JACK IS UNDECEIVED.
Simultaneously with Donald McKay’s first shot, the two spies sprung to their feet.
They saw their would-be murderer recover his equilibrium, and dart toward Hooker Jim, before they could approach him.
Cohoon seemed to take in all at a single glance, for he threw his pistols up for a deadly shot; but the chief interposed his body, and the assassin made good his escape down the corridor.
They did not know positively who he was, but Cohoon smiled when he looked at his companion and whispered, “Bob.”
The shots fired at the intrepid ranger as he sprung toward the river, quickly followed the assassin’s escape, and while yet the spies and Hooker Jim stood bewildered in the cave, Captain Jack and a dozen Indians appeared upon the scene.
The spies explained all, and Mouseh promised to bring the murderous Modocs to justice. The chief firmly believed in the representations of his guests, and he could conceive of no motive that would prompt their death.
Presently the Indians on the bank descended into the cave, and the fiery nature of the Modoc was fully aroused when he heard of McKay’s escape.
“What! in the black river and without a boat!” he cried, springing forward and replenishing the fire with his own hands. “He must be found for he can be found. The yellow-skinned chief shall not escape us now. Here are torches, plenty of them. Braves, snatch them from the fire! we will find the ranger before the sun sinks behind the hills above us.”
With cries of vengeance the warriors sprung forward and secured sage-brush torches.
The spies each selected one, and joined in the mad band that rushed up the acclivity and descended the opposite side, to the bank of the lone lost river. Captain Jack was foremost in the hunt for the ranger chief. McKay’s proximity seemed to infuse new life into the Modoc’s weary limbs; he was young again when on the trail of the army’s greatest ally, Gillem’s right-hand man.
Up and down the stream numerous torches flitted like baleful fires, but not a word was spoken. Jack swam to the opposite bank, and with renewed vigor and hope scoured its darkness for the bold man he hated. The Indians followed their own inclinations unquestioned, and finally the spies managed to separate themselves from the others and found themselves alone some distance up-stream.
Their seeming close hunting for McKay had elicited looks of approval from the Modocs, and their separation was covered by their zeal in the cause.
“We work for ’Reesa now, Cohoon,” suddenly cried Kit South, as they shot around a ragged lava rock whose glistening side hid them from the Indians. “It is night again, for I got a peek at a star down there. They won’t miss us for an hour, at least.”
“But where is the girl?”
“Where that infernal Bob put her, no doubt.”
“Does Kit know where the cave is?”
“Not exactly, but I know a place where he’d be likely to take her. Come, we climb over these rocks and get into the way that leads to it. You can’t fool Kit South hyarabouts; he’s hunted too many bears in these beds.”
Then they extinguished one of the torches and clambered over the broken rocks that partly blocked the mouth of a corridor to find themselves on a trail that might lead to the jaws of death.
“They won’t catch the captain,” whispered Kit, proudly as they hurried along. “He kin get along in that river without a boat, as well as he could with one. Cohoon, we owe Don much to-night.”
The Warm Spring Indian nodded.
“Cohoon slept against his will; but he heard the shot, and he knows now that Donald shot Bob as be squatted over him with the hatchet.”
“Do you think he hurt the devil much?”
“Arm hurt p’raps, for he ran away on his legs.”
“Mebbe he’s gone to ’Reesa!”
“Must watch for that.”
“We will. I just want to get my finger on his throat once, for I believe the devil knows who we are, and if I can clutch his windpipe, he’ll never trouble any more sleepers that’s—”
Cohoon caught the scout’s arm, and dropped the torch behind him.
“Look, Kit.”
As he spoke the Indian drew the scout aside, and a torch greeted the latter’s eyes.
“’Reesa’s yonder, Cohoon.”
“Mebbe so.”
“I know it, come!”
The torch was extinguished, and they moved forward again.
“She’s in the very cave I told you about,” whispered the scout, “and we kin git right overhead and see who is with her.”
And so they did.
The honeycombed condition of the lava-beds enabled the spies to ascend above the roof of the corridor which they were traversing, and presently they looked down into the chamber wherein the torch burned.
Kit South’s expectations were realized.
His daughter tenanted the lava-bed, and she stood near the fire in a listening attitude. Something had lately roused her from a sound sleep as it seemed—perhaps the shots fired at McKay, and the tall savage who stood at the mouth or door of the chamber, appeared no less excited than herself.
He had stepped from his post of duty which was revealed by a blanket stretched upon the earth near the fire; and his face was turned from the girl whose eyes regarded him closely; for to him she looked, no doubt, for the solution of the mysterious shots.
