Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. In the Pecos Country by Edward Sylvester Ellis (affordable ebook reader txt) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «In the Pecos Country by Edward Sylvester Ellis (affordable ebook reader txt) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
“Maybe, Mickey, there's some other way of coming in, that we haven't been able to find.”
“I hoped so a while ago, but I've guv it up. If them spalpeens knowed of any other way, what do they mean by fooling around that place up there, where they're likely to get shot if they show themselves, and they're likely to lose the best blankets they've got?”
Fred did not feel competent to answer this question, and so he was forced to believe that Mickey was right in his conclusion that there was no other way of entering the cave than by the skylight above.
“Which the same thing being the case, I propose that we thry and see how the new blanket answers for a bed. Begorrah! but its fine, as me mither used to say when she run her hands over the head of me dad, and felt the lumps made by the shillelah.”
And, having spread the blanket out in the dark-ness, he rubbed his hands over its velvety surface, admiring its wonderful texture. The texture is such that water can be carried in these Apache blankets with as much certainty as in a metal vessel. But Fred protested against both lying down to sleep at the same time. He thought it likely that the Apaches meant to visit the cave during the night; but his friend laughed his fears to scorn, assuring him that there could be no danger at all. In view of the reception tendered the blanket, the Apaches would take it for granted that the parties beneath were too vigilant to permit anyone to steal a march upon them.
Mickey at once attested his sincerity by stretching out upon the inviting couch, and Fred concluded at last to join him. It was not long before the Irishman was sound asleep, but the lad lay awake a long time, looking reflectively up at the spot where he knew the opening to be,—the opening which had been the means of letting himself and comrade down into that dismal retreat of solitude,—and wondering what their enemies were doing.
“They must know that I am here. Lone Wolf will punish them if they don't keep me, so I am sure they will do all they can to catch me again. I wish I was certain that there was no way of getting in but through that up there, and then I could sleep too, but I feel too scared to do it now.”
This anxiety kept him awake a long time after Mickey became unconscious; but, as hour after hour passed and the stillness remained unbroken, his fears were gradually dissipated and a feeling of drowsiness began stealing over him.
Before consciousness entirely departed, he turned upon his side, that being the posture he generally assumed when asleep. As he made the movement and his ear was placed against the blanket, which in its turn rested upon the ground, he heard something which aroused his suspicions instantly and he raised his head. But when he rested on his hands, with his shoulders thrown up, he could hear nothing at all. The earth was a better conductor of sound than the atmosphere, which accounted for what at first seemed curious.
The boy applied his ear as before, and again he heard the noise, faintly, but distinctly; As the eye was of no use, he pressed his head against the blanket and listened. Several minutes were occupied in this manner, and then he said, in an undertone:
“I know what it is!—it is somebody walking as softly as he can. There is another way of getting into this cavern, and those Apaches have found it out. They've got inside and are hunting for us!”
CHAPTER XXXIII. WHAT THE FOOTSTEPS MEANT
Careful listening convinced Fred that there were two red-skins groping around in the darkness. After making himself certain on that point, he reached his hand over, and, grasping the muscular arm of Mickey O'Rooney, shook his companion quite vigorously.
Fred was afraid that, in waking, the Irishman would utter some exclamation, or make such a noise that he would betray their location. When, therefore, several shakings failed to arouse him, the boy easily persuaded himself that it was best to leave him where he was for a time.
“I can tell when they come too close,” he reflected, “and then I will stir him up.”
A few minutes later he found that he could hear the noise without placing his ear against the blanket; so he lay flat on his face, resting the upper part of his body upon his elbows, with his head thrown up. He peered off in the gloom, in the direction whence the footsteps seemed to come, looking with that earnest, piercing gaze, as if he expected to see the forms of the dreaded Apaches become luminous and reveal themselves in the black night around.
No ray of light relieved the Egyptian blackness. The camp-fire had been allowed to die out completely, and no red ember, glowering like a demon's eye, showed where it had been. The trained eye might have detected the faintest suspicion of light near the opening overhead, but it was faint indeed.
“They keep together,” added Fred to himself, as he distinguished the soft, stealthy tread over the ground. “I should think they would separate, and they would be the more likely to find the place between them; but they want to be together when they run against Mickey, I guess.”
The shadowy footsteps were not regular. Occasionally they paused, and then they hurried on again, and then they settled down into the stealthiest kind of movement. The lad, it is true, had the newly found revolver, with several of its chambers loaded, at his command. There was some doubt, however, whether it could be relied upon, owing to the probable length of time that had elapsed since the charges were placed there.
As a precaution, Mickey O'Rooney had placed new caps upon the tubes, but had chosen to leave the charges themselves undisturbed. This beautiful weapon the lad held grasped in his hand, determined to blaze away at the prowling murderers the instant they should reveal themselves with sufficient distinctness to make his shots certain.
An annoying delay followed. The Apaches seemed to know very nearly where the right spot was, without being able to locate it definitely. The footsteps were heard first in one direction and then they changed off to another. The warriors acted precisely as if they knew the location of their intended victims, but were seeking to find whether they were in the right position to be easily attacked.
Thus matters remained for ten or fifteen minutes longer, during which the lad held himself on the alert, and was no little puzzled to comprehend the meaning for the course of their enemies.
“They daren't do anything, now that they know where we are. They're afraid we're on the watch, and think if they wait a while longer, we will drop off to sleep; but they will find—-”
A sudden light just then broke in upon young Munson. He was looking off in the direction of the sound, when the phosphorescent gleam of a pair of
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