The Cave in the Mountain<br />A Sequel to In the Pecos Country by Edward Sylvester Ellis (crime books to read .txt) 📕

“Nobody but a spalpeen of a coward would keep out of sight when he saw a head coming down on him in such tempting style as mine. I can’t understand how he could.”

In his furious hunt for antagonists, the belligerent fellow did not think of looking upon the ground. He made the blunder of Captain John Smith, of the Jamestown Colony, who, in retreating from Powhatan’s warriors, became mired, with the eventual result of making Pocahontas famous, and securing an infinite number of namesakes of the captain himself.

Mickey O’Rooney had scarcely begun his charge when his feet came into violent collision with a body upon the ground, and he turned a complete somersault over it.

“Be the powers! but that’s a dirty thrick!” he exclaimed, gathering himself up as hurriedly as possible, and recovering very speedily from his natural bewilderment. “A man who drops in the ring without a blow is always ruled out, and be that token ye’re not entitled to the respect of illegant gintlemen.”

During the utterance of these words the Irishman had carefully returned, boiling over with indignation and fight, and at this juncture he discovered the obstruction which had brought him to grief.

So far as appearances went, there was no Indian nearer than the cave. It was his own horse that had made the noise which first alarmed him. While the equine was stretched upon the ground, peacefully sleeping, his bumptious owner, in charging over his body, had stumbled and fallen.

Mickey was thrown “all in a heap” for a minute or two, when he found how the case stood, and then he laughed to himself as he fully appreciated the situation.

“Well, well, well, I feel as chape as Jerry McConnell when he hugged and kissed a gal for two hours, one evening, and found it was his wife, and she felt chaaper yet, for she thought all the time that it was Mickey O’Shaughnessy. I suppose me old swateheart,” he added, as he stooped down and patted the head of his horse, “that ye’ve been living so high here for two or three days that ye’re too fat to be good for anything. Come, up wid ye, ye old spalpeen!”

The mustang recognized the voice of his master, and obeyed as promptly as a child, coming upon his feet with the nimbleness of a racer, and ready to do what he was bidden. Mickey led him out into the moonlight, when he left him standing, while he went a short distance for the saddle and bridle, which he had concealed at the time of leaving the spot. They were found just as he had left them, and he returned in high feather, secured them in a twinkling upon his animal and galloped back to where the lad was waiting.

“Ye haven’t seen or heard anything of redskins, have ye, while I was procuring my cratur?”

“Nothing at all,” replied the lad; “but I heard you talking pretty loud, so I suppose you must have found several.”

“No,” answered Mickey, who did not care about explaining the whole affair. “I’m always in the habit of exchanging a few words wid the cratur when I maats, and such was the case a short time since, when I met him, after being away so long.”

“Well, Mickey, we haven’t any time to spare.”

“Ye’re right, my laddy; all you’ve got to do is to folly me.”

With this he headed his mustang at precisely right angles to the course they followed in making their way to the spot; and Fred, who expected all sorts of trouble in the way of traveling, noticed that he was following some sort of path or trail, along which his horse trod as easily as upon the open prairie. While this was an advantage in one respect it had its disadvantage in another. The presence of a trail in that part of the world implied that it was one made and traveled by Indians, who were likely to be encountered at any moment, and Mickey was not insensible to the peril. But, in the present instance, there seemed to be no other means of getting along, and thus, in one sense, they were forced into it. The probabilities, however, were that they would soon emerge into safer territory, where it would be possible to take some precautions against pursuers.

For some time the two galloped along without speaking. The hoofs of their mustangs rang upon the rocks, and rattled over the gravel, and, in the still night, could have been heard a long distance away. While the Irishman kept as good a lookout ahead as possible, Fred Munson did his best to guard their rear. He kept continually glancing over his shoulder in the expectation of seeing some of their enemies, but nothing of the kind occurred, and before he anticipated it, they emerged into what seemed a deep valley, with high rocks upon both sides. Mickey drew up, and allowed his young friend to move alongside.

“Do ye mind ever having seen this place before?” he asked.

“I don’t remember anything about this country, and all I ask is that we may get out of it as soon as possible.”

“But don’t ye mind ever having been here before?”

Thus questioned, Fred scanned his surroundings as best he could, but there was nothing that he could identify, and he so said, adding:

“I’m sure I’ve never been here before.”

“And I’m sure ye have. This is the path that Lone Wolf come along, and that ye was hunting for when ye got lost, and fell into the basement story of the mountain.”

“Oh, this is the pass, is it?” exclaimed the delighted lad; “then we have a clear road before us straight to New Boston.”

“Clear of all but one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The red spalpeens; they’re always turning up when you don’t expect ’em, and don’t want ’em.”

“How far are we away from the cave, where we left the half dozen Apaches?”

“I don’t think it’s much more than a mile, though it may be a mile and a half.”

“Well, that’s very good; we’ve got that much start, and it’s worth having.”

