At sight of my badge all five of the party were noticeably surprised. Again they talked together, and suddenly put quirt to their horses and started past us. The last in line was he of the khaki overalls, and as he rode past us he spit at the old Hopi men and hissed hard words. They pretended not to notice his insult.
Without once looking back at us, the Apaches went on south toward their reservation, and disappeared in the timber, but we felt quite sure that they would stop in the edge of it and watch our movements. So, instead of going on northwest, we changed our course to northeast, as though we were heading for home, for Greer. And after we had crossed the big prairie, we stopped a long time in the timber and watched for the Apaches to come back upon our trail. They did not appear, and at two o’clock we circled on through the timber and then turned straight toward Conaro Lake, often pausing and watching to learn if we were being trailed. We made sure that we were free from that, but the old men were very uneasy.
Said old White Deer: “Those blue coats will tell that they have seen us, and some of their brother sneaking-killers will soon be coming after our heads!”
“Oh, I don’t believe they will dare do that,” I said.
“But you don’t understand,” he replied. “The whites are so powerful that the Apaches fear to kill one of them. They know that they can kill the poor Hopis as they do deer, and with no more fear of punishment.”
It was five o’clock when we looked out upon Conaro Lake from the timber. It was black with quacking ducks; seven big turkey gobblers were chasing grasshoppers along its near, grassy shore; and at its far end a doe with two fawns was drinking. We watched them for a few minutes and then I led on, across the hundred yards or so of level tim-berland, and down the steep slope on the right of the creek canyon, and finally, at sundown, we crept to the edge of the timber and looked out upon the three ledges over which the creek was tumbling, a hundred yards away. Straight across from us was the big brush patch at the foot of the center ledge, it, too, about a hundred yards from the stream. The old men smiled and nodded and whispered to one another when they saw it.
And now, as we had planned to do, we lay perfectly quiet, watching the brush patch: if the outlaws were in the cave that it concealed, we felt sure that they would be coming out at dusk for a supply of wood and water. Hannah lay close to me on my right; close on my left was our young friend; and beyond him the old men all in a row, each with a little gathering of rocks in front of him. For a time, sister and I were tremendously excited; we expected every moment to see some of the bad men or all of them come out into the open. But as the day faded and none appeared, we became quiet enough; then doubtful; and at last, when it was so dark that the brush patch was little more than a blur on the farther side of the creek, she whispered to me: ‘‘We have had our long tramp for nothing! Of course those firebugs are not here! Why should they be here instead of in any one of the thousand hiding-places that there are in this forest!’’
And just then our young friend nudged me with his elbow, and I did the same to Hannah, and heard one of the old men give a low hiss of caution: a man was leaving the brush, was coming toward the creek! He came on swiftly, and as he neared it became more plain to us, and at last we made out that he was carrying a bucket. We saw him stoop at the edge of the creek and fill and raise it to his face and drink, and then he refilled it and went back the way he had come and was lost to us in the darkness even before he entered the brush. We had been unable to see his features, but by the way he walked and the general outline of him, Hannah and I both thought that he was the deserter, Henry King. I whispered our belief to our young friend, and he told the old men, and they all whispered together, and finally, after some talk with me, it was decided that we should sneak across to the brush patch as soon as the night became quite dark.
And now we were again tremendously excited— Hannah and I, anyhow. We wondered what was going to happen when we arrived in the brush — if we were to make a success of our undertaking, or get into terrible trouble? Yes, I’ll say it: to cross to that brush patch and the cave hole in it was the last thing that we wanted to do; we wished, as we never had wished before, that we were right then safe at home! I told sister that she had best remain right where we were and wait for us to come back to her, but she refused to do that. To stay there all alone would be worse than following us, she said.
The time came for us to start. Our young friend took the lead and I fell in behind him, then Hannah, and after her the old men. We were a long time making the two hundred yards to the brush patch. At the edge of it we stood and listened, heard nothing, then little by little moved into it, and at last stood before a small, black hole at the foot of the ledge. Excited and scared though I was, I almost laughed at our foolish confidence in our plan: We were to seize some big rocks quickly and block the cave entrance with them. Lo! there were no rocks, large or small, other than the great rock ledge itself!
As we stood there listening, hearing nothing, we caught the odor of smoke and knew that a fire was burning down in the cave.
Our young friend leaned over and whispered in my ear: ‘‘Will you follow me down into the hole, just a little way; far enough to see who is there — how many of them?”
“Yes. But I go first with my rifle,” I answered, and told Hannah what we were to do, and he told the old men. Sister tried to prevent me going, but I loosened her grasp upon my sleeve, and the next moment was crawling slowly into the hole, the young Hopi close at my heels. For twenty-five feet or more, the passage sloped down at an angle of about thirty degrees to the floor of the cave. When halfway down it, I passed the level of the roof and saw, not far off in the intense blackness, a small fire and men sitting facing it. Three men! And to the left of the fire, leaning up against the wall of the cave, was the big bear hide, laced again into a frame of poles! All three of the men had their backs to me, and how glad I was of that. Noiselessly I began to crawl back, and the young Hopi kept out of my way. I could hear the men talking; their voices sounded deep and hollow. One of them dropped something and the echo of its fall rumbled like thunder.
At last I got back into the open. “All three are down in there! They have the big bear skin!” I whispered to Hannah. The young Hopi whispered to his old men what we had seen. Noiselessly we all drew away from the cave entrance, out from the brush patch to a safe distance, and in whispers decided upon what was to be done. Hannah was to go to the sawmill, five miles away, for help, and the Indians and I were to guard the cave entrance. I wonder how many girls there are who would have had the courage to make that journey through the dark forest? She did not fear it, however, nor had I any fears for her: the bad men were in the cave; old Double Killer was dead; there were none to do her harm. She left us, and we sneaked back to the cave hole, and sat in a row in the brush, facing it. If the outlaws started to come out, we were to shout to them to go back or we would shoot; if they refused to obey, we were to do our best with rifle, and arrows, and rocks.
I thought that, having water, wood, the food and bedding that they had stolen from us, and a roof over their heads, the outlaws would not think of coming out until morning. How I hoped that they would n’t! I asked myself how I could possibly have the nerve to shoot a man, outlaw though he were?
“If it comes to a show-down, I’ve just got to shoot, and shoot first!” I kept saying to myself.
For a time we could now and then faintly catch the odor of smoke. Time passed slowly, but at last we got no more of the smoke, and the young Hopi whispered to me that he was sure the bad men were asleep. Without doubt they were. Big, strong, grim old William Hammond would be with us when the outlaws came sneaking out of the cave hole. All would be well with us. I felt better.
It was about three o’clock in the morning when we heard, off across the creek opening, the faint click of an iron shoe upon rock; and another click, nearer, more plain. And then, in a little while, came Hannah to us, and behind her William Hammond and five of his men.
‘‘You have n’t had any trouble? The firebugs are still in there?” Hammond whispered to me.
“No,