The Valiant Runaways [60]
were not for me," said
Adan, whose face expressed nothing.
"So. Well. Now, be ye rested? We want to git to old Sanchez' fur a good
supper and a soft bed to-night."
The boys rose with alacrity. Hill bade them mount his powerful horse,
and walked beside them.
Sanchez' house was only three miles away, but the road lay through
chaparral which sprang across in many places. It was heavy dusk when
they emerged. For some time past they had heard wild eccentric cries,
and their three pistols were cocked. As they rode through a grove of
trees beyond the chaparral, they saw a dark something rolling toward
them. In an instant Hill had snatched the boys from the horse and swung
them to the limb of a tree.
"Hide yourselves among the leaves," he said, "and don't even breathe
mor' 'n you kin help."
He gave the horse a sharp cut with his switch and it galloped on; then
he climbed a neighbouring tree with the agility of a wildcat, and
crouched.
The boys gazed into the dusk with distended eyes. The cloud came on with
inconceivable rapidity. In a moment it outlined itself. Those were
living creatures, fleeing. A stampede? No, men. . . . What? Indians?
They were within a hundred yards now, and their lithe naked forms, the
tomahawks and bows and arrows gripped in their clenched hands, could
plainly be seen; a moment later, their evil faces, distorted with fear.
In the middle distance behind them was a huge column of fire. A strange
figure seemed leaping among the flames. It was from this scarlet column
that the strange noises came. The Indians made no sound beyond their
impact with the atmosphere.
They deflected suddenly and passed to the right of the grove; a moment
later the three in ambush heard them crashing through the brush. Hill
waited until the sound had grown faint in the distance before he swung
himself down and helped the boys to the ground.
"That was a close shave," he said. "Them was murderin' savages, no weak-
kneed Mission variety. I'd give two cents to know what scared 'em and
what's goin' on over yonder. They were on the rampage, which same means
thievin' and killin', or my name ain't Jim Hill."
"We're used to Indians," said Adan, with gentle pride.
"Oh, be ye? Well, if them Indians had caught you fryin' your supper,
you'd have got as well acquainted with the next world in just about
three quarters of an hour. Well, we've all got to foot it now; but it
ain't far. I'm powerful anxious to know what's goin' on over to
Sanchez'! Mebbe two tribes met and them's the victors offerin' up the
tail end of that there valiant army. Golly Moroo, but they did look
scared."
They walked on rapidly, but without further conversation; they were all
hungry, and the boys were still very fagged. As they approached the
blazing mass, the figure seemed to leap more wildly still among the
flames, the cries to grow hoarser and more grotesque. All about was
heavy blackness. The slender branches of the burning pine writhed and
hissed; they might have been a pyramid of rattlesnakes caught in
spouting flame. Overhead the stars had disappeared beyond a heavy cloud
of smoke. It was a sight to strike terror to the heart of civilised man;
small wonder that the superstitious children of the mountain and desert
had fled in panic.
They had advanced a few yards farther when suddenly Hill flung himself
on the ground and gave vent to a series of hysterical yells, at the same
time rolling over and over, clutching at the grass. Roldan, seriously
alarmed, and wondering if any other boys in the history of the
Californias had ever had so much to try their nerves, ran to his
assistance; he caught him by his lean shoulders, and shook him soundly.
"Don Jim! Don Jim!" he exclaimed. "Are you ill, my friend? You have some
whisky in your flask, no?"
At this Hill burst into a loud guffaw. Roldan and Adan looked at each
other helplessly. The Spanish do not laugh often, and although the boys
dimly realised that Hill's explosion resembled--remotely--the dignified
concession of their race
Adan, whose face expressed nothing.
"So. Well. Now, be ye rested? We want to git to old Sanchez' fur a good
supper and a soft bed to-night."
The boys rose with alacrity. Hill bade them mount his powerful horse,
and walked beside them.
Sanchez' house was only three miles away, but the road lay through
chaparral which sprang across in many places. It was heavy dusk when
they emerged. For some time past they had heard wild eccentric cries,
and their three pistols were cocked. As they rode through a grove of
trees beyond the chaparral, they saw a dark something rolling toward
them. In an instant Hill had snatched the boys from the horse and swung
them to the limb of a tree.
"Hide yourselves among the leaves," he said, "and don't even breathe
mor' 'n you kin help."
He gave the horse a sharp cut with his switch and it galloped on; then
he climbed a neighbouring tree with the agility of a wildcat, and
crouched.
The boys gazed into the dusk with distended eyes. The cloud came on with
inconceivable rapidity. In a moment it outlined itself. Those were
living creatures, fleeing. A stampede? No, men. . . . What? Indians?
They were within a hundred yards now, and their lithe naked forms, the
tomahawks and bows and arrows gripped in their clenched hands, could
plainly be seen; a moment later, their evil faces, distorted with fear.
In the middle distance behind them was a huge column of fire. A strange
figure seemed leaping among the flames. It was from this scarlet column
that the strange noises came. The Indians made no sound beyond their
impact with the atmosphere.
They deflected suddenly and passed to the right of the grove; a moment
later the three in ambush heard them crashing through the brush. Hill
waited until the sound had grown faint in the distance before he swung
himself down and helped the boys to the ground.
"That was a close shave," he said. "Them was murderin' savages, no weak-
kneed Mission variety. I'd give two cents to know what scared 'em and
what's goin' on over yonder. They were on the rampage, which same means
thievin' and killin', or my name ain't Jim Hill."
"We're used to Indians," said Adan, with gentle pride.
"Oh, be ye? Well, if them Indians had caught you fryin' your supper,
you'd have got as well acquainted with the next world in just about
three quarters of an hour. Well, we've all got to foot it now; but it
ain't far. I'm powerful anxious to know what's goin' on over to
Sanchez'! Mebbe two tribes met and them's the victors offerin' up the
tail end of that there valiant army. Golly Moroo, but they did look
scared."
They walked on rapidly, but without further conversation; they were all
hungry, and the boys were still very fagged. As they approached the
blazing mass, the figure seemed to leap more wildly still among the
flames, the cries to grow hoarser and more grotesque. All about was
heavy blackness. The slender branches of the burning pine writhed and
hissed; they might have been a pyramid of rattlesnakes caught in
spouting flame. Overhead the stars had disappeared beyond a heavy cloud
of smoke. It was a sight to strike terror to the heart of civilised man;
small wonder that the superstitious children of the mountain and desert
had fled in panic.
They had advanced a few yards farther when suddenly Hill flung himself
on the ground and gave vent to a series of hysterical yells, at the same
time rolling over and over, clutching at the grass. Roldan, seriously
alarmed, and wondering if any other boys in the history of the
Californias had ever had so much to try their nerves, ran to his
assistance; he caught him by his lean shoulders, and shook him soundly.
"Don Jim! Don Jim!" he exclaimed. "Are you ill, my friend? You have some
whisky in your flask, no?"
At this Hill burst into a loud guffaw. Roldan and Adan looked at each
other helplessly. The Spanish do not laugh often, and although the boys
dimly realised that Hill's explosion resembled--remotely--the dignified
concession of their race