CHAPTER I

A RACE

"Your cayuse is quiet as a lamb now, isn't he, Jo," inquired Jim.

"He ought to be by this time," I replied. "You wouldn't expect him to buck all the way through New Mexico, I hope."

"It's funny how he began to act up," remarked Tom, "just as soon as we got out of Colorado."

"Maybe he doesn't like getting away from the country of his own tribe," I said; "He's a regular little Injun I can tell you that."

"I can't blame him for his dislike for the Apache range," interposed Captain Graves, "for a more undesirable lot of devils are not to be found in the Southwest."

"You ought to know, captain," remarked Jim, "for you have fought all of them."

"That's true," he replied, "but my fighting days are about over. I shall have to leave you boys in a few days and get back to my log cabin on the plateau in the Big Canyon."

"We all wish you did not have to," said Jim, "I do not know how we will get along without you."

"You boys can take care of yourselves," he replied. "I saw that in our expedition against the Indian encampment when you rescued Juarez's sister. Then if I go much further I will get the old fever in my blood and nothing will stop me."

"Well, we'll hang on to you then," laughed Jim.

Perhaps the reader is a stranger to Jim, Tom, myself and the captain, but not if you have read our adventures as recorded in The Frontier Boys on Overland Trail, in Colorado, and in the Rockies.

I relate therein how we located Captain Graves in his log cabin on a plateau in "The Big Canyon," and there we spent the winter.

That is to say, Jim and I did, while Tom went back to visit our folks in York State. Our father, Major George Darlington, lived in the town of Maysville. He had been in the war, and in the early days he had also lived on the frontier. I think he took a pride in our achievements. But our poor mother did not. Mothers are not much in favor of the adventurous life as a rule.

"Here's a good place for a race," cried Jim, "before we get into the foot hills."

"We had better be saving our ponies," growled Tom, "rather than racing them to death. We are a long way from 'The Grand Canyon of the Colorado' yet."

"That's all right, Tommy," replied Jim, "the ponies can rest long enough when we get to the Colorado River. The trouble with you is that you are afraid of being beaten. That's what's worrying you."

"I'll show you," replied Tom, belligerently.

"I will start you," suggested the captain, "where is the finish?"

"The Colorado River," I laughed.

"It's that big pine standing out there alone," said Jim.

"It looks to be a quarter of a mile," said Tom, "but we will probably reach it by evening; this clear air is very deceiving."

We now proceeded to get in line. Our bronchos were as restive as fleas. They were the ponies we had captured from the Indians. Mine was a buck-skin. Tough as rawhide and tireless as a jack rabbit.

Jim's was a light bay with a white face and wall eyed. Three of his feet were marked white. He was a vicious brute at times and only Jim could manage him. But he certainly could run.

Tom's animal was a sorrel with his forefeet white. He was the best looking among the three, but that was not saying much. However for real work they were tireless, and could stand almost anything.

We finally got our ponies in line and the captain held his pistol high over his head.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready," we replied in unison, grasping tight the lines.

Then he fired and our ponies scampered away across the level plain. I got the jump on the bunch but Jim's bay came up with a rush until his nose was even with my horse's shoulder. The ponies entered into the spirit of the occasion all right.

"Go it, Piute," yelled Jim.

Then he put his spurs into Piute's flank and with his own fierce energy he carried him ahead of me.

"Wow! Wow! Coyote!" I yelled, "catch him!"

Coyote certainly went after Piute for fair. Tom was at my heels. The scant prairie dust flew back from the scampering heels of our flying ponies.

It was fun! Wild fun for us and how we enjoyed the speed and the rivalry. I was determined that Coyote should win. The finish was only a hundred yards away.

With all of the energy that I would have put into a foot race I urged Coyote along. It was neck and neck between Jim and me. Tom was out of it, a length behind.

"Whoop la!" I yelled, as I drove my spurs into Coyote's flanks. He responded and with a tremendous scamper of speed he beat Piute to the tree by a neck. We put as much energy into it as though there had been a thousand dollars at stake.

"Well run, boys," said the captain, "who won?"

"I did of course," I replied, modestly.

"Nothing but luck," growled Jim, "in another fifty feet I would have beaten you."

Piute's attainments and qualifications were the one subject on which Jim was tender, in all other directions, he was care free and cheerful.

"You may call it luck if it will do your feelings any good," I said, "but Coyote is the horse if you want to get over the ground."

