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The occurrence was of no special interest to the guide. He had said they were in danger from the Indians and he gave his thoughts to them. While the others kept their seats on the ground, he stood erect, and, shading his eyes with one hand, peered long and attentively over the trail behind them. The clump of cedars from amid which the thin column of vapor was slowly climbing into the sky and the narrow ledge which had been the scene of their stirring adventure were in view, though its winding course shut a portion from sight.

“I expected it!” suddenly exclaimed Vose.

The others followed the direction of his gaze and saw what had caused his words. The five Indians, whom Vose had discovered in camp, were picking their way along the ledge, with their faces turned from the white men, who were watching them. Despite the chilly air, caused by the elevation, not one of the warriors wore a blanket. Two had bows and arrows, three rifles, carried in a trailing fashion, and all were lithe, sinewy fellows, able to give a good account of themselves in any sort of fight.

A curious fact noted by all of our friends was that while these warriors were thus moving away, not one of them looked behind him. Their long black hair hung loosely about their shoulders, and in the clear air it was observable that three wore stained feathers in the luxuriant growth on their crowns.

“Is it possible that they have no suspicion of us?” asked the parson; “their action in not looking around would imply that.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” was the reply of Adams; “they knowed of us afore we knowed anything of them.”

“Why did they allow us to pass their camp undisturbed?”

“Things weren’t in the right shape for ’em. There are only three guns among ’em, though them kind of Injins are as good with the bow as the rifle, and they made up their minds that if we let them alone, they wouldn’t bother us.”

“You said awhile ago that we should have trouble from them.”

“And so we shall; when they reasoned like I was sayin’, they didn’t know anything about the little accident that happened to their chief; it’s that which will make things lively.”

“We can’t see the point where that accident took place,” said Captain Dawson.

“No; the trail curves too much, but we can foller it most of the way; they’re likely to go right on without ’specting anything, but when they find the horse, it’ll set ’em to looking round. After that, the band will begin to play.”

While the party were watching the five Indians, the leader was seen to pass from view around the curve in the trail, followed by the next, until finally the fifth disappeared. All this time, not one of the warriors looked behind him. It was a singular line of action, and because of its singularity roused the suspicion of the spectators.

While three of the miners resumed their seats on the boulders and ground, Vose Adams kept his feet. Doubling each palm, so as to make a funnel of it, he held one to either eye and continued scrutinizing the point where he had last seen the hostiles. He suspected it was not the last of them. Instead of imitating him, his friends studied his wrinkled countenance.

The air in that elevated region was wonderfully clear, but it is hardly possible to believe the declaration which the guide made some minutes later. He insisted that, despite the great distance, one of the Indians, after passing from view, returned over his own trail and peeped around the bend in the rocks, and that the guide saw his black hair and gleaming snake-like eyes. The fact that Vose waited until the savage had withdrawn from sight, before making the astonishing declaration, threw some discredit on it, for it would have required a good telescope to do what he claimed to have done with the unassisted eye alone.

“You see I was looking for something of the kind,” he explained, “or mebbe I wouldn’t have obsarved him.”

“Could you tell the color of his eyes?” asked the doubting Ruggles.

“They were as black as coal.”

“It is safe to say that,” remarked the parson, “inasmuch as I never met an Indian who had eyes of any other color.”

“There are such,” said Vose, “and I’ve seen ’em, though I’ll own they’re mighty scarce and I never knowed of any in this part of the world. Howsumever, I won’t purtend that I could see the color of a man’s eyes that fur, but I did see his hair, forehead and a part of his ugly face. He knowed we was behind him all the time, and this one wanted to find out what we was doing. When he larned that, they kept on along the ledge, but there’s no saying how fur they’ll go afore they find something’s gone wrong.”

Captain Dawson showed less interest in this by-play than the others. He was not concerned with what was behind them, so much as with what was in front. The belief was so strong with him that their persistent travel through the night had brought them close to the fugitives that he begrudged the time necessary for the animals to rest and eat.

Parson Brush felt that Adams was acting wisely in giving attention to the rear. It would be the height of folly to disregard these formidable warriors when they meant trouble. Brush rose to his feet and using his palms as did the guide, scanned the country behind them.

He saw nothing of any warrior peering around the rocks, but he did see something, which escaped even the keen vision of Vose Adams himself. Beyond the ledge and a little to the left, he observed a riderless horse, with head high in air, and gazing at something which the two white men could not see. The parson directed the attention of Vose to the animal.