“And there’s where ye’re mistook, as the gals used to obsarve when anybody tried to run down my beauty. The path that we come along, ye’ll mind, makes many turns and twists, and the ind of it all is that it strikes the pass on the other side of the cave, and we’ve got to ride right by the spot which we lift.”

This was not cheering information, although, everything considered, the two had cause to congratulate themselves upon their extraordinary success up to this time.

The night was about gone, and, while their mustangs halted, they observed that it was growing light in the east. They would be forced to ride through the dangerous territory by day, so that the risk of detection would be proportionately greater if their enemies should be in the vicinity. Both the mustangs were fresh and vigorous, however, having enjoyed an unusually long rest, with plenty of food, and they were good for many hours of speed and endurance. The one ridden by Fred had behaved in a very seemly fashion, and there was ground for the hope that he would keep up the line of conduct to the end. Still there could be no certainty of what he would do in the presence of the Apaches.

“We’ll take it aisy,” said Mickey, as the two started off at an easy gallop. “We’ll not be afther putting ’em to a run till we have to do the same, so that when there’s naad for their spaad, we shall have it at command.” This prudent suggestion was carried out. Their horses dropped into a sweeping gallop that was as easy as an ordinary walk. The riders kept their senses awake, talking only a little, and then in guarded voices.

As they galloped along the sun rose, and the day promised to be as warm and pleasant as those which had preceded it. The sky was obscured only by a few fleecy clouds, while the deep blue beyond was as beautiful as that of Italy. Drawing near the cave in the mountain, they pulled their horses down to a walk and carefully guided them into the softest places, so as to make the noise of their hoofs as slight as possible. Nothing occurred until they were a short distance beyond the dangerous spot, when Mickey spoke.

“Do you obsarve that stream there?” he asked, pointing to a rather deep brook which ran across the pass, and lost itself in the rocks upon the opposite side. “Well, that’s the water that comes through the cave over the cascade, and that I expicted to swim out by, and I’m going to find out what me chances were.”

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Leaving his mustang in charge of Fred, the Irishman turned to the right, and followed the stream into the rocks. The course was so winding that he speedily disappeared from sight. The boy, who was compelled to sit still and await his return, at perhaps the most dangerous portion of the road, felt anything but comfortable over the erratic proceeding of his friend. But, fortunately, the latter had been gone but a short time when he reappeared, hurrying forward as if somebody was at his heels.

“It’s all right,” he remarked, as he sprang into the saddle, took up the reins, and started on. “I think the Apaches are there, though I can’t be sartin; but I found out what I wanted to l’arn.”

Then he explained that he followed up the stream to the place where it came from beneath the rocks, which formed a part of the wall of the cave, where a curious fact attracted his attention. In its passage beneath the stone the tunnel widened and flattened, so that, where it shot forth to the sunlight again, its width was some twenty feet, and its depth only a few inches. The appearance it presented was very much like that of the gates of a mill-pond when they have been slightly raised to allow a discharge of water beneath. Through the passage-way thus afforded no living person could have forced his way; and, had Mickey O’Rooney attempted it, nothing in the world could have saved him from drowning. The Irishman himself realized it, and was thankful enough that he had refrained from making the desperate attempt.

The two continued their sweeping gallop for several hours, during which they did not catch a glimpse of Indians, but they were alarmed by hearing the reports of guns at no great distance on the right. The firing was irregular, sometimes several shots being heard together, and then they were more of a dropping character. This showed that a fight of some kind was going on, but as to its precise nature they could only conjecture. It might be that a party of Comanches and Apaches, or Kiowas, or hunters were enjoying a hot time, but the two friends were glad to get out of the neighborhood as speedily as possible. At noon they enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that they had made good and substantial progress on the way home. There was an abundance of grass and water, and when the sun was overhead they went into camp.

“I’m as hungry as a panther that has been fasting for a month,” said Mickey, as he dismounted; “and I haven’t got a mouthful of food lift. There ain’t any use of a chap starving to death to accommodate anybody else, and I don’t mane to do the same.”

Fred Munson’s hunger was scarcely less than his, but the boy would have been willing to have undergone still more, rather than incur the risk that was now inevitable. But Mickey saw nothing to be gained by such a course and contended that they should give their attention to the wants of their bodies, before they were weakened by fasting and fatigue.

Mickey promised not to be absent long, and then started in search of provender. Game was abundant in that part of the world, and he was confident that much time would not be required to bring down some toothsome dainty.

“He has an uncomfortable way of running off and leaving a fellow alone,” muttered Fred, as he watched the vanishing figure of his friend. “I haven’t anything but my revolver, and only two shots left in that, and it seems to me that this is about the worst place we could stop.”

The point where they camped was in the pass, which, at that point, widened considerably. The right wall curved far inward in a semi-circular shape, the opposite remaining the same, the gorge looking as if an immense slice had been scooped out of its northern boundary. The rocks on every hand ranged from a dozen to a hundred feet in height, with numerous openings, through which a horseman could easily pick his way. The tops were covered with vegetation, the greater portion of which was vigorous and dense.

Fred found himself standing in an immense