hour, however, since
the grass began to grow, had precisely such a horse pawed and fretted
there, while precisely such a boy sat in the saddle and looked around.

It is very uncommon for a mustang to show a bright and perfect blood bay
color, but this one did so, and it seemed as if the glossy beauty of his
coat only brought out the perfection of his shape and the easy grace of
his movements. He was a fiery, powerful fellow, and he appeared to have
some constitutional objection to standing still. The saddle upon his
back and the bridle held by his rider were of the best Mexican
workmanship, silver mounted, the very thing to complete the elegance of
the red mustang.

In the saddle sat a boy about fourteen years of age, a gray-eyed,
brown-haired young fellow, broad-shouldered and well made, whose
sunburned face was all aglow with health and who seemed to feel
altogether at home in the stirrups. He wore a palm-leaf sombrero, a blue
flannel shirt and trousers, while the revolver case at his belt and the
carbine slung at his back added to the dashing effect of his outfit.

"Cowboy! I a cowboy!" he exclaimed, as the mustang curveted under him.
"Look at those cattle! Look at all those horses! I'd rather own Santa
Lucia ranch and ride Dick all over the range, than to live in any city I
saw in the Eastern States. Hurrah!"

An exultant, ringing laugh followed the shout, but he still held in
Dick. He took a long look, in all directions, as if it were part of his
business to know if anything besides cattle were stirring between that
knoll and the dim, cloudlike mountain-peaks, or the distant trees which
marked the horizon of the plain.

Cattle and horses enough were in sight, as he turned from one point of
the compass to another. The horned animals were not gathered in one
great drove, but were scattered in larger and smaller gangs, here and
there, and were busily feeding. Something like half a regiment of
horses, however, had kept together somewhat better, and the red mustang
himself seemed to be taking an especial interest in them.

"Be quiet, Dick," said his master. "Are you set on springs?"

A low whinny and something like a suppressed curvet was Dick's reply,
and it was followed by a sharp exclamation.

"Dick, what's that? What's the matter with Sam Herrick?"

At the same instant Dick was wheeled in an easterly direction and was
permitted to bound away to meet a horse and rider who were coming
towards him at furious speed.

Hardly three minutes later both reins were drawn so suddenly as almost
to compel the two quadrupeds to sit down.

"What's the matter, Sam?"

"Indians, Cal, Indians!"

The news was of an exciting character and was given with emphasis, but
neither the voice nor the face of the black-bearded, undersized,
knotty-looking man who gave it betrayed the least trace of emotion. It
was as if he were mentioning some important but altogether
matter-of-course part of a cowboy's daily business. He added, in even a
quieter tone and manner, as his horse came to a standstill, "I scored
one of 'em. They've kind o' got the lower drove, but mebbe they won't
drive 'em far. We can race these hosses into the timber. That's what I
came for, and I'm right down glad you're here to help."

Cal's eager young face glowed with something more than health, and his
eyes were flashing, but he made an effort to seem as calm and
unconcerned as Sam Herrick himself.

"How far away are they now?" he asked, as he followed Sam's quick dash
towards the drove of horses.

"Mebbe a mile 'n a half. Mebbe not so much. Mebbe some more. All of 'em,
except the braves that took after me, went for hosses and fresh beef, or
seemed to. Guess we'll have time."

"Will they get many cattle? Were there enough of them to gather the
whole drove?"

"They won't gather any cattle. It's a kind of bufler hunt for 'em. Lots
of beef handy. They won't think of driving off any horned critters. Too
slow, my boy. They'll take all the hosses they can get, though, and load
'em up, too."

Cal's face was in strong contrast with the dark, almost wooden sternness
of the one he was looking into when he asked:

"Sam, did you say you killed one?"

"Can't say. Guess not. I meant to mark him, but it was his pony that
seemed to go down. Didn't either of 'em get up, that I saw. He was an
awful fool to follow me in the way he did."

Sam was shouting at the horses between his short, jerky sentences, and
his long-lashed, short-handled whip was whirling and cracking in a way
that they seemed to understand.

"How many were there of them?" asked Cal, the next opportunity he had.

"Hosses? Well, they must have scooped the eastern drove. More'n a
hundred head. We've got about two hundred here, but your father's lost
some real good ones, this time. No fault of mine."

"I didn't mean horses," said Cal. "How many Indians?"

"Oh, the redskins?" said Sam, with a tremendous crack of the long whip.
"Nobody can guess how many. They seemed to swarm all around. 'Paches, of
course, but it's a curiosity where they came from. We must work, now.
Further to the left, Cal. That's it. They're started. What are those
mules halting for!"

Nearly a score of long-eared fellows knew, in half a minute more, why
they were trying to reach the woods ahead of the horses. It must be
dreadfully aggravating to any mule to hear such a yell as that of Sam
Herrick behind him, and to feel himself whip-stung somewhere at the same
moment.

Cal Evans whooped and shouted remarkably well, but there was something
sepulchral and savage and startling in the sounds with which Sam
encouraged the whole drove to reach the long, irregular line of trees
and bushes, half a mile to the southward.

"Keep it up, Cal! Whoop it! They're all a-going. Never mind any cattle.
Whoop it!"

"There come the redskins!" shouted Cal, at that moment, and then he
seemed to almost hold his breath.

"I saw 'em," coolly responded Sam. "We'll reach good cover before they
get here. The drove's running fine."

Sam was cool enough, but every muscle of his wiry body seemed to be
uncommonly alive, and the horse he was on dashed hither and thither as
if he also understood the matter.

"They're gaining on us," shouted Cal, at the end of another minute.
"More'n a dozen of 'em. What can we two do against so many?"

"Keep cool, Cal. I'll show you when we get to the timber," replied Sam.
"We're going to save every hoof of this lot, but they may get away with
the other drove. I'm only half sure 'bout that, though."

The mob of mules and horses before them had been whipped and shouted
into a furious run, and the thud of their hoofs was worth hearing. The
best runners were streaming out ahead, and the heavier, slower animals
were sagging behind as a sort of rear-guard. Sam worked vigorously for
the rescue of those slow horses, and he hardly turned his head to take a
look at the Indians. Cal imitated him as well as he could, except about
the looking, and with every bound of the red mustang he justified Sam's
remark:

"He rides like an Indian. Isn't he a fine young feller? Reckon the old
colonel 'll say I was right. I'll save his boy for him if I have to lose
the whole drove--and my own hair, too; but they won't get that for
nothing."

Cal Evans could not know what was passing in the mind of the swarthy
cowboy. His own brain and every nerve of his body seemed to be all a
tingle of excitement. He was now able to think about it and to be proud
that he felt no fear. That is, no fear concerning anything but the
horses.

On, on, on, went that tumultuous race, and the line of forest was very
near now. It was a sort of natural barrier, stretching across the plain
as if put there to check the sweep of "norther" storms and prairie
fires, and any sort of stampedes. The middle of it was a winding ravine
or slough, and at some seasons it was a river, instead of a string of
ponds for buffalo wallows. All the wild or tame quadrupeds on that plain
knew the value of Slater's Branch, and some of them, and all of the men,
knew that it never quite went dry, and that its faculty to become a
river could be exercised at any time on short notice, when the snow in
the mountains melted rapidly or when a cloud-burst came on this side of
the Sierra.

The trees and bushes knew all about Slater's Branch, and they came and
settled for life on its banks, making a timber-belt thick and tall, with
here and there dense undergrowths for the deer to lie in.

Cal Evans could not quite understand the present value of that line of
forest, and yet he felt that it had a sort of sheltering look, and he
was particularly glad to be galloping nearer and nearer, for there was
an unpleasant chorus of whoops and yells only about a quarter of a mile
behind him, and it was manifestly growing louder.

"Cal," growled Sam Herrick, "they've gobbled hosses enough for this
trip. They can't have any more out of your father's corral. The critters
are getting into cover. Keep cool, Cal. We may have to throw lead, some;
but I reckon not much."

"Won't they follow us into the woods, then?" asked Cal, doubtfully.

"That's the question," replied Sam. "If they're young bucks they may;
but not if there's a chief or an old brave among 'em. I'll show you."

Cal was conscious of understanding the feelings of young braves who
needed an old chief to hold them back. He knew that it would be almost a
disappointment if he and Sam should succeed in saving the horses without
any shooting. He had no desire to hurt anybody or to be hurt, but then
the idea of a skirmish and a victory and all that sort of glory made him
think of all the Indian battles he had ever read about.

Sam Herrick was armed to the teeth, as became a cowboy in that region,
and yet it had been a long time since any hostile savages had troubled
it. The herds and droves had multiplied, year after year, almost
unmolested, for the Apache bands were either driven over the Mexican
border, or into Arizona, or were gathered on their reservations. If Cal
had been asked, that morning, why he carried his own weapons, his best
excuse would have been "I thought I might hunt a little," and his real
reason would not have been told unless he had said: "I love a gun, and
I'd rather carry one than not, and a fellow can keep thinking what he'd
do with it if he had a chance."

He had not tried to do any hunting, but his chance to do something else
had come, or it looked like it, very suddenly.

"There, Cal. Glad we're here--"

Sam Herrick said that as he reined in his horse and sprang to the
ground. Cal followed his example, and one glance around him made him
draw a breath of relief. There were great oaks, in all directions.
Several of the largest had fallen before the hands of time and some
strong wind, and he and Sam had ridden in behind them, followed by a
gust of angry whooping.

"Take your tree, Cal," said Sam, as he raised his repeater and sent a
warning shot in the direction of the whoops. "Now, my boy, if you was
one of them 'Paches, how'd you feel about riding into short range of two
good rifles, knowing what lead'll do for a careless Indian?"

"I'd think twice about it," said Cal, "and so 'll they; but they may
ride into cover above or below us, and creep up. There's more than a
dozen of 'em."

"Another time, perhaps, they might," said Sam, "but this isn't that
other time. They haven't any to spare for scouting and skirmishing if
they're to get away with their plunder. You and I can stand 'em off. Let
drive, Cal! They're riding in too near."

Crack, crack, went the two rifles, although the distance was over three
hundred yards.

"I declare!" exclaimed Sam. "One of us has knocked over a cow, on the
rise, away beyond. They've seen it, though, and it's a good notice to
'em. There's just one thing troubles me. Word ought to be sent to the
ranch. They ought to be warned before any mischief comes to 'em. I don't
half know what to do."

He fired again, as if in vexation as well as in doubt, and the red men
wheeled away as they also were uncertain what to do next.

Cal was silent for a moment, but a terrible thought had flashed into
his mind. The ranch was his home.

"Sam," he said, in a changed, anxious voice, "is there any danger to
them? I could dodge these fellows. I could carry the warning."

"I'd never answer to your father for letting you run any risk, Cal.
You're perfectly safe here, but it might be an awful race to Saint
Lucy."

Sam Herrick's idea of perfect safety was all his own, but Cal responded:

"I'd be just as safe on Dick's back. There isn't a horse in New
Mexico--"

"I know," said Sam, "but a bullet or an arrer 'll out-travel any hoss
living. If you could ride along under cover, to the left, 'bout half a
mile, and set off behind the herd, without their sighting you--"

"Yes," said Cal, "but why can't you come along and get to the ranch with
me?"

"My name's Sam Herrick, and I never went back on myself since I was
born. Colonel Evans's hosses was in my keep, and nigh half on 'em's
gone, and I'm bound to save the other half. I can stand off this lot of
red-skins. They haven't an hour to throw away, and they know it. Mount
and ride! Good-bye, Cal. You're taking all the risk there is."

Cal sprang to the saddle, shook Sam's hand, and cantered away through
the trees, but he did not hear the muttered words of the man who watched
his departure.

"I reckon," said Sam, "that was the only way I could have got him to try
it on. He's clear grit, like his father, and he'd have stayed to fight
it out in this here death-trap. I couldn't bear to have 'em get him.
Besides, what I told him may be true. He may be saving the women folks
at the ranch, and perhaps these chaps won't ride in. I'll give 'em a
shot, now and then, till he's well away."

Sam seemed wonderfully relieved, as if a great load had been taken off
his mind. It was a great thing to him to have nothing but Apaches to
watch and to have no awful responsibility concerning the boyish rider of
the red mustang.

If one of Sam's troubles had been in some small part removed, there was
another question which from time to time came to his lips, and he now
seemed almost satisfied with his own answer.

"Where did they come from? Well, I'd say they was from the
Mescalero--'Pache reservation, east of the mountains. They got tired of
being cooped up on poor rations. How'd they get through at El Paso? I
don't know how. Where'll they go next? I don't know that, neither."

When Sam first saw those Indians that morning, no time at all was given
him for taking notes. He had been suddenly compelled to put spurs to his
horse and to ride for his life. He had been followed by the only
Indians, out of more than a hundred, that were mounted, for all the rest
were on foot. The hundred, and as many more as there might be, included
dozens of warriors, besides squaws and children. There were a score of
heavily laden pack-ponies, besides the ponies ridden by the mounted
braves, but that band was particularly in need of the kind of property
which Sam Herrick had been set to guard. He guessed very correctly about
them. They had broken away from the region of country set apart as
their reservation, for what they deemed good reasons. They had taken
with them only such few miserable ponies as a series of disastrous
seasons had left them.