“By gracious! it’s the chief’s horse,” he exclaimed; “do you see that?”

The other two were now looking and all plainly saw a warrior advance into view, approaching the animal, which, instead of being frightened, seemed to recognize his friends, and remained motionless until the Indian came up and grasped the thong about his neck. Then the two passed from sight.

The identical thing prophesied by Vose Adams had occurred under the eyes of the four pursuers. The steed of the dead chieftain had been recovered, and it would not take the hostiles long to penetrate the mystery of the matter. Vose was wise in taking the course he did, and his companions were now inclined to believe his astonishing assertion that he saw one of the number when he peeped around the curving ledge and watched their actions.

However, it would have been absurd to wait where they were in order to learn every move of their enemies, for that would have been a voluntary abandonment of the advantage secured at the cost of so much labor and danger. Captain Dawson insisted that the pursuit should be pressed without any thought of the red men, and Vose consented.

“But there’s one thing we mustn’t forget, captain,” he said, “and that is that it is daytime and not night.”

“I do not catch your meaning,” replied the captain, pausing on the point of moving off to secure his horse.

“It is this: them people in front will keep as sharp an eye to the rear as to the front; more’n likely it will be sharper, and it will be a bad thing if they discover us when we’re two or three miles off.”

“How shall we prevent it?”

“We can do it, if we’re careful. You’ll remember that when you went over this route last, you come upon places where you could see for a mile or more, ’cause the trail was straight and broad, while there are others where you can’t see more’n a hundred yards. Them that I’ve named last is where we must overhaul ’em.”

“That sounds well, Vose,” said the captain, “but I am unable to see how you are going to manage so as to bring that about.”

“While you’re getting the animals ready, I’ll take a look ahead.”

This was not in the nature of an explanation, but the three willingly did their part. Vose disappeared almost instantly, and, though they took but a few minutes to prepare their animals for the resumption of travel, he was back among them, the expression of his face showing that he brought news of importance.

“They ain’t fur off,” he said.

“How far?” asked the captain.

“I can’t say anything more than that we’re purty close to ’em. Let’s push on!”

CHAPTER XXI
STRANGERS

The signs of an approaching storm that had been noted with some apprehension the night before, passed away. The sky revealed hardly a cloud rift, and, when the sun had climbed the mountain crests, the scene was grand beyond description. But for the grim errand of the four men, holding relentlessly to the pursuit, they must have yielded to its impressive influence.

The trail remained so favorable for a couple of miles further, that it was passed at the same easy, swinging gallop. Vose Adams retained his place a few paces in advance of the others, who saw him glance sharply to the right and left, often to the ground and occasionally to the rear, as if to assure himself that none of his friends was going astray.

The moderate but continuous descent of the path took them so far downward that the change of temperature again became noticeable. The ground was rough and uneven and the animals dropped to a walk. Sometimes the course led around boulders, through sparse growths of cedar, beside brawling torrents, two of which they were compelled to ford, where it was hard for their animals to keep their feet.

“Last fall,” remarked the guide, at the most difficult of these passages, “I had to wait two days before I dared try to cross with Hercules and one of the other mules.”

His companions nodded their heads but made no other answer. They were not in the mood for talking.

They were now making their way through a cañon similar to Dead Man’s Gulch, with rents and yawning ravines opening on the right and left, before which the party might have halted in perplexity, had it been in the night time. But the path showed plainly and the familiarity of the guide prevented any mistake on his part.

Adams had intimated that by a certain line of procedure the watchful fugitives could be prevented from discovering the approach of the pursuers until too late to escape them. In counting upon his ability to do this, he overestimated his skill, for the task was clearly impossible, and it was because of his efforts in that direction that he made a serious blunder. He had crossed for the third time a stream which was shallow, and, upon reaching the opposite bank, where the ground was moist and soft, he reined up with an exclamation of impatience.

“What’s the matter?” asked Captain Dawson, in the same mood.

“We’ve passed ’em,” was the reply; “they’re somewhere behind us.”

“How far?”

“That remains to be found out, but I don’t think it’s a great distance.”

The captain angrily wheeled his horse and re-entered the stream.

“If they don’t get away, it won’t be our fault,” was his ungracious comment; “we have done little else than throw away our chances from the first.”

The guide made no response, and the next minute the four were retracing their course, their animals at a walk, and all scanning the rocks on either hand as they passed them.

