Chapter II
Shoot-a-Buck Canon
Webb sent for Billie Prince.
"Seems there's a bunch of bronco 'Paches camped ahead of us, Billie.Thursday here trailed with Sieber. I want you an' him to scout in frontof us an' see we don't run into any ambush. You're under his orders, y'understand."
Prince was a man of few words. He nodded.
"You know the horses that the boys claim. Well, take Thursday to theremuda an' help him pick a mount from the extras in place of thatbroomtail he's ridin'," continued the drover. "Look alive now. I don'twant my cattle stampeded because we haven't got sense enough to protect'em. No 'Paches can touch a hoof of my stock if I can help it."
"If they attack at all it will probably be just before daybreak, but itis just as well to be ready for 'em," suggested Thursday.
"I brought along some old Sharps an' some Spencers. I reckon I'll have'em loaded an' distribute 'em among the boys. Billie, tell Yankie to havethat done. The rifles are racked up in the calf wagon."
Billie delivered the orders of the drover to the foreman as they passedon their way to the remuda. Joe gave a snort of derision, but let it goat that. When Homer Webb was with one of his trail outfits he was alwaysits boss.
While Thursday watched him, Prince roped out a cinnamon horse from theremuda. The cowpuncher was a long-bodied man, smooth-muscled and lithe.The boy had liked his level eye and his clean, brown jaw before, just asnow he approved the swift economy of his motions.
Probably Billie was about twenty years of age, but in that countrymen ripened young. Both of these lads had been brought up in thatrough-and-ready school of life which holds open session every day of theyear. Both had already given proofs of their ability to look out forthemselves in emergency. A wise, cool head rested on each of these pairsof young shoulders. In this connection it is worth mentioning that theWest's most famous outlaw, Billie the Kid, a killer with twenty-onenotches on his gun, had just reached his majority when he met his deathsome years later at the hands of Pat Garrett.
The new rider for the Flying V Y outfit did not accept the judgment ofPrince without confirming it. He examined the hoofs of the horse and feltits legs carefully. He looked well to its ears to make sure that ticksfrom the mesquite had not infected the silky inner flesh.
"A good bronc, looks like," he commented.
"One of the fastest in the remuda--not very gentle, though."
Thursday picked the witches' bridles from its mane before he saddled. Ashis foot found the stirrup the cinnamon rose into the air, humped itsback, and came down with all four legs stiff. The quirt burned its flank,and the animal went up again to whirl round in the air. The boy stuck tothe saddle and let out a joyous whoop. The battle was on.
Suddenly as it had begun the contest ended. With the unreasoning impulseof the half-broken cowpony the cinnamon subsided to gentle obedience.
The two riders cantered across the prairie in the direction of the Indiancamp. That the Apaches were still there Thursday thought altogetherlikely, for he knew that it takes a week to make mescal. No doubt theraiders had stopped to hold a jamboree over the success of theiroutbreak.
The scouts from the cattle herd deflected toward a butte that pushed outas a salient into the plain. From its crest they could get a sweepingview of the valley.
"There's a gulch back of it that leads to old man Roubideau's place,"explained Prince. "Last time we were on this Pecos drive the boss stoppedan' bought a bunch of three-year-olds from him. He's got a daughterthat's sure a pippin, old man Roubideau has. Shoot, ride, rope--thatgirl's got a lot of these alleged bullwhackers beat a mile at any one of'em."
Thursday did not answer. He had left the saddle and was examining theground carefully. Billie joined him. In the soft sand of the wash weretracks of horses' hoofs. Patiently the trailer followed them foot by footto the point where they left the dry creek-bed and swung up the brokenbank to a swale.
"Probably Roubideau and his son Jean after strays," suggested Prince.
"No. Notice this track here, how it's broken off at the edge. When I cutIndian sign yesterday, this was one of those I saw."
"Then these are 'Paches too?"
"Yes."
"Goin' to the Roubideau place." The voice of Billie was low and husky.His brown young face had been stricken gray. Bleak fear lay in the grayeyes. His companion knew he was thinking of the girl. "How many of 'em doyou make out?"