They saw Sam before he saw them; for, in spite of his customary
watchfulness, he had been taking things lazily. They had no idea of a
grand prize so near at hand, and the news brought back by their scouts
who first made the discovery came as a thrilling surprise to the entire
band. All the voices of all the dusky men, women, boys, and girls,
exclaimed "Ugh!"

That was followed by silence and by crouchings in the grass and behind
ant-hills. The pack-ponies were led back a little distance. A tall
warrior on foot gave orders with motions of his hands, hardly uttering a
sound, and, in obedience to his directions, warriors, squaws, boys, and
even girls, darted off to the right and left.

The horses were feeding quietly, and were not widely scattered, and Sam
Herrick sat in the saddle, looking at them listlessly and not dreaming
of peril to them or to himself. He did not see the dusky forms which
were creeping behind tufts and knolls behind him and away on either side
of him. So it came to pass that when, at last, all was ready, and the
braves who had ponies came galloping towards him, it was just as he
afterwards described it to Cal Evans, "the prairie seemed to swarm with
them."

His only course was to dash away at the best speed of his horse, and the
squad that followed him had cared very little whether or not they should
catch him, except to prevent him from carrying news of their arrival.
Their miserable used-up ponies had been no match for the racer he was
riding, but the whole band seemed likely to be better mounted, speedily,
than it ever had been before.

There was very little whooping done by the horse collectors, for there
was no wish to cause a stampede. The first horses caught and mounted
were employed to catch others, and the packs of the pack-ponies were
rapidly searched for lariats and bridles. Of course there was more than
a little dismounting as well as mounting, for a number of unbroken colts
did their entire duty in the way of refusing to be ridden barebacked.
That would have been better fun at any other time. Just now it was a
delay, and so a probable danger, and some of the most vigorous kickers
carried their point, and were driven away instead of being ridden.

There was work for the entire band, for the cattle were next attended
to, and once more Sam Herrick proved to be a good guesser. Beef was
wanted, but not on the hoof, and horse after horse and mule after mule
was laden with fresh meat. A poor, hungry, dismounted gang of Apaches,
escaped from their reservation limits, had suddenly become almost rich.
Not a soul of them had ever been taught that there was anything unlawful
in what they were doing, and there was glee all around, marred only by
the fact that there was nothing there to cook with, and by the fear that
the solitary cowboy might get away and bring a lot of angry palefaces to
take that magnificent plunder away from them. All of that wide plain had
once been Apache land, with its buffalo, its deer, and its other game,
and whatever might now be found upon it by a band who considered
themselves very good Indians, was fair game for them. They believed
themselves to have been plundered by the whites, and to be now obtaining
something like a part payment for their lost rights. Sam Herrick,
standing behind the fallen trees, rifle in hand, was obstinately
interfering with their effort to secure a much larger and better payment
of the same old debt.

CHAPTER II.

HOW CAL EVANS RODE FOR HELP.

The excited boy on the red mustang was not allowed to use his own
judgment altogether as to the right place for riding out from the
forest. Hundreds and hundreds of cows and bulls and oxen took that
important matter into their own hoofs. They had not been so sensitive as
the horses, and had not been whipped or shouted at. They, therefore, had
not been stampeded so quickly, but they went wild enough as soon as the
craze took them. They may have been wondering whether a norther or a
prairie-fire or a travelling earthquake were after Sam and Cal and the
horses when over the grassy rolls came that squad of yelling red-men.
The whoops were an awful noise to hear, and one very thin, respectable
old cow set off at once. In another moment there were tossing horns and
anxious bellowing in all directions, while some half-grown calves threw
up their heels and followed the cow. A wiry, vicious-looking ox, with
only one horn, punched with it the ribs of his next neighbor. That
example spread like wildfire; and something said by the widest-horned,
longest-legged, deepest-throated old bull may have really meant:

"Now--ow, every fellow bellow and run like all ruin--uin--uin!"

Run like ruin they did, and, of course, they broke for the timber,
although the Indians who were threatening Sam Herrick were right ahead
of them. If a regiment of infantry had been in the way it would have
been scattered all the same, and what were a dozen or so of mere
pony-riders? Sam was safe among his fallen trees, but the Indians had to
get out of the way of that stampede. Cal Evans saw the cattle coming,
and he had his wits about him.

"Hurrah!" he shouted. "I'll put them between me and the redskins. Now,
Dick, it's our chance."

The red mustang knew that he had been called upon. There was a whinny, a
bound, a swift dash of nearly two minutes into the open plain, and then
a burst of whooping announced that he and his rider had been seen.

What of that, when all that tumult of tossing horns was streaming along
behind them, putting its barrier between Cal and the nearest Apache
warrior? Follow him? What would ponies already overdriven be worth
behind the long, swinging, elastic bounds of the red mustang?

"Hurrah, Dick! There's no other such horse living! Hurrah!"

On, on, on! and there was no need of a trail to follow, for Sam
Herrick's last advice had been, "Ride due north, Cal, and you won't lose
any distance."

At that very moment the brave cowboy was watching the course of events
almost breathlessly, but the only token of excitement was a glitter in
his black eyes, until he exclaimed, "Colorado! Cal's safe! The critters
have done it. They've done me a good turn, too, if I can manage to keep
out of their way."

He sprang to the saddle, and hurried along deeper into the forest. Just
as the foremost bulls were charging in among the trees, Sam rode out
into an open place on the bank of Slater's Branch. It was bare of trees,
but it was thronged with horses, and so was the wide, shallow pool
beyond; and now they all heard once more the crack of Sam's whip.

"The horned critters won't stop," he said to himself, "till their hoofs
are in the mud. The redskins may follow 'em, but there's time to put the
hosses on the other side."

There was fright enough among them to prevent any delay, and the last
mule was braying upon the opposite bank in reply to a shout of Sam's,
when the cattle began to show in the open space. Bushes and trees had
checked the stampede somewhat, but there were bellows of pleasure all
along the line--bellows of all sorts and sizes, as if calf and cow and
patriarch alike found mental relief in a sight of Slater's Branch.

"Colorado!" exclaimed Sam; "all the critters are as nigh safe as I can
make 'em. I'm free, now, to pick my way back to Saint Lucy. Redskins 'll
go slow through timber with a rifle in it. If the whole band came I'd be
of no manner of use. They can't catch Dick now he's got a clear start.
Cal's safe; but what I want now is a fresh mount. I've taken twenty odd
miles out of this one, and I may have racing to do. That gray's about
X."

The gray he singled out was caught and saddled and bridled, but no
ordinary groom could have performed that feat. Neither could any timid
horseman have compelled the gray to give up the disposition he had for
dancing horse-waltzes and polkas among the trees. Sam did it, and forced
him to go ahead with not more than three or four gaits at once.

"More fire and more mischief and more good running in him," he remarked,
exultingly. "Nothing could catch him, unless it might be Cal's red
mustang. My chance is a heap better than it was."

He seemed to have a habit of talking to some imaginary companion. Men
who pass much of their time alone are very apt to get such a habit, but
men who live among crowds never do. Away he went a mile or more down the
Branch, until he came to a place where he could cross it almost dryshod.

"The 'Paches won't come this way," he remarked. "They'll either try to
strike Saint Lucy, or else they'll head for the Mexican line with their
plunder."

Sam could make his calculations as coolly as if the Apaches had been so
many peaceable traders, but there was only one thought in the mind of
Cal Evans. It grew as he rode, and it kept his mind in a sort of mingled
fever and chill.

"The ranch and everybody in it! If father is there he might take them
for friendly Indians until it would be too late. He isn't likely to be
there. Men all gone! Mother is there! Vic is there!"

Cal's thoughts took terrible shapes as he galloped onward, borrowing
horrors from all he had ever heard of the deeds of pitiless savages.
More than once a fierce kind of shout burst from him, but he had no
need for urging Dick. The red mustang's racing-blood was up, as if he
knew that he were riding a great match against danger and death. He
responded to his master with a short, excited whinny, and seemed to
lengthen the splendid stride that swept the miles away. He had been set
free to run his best and wildest, with only a light weight to carry, and
the distance vanished behind him.

Cal had ridden Dick more than once when there were running deer to
catch, and had thought him a miracle of speed, but now there were
moments when he almost found fault with him for going slowly. That, too,
with the warm wind whistling past him, and his own best horsemanship
called for to keep the saddle. He guided Dick a little with reference to
burrows and ant-hills. He knew that there were no ravines worth
mentioning. He even kept a lookout for possible Indians between him and
the northern horizon.

"I'll charge through them if I do see any," he said to Dick.

His face had undergone a change for the time, and was hardly boyish, it
was so full of desperate determination and awful anxiety. He was riding
for the safety of his home--of his father, mother, sister. At last
before him arose a long, gentle roll of prairie that he seemed to know.

"Mother!" burst from him, as Dick sprang up the slope, and at the crest
of it the good horse was reined in.

"Santa Lucia! The ranch! All right yet, and not an Indian to be seen.
Hurrah for Dick!"

He deserved it, although he did not look is if he had been specially
exerting himself. There was hardly a fleck of perspiration upon his
glossy coat, and he drew only two or three long breaths, not so much
because he needed them, perhaps, as that he also was relieved at finding
everything serene about the ranch.

It was, in fact, a very picture of peace that lazy summer morning. The
stout stockade, containing fully two acres of ground around the spring
and the buildings, seemed almost deserted, except for a few cows, some
dogs, and a couple of tethered horses. The house itself, of one story,
built of large blocks of sunburned "adobe," made three sides of a
square, the main entrance being through a gateway in the palisades and
covered veranda that guarded the fourth side. Each face was over fifty
feet long, and the outer windows were mere slips. The Spanish Mexicans
who built Santa Lucia, years and years ago, had planned it for a pretty
strong fort as well as dwelling, and Cal Evans felt very kindly towards
them at the present moment.

The gate of the stockade was wide open, unguarded, and he dashed through
it and up to the house in a manner which attracted attention. The sound
of a piano ceased at once, and a dignified elderly lady, who came out to
the veranda, was quickly joined by a younger and slighter form.

"Cal," exclaimed the latter, "has anything happened to father?"

"No, Vic, nothing much has happened--not yet--"

"Cal, something has happened! What is it?" said the old lady, with a
quick flush of anxiety.

"I must out with it. The Apaches have scooped the lower drove, every
horse. They came for the upper drove, but Sam and I got them into the
timber--"

"Was he hurt?" asked Mrs. Evans.

"No, mother, but he isn't safe yet--" and Cal went on to give a rapid
account of all he knew.

Sam Herrick himself could hardly have shown better nerve than did Cal's
mother. She grew calm and steady-eyed as she listened, but Victoria's
pretty face paled and reddened again and again, for she was hardly two
years older than her brother.

"Oh, if only father were here!" she said.

"Where's he gone?" asked Cal.

"Out on the range," replied his mother. "He and all of them will come in
at the first sign of danger. Everybody knew that the Indians were
dissatisfied, but I didn't dream of their coming this way."

"They wanted horses, mother, and they may try and strike the ranch,"
said Cal.

"I think not," she said, decidedly, "but you must carry the news to Fort
Craig."

"And leave you and Vic here? Never!"

"You must not pause one minute. Not even to eat. Victoria and I and the
servants can bar the stockade and the house, but no Indians will come.
If there is really any danger, the sooner the cavalry get here the
better. Do you think you've tired Dick?"

"No, mother, but it seems as if I'd rather die than leave you here
alone."

"Ride for our safety, my son. Ride steadily. It's a long push for any
horse, and Dick must last till you get there."

"Yes, mother," said Cal, "but he can do it."

"Leave your rifle," she added. "You'll not need it, and it's an extra
weight."

She did not let him forget to water the red mustang, and while Dick was
drinking she packed a small haversack with cold meat and bread for Cal's
use on the road.

He was ready to mount.

"Oh, mother, I want to stay and fight for you and Vic--"

"Bring the cavalry! Go!" she said, and it seemed to cost her something
to say it.

He hardly knew, after he was in the saddle, in what words he put his
good-bye. He saw two faces that watched him as Dick sprang through the
gate. It seemed almost as if he had seen them for the last time, and
then he thought, again, that perhaps the best hope for Santa Lucia and
all in it had been confided to the swift feet of the red mustang.

CHAPTER III.

THE BAND OF KAH-GO-MISH.

New Mexico is a wonderful country. It is full of places that are worth
going to see, while some of its other places are well worth keeping away
from. Down through the territory, east of the middle, runs north and
south the main range of the Rocky Mountains. Among them rise the Picos
and the Canadian and several other rivers that run away to the south and
east. Westerly from the main range, with marvellous valleys between, are
the Organ Mountains, made to show what strange shapes vast masses of
rock can be broken into. Farther westward is the great valley of the Rio
Grande and beyond this arise the Sierra Madre and the Sierra San Juan.
It is all a wonderful region, with great plains as well as mountain
ranges, and here and there are found remarkable ruins of ancient
architecture and every way as remarkable remnants of ancient people.
Some of the wide levels are mere deserts of sand and gravel--hot,
barren, terrible--but others are rich with pasturage for horses and
cattle, as they once were only for innumerable bisons, deer, and
antelopes.

The Spanish-Mexican hidalgo who had selected Santa Lucia had shown
excellent judgment, although even in that day he probably had more or
less trouble with his red neighbors. The present owners and occupants
of the ranch had had none at all until the very hour when Sam Herrick
found the prairie around him swarming with them.