It was clear by this time that the fugitives held one important advantage over their pursuers. The route that they were following was so devious and so varied in its nature, that only at rare intervals could it be traced with the eye for a quarter or half a mile. Certain of pursuit, Lieutenant Russell and his companion would be constantly on the lookout for it. They were more likely, therefore, to discover the horsemen than the latter were to observe them. Even if their flight was interrupted, there were innumerable places in this immense solitude where they could conceal themselves for an indefinite period.

The question the pursuers asked themselves was whether the others had strayed unwittingly from the trail, or whether they had turned off to elude their pursuers, whose desperate mood they could not but know. The latter supposition seemed the more likely, since the path was marked so plainly that it could be lost only by unaccountable carelessness.

At the first break in the side of the vast mountain walls Vose Adams again slipped from his mule and spent several minutes in studying the ground.

“They haven’t gone in here,” was his comment, as he remounted.

“Make certain that we are not too far back,” said the captain.

“I have made no mistake,” was the curt reply of the guide. The party had gone less than twenty rods further, when another rent opened on the other side of the cañon, which was about an eighth of a mile wide. It would not do now to slight anything, and Adams headed his mule diagonally across the gorge, the animal walking slowly, while the rider leaned over with his eyes on the ground. Suddenly he exclaimed:

“We’ve hit it this time! Here’s where they went in!”

All four leaped from the back of their animals. Adams pointed out the faint indentations made by the hoofs of two horses. Less accustomed than he to study such evidence, they failed to note that which was plain to him; the hoof prints of one of the animals were smaller than those of the other, since they were made by Cap, the pony belonging to Nellie Dawson. There could no longer be any doubt that the pursuers were warm on the trail of the fugitives.

Such being the fact, the interest of the men naturally centered on the avenue through which the others had made their way.

It was one of those fissures, sometimes seen among enormous piles of rock, that suggest that some terrific convulsion of nature, ages before, has split the mountain in twain from top to bottom. The latter was on a level with the main cañon itself, the chasm at the beginning being ten or twelve yards in width, but, occurring in a depression of the mountain spur, its height was no more than five or six hundred feet, whereas in other localities it would have been nearly ten times as great. The base was strewn with fragments of sandstone, some of the pieces as large as boulders, which had probably been brought down by the torrents that swept through the ravine in spring or when a cloudburst descended upon the upper portion.

Standing at the entrance, it was observed that the gorge trended sharply to the left, so that the view was shut off at a distance of fifty yards. It was noticeable, too, that the path taken by the fugitives sloped upward at so abrupt an angle that it must have sorely tried the horses.

“I thought so,” was the comment of Vose Adams, when he returned from a brief exploration of the ravine; “they got off and led their animals.”

“Have you any idea of the distance they went?” asked Captain Dawson, who was in a more gracious mood, now that he appreciated the value of the services of their guide.

“No; I’ve rid in front of that opening a good many times, but this is the first time I ever went into it.”

“Well, what is to be done?” asked Parson Brush.

“Why, foller ’em of course,” Wade Ruggles took upon himself to reply.

“That won’t do,” replied Adams, “for it is likely to upset everything; I’ll leave Hercules with you and sneak up the gorge far enough to find how the land lays. I’ll come back as soon as I can, but don’t get impatient if I’m gone several hours.”

Brush and Ruggles showed their displeasure, for, while admitting the skill of the guide, they could not see adequate cause for the impending delay. They had made so many slips that it seemed like inviting another. It was clear that they were close upon the fugitives, and the two believed the true policy was to press the pursuit without relaxing their vigor. But Captain Dawson, the one who naturally would have been dissatisfied, was silent, thereby making it apparent that Adams was carrying out a plan previously agreed upon by the two.

Vose paid no heed to Ruggles and the parson, but started up the ravine, quickly disappearing from view. Believing a long wait inevitable, the three prepared to pass the dismal interval as best they could. Here and there scant patches of grass showed in the cañon, and the animals were allowed to crop what they could of the natural food. The men lounged upon the boulders at hand, smoked their pipes and occasionally exchanged a few words, but none was in the mood for talking and they formed a grim, stolid group.

Hardly ten minutes had passed, when Ruggles, with some evidence of excitement, exclaimed in a guarded undertone:

“Helloa! Something’s up!”

He referred to the horses, who are often the most reliable sentinels in the presence of insidious danger. Two of them had stopped plucking the grass, and, with their ears pricked, were staring up the cañon at some object that had attracted their attention and that was invisible to their owners in their present situation.