"Or go up in the air," said Tom.

"Well yes," I admitted, "he is kind of high-spirited, but I would much rather have that sort than one after the rocking horse style."

All that day we rode along the edge of the foothills and to the east of us was the great sweep of plains. We kept a sharp lookout for any signs of Indians, for we were now in the land of the Apaches and they are the most remorseless and cruel of all the Indian tribes. Keen-sighted as the eagle, crafty as the coyote, and bloodthirsty as the tiger.

"Here will be a good place to camp," suggested Tom.

It was the mouth of a small canyon with a growth of pines and cottonwoods intermingled, and a clear stream tinkling down over the rocks.

"No," said the captain, shaking his grey head. "It looks pretty and would be very comfortable, but it isn't safe to make an open camp like that in this county. We will look higher up."

So we rode up the canyon for several miles until we found a more lonely and sheltered place.

"This appears all right, captain," said Jim. "At least for to-night."

"Yes, it will do nicely," he replied, "and there won't be much chance for a surprise."

So we spurred our horses up the rocky side of the canyon over granite boulders until we came to a comparatively level place, where was a growth of pines.

Back of us was the sheer wall of the canyon and below us for two hundred feet or more the steep slope covered with granite boulders, large and small.

It did not take us long to make camp, for we were experienced mountaineers by this time.

We soon had the stuff off from our two Indian pack horses and the fire was started for supper.

"Time to turn in," called the captain soon after the evening meal was finished, and in a short time we were sound asleep in our blankets under the pines. We felt perfectly safe in our cozy canyon. The captain's big wolf hound was the only one of the party left on guard.

He lay a little in front of us, his nose to the ground, near the edge of the rise, looking down the canyon. I was suddenly awakened by the hound. He was standing erect, growling fiercely through his white fangs, and looking below in the canyon. The captain had gotten up while Jim and Tom were still sleeping soundly.

"Do you think it is the Apaches?" I said, in a whisper.

"Hardly," replied the captain. "Santa Anna wouldn't act that way if it was a case of Indians. He would lie low. It may be a coyote."

We stood by Santa, who was quivering all over, his every hair bristling. We could see nothing distinctly as we peered down into the darkness.

"After 'em," ordered the captain, "shake 'em up, Santa!"

At the word the hound sprang down the rocky slope as if he had just been unleashed. The captain and I followed as quickly as we could. I had only my knife in my belt.

When we reached the foot of the hill we heard the sound of a terrible snarling struggle down the canyon a ways.

I ran in the direction as fast as I could go, leaving the captain quite a distance behind. Almost before I knew it I was upon them. A tremendous wolf, to my eyes he seemed almost as big as a horse, had Santa by the throat shaking him like a cat does a mouse.

Giving a yell I sprang to the rescue of the dog. Then in a fury the beast jumped for me with his great snarling teeth. I dodged like a flash and his impetus carried him past me, but in a second he had turned and charged again.

This time I was not quite quick enough and was knocked down and he was standing over me. I could feel his hot, fetid breath. Instinctively I thrust my elbow up as he shot his jaws down for my throat and I struck at him with the knife, bringing the blood.

Nothing could have saved me if Santa had not returned to the attack. He came in like a flash and the wolf had to turn. For a few seconds they fought over me and I was pretty well trampled. The feet of the wolf were nearly the size of a bear's.

I struggled out and now thoroughly infuriated I attacked the wolf with my knife. Again he shook Santa off and came for me. Only a minute had elapsed in all this struggle. As he sprang, I dodged low and to one side.

CHAPTER II

AFTER ANTELOPE

The wolf went over me and before he could turn, a shot rang out. The captain had arrived on the scene.

The wolf threw himself in the air and fell with a thud upon the ground.

"I hope you will go a little slower next time," said the captain, severely. "It's a wonder that you did not have your throat torn out."

It took me about a minute before I recovered so that I could say anything, and then I had nothing to say, for it was a foolish and dangerous performance.

"Why, don't you know that these wolves are about as dangerous customers as you can find in the mountains?" he remonstrated. "This is certainly a fine specimen, the king of the pack."

With some difficulty we got the wolf to the camp.

"Let's fool the boys if they are asleep," I said. They were sleeping the sleep of the just and making a considerable racket about it too. I leaned his wolfship in position against a rock and propped up his head. Then I laid down for a moment. "Gracious, Tom!" I whispered, "what's that over by that rock?"