As for Sam, he had now no suspicion how near he came to again meeting
the very Apaches who had chased him and Cal and who were now hurrying to
rejoin their band. They missed Sam and they brought news back with them
which seemed to receive the approval of the very dignified warrior who
had directed in the capture of the horses. He was a proud-looking
commander now, as he sat upon one of Colonel Evans's best horses to
listen to their report.

"Ugh!" he remarked. "Kah-go-mish is a great chief. Get ranch first. Then
go for horses in timber."

There was pride in every tone and movement of Kah-go-mish, for he had
performed a great exploit, and he and his band were no longer in
poverty. There were many signs, however, that they had not been
prosperous upon the Reservation, although the chief still wore the very
high silk hat which had there been given him. He had tied a green veil
around it to set off its beauty and his own. His only other garments
were the well-worn buckskin leggings which covered him from the waist to
the knee, and a pair of long red stockings through which he had thrust
his arms to the shoulder. Openings in the soles let out the hands, with
which he gesticulated in explanation of orders which were promptly
obeyed.

About thirty warriors, now well mounted and all pretty well armed,
whirled away northerly, with Kah-go-mish at their head, and their
purpose did not require any explanation.

Half as many more braves and all the squaws, boys, and girls proceeded
to complete the beef business. They did it with great rapidity and
dexterity, and then they, with the horses, dogs, and children, trailed
away in a caravan that was headed almost due south. It was a very
picturesque caravan all the time, but it looked more so than ever when
it halted, after a while, on the bank of Slater's Branch.

Some very good people had been interested in the reservation set apart
for those Apaches, and had gathered contributions of civilized clothing
for them. It had not been in rebellion against anything of that sort
that Kah-go-mish and his people had run away, for the miscellaneous
goods from away Down East helped the picture at Slater's Branch
amazingly. The hat and stocking legs had helped the appearance of the
chief himself, but other things had done more for a fat and very dark
lady whom he had addressed as Wah-wah-o-be. The many-ribboned straw
bonnet upon the head of the severe-faced wife of Kah-go-mish was fine.
So was the blue calico dress with the red flannel skirt over it, and the
pony she rode seemed to be afraid of the whole outfit. Near her, upon
two other ponies, sat a boy and girl. They were apparently younger, a
little, than Cal and Victoria Evans. They were hardly as good-looking,
in some respects, and were dressed differently. Among the charities at
the Reservation had been a bale of second-hand trousers, of the style
worn nowadays by boys, reaching to the knee. The young lady wore a pair
of these, and with them a dress of which any Mescalero girl might have
been vain. A piece of yard-wide red cotton, three yards long, had a hole
in the middle for the head to pass through. When proper armholes were
added and a belt of embroidered antelope skin confined the loose cloth
at the waist, what more was needed by the bright-eyed daughter of
Kah-go-mish?

The boy on the other pony--Well, he wore another pair of second-hand
trousers. They had been planned for a man and were large in the waist,
requiring a belt, but had been altered to the complete style by cutting
them off just below the knee. The pony he rode was one of the nearly
worn-out fellows that had travelled all the way across the mountains
from the Reservation. He and Cal Evans had been within a few miles of
each other that morning. Both were uncommonly vigorous young fellows, of
whom their parents had a right to be proud, but it was not easy to
discover many points of resemblance between them. There did not seem to
be the least probability that they would ever be much thrown into each
other's society; but then no young fellow of fourteen knows precisely
who his future friends are to be, or where he is to meet them.

CHAPTER IV.

THE GARRISON OF SANTA LUCIA.

Fully six miles from the threatened home of the Evans family there was a
deep, round sink-hole, shaped like a funnel. Nobody knew exactly when or
how it was made, but down at the weedy bottom of it lay the body of an
Indian pony, and over that there leaned a very tall man.

Up at the margin of the sink-hole were four horses, and three of them
had riders.

"Well, colonel, how does it pan out?" asked one of the mounted men.

"Either Cal or Sam Herrick did it. Hit him right between the eyes.
'Tisn't two hours since it was done. The critter rolled down here.
Joaquin, you and Key ride for the ranch. Tell Mrs. Evans I'll scout a
little and be right there."

"All right, colonel," shouted one of the horsemen.

"Si, señor," responded the other.

The first was a brawny, freckled old fellow, with nothing to mark him
for notice but a jaunty sort of roll and swagger, even in the saddle.
The second speaker was an American, of the race that fought with
Hernando Cortes for the road to the City of Mexico. He may or may not
have been a full-blooded Tlascalan, but there was a fierce, tigerish
expression on his face as he glanced at the dead pony. His white teeth
showed, also, in a way to indicate the state of his mind towards the
tribe the pony's owner belonged to, but the words he uttered carried a
surprise with them. Who would have thought that so sweet and musical a
voice could come from such a thunder-cloud face?

Key and Joaquin galloped away, and Colonel Evans climbed up out of the
sink-hole.

"Somebody coming," suddenly exclaimed the remaining horseman.

"Reckon it must be Sam."

"Looks like him, Bill," said the colonel. "Coming on the run."

"We'll know now!" and Bill's words came out in a harsh, rasping voice
that matched exactly with his long, thin body and coarse yellow hair.

The colonel stood by his horse waiting for Sam. Nobody who saw him once
was likely to forget him. His eyes and hair were like Cal's, but the
likeness did not go much further. There was silver in his heavy beard
and mustache, and his eyebrows were bushy, giving him a stern, and, just
now, a threatening expression. More than that, Colonel Abe Evans, old
Indian trader and ranch owner, stood six feet and seven inches, although
he was so well proportioned that at a little distance he did not seem
unusually large. As to his strength, his men may have exaggerated a
little, now and then, but they declared that whenever a horse tired
under him he would take turns and carry the horse, so as not to lose
time. He hated to lose anything, they said, but most of all he hated to
lose his temper.

There were signs that he was having some difficulty in keeping cool just
now, but his voice was steady, as yet.

"Is that your work?" he asked, as Sam reined in and stared down at the
dead pony in the sink-hole.

"Colorado!" exclaimed Sam. "That's where that 'Pache went to. Hit the
pony, did I? 'Peared to go out of sight powerful sudden."

He paused for a moment, and he wiped his forehead, but there was a
steely light beginning to dance in the eyes of Colonel Evans, and the
cowboy continued: "No manner of use blinking it, colonel. The lower
drove's gone. Took me by surprise. Reg'lar swarm. I reached the upper
drove in time and stampeded it across Slater's Branch. Every hoof."

"Did they follow you?"

"Oh, yes, a gang of 'em, but Cal and I stood 'em off."

"Cal!" exclaimed his father, with a start and a shiver, but Sam went
steadily on in a rapid sketch of the morning's adventures.

"Sam Herrick," said the colonel, "keep the gray you're on. It's your
horse. I can read the whole thing like a book. Of course they wanted
beef and horses, but they may go for the ranch. Come on!"

There was an angry shake, now, in the deep, ringing tones of his voice,
and the veins in his forehead were swelling. He sprang to the saddle of
the broad-chested, strong limbed thoroughbred held for him, and that
seemed just the horse for the strongest man in southern New Mexico.

"Sam," said he, as they rode away, "what's your opinion?"

"Cal got there safe, long before the redskins could. We can do it, too,
if they worked long enough over their beef. If we get there first, we
can hold Saint Lucy against twice as many. But if we don't--"

Neither of those horsemen said another word after that. Sam knew no more
than the rest did of what was actually going on at the ranch.

More than a little had been going on, and with quite remarkable results.

Hardly had Cal disappeared through the gateway of the stockade before
the two in the veranda turned and looked wistfully at one another.

"Mother," said Victoria, "do you think there is really any danger?"

"Terrible danger, my dear," said Mrs. Evans, with a quiver in her firm
lips.

"Then what made you send Cal away? Oh, mother!"

"We are as safe, almost, without him as with him, and the whole valley
is in danger until the army officers are warned. They believe that
everything is quiet."

"How I wish they were here! And father!"

"Victoria," exclaimed Mrs. Evans, with a face that grew very pale, "he
went to look at the lower drove, the one that the savages have
captured."

"Sam didn't see him, or Cal would have said so. Mother, you don't
believe they killed him?"

There was a strange look in the resolute face of Mrs. Evans.

"Vic," she said, "I don't believe they have touched him. He's not the
man to be caught. We must work, though, for they'll be here pretty
soon. We must bar the gate, first, and any prowling Indian needn't be
told that there are only women behind the stockade."

Vic's quick dash for the gate expressed her feelings fairly, but she put
up the bars of the gate with more strength and steadiness than might
have been expected of her. But for the reddish tint of her hair she
would have looked even more like Cal than she did when she turned and
said: "There, mother, that's done. Now, what?"

Mrs. Evans studied the gate for a moment.

"Vic," she said, "everybody must help. I think we can hold the ranch.
Come with me."

In half a minute more they were standing in the courtyard of the adobe,
explaining the terrors of the situation to a group of five startled and
frightened women. Seven in all, they were the only garrison of Santa
Lucia, and Kah-go-mish and his warriors were coming to surprise it. How
long could they hold out?

CHAPTER V.

CAL AND THE CAVALRY AND THE RED MUSTANG.

"Sixty miles to Fort Craig!"

That had been the mournful exclamation of Cal Evans, a little distance
from Santa Lucia. Then he made a brief calculation, and added: "Dick has
had ten miles of easy going and ten miles of running. Not many horses
could stand sixty more. I believe he can, but I'll take care of him, as
mother said. It's awful! I don't wonder some people want to kill all the
Indians, right away. I do."

He had some lessons yet to learn about Indians, but now he reined in the
red mustang to a steady-going gallop instead of the free gait that Dick
was inclined to take.

An hour went by, and it was a trying hour to Cal Evans, crowded as his
mind was with fears and with imaginations concerning what might be doing
at Santa Lucia.

"Wasn't mother beautiful!" was one thought that came to him. "Vic, too,
and they're brave enough, and they both know how to shoot, but what can
they do against Indians?"

He felt that he was doing his duty. He was, at all events, obeying his
mother. He was a boy who wished to be in two places, but his mind grew
calmer with the regular beat of Dick's hoofs. A sharp appetite came,
too, and put him in mind of his haversack. He ate as best he could, and
the next stream of water he came to invited him to dismount and get
some, and to let Dick do the same and rest a little. It was very hard
work to stand still and eat cold meat and bread, and pat Dick and think
about Santa Lucia.

After that the red mustang was pulled in for a breathing-spell at the
end of every half-hour, or a little more, but every minute expended in
that way seemed like an hour to Cal Evans.

Noon came and went, as the long miles went by. Groves, tree-lined
sloughs, gangs of deer to the right and left, hardly attracted a glance
from the sore-hearted young messenger. Mountain-tops, easterly, that had
been cloudy in the morning, were showing more distinctly against the
sky, when Cal at last pulled the red mustang suddenly in.

"A smoke!" he exclaimed. "It can't be Indians. No danger of their being
away up here. I'll find out."

Courageously, but warily, he rode some distance nearer, and he was just
about to dismount when a loud voice hailed him.

"Hullo! What are you scouting around for? What are you afraid of?"

"Hurrah!" shouted Cal, for the hitherto unseen horseman, who now came
out from behind a clump of mesquit trees, wore the yellow-trimmed
uniform of the United States cavalry.

Explanations followed fast, and were made more full in front of the
camp-fire, where rations were cooking for a score or more of what Cal
thought were the best-looking men he ever saw. That is, they were the
very men he wanted to see, and the bronzed, gray-bearded captain in
command of them was really a fine-looking veteran.

"So," he said, "my young friend, we ought to have set out a day earlier.
Colonel Sumner had heard that a band had been seen near El Paso, days
ago, and we were coming your way. Your father isn't the man to be taken
by surprise. He can hold the ranch."

"Father isn't there, Captain Moore!" exclaimed Cal.

"I'll trust him to get there, then. That's a splendid fellow you're
riding. What did you say? Twenty miles and more before you left Santa
Lucia? Forty odd, since, to this place. Pretty near seventy miles.
That's enough for him or you for one day."

It was in vain for Cal to plead the peril of his family. The cavalry had
made a long push and must rest their horses. One tough fellow was given
only time to eat before he was again mounted, on a spare horse fresher
than the rest, with despatches for the commander at Fort Craig.

Dick was provided with ample rations, and so was his master; but Cal
Evans needed all the cheerful encouragement of Captain Moore to keep his
heart from sinking under his heavy forebodings concerning the fate of
Santa Lucia.

The nearer the sun sank to the horizon the more strongly he felt that it
was impossible for him to spend that night in the cavalry camp. He said
so to Captain Moore, stoutly denying that his day of hard riding had
wearied him.

"I know how you feel," said the kindly veteran at last. "There'll be a
good moon, and you know the way. I'll let you have one of our led
horses. You mustn't ride to death that red beauty of yours. We'll bring
him on. Tell your father we shall start at sunrise, and that I've sent
word to the fort."

Cal was sincerely grateful, but while a soldier was saddling for him a
good-looking black, he went to say good-bye to Dick, praising and
caressing him in a manner that brought from him whinny after whinny of
good-will.