"Six or seven. Not sure which."
"How old?"
"They passed here not an hour since."
It was as if a light of hope had been lit in the face of the young man."Mebbe there's time to help yet. Kid, I'm goin' in."
Jim Thursday made no reply, unless it was one to vault to the saddle andput his horse to the gallop. They rode side by side, silently andalertly, rifles across the saddle-horns in their hands. The boy fromArizona looked at his new friend with an increase of respect. This was,of course, a piece of magnificent folly. What could two boys do againsthalf a dozen wily savages? But it was the sort of madness that he loved.His soul went out in a gush of warm, boyish admiration to Billie Prince.It was the beginning of a friendship that was to endure, in spite ofrivalry and division and misunderstanding, through many turbid years oftrouble. This was no affair of theirs. Webb had sent them out to protectthe cattle drive. They were neglecting his business for the sake of anadventure that might very well mean the death of both of them. But it wascharacteristic of Thursday that it never even occurred to him to letPrince take the chance alone. Even in the days to come, when his name wasanathema in the land, nobody ever charged that he would not go throughwith a comrade.
There drifted to them presently the faint sound of a shot. It wasfollowed by a second and a third.
"The fight's on," cried Thursday.
Billie's quirt stung the flank of his pony. Near the entrance to thecanon his companion caught up with him. From the rock walls of the gulchcame to them booming echoes of rifles in action.
"Roubideau must be standin' 'em off," shouted Prince.
"Can we take the 'Paches by surprise? Is there any other way into thecanon?"
"Don't know. Can't stop to find out. I'm goin' straight up the road."
The younger man offered no protest. It might well be that the ranchmanwas in desperate case and in need of immediate help to save his family.Anyhow, the decision was out of his hands.
The horses pounded forward and swept round a curve of the gulch intosight of the ranch. In a semicircle, crouched behind the shelter ofboulders and cottonwoods, the Indian line stretched across the gorge andalong one wall. The buildings lay in a little valley, where an arroyo randown at a right angle and broke the rock escarpment. A spurt of smokecame from a window of the stable as the rescuers galloped into view.
One of the Apaches caught sight of them and gave a guttural shout ofwarning. His gun jumped to the shoulder and simultaneously the bullet wason its way. But no living man could throw a shot quicker than JimThursday, if the stories still told of him around camp-fires are true.Now he did not wait to take sight, but fired from his hip. The Indianrose, half-turned, and fell forward across the boulder, his naked bodyshining in the sun. By a hundredth part of a second the white boy hadout-speeded him.
The riders flung themselves from their horses and ran for cover.
The very audacity of their attack had its effect. The Indians guessedthese two were the advance guard of a larger party which had caught themin a trap. Between two fires, with one line of retreat cut off, thebronco Apaches wasted no time in deliberation. They made a rush for theirhorses, mounted, and flew headlong toward the arroyo, their bodies lyinglow on the backs of the ponies.
The Indians rode superbly, their bare, sinewy legs gripping even to themoccasined feet the sides of the ponies. Without saddle or bridle, exceptfor the simple nose rope, they guided their mounts surely, the brownbodies rising and falling in perfect accord with the motion of thehorses.
A shot from the stable hit one as he galloped past
. While his horse wassplashing through the creek the Mescalero slid slowly down, head first,into the brawling water.
Billie took a long, steady aim and fired. A horse stumbled and went down,flinging the rider over its head. With a "Yip--Yip!" of triumph Thursdaydrew a bead on the man as he rose and dodged forward. Just as the boyfired a sharp pain stung his foot. One of the escaping natives hadwounded him.
The dismounted man ran forward a few steps and pulled himself to the backof a pony already carrying one rider. Something in the man's gait andcostume struck Prince.
"That fellow's no Injun," he called to his friend.
"Look!" Thursday was pointing to the saddle-back between two peaks at thehead of the arroyo.
A girl on horseback had just come over the summit and stood silhouettedagainst the sky. Even in that moment while they watched her she realizedfor the first time her danger. She turned to fly, and she and her horsedisappeared down the opposite slope. The Mescaleros swept up the hilltoward her.
