Sunset Pass; or, Running the Gauntlet Through Apache Land by Charles King (best adventure books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Charles King
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On, on he rode, urging his horse as rapidly as it was possible for him to go over the rocky, broken trail. Two hours' ride brought him no nearer, apparently, to the comrades he was pursuing. Three hours' ride brought him down into the valley of Chevelon Fork and half way through the range. It was not until one o'clock that he found himself at such a point that he could look forward and see part of the country toward the Colorado Chiquito; but not a vestige of the cavalry or pack-train was anywhere in sight, and his horse was now so weary that he could only answer with a groan the touch of the spur, and could not by any possibility accelerate his speed. Two o'clock came, and the anxious father found himself, he knew not how many miles away from Sunset Pass,—away from the children so anxiously praying for him, and awaiting his coming.
He was growing faint from long fasting, and the horse was so jaded that the captain dismounted and was fairly towing him along behind him with the bridle rein. In this way they had slowly and painfully climbed a steep and rocky ascent where the trail seemed to make a short cut across a deep bend of the stream, and reaching the summit they stopped to rest, panting hard with fatigue. Again the captain resorted to his little glasses and looked long and eagerly over the broad stretch of country to the east, but it was all in vain. No living creatures were in sight.
Directly in front, the trail wound downwards over an incline so steep that it looked as though horses and mules could never have made those hoof tracks, but that only goats could have gone that way. The poor old bay looked piteously at his master as though imploring him not to force him to undertake that steep descent, but Gwynne could show no mercy now. He had come too far to turn back. His only hope, if he could not find the scouting party, was to make his way along the east side of the range back to the little camp in Sunset Pass. He prayed God to watch over and protect his little ones, and then, with almost a sob rising to his throat, he tried to speak cheerfully to poor "Mac;" he patted the drooping head of his faithful old servitor and, calling to him to follow, he pressed forward, and half sliding, half stepping, he began the steep descent. The poor horse braced his fore feet and stiffened his knees and came skating over the loose slate after him. All went tolerably well until they were about two hundred feet from the rushing waters of the fork, foaming and swirling over the rocks below, and there, coming upon a sharp point around which they had to make their way, Gwynne had taken only three or four steps downward and was about to turn and speak encouragingly again to "Mac," when the horse's fore feet seemed to shoot from under him; he rallied, gathered himself, stumbled, and then, plunging heavily forward, crashed down upon his master, rolled completely over him, and then went sliding and pawing desperately to the edge of the rocky precipice, over which he shot, a huge, living bowlder and fell with a thud upon the jagged rocks below. For some minutes Gwynne lay where he had been hurled, stunned and senseless; then he slowly revived, found that his left arm was severely wrenched and bruised, and that the blood was streaming from a long gash in his forehead. Slowly and painfully he made his way to the foot of the steep, bathed his head in the cool waters and bound it up as well as he could with his big silk handkerchief. He was fainter, weaker now, than he had been before, but never for an instant could he forget the little ones at the Pass.
"Oh, God help me and bring me back to them in time," he prayed; and then, holding his maimed left arm in his right hand, and with one backward look up the cañon at the now lifeless carcass of poor "Mac," he staggered wearily on, following the trail of the cavalry.
WITH ONE BACKWARD LOOK HE STAGGERED WEARILY ON.
Late that evening, just as darkness was settling down over the valley of the Colorado Chiquito, the soldiers of a little detachment, chatting gleefully around their bivouac fires and sipping their fragrant coffee, were startled by the sudden sight of a man with ghastly, blood-stained features and dress, who reeled blindly into their midst and then fell forward upon his face, to all appearances dead.
Some of them, believing Indians to be upon them, sprang for their arms; others bent to the aid of the stricken man. They turned him over on his back, brought water and bathed the blood from his face, and then a sergeant cried:
"My God! What can have happened? It's Captain Gwynne! Here, Murphy, call the lieutenant, quick!"