His master had not known how tired he was himself until he mounted the
black--so stiff, so sore, so almost without any spring left in him; but
he felt better the moment the horse began to move under him.

"Take your bearings by the north star," shouted Captain Moore. "Go easy
and you'll get there. Then I think you'll want to go to bed."

Cal thanked him and cantered away. He was glad enough of the glorious
moonlight and of the stars, especially the north star. He was carrying
news of help found quicker than he had expected. What then? Would he
find Santa Lucia as he had left it? Would it be besieged? How many
Apaches might he not fall in with before getting there? He knew that
they never rode around after dark, and that was something.

"If I don't get too tired and tumble off," he said to himself, "and if
the black holds out, I'll get home before daylight, and I'll ride
through to the gate if the Apaches are camped all around the ranch."

The black galloped steadily. He was a good horse, but he lacked the
easy swing of the red mustang, and there was more weariness in riding
him. He was allowed to rest, at intervals, and Cal tried hard not to ask
too much of him.

"Captain Moore said about forty miles to the ranch," remarked the young
rider to his horse, at last. "You must have done about half of them.
You're doing well enough, but I never felt so tired in all my life. I'm
going to make a good, hard push of about ten miles, if it's only to keep
me from going to sleep."

The push was made and the black stood it well enough, but it grew harder
and harder on Cal. At the end of it he knew that he could not be more
than ten miles from the ranch, but he found that the black was disposed
to walk. It might be unwise to urge him any more. At the same time every
mile was probably bringing Cal and his news within more or less danger
of Apache interruption. Oh, how he longed for a glimpse of the Santa
Lucia stockade! Oh, how sleepy he was, and how hungry and how sick at
heart!

As the black plodded onward he caught himself nodding heavily, and he
recovered his senses in the middle of a half-waking dream in which he
had seen the cavalry arriving and chasing away Indians.

"I may fall off," he said, "if I try that again. I'm afraid if I did
fall I couldn't climb into the saddle again. I'm stiff and numb all
over."

Plod, plod, plod, on went the very good-natured black, and Cal did not
know how long it was before he had another dream.

It seemed to him as if the red mustang came and walked along with the
black, and as if he himself had said: "Hullo, Dick. Glad you've come.
You can carry me easier, and you know where to go."

Then, in the dream, Cal rode the red mustang.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PERIL OF SANTA LUCIA.

After Cal rode away from the cavalry camp on the black, Captain Moore
made a number of remarks about him.

"Plucky boy," he said. "Tough as whipcord, but he'll be pretty well used
up before he gets to the ranch."

The other officers and the men agreed with their commander in all he had
to say about Cal Evans or about his horse.

The red mustang was in the corral. He had been tethered, by a long
lariat, to the same pin with a mean-looking, wiry little pack-mule, and
he had given early tokens that he did not like his long-eared company.

Dick had travelled fast and far since sunrise of that day. Cal had given
him a friendly rubbing down after supper, and he felt pretty well. One
admiring cavalryman had given him a full army ration of corn, and
another had brought him some nice pieces of hard-tack, while several
more had said things about his shape and color and the miles he had
travelled, all in a way to rouse the jealousy of a sensitive mule. After
the men went away, Dick considered himself entitled to lie down and did
so, but the mule did not. There was moonlight enough to kick by, and it
was not long before the red mustang was suddenly stirred up. He was not
hurt, for that first kick had been seemingly experimental, as if the
mule were getting the exact range of Dick's ribs. A low squeal expressed
his satisfaction at his success, but it was followed by a
disappointment, for his own lariat was several feet shorter than the
brand-new one given to the red mustang, and the latter had stepped
almost out of danger. It was almost, but not quite, and Dick was
compelled to keep in motion to get out of harm's way. It was too bad not
to have quiet, after so hard a day's work, but that mule was a
bitter-hearted fellow. Dick moved along, backing away and watching, and
the mule slowly, sullenly, followed him. Santa Lucia was a better place
than this, Indians or no Indians. Dick had seen Cal depart, and he had
felt deserted and lonely then, but his homesickness increased rapidly
under the treatment he was receiving from the wickedly perverse beast he
was tied up with.

Back, back, back, until both lariats were tightly wound once more around
the pin. They were shortened eight inches by that twist, and the next
wind around shortened them nine inches more. The mule grew wickeder and
made a dash that did not cease until three more twists had shortened the
lariats. Meantime there had been all sorts of jerks and counter-jerks
upon the wooden pin, and it was getting loosened in the soft ground.
Winding up the lariats, the game went on until both tethers were short
indeed, and that of the mule was less than three yards long. The strain
of it disgusted him, and he gave a plunge and pull against it just as
Dick was drawing hard in the opposite direction. Up came the pin, but
once more the mule was disappointed. The next dash he made brought him
and Dick to a stand, for they were on opposite sides of the trunk of an
oak that caught the lariats in the middle. They could bring their heads
and shoulders together, but the tree protected Dick from his enemy's
heels. The tree and the knotted lariats held hard, and the red mustang
could not prevent that ugly head from coming close to his own.

Would he bite?

No, he was a bad mule, but the mischief in him, except such as naturally
settled in his heels, was of another kind. He preferred to gnaw a hide
lariat around a horse's neck rather than the neck itself. Dick was
compelled to stand still while the gnawing proceeded, and it was very
unpleasant.

The mule had good teeth, and he knew something about lariats. It was
remarkable how short a time elapsed before, as Dick gave a sudden start,
he found himself free.

Liberty was a good thing, but that camp was not an attractive place for
a horse which had seen his master ride away from it. Besides, it
contained the tormenting mule, and all of the red mustang's thoughts and
inclinations turned towards Santa Lucia.

Notable things had occurred there since Dick and Cal came away, and
after Mrs. Evans made her courageous appeal to her five servants. Four
of these were evidently Mexicans, and the fifth declared her own
nationality in the prompt reply that she made to her mistress.

"Wud I foight, ma'am? 'Dade'n I'll not be skelped widout foighting. I
want wan of thim double goons, and the big wash toob full of b'ilin'
wather and the long butcher knife and the bro'd axe. I'll make wan of
thim 'Paches pale like a potaty. There's plinty of good blood in Norah
McLory."

Evidently there was, but Mrs. Evans did not feel so sure of the others.
Anita, Manuelita, Maria, and a very old woman spoken to as Carlotta,
seemed at first disposed to call upon an immense list of saints rather
than listen to a plan which their mistress tried to explain, but Norah
succeeded in shutting them up.

It was a remarkable military plan, and, when it was all told, "Oh,
mother!" exclaimed Vic, and in a moment more she added: "Splendid!"

"'Dade, an' I'm ready, ma'am," said Norah, as she made a dash for the
boiler, and heaped the stove with fuel. "Faith, I'd rather bile thim
than ate thim."

A bustling time of it followed, and courage grew with work. Weapons were
plentiful, and the stockade had been regularly pierced for rifle
practice. All that was needed there or in the adobe was a supply of
riflemen. There was a tall flagstaff at one corner of the adobe, but its
halliards had swung emptily for many a day.

"Mother," said Vic, at the end of about twenty minutes, "what will they
say?"

"The Indians?" said Mrs. Evans, "They may not come at all. Take your
father's field-glass and go up to the roof. We must keep a sharp
lookout. I'll tend to things down here."

Up went Vic, her bright young face all aglow with excitement, and she
carried Cal's repeating rifle with her, as well as the double
field-glass with which to sweep the prairie for Indians.

"Not one in sight," she shouted down to her mother. "Guess Cal's safe,
anyhow. I don't believe they're coming."

She should have questioned Kah-go-mish about that. While she was
nervously patrolling the roof of the old hacienda and watching for him,
the prudent leader of the now well-mounted Mescaleros was pushing
steadily forward. He had given out a careful set of orders, which proved
his right to be considered an uncommon Apache.

"Ugh!" he said. "No kill. Borrow! Make pale-face lend poor Mescalero
gun, horse, mule, blanket, knife, cartridges, kettle. Keep 'calp on
head. No want 'calp now."

He hoped to find the ranch almost if not quite undefended and to take it
by surprise, getting what he wanted without doing anything to provoke
the altogether unforgiving vengeance of the military authorities.

Half an hour more went by that was very long to the watchers in the
adobe.

"Four Indians, mother," shouted Vic, at last, from her station on the
roof. "'Way off there, eastward. I can't see anything of father or the
men."

"They will come, Vic. Watch!" replied Mrs. Evans.

"If they were near enough," said Vic, "I'd fire at them. They've
halted."

They had done so, on a roll of the prairie, for they were a mere
scouting-party, and they quickly hurried away as if they had an
unexpected report to make concerning the state of things at Santa Lucia.
Five minutes later Vic laid down her field-glass and took up Cal's
rifle.

"More Indians, mother!" she shouted, and the loud report which followed
testified strongly to the condition of Vic's fighting courage.

Nobody seemed to be hit by that bullet; but the warning shot, long as
was the range, compelled one Indian to remark:

"Ugh! Kah-go-mish is a great chief! Pale-face heap wide-awake."

"They've halted, mother, but I didn't hit anybody. Hurrah! Hurrah!"

"What is it, Vic?" anxiously inquired Mrs. Evans. "Do you see anybody
else?"

"Not Indians, this time. On the other side. Key and Joaquin. Perhaps
they won't dare to ride in."

"Nothing could stop your father."

That was very true, and nothing did. Key and Joaquin had had somewhat
the start of him, but had been delayed on the way, repeatedly, by the
necessity of keeping out of sight of a dangerous-looking squad of
Apaches, so that they were but a little in advance of three more white
men who quickly rode up.

"Colorado!" exclaimed one of these. "What's lit on to the ranch?"

It was a fair question for Sam Herrick or any other man to ask. A
wide-winged American flag floated proudly from the flagstaff, at the
foot of which stood what seemed to be an army officer in very full
uniform, cocked hat, epaulets, sword, and all. Another flag fluttered at
the gate, and in front of it paced up and down a sentry in uniform,
while outside of him, at regular intervals, were ostentatiously stacked
a complete company's allowance of muskets, bayonets fixed, ready for
service.

"Colorado!" again exclaimed Sam Herrick; but the angry look was fading
from the face of his employer. It did not return, even when a score or
so of yelling Apaches came out in full view at the right.

"Boys," he shouted, "give 'em a volley and ride in. The drove is gone,
but the ranch is all right."

Crack went the rifles; but the range was long, and not one of the red
men was harmed. A whoop, a yell, and they wheeled away, for they had no
idea of storming a stockade defended by an infantry company in addition
to Colonel Abe Evans and his cowboys.

"Hurrah!" roared the deep voice of the colonel. "There's fun coming!"

Loud rang the answering cheers of the cowboys, but at that instant the
sentry at the gate threw away his musket, exclaiming: "Howly mother!"

The army officer on the roof made a quick motion as if he were gathering
his skirts to go down a ladder, and he disappeared, while four soldiers
inside the stockade dropped their muskets also, and their commander
ceased a remarkable use she was making of an old drum. The garrison of
Fort Santa Lucia had been seized with a sudden panic and had
disappeared, leaving the gate open for the colonel and his men to ride
in and take possession.

Mrs. Evans had not been in uniform. She had put down her drum, and she
was now in the doorway ready to meet her husband. Norah had dashed past
her, exclaiming: "'Dade, ma'am, I'd not let the owld man and the byes
see me wid the like o' this on me bones."

Reports were quickly exchanged between the colonel and his wife.

"Nothing lost but the horses and a few cattle," he said. "It was just
like you, Laura. You did the best thing, all around. Cal is safe, but if
the cavalry come, he and I are going to ride after the redskins with
'em, far as they go."

"Of course," she quietly responded.

"Laura," said he, "I'm glad all that old army stuff was in the
storeroom; but I shall not take Major Victoria Evans along. I shall
leave her here to garrison Santa Lucia, with General Laura Evans as
commander-in-chief."

Sam Herrick and the other cowboys brought in the stacks of muskets and
closed the gate.

"All that old iron is good for something, after all. So's the flag,"
said Bill.

"Colorado!" remarked Sam. "The redskins may think they've struck Fort
Craig, by mistake."

"They'll smell a mouse," said Key, "and they may not give it up so
easy."

"If they do try it on," said Sam, "it won't be till about daylight
to-morrow morning. Let's have something to eat."

"Byes," said Norah, as they entered the kitchen. "Hilp me off wid the
b'iler. It was put there to cook 'Paches, but I'll brile you some bacon
instid."

The kitchen table looked warlike enough with its collection of the
weapons required by Norah, but she was no longer in uniform, and looked
peaceful. She and her Mexican assistants cooked vigorously, but before
the coffee was hot the colonel sent for Joaquin.

"Eat your dinner," he said, in Spanish, "and then take a fresh horse and
ride to warn the upper ranches. We're safe enough; even if they try a
daylight attack, we can stand 'em off till help can get here. Bring me a
dozen good men. I'm going to chase that band of redskins, cavalry or no
cavalry."

"Si, señor," replied Joaquin, and he was quickly away, seeming to hardly
give a thought to any possible interruption by scouting Apaches.

Some work was done by scouting cowboys that afternoon in the vicinity of
the ranch. No Indians were seen; but for all that the night which
followed was not a sleep-night. The men slept fairly well, except the
sentry whose turn it might be, but they were all dressed and had their
weapons by them. It was nearly so with the female part of the garrison.
They did not sleep at all well, but they were all dressed, and they kept
more guns and swords and axes within grasping distance than did the men.