"They'll git her! They'll sure git her!" cried Billie, making for hishorse.
The younger man ran limping to his cinnamon. At every step he winced, andagain while his weight rested on the wounded foot as he dragged himselfto the saddle. A dozen yards behind his companion he sent his horsesplashing through the creek.
The cowponies, used to the heavy going in the hills, took the slope inshort, quick plunges. Neither of the young men used the spur, for thechase might develop into a long one with stamina the deciding factor. Themesquite was heavy and the hill steep, but presently they struck a cattlerun which led to the divide.
Two of the Apaches stopped at the summit for a shot at their pursuers,but neither of the young men wasted powder in answer. They knew thatclose-range work would prove far more deadly and that only a chance hitcould serve them now.
From Billie, who had reached the crest first, came a cry of dismay. Hispartner, a moment later, knew the reason for it. One of the Apaches,racing across the valley below, was almost at the heels of the girl.
The cowpunchers flung their ponies down the sharp incline recklessly. Theanimals were sure-footed as mountain goats. Otherwise they could neverhave reached the valley right side up. It was a stretch of broken shalewith much loose rubble. The soft sandstone farther along had eroded andthere was a great deal of slack debris down which the horses slipped andslid, now on their haunches and again on all fours.
The valley stretched for a mile before them and terminated at a rock wallinto which, no doubt, one or more canons cut like sword clefts. Thecowpunchers had picked mounts, but it was plain they could not overhaulthe Apaches before the Indians captured the girl.
Billie, even while galloping at full speed, began a long-distance fireupon the enemy. One of the Mescaleros had caught the bridle of the youngwoman's horse and was stopping the animal. It looked for a moment as ifthe raiders were going to make a stand, but presently their purposebecame clear to those in pursuit. The one that Billie had picked for arenegade white dropped from the horse upon which he was riding double andswung up behind the captive. The huddle of men and ponies opened up andwas in motion again toward the head of the valley.
But though the transfer had been rapid, it had taken time. The pursuers,thundering across the valley, had gained fast. Rifles barked back andforth angrily.
The Indians swerved sharply to the left for the mouth of a canon. Herethey pulled up to check the cowboys, who slid from their saddles to usetheir ponies for protection.
"That gorge to the right is called Escondido Canon," explained Prince."We combed it for cattle last year. About three miles up it runs into theone where the 'Paches are! Don't remember the name of that one."
"I'll give it a new name," answered the boy. He raised his rifle, restedit across the back of his pony, and took careful aim. An Indian plungedfrom his horse. "Shoot-a-Buck Canon--how'll that do for a name?" inquiredThursday with a grin.
Prince let out a whoop. "You got him right. He'll never smile again.Shoot-a-Buck Canon goes."
The Indians evidently held a hurried consultation and changed their mindsabout holding the gorge against such deadly shooting as this.
"They're gun-shy," announced Thursday. "They don't like the way we fog'em and they're goin' to hit the trail, Billie."
After one more shot Prince made the mistake of leaving the shelter of hishorse too soon. He swung astride and found the stirrup. A puff of smokecame from the entrance to the gulch. Billie turned to his friend with apuzzled, sickly smile on his face. "They got me, kid."
"Bad?"
The cowboy began to sag in the saddle. His friend helped him to theground. The wound was in the thigh.
"I'll tie it up for you an' you'll be good as new," promised his friend.
The older man looked toward the gorge. No Indians were in sight.
"I can wait, but that little girl in the hands of those devils can't. Areyou game to play a lone hand, kid?" he asked.
"I reckon."
"Then ride hell-for-leather up Escondido. It's shorter than the way theytook. Where the gulches come together be waitin' an' git 'em from thebrush. There's just one slim chance you'll make it an' come back alive."
The boy's eyes were shining. "Suits me fine. I'll go earn that name Ichristened myself--Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em."
Billie, his face twisted with pain, watched the youngster disappear at abreakneck gallop into Escondido.