"Where?" he cried, sitting up alarmed by my tone.

"There," I said, "don't you see?"

"Heavens, it's a wolf! Where's my rifle?" he cried.

"I'm going to catch it," I said, springing up.

"Wake up, Jim," yelled Tom, "Jo's gone crazy. He's going to catch a live wolf."

Jim sat up and looked around. "You lumax," he said, "that wolf is dead. You don't suppose a live wolf would stand for all this racket."

He went over to examine our prize. "Where did you capture him?" asked Jim.

"Down the canyon," I said, "Santa and he had a mix up."

"In which Jo joined," remarked the captain, "a foolhardy affair, but I can understand how Jo was carried away for the moment. As we get older we become more cautious."

"I see where you landed on him a couple of times with your knife," said Jim. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"If you are waking call me early, mother dear," I quoted.

"Never mind your poetry, the next time Brer Wolf calls, I'm going to answer," said Jim.

"It will be a nice thing to add to our collection, along with the bear skin," I remarked.

We found that Santa Anna was pretty well chewed up about the neck, and the captain had to doctor him up and also do some surgical work.

As we sat around the campfire in the morning eating our breakfast, the captain made a suggestion.

"I was thinking, Jim," he said, "that we might put in a day or two hunting before we go on. If I remember rightly this is a pretty fair section for game."

"It's a fine idea," said Jim, "let's start out to-day."

"I have done my share of hunting," I said, "and I think I will take a rest."

"You have certainly earned it," replied the captain.

"The next time you cry 'wolf' to me, I won't pay any attention," said Tom.

"All right, Tommy," I replied, "then I will have to think up something new."

"Would it not be a good idea to split our party?" suggested the captain.

"I think it would," replied Jim.

"Then I and Tom will go back into the mountains," continued the captain.

"Jo and I for the plains," cried Jim.

"We will look for the mountain sheep," remarked the captain.

"Jo and I will look for antelope," said Jim.

"And look out for Apaches," said the captain. "Keep a sharp lookout for any signs of smoke," he continued, "don't rush into an ambush. Keep in the open, watch the ridges and the gullies."

"We will remember," promised Jim.

So we proceeded to saddle our mustangs. We had the heavy, easy riding saddles called Mexican, with high pommels and also a high back of carved leather; above the stirrups were also broad bands of carved leather.

Though heavy they were not in any manner hard on our tough little ponies. The weight was also offset by the fact that we were light, and compared to the stalwart Indians we must have seemed like mosquitoes to our ponies.

We likewise took along a good quantity of jerked beef, enough to last us several days and also some ground corn, for we were old campaigners enough to prepare for an emergency even if everything appeared safe.

We also took our canteens with us. Being thus ready we swung into our saddles.

"Good-bye and luck to you," waved the captain, as we started.

"Good-bye," we returned, and Jim laughingly added, "Take good care of Tommy."

Down the rocky slope we went and then trotted slowly down the canyon, sitting loosely in our saddles and moving to the gait of our ponies like the cowboys, and not sitting straight like Uncle Sam's cavalry.

We found this the easiest way and it was not ungraceful; sometimes when we were tired we rode sideways on the saddle, or with one leg over the pommel.

We were in high spirits as we jogged down the canyon. We were feeling fine and fit. Our constant life out of doors had enured us to hardships and made us impervious to fatigue.

Our muscles were supple and tireless and we were also much better able to endure thirst, cold, and hunger than we had been at first.

In a short time we reached the end of the canyon where grew the pine and cottonwood trees.

"Let's fill our canteens here," advised Jim, "because when we leave the canyon there is no telling when we will strike water again."

"All right," I said, and I swung off my horse and filled my canteen as well as Jim's.

In a short time we left the canyon and rode out on the plains.

"It looks to me as if we might have rain to-day," said Jim.

"It would be a pity if we got wet," I laughed, "might spoil our fine clothes and new sombreros. What makes you think it is going to rain?"

"You can generally count on that mackerel sky furnishing a rain," he said.

"It looks pretty anyway," I said.

It certainly did, the blue morning sky being dappled with numberless little clouds that gave a softness to the sunlight without dimming it to a shadow.

"Let's keep near the foot hills," I said, "because the brush and rocks give us some shelter and the antelope will not be so apt to see us."

"It's a good scheme," assented Jim.