The dawn came at last, and it did not bring any alarm; but, just as the
sun was rising, the gate in the stockade swung wide open, and a man
stepped out, gazing earnestly towards the east.

"Colorado! What's that?" he exclaimed. "I won't rouse the ranch, but it
beats me all hollow. Hosses. Two of 'em."

There was evidently something curious in the fact that a pair of horses
were plodding slowly along towards Santa Lucia, all by themselves, at
that hour of the morning.

Sam stood by the gate as if waiting for an explanation, when there came
a sound of steps behind him.

"Sam," asked an anxious voice, "do you see anything?"

"I'd say 'twas the red mustang, if there wasn't a pack on him, and a
black hoss with him. Didn't know you was up, ma'am."

"Cal's mustang, Sam? I've not been abed or asleep."

"Mother, is it Dick? Is it Cal? Are there any Indians?"

"Vic, I'm afraid it's Cal. I'm going to see. He's wounded!"

"Most likely," said Sam, with a sharp change of voice. "They'd better
turn out. Stay here, madam."

He raised his repeater as he spoke and fired a random shot, the report
of which brought every soul in Santa Lucia bolt upright, and then he
started on a swift walk, followed closely by Cal's mother and sister.

There were the two horses, red and black, and Vic reached them first.
They stood stock-still, as if waiting for her, when she came near, and
she was sure that the black carried Cal's silver-mounted saddle.

Dick carried Cal!

Was he wounded? Was he dead? How came he on Dick's bare back? A dozen
excited questions burst from Mrs. Evans and Vic, but no answer came
until Sam Herrick drew a long breath and responded: "Sound asleep! The
boy's tired clean out, riding, and Dick's been caring for him. He walked
as if he was treading among eggs. 'Fraid Cal'd fall off."

There was nobody to tell just how many slow miles Cal had ridden,
unconsciously, or nearly so, with his arms around Dick's neck. Sam was
just about to lift him off when the deep voice of Colonel Evans, behind
him, said: "Don't wake him, Sam; I'll take him. There isn't money enough
anywhere to buy that red mustang."

Dick held as still as a post while his master was gently removed in the
strong arms of the old colonel, but the moment that was done he
accompanied a sharp whinny with a weary attempt to throw up his heels.
Another pair of arms was around his neck now, however, and Vic tried
hard to make him understand her intense appreciation of him.

"Hope he isn't hurt," said Sam. "I guess he isn't, nor Cal either."

No, Cal was not hurt, but he was a boy who had been through a tremendous
amount of excitement, as well as of hard riding. Just as he was being
carried through the gate he opened his eyes for a moment and saw the
flag floating over Santa Lucia.

"Glad the cavalry got here," he murmured. "Captain Moore said they'd
start at sunrise." He saw his mother and Vic, and tried to say
something, but he was sound asleep again before the smile on his lips
could be turned into words.

Cal was put upon a bed and his mother sat down by him. Norah McLory had
teetered fatly around them all the way to the house, whispering
remarkable exclamations, and she was evidently in great fear, even now,
of awaking the weary sleeper.

"Wud hot wather do him any good, ma'am?" she huskily suggested.

"Breakfast will, by and by," said Mrs. Evans. "Oh, my boy!"

"Glad the cavalry are coming," said the old colonel, as he turned away
from gazing down at Cal. "I'll know all about it when he wakes up."

The whole ranch had for many minutes been in a state of turmoil, and
mere quadrupeds had been left to take care of themselves, for even Sam
Herrick came pretty near to being excited about Cal. He was out in the
veranda now, and Cal's watchers heard him exclaim, "Colorado!"

"Something's up," said the colonel, and he and Vic hurried out.

There stood Dick, with no bridle or saddle, but with a look about his
drooping head which seemed to ask, "Is there anything more wanted of
me?"

The black waited a few paces behind Dick, as if he also had an idea that
his task was not completed.

"Dick!" shouted Vic. "What can we do for him, father? Would some milk do
him any good? Dick, you're the most beautiful horse in the world!"

Milk was not precisely the thing he needed, but Sam led him away, the
black following; and if rubbing, feeding, watering, and a careful
inspection of every hoof and joint could do a tired racer any good, all
that sort of comfort came abundantly to the red mustang.

CHAPTER VII.

BOUND FOR THE BORDER.

The warning-shot fired from the roof of the ranch by Major Vic Evans had
been a great surprise to the Apaches. It had informed them that they
could not surprise Santa Lucia, and that they were known as enemies. At
the same time, they had not been supplied with field-glasses for the
better inspection of the marksman.

Kah-go-mish knew something about the army of the United States.
Blue-coats at Santa Lucia meant danger to him and his. Loss of horses
and a possible forced return to the Reservation seemed to stare him in
the face. Of course, he gave up the ranch, but he had yet a hope
remaining.

The braves who had chased Sam Herrick that morning had reported one
lonely cowboy, and no end of horses and cattle stampeded into the timber
at Slater's Branch. There was the point to strike at, therefore, and
success was sure if it had not been for the horse from which Sam Herrick
dismounted when he transferred his saddle to the dancing gray for his
ride home. He was a good horse, and he had run well when the Apaches
were behind him. Sam had now left him, but it seemed to him that his
morning-work had been cut short. Perhaps, too, he had a curiosity as to
where Sam was riding to upon the gray. At all events, the dashing
cowboy was not out of sight before the horse he had unsaddled started
after him.

That was example enough for a drove which was still tremendously nervous
from a big stampede. Horse after horse and mule after mule set out in a
lively four-footed game of "follow my leader." Not one of them was
willing to be left behind to be captured by Indians or by another
stampede. Even the horned cattle on the opposite bank began to wade
through the mud of Slater's Branch as if they thought of joining the
procession. The self-appointed leader of the horses did not see fit to
take a very rapid gait, but seemed able to follow the trail of Sam
Herrick to the ford where the cowboy had returned to the other side.
Here a half hour or so was expended in feeding, neighing, kicking up of
heels, and other tokens of horse deliberation. Then one and another of
the more influential members of the drove decided to try the grass
nearer Santa Lucia, and began to lead their comrades northerly. Sam's
friend appeared to be superseded in command, but the net result was bad
for Kah-go-mish. The chief and his warriors were guided well after
giving up the ranch, and on their arrival at Slater's Branch they found
the cattle in the timber. A noble herd; endless beef; but all too heavy
to carry and too slow to be driven by red men who were likely to be
pursued by cavalry.

Slater's Branch was crossed at once, and all the muddy margin told of
the horses which had marched away. Where were they now? The puzzle
deepened as the disappointed braves rode onward down the branch. Even
at the ford a brace of braves dashed across for a search, but they gave
it up, and came back disappointed. The escaped drove of horses had been
under too much excitement to halt long anywhere, and had even enjoyed a
small stampede, which carried them half-way to the ranch.

"Kah-go-mish is a great chief," sullenly remarked the Apache commander.
"Cavalry come. Save horses. Ugh! Heap bad luck."

It required what seemed almost like rashness, under such circumstances,
to linger at Slater's Branch, but the Apaches felt bitterly about being
robbed in that way of Colonel Evans's larger horse-drove. More cattle
were slaughtered and more fresh beef was prepared for transportation;
fires were kindled, and an hour of what might have been precious time if
any cavalry were near, was spent in cooking and eating.

Keen had been the eyes of Kah-go-mish, and they had given him an
interpretation of the stacks of bayoneted muskets in front of the
stockade gate. He knew that the garrison of Santa Lucia consisted, as
yet, of infantry only, and that he and his braves could finish their
dinner before the supposed return of the dreaded cavalry.

They ate well, nobody could have disputed that, and then they mounted
and rode away in high spirits. While the people at the ranch were
anxiously reasoning as to whether or not their enemies would reappear,
the exultant Mescaleros were miles and miles nearer, with every hour, to
the Mexican border, and to the point where they were, in due time, to
meet their equally happy families. Their camp, that night, was as
peaceful as if it had been a picnic, and at the earliest dawn of day
they were stirring again, very much as if they had taken for granted the
march of Captain Moore and the angry determination of Colonel Abe Evans.
The air rang with whoops and shouts, and among them could be heard a
very positive assertion concerning himself from the deep voice of
Kah-go-mish.

At about the same hour, and in as perfect safety, fires were kindling
and fresh beef was cooking, and eating began at the camp where
Wah-wah-o-be and all the family part of the band had passed the pleasant
summer night. It was a number of miles to the southward; it was nearer
to the very southern edge of the United States, but over every breakfast
might have been heard expressions of a general desire to be nearer
still.

That entire party, as well as the warriors in the other, had dismal days
of poverty and privation to look back upon. Days when most of them were
compelled to walk instead of riding, and when footsore squaws were
forced to carry burdens which were now transferred to the strong backs
of captured mules and ponies. Walking was over and hunger was gone, and
even the overworked ponies saw their packs put upon fresher carriers. It
was a great relief to a poor fellow who had panted under a small hill of
family property all the way from the Reservation to have nothing now but
a squaw to carry, or a couple of small boys, or perhaps three girls or
so. No pony had more than that when all was ready for the day's march.

Several of the captured Evans colts had a busy time that morning. They
had rebelled too vigorously the previous day, and had reached their
first Apache camps unbroken. Their time for service had come now,
however, and they were rapidly instructed how to go along under
wild-looking riders whom they were unable to throw off. Several there
were, nevertheless, who earned another day of comparative freedom. Time
was precious, and too much of it could not be spent in horse-breaking.

"Ugh!" said Wah-wah-o-be. "Pale-face pony kick a heap."

That was when a skilful mustang had pitched a young Apache brave clean
over his head.

It was a gay cavalcade when at last it got in motion. From one end of it
to the other there did not seem to be one sign of anxiety. Its immediate
wants had been provided for wonderfully, and it had great confidence in
the future. There was something very hopeful to talk about, for every
Mescalero, young or old, was on tiptoe with eagerness to hear the report
of the doings of Kah-go-mish and his warriors.

"Sun go down, great chief come," said Wah-wah-o-be, and there was no
telling what or how much he would bring with him.

CHAPTER VIII.

GETTING READY TO CHASE KAH-GO-MISH.

It was noon when Cal Evans opened his eyes, and even then the lids came
apart reluctantly. He saw his mother sitting by him, and Vic was peering
in at the door, but he did not quite understand matters.

"Mother," he said, "are you all safe?"

"Yes, we're all safe--" she began.

"He's awake! Mother, may I come in?" shouted Vic. "Cal! we had such a
time. We all dressed up in those old uniforms and played soldier. I
fired at the Apaches from the roof."

Cal struggled to sit up, and found out how sore and stiff he was, while
he exclaimed:

"Vic, did you? There was an attack? You beat them off?"

"Scared them off," said his mother. "Why, how lame you are!"

"Awful!" he groaned, as he lay back again. "But about the fight--"

"There wasn't any," said Vic, and she added a rapid sketch of the
garrison--Norah McLory at the gate, and Mrs. Evans with the drum, and
the Mexican women parading as sentinels.

"Tell us about your ride," she said, as she paused for breath.

"Ride?" he said. "Well, yes, it was a great ride, but I don't know the
whole of it, myself. How's Dick?"

"Sam says he's all right," said Vic, "and there isn't such another horse
in all New Mexico."

"Guess there isn't," replied Cal, very emphatically. "The black is a
good fellow, but it was his gait that made me so sore. I can't turn
over."

He could tell all that he knew, however, and he could hear all that they
had to say, and he found that he could sit up when Norah brought in his
breakfast.

"Hungry? I guess I am. Never was so hungry in all my life. But I'm going
with father after 'em."

He was as much in need of a thorough rubbing as Dick had been, but when
Sam Herrick gave it to him, a little later, he had to shut his mouth
hard, for Sam's gentleness was of a cowboy kind, and he did his whole
duty. After that was over Cal could walk fairly well, and he went out at
once for a look at the red mustang, and Vic and his mother went with
him.

"There he is," he said, "that's a fact, but I can't tell how it came to
be so. I left him picketed in the corral, at the cavalry camp. He must
have untied himself and got away."

Cal knew nothing about the teeth of the persecuting mule.

"Did you mount him in your sleep?" asked Vic.

"I don't know," he said. "I was so tired I went to sleep more than once.
Dreamed, too. It was all a good deal like a dream. Seems so yet, from
the beginning. I've a kind of memory that Dick came alongside, crowding
close and whinnying, and that he and the black stood still, so I could
crawl on Dick's back and lie down, somehow, and sleep more comfortably.
That's all I know about it, except what you've told me."

If the red mustang felt any stiffness as a consequence of his remarkable
performances, he kept the matter to himself and accepted graciously all
the petting given him. The black came in for his share of praise, but he
was regarded as an enlisted private horse of the regular army, while
Dick's last performance had been altogether as a volunteer.

It was just about noon when Captain Moore, riding at the head of his
men, listened to a message from Colonel Evans, brought to him by Bill,
the long, lank, yellow-haired cowboy.

"All right," said the captain. "Glad I needn't push any faster under
this hot sun. Glad Cal got in safe. Gritty young fellow. You'll have to
tell him, though, that his horse and one of our pack-mules got away in
the night. Sorry, but there's no help for it."

