In the Pecos Country by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📕

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE PECOS COUNTRY *** Produced by Gordon Keener, and David Widger

IN THE PECOS COUNTRY

By Lieutenant R. H. Jayne
[pseudonym of Edward Sylvester Ellis]

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.   A WARNING

CHAPTER II.   A BRIEF CONFERENCE

CHAPTER III.   FRED GOES ON GUARD

CHAPTER IV.   FACING LONE WOLF

CHAPTER V.   THE APACHES ARE COMING

CHAPTER VI.   THE APACHE ATTACK

CHAPTER VII.   IN A TREE

CHAPTER VIII.   THE SWOOP OF THE APACHE

CHAPTER IX.   IN LONE WOLF'S CLUTCHES

CHAPTER X.   TWO OLD ENEMIES

CHAPTER XI.   HOT QUARTERS

CHAPTER XII.   THE YOUNG CAPTIVE

CHAPTER XIII.   THE ENCAMPMENT

CHAPTER XIV.   THE STRANGE CAMP

CHAPTER XV.   A LEAP FOR LIBERTY

CHAPTER XVI.   THE RECONNOISSANCE

CHAPTER XVII.   FORAGING FOR FOOD

CHAPTER XVIII.   ALONE IN THE RAVINE

CHAPTER XIX.   THE MYSTERIOUS PURSUER

CHAPTER XX.   AN UNCOMFORTABLE LODGING

CHAPTER XXI.   A TERRIBLE NIGHT

CHAPTER XXII.   LOST

CHAPTER XXIII.   A PERILOUS PASSAGE

CHAPTER XXIV.   A TERRIBLE BED

CHAPTER XXV.   WITHIN THE EARTH

CHAPTER XXVI.   A WELCOME VISITOR

CHAPTER XXVII.   A SUBTERRANEAN CAMP-FIRE

CHAPTER XXVIII.   THE EXPLORING TOUR

CHAPTER XXIX.   A MYSTERY

CHAPTER XXX.   DISCUSSIONS AND PLANS

CHAPTER XXXI.   AN EXCHANGE OF SHOTS

CHAPTER XXXII.   FOOTSTEPS IN THE DARKNESS

CHAPTER XXXIII.      WHAT THE FOOTSTEPS MEANT

CHAPTER I. A WARNING

In the valley of the Rio Pecos, years ago, an attempt at founding a settlement was made by a number of hardy and daring New Englanders, whose leader was a sort of Don Quixote, who traveled hundreds of miles, passing by the richest land, the most balmy climate, where all were protected by the strong arm of law, for the sake of locating where the soil was only moderate, the climate no better, and where, it may be said, the great American government was as powerless to protect its citizens as was a child itself. The Rio Pecos, running through New Mexico and Texas, drains a territory which at that time was one of the most dangerous in the whole Indian country; and why these score or more of families should have hit upon this spot of all others, was a problem which could never be clearly solved.

The head man, Caleb Barnwell, had some odd socialistic theories, which, antedating as they did the theories of Bellamy, were not likely to thrive very well upon New England soil, and he pursuaded his friends to go with him, under the belief that the spot selected was one where they would have full opportunity to increase and multiply, as did the Mormons during their early days at Salt Lake. Then, too, there was some reason to suspect that rumors had reached the ears of Barnwell of the existence of gold and silver along this river, and it was said that he had hinted as much to those whom he believed he could trust. Be that as it may, the score of families reached the valley of the Upper Pecos in due time, and the settlement was begun and duly christened New Boston.

“How long do yer s'pose you folks are goin' to stay yer? Why, just long enough for Lone Wolf to hear tell that you've arriv, and he'll down here and clear you out quicker'n lightning.”

This was the characteristic observation made by the old scout, hunter and guide, Sut Simpson, as he reined up his mustang to chat awhile with the new-comers, whom he looked upon as the greatest lunk-heads that he had ever encountered in all of his rather eventful experience. He had never seen them before; but he did not care for that, as he had the frankness of a frontiersman and never stood upon ceremony in the slightest degree.

“Did you ever hear tell of Lone Wolf?” he continued, as a group, including nearly the entire population, gathered about the veteran of the plains. “I say, war any of you ever introduced to that American gentleman?”

He looked around, from face to face, but no one responded. Whenever he fixed his eye upon any individual, that one shook his head to signify that he knew nothing of the Apache chief whose name he had just mentioned.

“What I meant to say,” he continued, “is that any of you have got any yearnin' toward Lone Wolf, feeling as if your heart would break if you did n't get a chance to throw your arms about him, why, you need n't feel bad, 'cause you'll get the chance.”

There was a significance in these words which made it plain to every one of those who were looking up in the scarred face of the hunter. As they were spoken, he winked one of his eyes and cocked his head to one side, in a fashion that made the words still more impressive. As Sut looked about the group, his gaze was attracted by two figures—a man and a boy. The former was an Irishman—his nationality being evident at the first glance—while the latter seemed about fourteen years of age, with a bright, intelligent face, a clear, rosy, healthy complexion, and a keen eye that was fixed steadily and inquiringly upon the horseman who was giving utterance to such valuable information. The hunter was attracted by both, especially as he saw from their actions that they were friends and companions. There was something in the honest face of the Irishman which won him, while the lad by his side would have carried his way almost anywhere upon the score of his looks alone.

As the entire group were gazing up in the face of the scout, he spoke to them all, although, in reality, his words were now directed more at the two referred to than at the others. When he had completed the words given, there was silence for a moment, and then Mickey O'Rooney, the Irishman, recovered his wits. Stepping forward a couple of paces, he addressed their