Convinced that something unusual had taken place, Ruggles walked out into the cañon where he could gain a more extended view. One sweeping glance was enough, when he hurried back to his companions.

“Thunderation! all Sacramento’s broke loose and is coming this way!”

The three passed out from the side of the gorge to where they had a view of the strange procession. There seemed to be about a dozen men, mounted on mules, with as many more pack animals, coming from the west in a straggling procession, talking loudly and apparently in exuberant spirits.

“I don’t like their looks,” said Brush; “it is best to get our property out of their way.”

The counsel was good and was followed without a minute’s delay. The four animals were rounded up and turned into the ravine, up which Vose Adams had disappeared. They gave no trouble, but, probably because of the steepness of the slope, none of the four went beyond sight. Had the three men been given warning, they would have placed them out of reach, for none knew better than they how attractive horses are to men beyond the power of the law. But it was too late now, and the little party put on a bold front.

As the strangers drew near, they were seen to be nine in number and they formed a motley company. Their pack mules were so cumbrously loaded as to suggest country wagons piled with hay. The wonder was how the tough little animals could carry such enormous burdens, consisting of blankets, picks, shovels, guns, cooking utensils, including even some articles of furniture.

Our older readers will recall that for years after the close of the war, tens of thousands of the blue army overcoats were in use throughout the country. It looked as if every man in the present company was thus provided, including in many instances trousers of the same material, though each person had discarded the army cap for a soft slouch hat, similar to those worn by the miners. All the garments were in a dilapidated condition, proving their rough usage as well as their poor quality. Many of the heavy boots disclosed naked toes, while the mules had not known a curry comb for weeks and perhaps months.

The faces of the men were anything but attractive. Most of them were heavily bearded, with long, frowsy, unkempt hair, dangling about the shoulders. Every one displayed side arms, and there could be no mistake in setting them down as a reckless lot, whom a peaceable citizen would not care to meet anywhere.

The leader of this mongrel gang was a massive man, who bestrode so small a mule that his feet were only a few inches from the ground. There was little semblance of discipline in the company, but a certain rude deference to the fellow, who kept his place at the head, and did the loudest talking, ornamented with plenty of expletives, indicated his prominence among his fellows.

The mountain tramps had descried the three men standing at the side of the cañon, watching them as they approached. They ceased their boisterous talking and studied them as they drew near.

“Howdy, pards?” called the leader, raising his two fingers to his forehead and making a military salute, to which our friends responded coolly, hoping the company would keep on without stopping.

But they were disappointed. Colonel Briggs, as his men called him, suddenly shouted “Whoa!” in a voice that could have been heard a mile off, and pulled so hard on his bridle rein that he drew the jaws of the mule against his breast, while the rider lay back almost on the haunches of his animal, who showed his contrariness by walking round in a short circle before standing still.

“Which way, pards?” asked the leader, while his followers, who with more or less effort succeeded in checking their mules, curiously surveyed the three miners.

“We intend to visit Sacramento,” replied Captain Dawson.

“Huh! that’s where we come from.”

“On your way to the diggings I presume?” continued the captain courteously.

“That’s what’s the matter; we’re going to New Constantinople, which is the name of a mining settlement in Dead Man’s Gulch. Do you know anything of the place?”

“We live there.”

“The deuce! Queer town, ain’t it?”

“In what respect?”

“Don’t like visitors; Red Tom and Missouri Mike, two of the gang with me, stopped there a year or so ago with the idee of staying; the best they could do was to sleep there one night and git fired the next morning. That went agin the grain,” continued Colonel Briggs, “and the more the boys thought it over the madder they got. When they told the rest of us, we made up our minds that the trouble was the diggings had panned out so rich in them parts that the folks meant to keep ’em to themselves. I don’t call that square, so we’re going down to divvy with ’em. Big scheme, ain’t it?”

Our three friends were astounded. The addition of this gang to New Constantinople meant nothing less than its moral ruin. It would bring a peril from the first hour and doubtless precipitate a murderous conflict with a doubtful issue.

“They are a peculiar people,” said Captain Dawson, repressing all evidence of his anger; “it’s a mistake to attribute their prejudice against immigrants to the richness of the diggings, for though they have been worked for years, they have not produced much. But they want no strangers among them, and I know they will not allow you and your friends to make your homes in their settlement.”

Colonel Briggs threw back his head, opened his enormous mouth and broke into uproarious laughter, most of his companions joining him to the extent of a broad grin.