"Well, yes, that's so," replied Bill, "but that there red mustang. Why,
captain, do you know, Cal Evans rid into Saint Lucy on to him? The hoss
was a-caring for him like a human, and Cal was sound asleep. He hadn't
begun to wake up when I kem away."

The captain and his fellow-officers had questions enough to ask, then,
and they learned all about Dick's volunteer work when they reached the
ranch the next day. They knew nothing about the mule then, but at that
very hour the long-eared rascal reported himself for garrison duty and
rations at Fort Craig, having for the time delivered himself from the
pack business and from the fatigues of a long chase after Apache
horse-thieves.

There were delays in the preparations for following the band of
Kah-go-mish. Captain Moore had to wait for further instructions from
Fort Craig, and Colonel Evans also waited for Joaquin and the expected
cowboy recruits from the upper ranches.

Sam and the rest had already gathered, with keen satisfaction, the drove
of horses which had so nicely dodged Kah-go-mish, and they had scoured
the plain to Slater's Branch and beyond. They reported all things safe
and serene, and then Cal and Vic and their mother rode out and went over
all the scene of his first adventure.

From the mound on the prairie Cal showed them how the cattle and horses
were stampeded. Then they went to the timber and the fallen trees where
he and Sam "stood off" the Apaches. Then they rode away down to where
Sam had first been swarmed around by the Mescaleros, and there was Sam
to tell about it.

"Colorado!" remarked he, "but didn't they butcher a lot of cattle! They
got about a dozen mules, thirty good hosses, and sixty or seventy
second-rates and ponies. Mounted their whole band, I reckon!"

"I don't care so much about that," said Mrs. Evans, but she was looking
at Cal just then.

"Vic," said Cal, "you was three years at school, away off there in the
settlements, and so was I."

"No Indians there," said Vic.

"Good thing you was," said Sam. "I never had any schooling. Hope you
learned a heap."

"Hope I did," said Cal, "but I tell you what, it seems to me as if I'd
learned more in one day's riding."

"Well, yes, like enough," replied Sam, "more of one kind. Glad you
didn't learn how an arrer feels. I did, once. Bullet, too. Tell you
what, though, if you go on the trail with your father and the captain, I
reckon you'll learn some more."

"I've seen a great many Indians," began Vic, "but they were all friendly
except--"

"Colorado!" suddenly exclaimed Sam. "Four of 'em! Heading right for us!
Don't shoot, Cal. Keep a good ready, but don't throw lead if you can
help it. It beats me!"

Mrs. Evans reined her horse close along side of Vic's pony, but said
nothing. Her face was pale, but that of Vic's was flushed fiery red. So
was Cal's as he touched Dick with his heel and sent him forward
head-and-head with Sam's gray.

Four unmistakable red warriors, armed to the teeth, were rapidly riding
nearer.

"Mother," exclaimed Vic, "I'm ready."

"So am I," said Mrs. Evans, sharply. "We can both help."

Each had a revolver in her hand, and Vic afterwards remembered how glad
she felt, just then, of all her target practice. Her thought was, "I can
hit one, I know I can."

The leading idea in Cal's mind was that his hero-time had come, and that
he alone was quite enough for four Apaches. The expression upon his
face, during about two minutes, was tremendously heroic. He glanced
behind him and saw just such another look upon that of Vic, but the
smile his mother gave him made him feel like a whole regiment of
cavalry.

"Isn't he splendid!" said Vic.

Just then the four red men halted. They were only twenty yards away, and
it might be that they were getting ready to shoot. They were conferring
for a brief moment.

Cal drew rein, as Sam did, at the same time, and one of the Indians rode
forward holding out his right hand, palm up.

"How?" he said. "Chiricahua chief want Sam? Ugh! Heap friend."

"Colorado!" exclaimed the cowboy. "That's it, Cal. They're the friendly
Chiricahua-Apache scouts the captain sent for first time you met him.
They want me to go 'long and show 'em the trail. Reg'lar bloodhounds."

He turned in his saddle and shouted, "Ladies, it's all right," and in a
moment more he and Cal were shaking hands with their new acquaintances.

"What hideous-looking men they are!" exclaimed Vic, for at that moment
they were smiling, and the one holding Cal's hand was saying, "Ugh! Boy,
heap ride. Heap good pony. Ride big sleep. 'Pache 'calp him; he no wake
up. Lose hair all same."

That was evidently meant for a good-humored joke. Mrs. Evans and Vic had
to shake hands with them next, and then rode away with Cal towards Santa
Lucia, while Sam and the wild-looking scouts set out for an examination
of all the traces left behind by Kah-go-mish and his warriors.

"The two bands, Chiricahuas and Mescaleros, are almost like different
tribes," was the explanation Vic received from her mother.

CHAPTER IX.

THE HACIENDA OF SANTA LUCIA.

Early in the afternoon of the fourth day after the red mustang and the
regular-army black brought Cal home to Santa Lucia, the ranch wore a
very peaceful appearance. No cavalry were camped near it. There was not
now any American flag floating from the staff on the roof of the
hacienda, and there was not wind enough to have made one float if it had
been there.

No cattle were grazing within sight of anybody standing at the stockade
gate. That was closed and barred in an unusually inhospitable manner,
and no wayfarer could ride in without first explaining himself. There
was reason in it, for Santa Lucia now contained only one man to
strengthen the brave female garrison which had held it against the
intended surprise-party of Kah-go-mish. More men would be there at
sunset, on the return of the herders, and no Indians were believed to be
within a very long distance.

A wide awning had been stretched out from the veranda, and there were
two or three chairs under the awning, but they were empty.

Norah McLory and a couple of the Mexican women were busy with some tubs
in the courtyard. The windows looking into it were not narrow slits like
those outside. They were wide enough, had swinging sashes in them, and
they gave the old adobe less the appearance of being either a fort or a
prison. Most of them were curtained, and the curtains of a pair opposite
the open side of the square were very handsome. Just beyond one of these
curtains stood Mrs. Evans, with her arms around her daughter. If
anything were troubling Vic's mind, the face she was looking into must
have had comfort in it. Mrs. Evans was one of those women who are
remarkable, and have no need of proving it to make people believe it.
She was of medium height and not at all robust in appearance, although
in excellent health. There was hardly a tinge of gray in her auburn
hair, her cheeks were smooth, her brown eyes were bright and pleasant,
and her voice was full and musical. Those who had heard it once wished
to hear it again, even if they wondered what there was in it that made
them go and do just as she told them. It was a grand thing for a young
cowboy, like Cal Evans, to have such a mother away out there upon the
plains, and was equally good for Vic, especially at such a time as had
now come.

The room itself was as nearly like a large parlor in an Eastern mansion
as such a room in such a building could be made. Colonel Evans had
refused to count up how many head of cattle the furniture had cost him,
including the piano and the wagoning of it from Santa Fé.

Mrs. Evans had not stopped there, for her china and other elegances
enabled her to set a well-furnished table, and her kitchen garden in one
corner of the stockade, with her hen-coops, provided something better
than the beef and bacon and corn-bread supplied to hungry people at
most New Mexican ranches.

More than one Indian chief to whom Mrs. Evans had given a dinner had
declared it "good medicine," not understanding that his own race was
passing away because the chickens and the potato-patches were coming.

Army-men, officers and soldiers, had ridden away from Santa Lucia,
remarking of Cal's mother: "Very uncommon woman. But how did she get
those things to grow 'way down here?"

Mexican herders in the colonel's employ had also discussed the matter,
and had decided that no melon or bean or hill of corn or other vegetable
dared refuse to grow after getting orders from the "Señora."

Perhaps the most remarkable thing, after all, was the fact that such a
lady, with all her refinement and cultivation, should say that she
preferred a ranch life at Santa Lucia to any other kind of life
anywhere.

She was saying so now to Victoria. Vic would have been a smaller pattern
of her mother, but for a tinge of red in her hair and something saucy
about her nose and mouth. That is, on ordinary occasions, but not just
now, for she was looking blue enough.

"Mother," she said, "father never gets hurt, but Cal is so young. The
Indians, mother, and there may be fighting. I almost hate this country.
I'd rather be where no savages can come."

"They will never come, Vic."

"They did come, this time! I saw them from the roof. Some of them come
along here every now and then."

"Peaceably, my dear. It's a wonder to me that they touched anything of
ours. If everybody had dealt with them as your father has there would
not be any fighting."

"He went away angry enough," said Vic.

"Not angry enough to hurt any Indian without necessity. If there should
be any fighting--"

"Seems to me I can't think he could kill anybody, or be killed; but Cal
is so young!"

"Victoria," said her mother, almost laughing, "Cal is a smaller mark
than your father, and not half so likely to get hit. I hope they will
bring the horses back with them."

"You are a wonderful woman, mother. Were you ever really afraid of
anything?"

Mrs. Evans thought for a moment, and then replied, "Yes, Vic, the other
day. I was afraid we'd not get our soldier scarecrows ready before the
Apaches came. Then, too, they might have met your father. I thought of
that, but I wasn't really afraid that they had. I think I was made to
live here."

That was the truth of the matter, and she soon convinced Victoria that
the time to be nervous had not yet arrived. It was true that Colonel
Evans and Cal and a dozen cowboys had gone with Captain Moore and the
cavalry to trail the thieving Mescaleros and bring back the horses, but
the Indians had three days the start, and were not likely to be caught
up with at once.

"There may not be any fighting, even then," said Mrs. Evans; but
Victoria did not find any use for her piano that day.

CHAPTER X.

THE TARGET ON THE ROCK.

It was the very hour when Mrs. Evans and Vic were talking, at Santa
Lucia, about the cavalry and cowboy expedition which had gone in search
of the Apaches. Many a long mile to the southward of the old hacienda
the sun shone hotly down upon the rugged slope of a spur of a range of
mountains. At the bottom of the slope ran a wide trail which had been
used by wagons, and was almost like a road. Along its narrow pathway of
sand and shale rode a straggling cavalcade of extraordinary-looking
horsemen. About half of them carried lances and wore a showy green and
yellow uniform. All had firearms in abundance, and most of them had long
sabres rattling at their sides. There seemed to be a profusion of silver
ornaments, even on men as well as upon bridles and saddles, but there
were also a number of badly battered sombreros and ragged serapes. What
is a sombrero? It is any sort of very wide-brimmed, low-crowned hat, and
can be made to carry much tinsel and feathers. As for a serape, one can
be made out of any blanket by cutting a hole in the middle of it, so
that it will hang gracefully around the man or woman whose head has been
pushed through the hole. It was not easy to say whether the gay officer
commanding the gaudy lancers, or the remarkably tattered peon who led
the last string of pack-mules, at the rear, was really the most
picturesque Mexican of that cavalcade.

On the slope above them, less than three hundred yards from the trail, a
great bowlder of gray granite stood out prominently from the bushes and
the smaller lumps of rock around it.

On the bowlder, at its very edge, stood the figure of a man who was even
more noteworthy than were the officer and the peon. His arms were
folded, so that two red stocking-legs spanned his broad chest; his silk
hat, with a green-veil streamer, was cocked on one side defiantly; his
attitude was that of a man who did not fear all Mexico, and the loudly
uttered words he sent down at the horsemen were: "Kah-go-mish is a great
chief!"

Whether or not they believed him, and although he had given them no
apparent cause for considering him an enemy, horseman after horseman
lifted carbine or revolver and blazed away at the Mescalero leader.
Bullet after bullet buzzed in among the bushes and rocks above and
behind him, but not a muscle of his tall form flinched.

All practised riflemen know that a mark posted as he was is difficult to
hit, even at short range and in shadow, and that the difficulty
magnifies with distance and a sunny glare.

There stood Kah-go-mish, and while report after report rang out in the
narrow valley, and called forth echoes from among the crags, he
exhausted all he knew of Spanish and was compelled to help it with his
native Apache dialect, and even then seemed unable to express his
opinion of the marksmen. He had much to say concerning his own great
and good qualities and those of his people, but declared that all the
unpleasant reptiles and insects and quadrupeds he could name were
serving as Mexicans that afternoon. He shouted to them that they did not
even know how to shoot. If they had been Gringos (Yankees) of the lowest
order, he said he might be in danger from their bullets, but, as it was,
the man they aimed at was safer than any other man within range.

The Mexican caballeros may or may not have been able to understand any
part of that hailstorm of hard words, but Kah-go-mish had an audience
and was not wasting his eloquence. He and his bowlder seemed to be
alone, jutting out from the slope, but that was an optical illusion.
That knob of granite stood upon the outer rim of a wide, ragged, bushy
ledge, and at no great distance there began a shadowy growth of forest.
The broken level behind Kah-go-mish was peopled by scores of braves and
squaws and younger people, proving that the two sections of his band had
reunited. Dogs ran hither and thither, while ponies and horses could be
seen among the trees. One dog in particular did his futile best to climb
the bowlder, and then sat down under a furze bush and yelped with all
his might at the cavalcade, as if in sympathy with the chief of his band
of Apaches.