"MY GOD! WHAT CAN HAVE HAPPENED? IT'S CAPTAIN GWYNNE!"
In an instant the young officer commanding the party came running to the scene and bent breathlessly over the senseless form.
"It is Captain Gwynne," he said; "bring more water. Go to my pack, one of you, and get the sponge you'll find there. Fetch me my flask, too. Which way did he come? Did none of you see?"
"None, sir. The first we knew he was right over us. He never spoke a word, but fell like a log."
And then the rough-looking, bearded, anxious faces hovered about the prostrate man. His heart-beats were so faint that the young officer was terribly alarmed. No surgeon was with the little party and he hardly knew what to do. The whiskey forced down Gwynne's throat seemed powerless to revive him. Full an hour he lay almost motionless, then little by little the pulse grew firmer and respiration audible. At last there was a long, deep sigh, but still he did not open his eyes. Consciousness returned only very slowly, and when Mr. Hunter had called him by name time and again and begged him to speak, he sighed even more deeply than before, the lids slowly drew back, and the almost sightless eyes looked feebly around. Then, with sudden flash of memory, the poor captain strove to rise. "My babies!" he moaned; "my babies!"
"Where did you leave them, captain? Tell us. I'll send for them instantly," said Hunter. "Sergeant, saddle up right off. This means something."
More whiskey, a long draught, and more cold water, presently revived him so that he could speak collectedly.
"I left them with Pike—in the Pass. My Mexican ran away with the mules—followed and found your trail—my horse fell on me and then rolled over a precipice—killed. I've come on foot ever since."
"Thank God, you're here safe anyhow! Now lie still. I'll leave a guard with you and we'll go as fast as we can through the darkness and find Ned and Nellie."
"No! no! I must go. I will go, too. See, I can stand. Give me a horse."
And so, finding him determined and rapidly regaining strength, Hunter made the captain eat all he could bear to swallow then, and, stowing more food in their saddle bags, away went the gallant little troop hurrying through the starlit night for Sunset Pass and rescue.
But the way was long; road or trail there was none. Over rugged height, through deep ravine, they forced their way, but not until all the sky was blushing in the east did they come to the old Wingate road, and the gloomy entrance to the Pass. Up they rode at a steady trot, Gwynne and Hunter leading, and, at a sudden turn of the road, far in towards the western side, their horses recoiled, snorting with fear, from a heap of smouldering embers, in the midst of which lay a fearful something,—the charred and hissing body of a human being. Gwynne groaned aloud at the sight and then drove his horse up a rocky pathway to the left, the others following. There lay the smoking ruins of an ambulance with scraps of clothing heaped about on every side, and here the stricken father's waning strength left him entirely. With one heartbroken cry, "My babies—my little ones. They are gone! gone!" he was only saved from falling by the prompt action of two stalwart troopers.
In ten minutes, supporting the fainting soldier as best they could, the detachment was marching rapidly westward.
"Sieber with the scouts can't be farther away than Jarvis Pass. We'll meet him," said Hunter to his sergeant, "and trail these Scoundrels to their holes."
His words were true. Before ten o'clock they had met, not only Sieber, but Turner's troop from Verde, coming full tilt, and Gwynne was now turned over to the doctor's care.
CHAPTER IX. THE ATTACK.Startled suddenly from his sleep, it was indeed a dreadful sight, and one calculated to shake the nerves of many an old soldier, that greeted Pike's eyes as he peered over the rocky parapet in front of him. One glance was sufficient. Looking down behind the wall, he seized Jim by the throat, shaking him vigorously and at the same time placing his other hand over his mouth so that he might make no outcry. "Wake up, Jim! Wake up! and see what your faithlessness has brought upon us! Look down the hill here! Look through that loophole and see what you've done!"
Terrified, with his eyes starting from their sockets, Jim obeyed, and his black face showed in an instant the full realization of the scene before him.
"Now, is your rifle all ready?" whispered Pike. "Don't rouse those poor little people in there until we have to. They must stay way
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