“Do you hear that, boys? Won’t let us settle among ’em, eh? And there are nine of us and we hain’t had a scrimmage since we left Sacramento, except with the Injins, which don’t count. Stranger, we’re yearning to hear your folks say we shan’t jine ’em, ’cause if they try to stop it, it’ll make things lively.”

It was not a pleasant recollection of our friends that, since their departure from New Constantinople, the force left behind would be hardly a match for this desperate gang of marauders, who no doubt were as eager for trouble as they professed to be.

“Why not make a settlement of your own?” was the conciliating question of Parson Brush; “there’s plenty of room in this country.”

“That would be too peaceable like; it don’t suit us; we’re looking for trouble.”

“And you’ll find it powerful quick,” said Wade Ruggles, “if you try to shove that gang of yours into New Constantinople.”

“That’s music in our ears; that’s what we’re hungry for; we’re ready to start an opposition hotel to the Heavenly Bower, too; we’ve got the stock to furnish it.”

“Wade,” said the parson, “keep your temper; we can’t afford to quarrel with these men.”

“It wouldn’t take much for me to shoot that chap off his mule as he sets there.”

“Leave matters to the captain; it looks as if we shall have a fight, but it is best to keep cool.”

The observant trio had noticed an additional cause for uneasiness. More than one of the party were surveying the three horses and mule with admiring eyes. Some of them spoke to one another in low tones, and there could be no doubt they looked with envy upon the animals, which, tiring of their confinement in the ravine, had come forth as if with the purpose of passing under review, on their way to crop the grass from which they had been driven.

“Colonel,” called one of the men behind him, “them is likely animals.”

“I had obsarved that fact myself; strangers, I’ve made up my mind to buy them critters; what’s your price?”

“They are not for sale,” replied Captain Dawson.

“Why not?”

“We need them for our own use.”

“Then we’ll trade.”

“You won’t do anything of the kind,” said the captain, speaking with the utmost coolness, but with that paling of the countenance and glitter of the eyes that Colonel Briggs would have done well to heed.

“Strikes me, stranger, you’re rather peart in your observations,” said the leader with an odd chuckle; “we ain’t used to having people speak to us in that style.”

“It is my custom to say what I mean; it saves misunderstanding.”

“It’s my opinion, stranger, you’d better say trade.”

“It is of no importance to me what your opinion is; we need the horses and the mule for our own use and we shall keep them.”

“But you’ve got one more than you want.”

“He belongs to a friend who is not far off and will soon return; we can’t spare one of them.”

“If we give you four of ours for the lot, that’ll make an even thing of it. Besides, we’ll throw in something to boot.”

“I wouldn’t give one of the horse’s shoes for all the trash you have piled on top of your animals; the stuff isn’t worth house room, but it is what I should expect to see in the hands of a lot of tramps like you and yours; I wouldn’t trade our mule for the whole party which, to judge by their looks, ought to be in jail.”

Brush and Ruggles were amazed to hear the captain use such language, for it sounded as if he was trying to provoke instead of avoid a fight. The truth was the veteran was thoroughly enraged by the evident purpose of the fellow before him. Although his voice was low and deliberate, the captain’s temper was at a white heat. The point had been reached where a desperate struggle seemed unavoidable, and he wished to precipitate the crisis, inasmuch as it had to come.

Colonel Briggs did not laugh, but turning his head, talked for a minute with the man nearest him, their words so low that no one else heard them. Then the leader turned back in a quick, decisive way.

“There don’t seem much use in talking, stranger, so ’spose we make a fight of it.”

“As you prefer.”

The gang hardly expected so firm a front. Some of them muttered to one another. They were not a unit on the question, though it was evident that the majority preferred to fight.

The three men stood with their backs almost against the mountain wall. Each had a Winchester and revolver and all were expert in the use of the weapons. The others were gathered in an irregular group around their leader. They, too, were provided with all the weapons they could use, not to mention the extra guns strapped upon the pack mules. They outnumbered our friends three to one.

Captain Dawson could use his rifle as well with his single arm as formerly with two.

“He can’t fire before me,” he said in an undertone to Brush, standing next to him; “when the shooting begins, I’ll drop him off his mule before he knows what’s coming. When I say the word, let fly as quick as lightning! Likely enough they’ll win, but we’ll make them pay high for their victory.”

“Do you notice that tall thin man at the rear?” asked Brush, in the same guarded voice; “his eyes shine like a rattlesnake’s; he’ll be my first target.”