At the right of the granite bowlder, and several paces from the edge or
the ledge, were some huge fragments of red basalt rock. In front of
these crouched a group which gazed at Kah-go-mish with unmistakable
pride. In the middle sat Wah-wah-o-be, bonnet and all. Against her, on
the right, was curled the form of the young lady in the wonderful red
dress, and she looked almost pretty as her black eyes flashed with
admiration of her father's magnificent heroism and oratory. At the left
of Wah-wah-o-be, the boy in the Reservation trousers stood sturdily
erect, but nothing could make him handsome or take from his broad, dark
face the look of half-anxious dulness which belonged there. His beady
eyes glittered, and he showed his white teeth, now and then, but his
very smile was dull. He leaned back against the rock, and just then a
something came whizzing past his head, and there was a slightly stinging
sensation in his left ear. He did not wince, but he lifted his hand
quickly to his ear, and there sprang to his lips an involuntary
imitation of the sound made by the ragged ounce ball of lead when it
struck the crumbling basalt.

"Z-st-ping!" he said, and the sound was caught up by other voices.

"Ping--ping--ping," ran from lip to lip, and some laughed merrily, for
all had heard the whiz and thud of the deadly missiles which were coming
up from the valley, although they and Wah-wah-o-be had deemed themselves
entirely sheltered.

Kah-go-mish had at that moment turned for a glance at his family, and he
uttered a loud whoop, as if of pleasure. At the same breath he came down
from his rock with a great, staglike bound, and stood among them.

"Wah-wah-o-be, look!" he said. "Ugh!"

He had no need to point, for she was already aware that the ragged edge
of the bit of lead had made a deep scratch in her son's ear. She was
both very proud and very angry.

"Ping!" she exclaimed, as if the sound had acquired a new meaning.

"Ugh!" said Kah-go-mish. "Ping!"

As for the boy himself, the dulness almost vanished from his face in his
exultation at having been so nearly hit, actually grazed, by a
rifle-ball. His sister came around to stare at the scratch, and then his
own quick eyes caught something.

"Tah-nu-nu!" he said, and pointed at the wide fold of her red calico. It
was torn. A Mexican bullet had found its way through the furze bushes,
and Tah-nu-nu had been almost as much in peril, the moment she stood
erect, as her brother had been.

Wah-wah-o-be's wrath boiled over. The Apaches pay more of respect to
their squaws than do some other tribes, and the chief's wife was a woman
who was likely to demand all that belonged to her.

Kah-go-mish had stood upon the rock to be fired at by the rancheros for
the glory of it, and was almost too proud of so great an exploit to lose
his temper at once. He was beginning to say something about Mexican
marksmanship when he was interrupted by Wah-wah-o-be. She had feelings
of her own, if he had not. She pointed at her son's ear, and again she
said "Ping!"

The bullet might have wantonly murdered any member of her family, or any
of her neighbors. She made rapid remarks about it, of such a nature that
Kah-go-mish felt a change going on in his mind. Other ears had heard,
and the voices of braves and squaws seemed to agree with that of
Wah-wah-o-be. All had fallen back from the dangerous margin, and it
would have looked a little like a council if a squaw had not been the
speaker. There was very little red upon the ear of Ping, but it served
her as a representative of all the wrongs ever done to the Apaches by
the white men, including that of cooping them in upon the Reservation,
where she had obtained her bonnet, and where they had all but starved
for lack of game.

The blood of Kah-go-mish reached the right heat at last, and his hand
arose to his mouth to help out the largest, longest, fiercest war-whoop
he knew anything about.

"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!"

He said this as he strode away towards the trees, waving back all the
rest with his hands. Warriors and squaws, boys and girls, they at once
seemed to arrange themselves for a good look at whatever their great man
might be about to do.

He was gone but a few minutes, and returned, leading a mean-looking,
undersized, disreputable pony, upon whose head he had placed a
miserable, worn-out bridle.

He did not utter a word to Wah-wah-o-be, but upon the ground before her
he deposited a handsome rifle, a bow and arrows, and a lance. He took
from his belt the revolver and laid it beside the other weapons, and
upon them all he placed the green-veil-plumed silk hat and the red
stocking-legs. He ostentatiously called attention to the fact that he
retained nothing but his heavy bowie-knife. Armed with only that weapon,
and mounted upon his worst pony, he, the great chief, the hero, was
about to depart upon a war-path against the coyotes, the buzzards, the
tarantulas, the red ants, the lost dogs--namely, the Mexicans of
Chihuahua, or any other Mexicans. He would make them pay bitterly for
having wasted so much ammunition that day.

The announcement of the chief's purpose was received with whoops and
yells of approbation. Wah-wah-o-be seemed to overlook any possible peril
of losing her husband altogether. She may have been hardened by a long
habit of seeing him come home safe.

Kah-go-mish gave some rapid orders to one brave after another, mounted
his pony while others were gathering their own, and then he rode
straight into the side of the mountain, followed by his whole
band--horses, dogs, and all. That is, it would have so appeared to any
white man standing at the foot of the granite bowlder, but it was only a
good illustration of the magical arts by which the Indian medicine-men
make it so difficult for green white men in blue uniforms to catch red
runaways. Uniformity of color in quartz and granite, or other ledges,
provides for a part of the mystery. Shrubs and trees and distances help,
and so, often, does their absence. A great break in the side of that
spur of the Sierra was as invisible from the pass as if it had been
hidden by snow or midnight. It was a chasm which led in two directions
from that point. Kah-go-mish waved his hand authoritatively and wheeled
his pony to the left, to the southward, towards Mexico. His warriors and
his family, and all other members of the band, dogs included, turned
northward, to the right, carrying with them positive assurances as to
the place, and very nearly as to the time, when they might again hope
to see and admire their leader.

During his absence the command fell to a short, broad-shouldered
warrior, who walked dreadfully intoed, and who seemed to stand very much
in awe of Wah-wah-o-be. She, on the other hand, was evidently well
satisfied with the course which affairs were taking. She had picked up
the weapons so heroically laid upon the ground by her husband, and she
had helped Tah-nu-nu and Ping to gather the ponies of the family. She
had said a great many things while doing so, for one point in her
superiority to other squaws was the capacity of her tongue for
expressing her ideas.

The whole band had an almost prosperous appearance, very different from
that which it had worn just before it began to swarm around Sam Herrick
and the drove of horses. Lodge-poles had been cut, now that there were
ponies to drag them. Hardly anybody was on foot, except a few braves
whose half-trained, spirited horses were likely to require leading over
narrow and pokerish mountain-passes.

Kah-go-mish rode on alone in one direction and the band went in the
other, and both were shortly buried in the deep, cool gloom of the
shadowy chasms.

CHAPTER XI.

THE STORY OF A LOG

The red mustang was in excellent health, and he was also in high
spirits. So was his master, and they were nearly agreed upon another
point. Dick evidently believed that any trail whatever ought to be
followed at full speed, and Cal fretted continually over the steady
plodding commanded by Captain Moore. Cal was glad that in his first
Indian campaign he was to have so much first-class help, including the
four Chiricahua-Apache scouts. He had confidence in his father and in
the captain, as men of experience in such matters, but at last he could
hardly help mentioning to Sam Herrick the joint criticism made by
himself and Dick. "Why, Sam," he remarked, "the red-skins have three
days the start of us, and Captain Moore isn't in any kind of hurry. They
must be gaining on us."

"That's not of much account, Cal," said Sam, "so long as their trail
stays in this country. They're camped at the end of it to-night. So they
will be every night till they get to the far end of it, and there we'll
find 'em, unless they cross over into Mexico."

"And if they do that?" asked Cal.

"Mexico's a hot place for Indians just now," replied Sam. "Troops
moving; militia called out. These fellows couldn't stay there."

The far end of an Indian trail is sometimes a curious thing to hunt for,
as Sam went on to explain. It may get lost in the sand, or among the
mountains, or in the snow, or somebody may hide it or steal it, or a
heavy rain may wash it all out.

"Well," said Cal, "one thing's sure. If we should come near 'em, and
have to chase 'em, the horses won't be too travel-tired for good
running."

"Exactly so," said Sam. "That's what the captain's up to."

The cavalry and cowboy camp, that night, was as safe as Santa Lucia, but
there was something like a disturbance in another place.

The party of rancheros and Chiricahua militia who had blazed away at
Kah-go-mish may have been a kind of scouting-party. They had escaped
destruction by not following him up the slope, and they afterwards had
not many miles to ride before they reached a camp to which they
evidently belonged. One small corner of that camp had an appearance of
good order, where an experienced officer of the Mexican army was in
command of a few disciplined soldiers. All the remainder of it seemed to
bear the likeness of a grand military picnic, where all the men who had
tickets were free to have a good time in any manner they might please.
Very soon after supper most of them pleased to lie down and go to sleep,
while others sat up to smoke and play cards.

Of course there could not be any danger threatening a force of over four
hundred men, all so warlike, so soldierly, so completely ready to whip
any tribe of mere red Indians. Besides, no important band of hostiles
was known or believed to be in that vicinity. There might have been a
better watch kept that night, nevertheless, especially at the corral
where all their horses were picketed.

This had been made along the bank of the deep, still stream which
supplied the camp with ice-water from the Sierra Madre. Nobody ever
heard of any fellow taking a swim in such cold water as that was. It was
cold enough to chill the bones of a mountain trout. Of course no one did
undertake to swim in it, but, at about midnight, a log came floating
down. There was a large knot on one side of the log. The current or
something carried it against the bank, right in the middle of the
corral, and either there were two logs, or that log divided, for one log
floated off down stream, while the other log crept out on shore, stood
erect, and walked stealthily around among the horses. The knot was
carried on the upper end of this log, and the other went off without
any.

Very quickly were four of the best horses fixed with four of the best
saddles and bridles from among the long rows at the edge of the corral.
The log did it, and added holsters with revolvers in them and two
bundles of fine lances and some good American carbines, and two full
straddle packs of cartridges. The sentries of the corral were all
stationed away outside of the place where that peculiar log was at work.
All but two of them were asleep, as the guardians of so strong and
warlike a camp had a right to be.

Now the log crept around until it found a path leading out southerly,
past a sentry who was sleeping very soundly indeed. Then it went back
into the corral and led out the four saddled and bridled horses, with
four others following that wore only halters, but carried securely
strapped burdens, selected and fitted by the log.

There was a brilliant moonlight, so that there was no danger whatever to
the camp from Indians, and the log led the horses on until it became
wise to go ahead and see if there had been any picket posted at the
place and distance at which one might have been expected.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the log, as it went back for the horses. "Mexican! No
blue-coat!"

That was a compliment to such men as Captain Moore, but then the log was
doing what no kind of fellow would have undertaken with "blue-coats." It
now mounted one of the horses and led on up the stream, to a place it
seemed to know about, where the water was wide and shallow and could be
easily forded. On crossing it the log was still at no great distance
from the camp, but upon higher ground. Looking down, it could have a
good view of the smouldering camp-fires and the sleeping Mexicans, for
tents there were not.

"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" exclaimed the knot at the top of the
log, exultingly. "Ugh! Got heap hoss, heap saddle, heap gun, heap all
plunder. Ugh! Mexican shoot at him on rock. Wonder how feel now, pretty
soon. Ugh!"

An irrepressible whoop of triumph burst from him.

"Ugh! Bad medicine," he said. "Great chief let mouth go off like boy."

He had not lost his wits, however, and he followed that whoop with a
dozen more, a whole series of fierce, ear-splitting screeches, while he
rapidly emptied the nine chambers of the captured carbine and the six of
a revolver. He aimed at the camp-fires and with tip-top success,
testified to by sudden showers of sparks and brands which flew around
among the startled sleepers.

Great was the uproar in that astonished camp. Seven gallant fellows who
had bugles began to blow for dear life the moment they were upon their
feet. Every officer began to shout orders as soon as he was awake, and
some seemed to begin even earlier. They exhibited tremendous presence of
mind, but no soldier received the same order from any two of them.
Within a minute, at least a hundred men were at their posts of danger
behind something or other, while three hundred more were making a blind
rush for the corral. The sentries had all fired their pieces at once,
and now there began a general popping of guns and pistols at the awful
shadows beyond the little river.

Kah-go-mish could hardly have wished for anything better. He wheeled and
rode rapidly away, followed by the string of horses which he had
regarded as the fee due to him for being made a target of.

He had not been killed, then, no thanks to the Mexicans, and he had not
killed anybody now, deeming it imprudent to take any scalps under the
circumstances. He had again, however, proved his claim to be considered
an extraordinary collector of enemy's horses, and that is a high fame to
win among the wild tribes of the southwest. As for the righteousness of
what he had done, in his own eyes, he was a commanding officer of
Mescalero Apaches, and his people were at war with Mexico, as the
rancheros and militia had declared so recklessly. He made war in a
manner every inch as civilized as their own, and thought well of himself
for so doing. He said so, quite a number of times, that night, as he
rode on deeper and deeper into the rugged passes of the Sierras. About
daylight he came to an open, shaded spot, by a spring, where there was
grass for his prizes, and where he could build a fire and then find out
what there might be for breakfast in a very fat haversack which hung
from one of the saddles.