So we rode southward through the broken country, crossing ravines, riding through the scrub oaks and keeping a wary eye on the plains below.

We had gone about five miles, when I called a halt.

"What are those specks way off there on the plain?" I enquired.

Jim took a long look in the direction that I had indicated.

"I can see them move," he announced, "they are antelope, all right."

"How far do you think they are?" I asked.

"About four miles, I reckon," said Jim. "It looks perfectly level, how in the mischief are we going to get within range?"

Jim studied the situation for a while carefully.

"There is a ravine that runs into a gully," he said, "that appears to be a half a mile south of them, though it may be further."

"We'll try it," I said.

So we made our way carefully, keeping ourselves screened as much as possible by the brush and rocks. Finally we struck the ravine without being observed by the antelope.

We rode down this, until it became a deep, narrow gully. In some places the way was difficult, especially where the gully had been terraced into water falls.

Occasionally our horses seemed to be standing on their heads as they jumped their way down, nimble as goats. We had to tighten the back cinches to keep the saddles from sliding forward.

"Talk about circus riding," I cried after I had come near falling off when Coyote had jumped down five feet, "this is plenty exciting enough for me."

After a while the gully became less broken and broader, the bottom covered with sand, and tall grasses growing wherever there was a foothold.

It was hot in the gully as the breeze was shut off and the sun looked down directly upon us. It was "snug" too, because we felt secure from being seen by any wandering parties of Apaches.

After we had been riding for about a half hour, Jim stopped his horse and dismounted, throwing the bridle over Piute's head. "I am going to reconnoiter," he said.

I watched him as he cautiously climbed up the wall of the gully and looked over the edge through a screen of grass. Almost instantly he dropped down again.

He motioned for me to dismount and I swung off, throwing the bridle over Coyote's head, the ends just trailing on the ground. This is the only kind of hitching post that a broncho needs.

CHAPTER III

THE SURPRISE

"We are almost opposite them now," Jim announced.

We went down the gulch until we came to a little bench just below the edge. We crawled upon this, and looked cautiously through a fringe of grass.

I could see a bunch of half a dozen antelope gently feeding on the level plain. "Pick your antelope," whispered Jim to me.

"I'll take the young buck," I said. "You can have the rest."

Cautiously we shoved our rifles through the grass and kneeling on one leg we drew a careful aim. "Now," exclaimed Jim.

There came two simultaneous reports and a couple of antelope dropped flat and flaccid. We fired at the remainder as they jumped into the distance. Our shots only made them go faster.

"Well," cried Jim, as we stood up, "two isn't so bad."

We got on our ponies and were obliged to ride down the gully for half a mile before we could get out where there was a narrow wash down the side.

We rode over, to where the two huddled heaps of grey laid on the plain. I had got my young buck all right, while Jim had killed a good sized doe.

"I tell you, Jim, let's take the two of them into the gully, where we will be safe from the Apaches seeing us. Cut off the best parts, then hunt back towards the camp."

"All right," Jim acquiesced, rather to my surprise.

He was likely to disregard any ordinary caution, but since his training with the captain, he was more apt to be careful and to take fewer chances.

So we flung the antelopes across the back of our saddles, tying them securely with the long leather strings and started back for the arroyo.

We kept a sharp lookout in all directions over the plains, but saw no indications of Indians, and reached our destination in safety.

"I believe that we are going to have a thunderstorm," Jim remarked.

"It certainly looks it," I replied.

Back of the range heavy thunder clouds were rolling, bringing the higher peaks out with marked distinctness and the shadow was spreading over the plains.

"It will be cooler for us, anyway," said Jim.

It certainly was a relief to have the sun obscured, and we set to work with a will. In a little over a half hour we had the antelopes divided off and securely fastened to the saddles. It did not increase the weight we had to carry much.

"I am going to take a look around," said Jim, "before we ride out into the open."

He crawled up the edge of the gully, barely raising his eyes above the level. In a moment I knew that he had seen something of interest. There was something about his figure as he crouched even lower than at first with his gaze riveted in one direction that spoke louder than words.

Then he drew slowly back and down. Reaching the bottom, he came quickly towards me; there was a smile on his face that I knew well enough.

"Indians?" I said, breathlessly.

"Yes," he replied, "there is a hunting party coming out of a small canyon above the ravine we are in."

"How many?" I asked.

"Twenty or more," he replied.

"What shall we do?" I inquired, anxiously.