As for the Mexican cavalry, of all sorts, they behaved well, and the
officer in supreme command at last succeeded in substituting his own
orders for those of his hasty subordinates. He stationed a strong force
at the ford, to prevent the supposed tribe of red men which had assailed
his camp from crossing the river. He threw out scouting-parties,
encouraged his men by voice and example, urging them to do their duty,
prove their attachment to their flag, and to die rather than surrender.
He was answered by enthusiastic cheers, and, when morning came, he
readily obtained from among them a body of brave volunteers who followed
him across the ford to search the dangerous underbrush on the hill from
which the hostile barbarians had fired upon the camp. The more they
searched the better they felt, and at last they found a trace of the
enemy. They captured a pony, bridle and all. It was the sad-looking
beast selected by Kah-go-mish as the most nearly worthless of all that
he had brought with him from the Reservation.

Eight militiamen, one of them a bugler, already knew that the enemy had
penetrated the corral, and had gotten away again, but here was a sort of
a mount for one of them. Well, it was a capture, anyhow, and a proof of
victory, and was spoken of as "ponies" in the official report of the
manner in which that night-attack had been baffled by the Chiricahua
militia.

CHAPTER XII.

PING AND THE COUGAR.

When Kah-go-mish set out upon his war-path, he went by ways which no
white man's foot had ever trod. His family and followers began to
perform the same feat in another direction.

Tah-nu-nu very nearly spoiled a name which was beginning to grow upon
her brother. It was too long for common use, and it meant:
"The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead." Wah-wah-o-be, every now
and then, strung all the syllables together, and the whole was like one
of those mountain-passes, wider here and narrower there, but rugged all
the way. Tah-nu-nu cut it short and called him Ping.

Wah-wah-o-be's tongue and the use she made of it helped such a trail as
that amazingly. She had endless tales to tell concerning what her
husband had done and was yet to do, and of the great deeds of her
nation, and of the evil deeds and purposes of all pale-faces.

The questions asked by Ping and Tah-nu-nu were also endless. His proved
that he knew some things already and that he had learned a part of them
while the band had been upon the Reservation. Those of the little Apache
girl proved for her as much and more. She must have thinking and
imagining, and her eyes frequently took on a soft and dreamy look which
did not come at all in those of her mother or her brother.

There were not many safer places in all the Sierras than was the little
valley in which the band of Kah-go-mish encamped, an hour or so before
the shadows became darkness among the chasms and gorges.

Ping ate a hearty supper, but he was in trouble. Other boys and girls,
and some of the squaws, had taken a notion of turning their heads on one
side and saying "Ping" when they met him, just as if they believed that
he had winced from the touch of the bullet. He knew that he had not done
so, but the taunt stirred up within him a very hot desire to do
something heroic, like standing still to be shot at. He felt that it was
an awful injustice to ridicule him for the very ear he was so proud of.
The sting to his vanity kept him in motion after supper, and he strolled
all over the valley. No lodges had been pitched, and the horses were
scattered around, feeding, under the watchful care of several braves
whose turn it was to serve as "dog-soldiers," or camp police.

The moonlight was brilliant, but Ping had no idea whether or not the
mountain scenery it lighted up was grand. He did know that it was just
the night for his father to do great deeds in, or for any wild animal to
prowl around after its prey. The cries of several had been heard during
the afternoon march and since the band halted.

Wah-wah-o-be had told him and Tah-nu-nu that these Mexican mountains
fairly swarmed with Manitous and magicians, most of whom were favorable
to the Apaches, but that all of them were more or less to be feared. For
all that Ping knew, some of these unseen beings might be wandering up
and down in that moonshine within arrow-shot of him. He felt safe in the
camp, but nothing would have induced him to venture out among them. He
knew very well that any Indian who got himself killed in the dark did
not go to the Happy Hunting-Grounds, but had an awful time of it
somewhere. As for the wild animals, he had a settled determination to
kill a grizzly bear, some day, and to have his claws for a collar of
honor to wear upon great occasions. He proposed to become a mighty
hunter and warrior, but just now he felt sleepy, and he went back and
lay down at the foot of a pine-tree, not far from the rest of his
family.

Ping's eyes closed, but another pair did not. Tah-nu-nu's remained open
in spite of her. She had heard more stories than Ping had, and while
each tale had kept its old shape in his mind it had turned into twenty
new forms in her own.

That is one difficulty about having an imagination, and Tah-nu-nu's had
been getting more and more excited ever since the Mexican bullet tore
her beautiful red dress. She kept thinking, too, of her heroic father
and of the great things he would have to tell when he should get back
from his war-path.

Tah-nu-nu lacked only a few years of being a grown-up squaw, and
Wah-wah-o-be often braided her hair for her, like that of a young
pale-face lady at the Reservation headquarters. Some day a great brave
was to come and pay many ponies for her, and she would then rule his
lodge for him and scold eloquently, like her mother. She had,
therefore, a long list of matters to dream about as she lay awake among
the bushes where Wah-wah-o-be and several other squaws had spread their
blankets. It was at some distance from the fires which the
"dog-soldiers" kept slowly burning. Not far away, on the left, were the
tall pines under one of which Ping had curled down, while outside of all
was a bare ledge of rock, littered with bowlders and fragments.

There were streaks and patches of shining white quartz here and there.
Tah-nu-nu had never heard of such a thing as beauty, any more than Ping,
but she felt its power as he did not. She arose and stole softly out to
look at the marvellous picture made by that ledge in the moonlight. She
looked and looked, but she had no Apache word for what she saw. It was
all utterly still during many minutes, and then Tah-nu-nu was sure she
saw something moving around at the farther border of the ledge. Her
first impulse was to go out and see what it was, but her next thought
was of her bow and arrows and of Ping.

"Ugh!" said Ping, as she shook his arm, and he sprang to his feet.

"Hist!" she said. "Come! Look!"

He strung his bow and fastened his quiver of arrows to his belt, while
she whispered an exclamation. Then he went to where the family packs had
been thrown down and brought back a weapon at which Tah-nu-nu nodded
approval.

Days before that a careless pony had stepped upon and broken one of the
best lances of Kah-go-mish. The blade was as keen as ever, and there
were six feet of shaft remaining, below the crosspiece, so that it made
a pretty dangerous-looking pike, although it was no longer a lance.

Ping followed Tah-nu-nu, and not a word was uttered until they were out
upon the ledge. Some prowling wolf might be there, attracted by the odor
of cooked meat and fish, or even some more important animal, for bears
also have noses. Ping would not have given a useless alarm for anything.
That would have brought upon him sharper ridicule than had the scratch
on his ear. He had no idea that any human enemy could be near that
lonely camp, and wild animals, he knew, were sure to keep at a distance
from camp-fires. That was true, but then Wah-wah-o-be and her friends
were not camp-fires, and were not near to any. They were asleep away out
on that side of the camp, and it was so safe that it had no sentry, and
the eyes of Tah-nu-nu had been of so much the greater value.

She and Ping were stealing out upon the broken ledge, and he had an
arrow upon the string, but she had not, as yet.

"Ugh!" he said, as he crouched low and drew his arrow to the head.

Tah-nu-nu uttered a sharp cry. It was the Apache word for "cougar!"

Ping's bowstring twanged, and then he bounded to the right as if he were
dodging something. So he was, for the whole camp heard the snarling roar
with which a great "mountain lion" came rushing through the air and
crashed down a bush close to the children of Kah-go-mish and
Wah-wah-o-be.

[Illustration: SHE AND PING WERE STEALING OUT UPON THE BROKEN LEDGE.]

Ping's arrow had been well aimed, for it was buried in the breast of the
cougar. Another went into his side, as he came down, and that was
from the hand of a girl-archer. Tah-nu-nu had worked like a flash, and
her arrow operated as a sting, for the wounded beast made yet another
tremendous bound.

All the squaws were on their feet, and Wah-wah-o-be could not have told
why she picked up her blanket as she arose. She was worthy to be the
wife of a chief, however, for when the cougar alighted almost in front
of her, she promptly threw the blanket over him. Another and another
blanket followed, while he rolled upon the ground, mad with pain and
rage, tearing the unexpected bedclothes and snarling ferociously.

There had come into the dull mind of
The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead a great memory of a story
he had heard of a warrior who faced a cougar single-handed. With it came
another, of a chief standing alone upon a rock while a hundred enemies
fired at him.

"I am the son of Kah-go-mish!" he shouted, exultingly, and before the
fierce wild beast could free himself, there was Ping in front of him,
spear in hand.

Any experienced cougar-hunter would have been inclined to say,
"Good-bye, Ping," but the Apache boy was not thinking of the risk he was
running. He knew what to do, and he put all the strength of his tough
young body into the thrust with which he sent his weapon, low down,
inside the animal's shoulder. The sharp blade went in, up to the
crosspiece, just as the bow of Tah-nu-nu twanged again, and there were
piercing shrieks on all sides. The loudest came from Wah-wah-o-be, as
the cougar made a convulsive effort to reach his rash assailant, for
over and over went Ping in spite of all his bracing.

He would have fared worse if the butt of the spear-shaft had not caught
a better brace against the ground, so that the cougar did not fall upon
him.

The blade had done its work. There were two or three more long rips made
in Wah-wah-o-be's woollen treasure and then the cougar lay still.

Ping was beyond all ridicule now, for he had proved himself a young
brave. Wah-wah-o-be was so proud of him that she had not a word of grief
to utter over the mess of woollen ribbons which was all that remained of
her best Reservation blanket.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE RETURN OF KAH-GO-MISH.

There were no alarms of cougars nor of any human wild people around the
Santa Lucia ranch. Even the dogs could hardly get up an excuse for
healthy barking after dark.

Just in the dawn of that next morning, however, the cowboy on guard at
the stockade gate was taken by surprise. Nobody rode up to the wooden
barrier, but his quick ears caught a stealthy footstep behind him, and
he turned sharply around with his hand on the lock of his rifle.

Did she mean to murder him?

There she stood, Norah McLory, with a double-barrelled gun in one hand
and a cleaver in the other, and a red shawl pinned all around her. She
made a very striking picture, and the look on her face was very much as
if she were ready to strike.

"What's up, Norah?" exclaimed the cowboy.

"Faith an' I'm oop mesilf," said she. "I couldn't slape for thinking of
thim red villains."

"No redskins 'round here," almost yawned the weary sentry.

"Ye don't know that," said Norah, "and I wanted to see was you watchin'.
We moight all be murdhered in bed."

"The dogs'd take care o' that," said he, "and, oh, but I'm hungry."

"I'll have you the cup of hot coffee right soon," said Norah, "and you
needn't tell the byes I watched ye."

That was a bargain, but before the coffee boiled there was proof of
other wakefulness besides Norah's. Mrs. Evans and Vic were out to look
at the garden and to feed the chickens and to talk about what might be
going on in the far-away camp which contained the red mustang.

After breakfast the cowboys went to their duties. So did Norah and the
Mexican servants. Vic and her mother took a brisk horseback ride, and
came back to their home.

"Everything is too quiet, mother," said Vic, impatiently. "There isn't
anything going on! I want to see somebody! I want to see something! I
hate this waiting."

"I'm afraid it will be days and days before we can hear from your father
or Cal," said Mrs. Evans, "but I hope it will be good news when it
comes."

The entire garrison of Santa Lucia, ladies, servants, and cowboys,
talked of the men on the trail of Kah-go-mish, and wondered where and
under what circumstances their camp might be getting breakfast.

Cal Evans himself, although he awoke in the camp they were talking
about, did not clearly know where it was, and while he was grooming the
red mustang he said as much to Sam Herrick.

"Colorado!" remarked Sam; "you're just like everybody else. I believe
those Chiricahuas have lost the trail, or else they don't mean we shall
find the Mescaleros."

"What's going to be done?" asked Cal.

"Your father and Captain Moore mean to push right on," said Sam.
"They've got some plan or other. Tell you what, though, if I was an
Apache chief, and if I'd gobbled a drove of horses, as they did, I'd
take my chances over in Mexico. I wouldn't come loafing out hereaway, to
be followed by cavalry and caught napping. There's a plain of awfully
dry gravel a little west of where we are now."

Cal finished Dick, and then he carried his questions to his father.

"Sam's right," said the colonel. "He's an old hand at trailing. We
believe the redskins have crossed the line."

"Into Mexico? Shall we miss 'em?"

"No, Cal, I think not. Captain Moore knows something of what the
Mexicans are doing. The Apaches won't be comfortable there. What we're
guessing at is the place where they're likely to come out again. We're
pretty sure we know about where it's got to be."

He might have been less positive if he could have seen how very
comfortable the band of Kah-go-mish looked in their camp among the
Mexican mountains at that very hour.

It was a safe place, but it was not one to remain in for any great
length of time, for the horses had already eaten up nearly all the
grass. Some of the braves had gone out after game successfully, while
others had brought in fish, so that the human beings had food enough,
but the quadrupeds would soon wear out the pasturage of so small a
valley.

Ping's cougar was regarded as capital game, the best kind of meat in the
world to Indian tastes, as far as he would go.

The discovery had already been made that more plentiful grass could not
safely be sought for under the Mexican flag. Too many lancers and
rancheros were out on the war-path, and the thoughts of all the band
were turning towards some better refuge north of the United States line.
Everybody was contented for the day, however, or until about the middle
of the afternoon. Even Wah-wah-o-be was astonished then, and Ping for a
moment forgot his cougar. The little valley rang with a great whoop,
which came from its southerly end. Every brave within hearing did his
best to answer that whoop, and the whole camp was at once in a state of
excitement, for it was the voice of the returning Kah-go-mish, and it
was thrilling with triumph.