’Reesa could have touched the low-browed ceiling of the cave with the tips of her fingers, but there was nothing upon which she might stand and draw herself up into the dark passage above.
All at once a pebble dropped at her feet.
She started just the least, and looked into the hole in the roof directly overhead.
She saw nothing; but a low voice said:
“Keep cool, girl, and raise your hands.”
She glanced at the guard, still listening, and put her hands together above her head.
The next moment a great red hand encircled the wrists, and ’Reesa South was snatched from her prison in the twinkling of an eye!
“Now back, Cohoon,” whispered a voice which caused the girl to start, and the next moment she clutched her preserver’s arm.
“Father! is it not you?”
“Yes, ’Reesa,” was the reply. “It’s nobody but old Kit South, your father.”
“Thank Heaven!”
“When we git out o’ this, if we ever do, we will. We’re in the fire yet, and it’s a long ways out o’ the blaze.”
They pushed forward with more haste than caution, and succeeded in reaching the river in safety.
“Once across this stream, an’ we’re safe,” said South, “for we kin reach the surface of these beds, and make a bee-line for the camp.”
“Yes,” said Cohoon; “but water too swift here. Go up higher.”
They ascended the stream some distance, and then plunged into the Stygian water.
The scout was foremost with his child, while Cohoon swam behind.
Suddenly a floating object struck the Indian, and he felt a pair of arms encircle his thighs.
He tried to disengage the unseen ‘thing,’ which seemed a corpse, but the longer he toiled the more terrible grew the embrace.
Cohoon felt that the object was dragging him down, and he heard Kit loosen the stones on the opposite bank as he climbed up with his daughter.
The Indian struggled with all his strength to avert the doom that threatened him, and when on the eve of despair the embrace suddenly relaxed, and but one hand retained its hold.
Then the Warm Springer started forward again, dragging the demon with him. He had lost his knife during his struggle in the water, and could not cut the dead man loose.
Once, while fighting for life in the middle of the stream, he thought he had discovered that his cold antagonist was a white man; but then, who could the white man be?
Panting he drew his fearful burden upon the bank and greeted Kit.
“What kept you, Cohoon?” asked the scout, in the lowest of whispers.
“Fight with dead man,” was the Indian’s reply. “Kit cut hand loose.”
The scout drew his hunting-knife and felt for the hand.
A moment’s quest enabled him to find the member, and when he ran his own hand over it he started back.
Cohoon heard the low ejaculation of surprise that fell from Kit’s lips, and said:
“What matter, Kit? Who catch Cohoon in water?”
The reply was breathed into the Indian’s ears by lips that touched it.
“Great Heavens, it’s ’Van Harris; I know by a certain ring he wears—a ring ’Reesa gave him a year ago.”
Then Cohoon whispered in return:
“Cut Cohoon’s belt; but don’t touch scout’s hand. Mebbe he ’live!”
In silence the Indian’s belt was severed, and the wet body was lifted from the ground.
“We’ll go now, ’Reesa,” said Kit, turning to his daughter again. “I had to cut a dead Indian loose from Cohoon.”
He dared not tell her the truth, and as he started forward once more, Cohoon’s finger touched his shoulder, and he heard two words fall from the painted lips, that sent a thrill of pleasure to his heart.
“He breathes!”
A few moments after leaving the river, the fugitives caught occasional glimpses of the stars, and all at once the discharge of a number of rifles struck their ears.
“The boys are after the Modocs,” said Kit, pausing and waiting for Cohoon to come up. “Chief, shall we wait here till the fighting is over, or had we best break for the opening? Which course do you think best?”
“How near we to hole?” asked Cohoon.
“Oh, a matter of thirty yards, I reckon.”
“Then run for hole.”
A minute later Kit started forward again; but soon halted so suddenly that Cohoon unaware of his action brought up against him.
“What up?” queried the Indian.
“The Modocs have taken possession of the mouth of this passage, and are fighting our boys from thence.”
The Warm Spring Indian gritted his teeth.
“How many Modocs?” he asked.
“Don’t know, but I’ll see.”
The scout left ’Reesa with Cohoon, and crawled forward. But he soon returned, and reported five savages at the mouth of the corridor.
“We run through them!” said Cohoon.
But the scout, thinking of his daughter, hesitated.
“Father, arm me,” she cried. “You know I can shoot.”
The next moment Cohoon slipped a revolver into the girl’s hand.
“White girl armed now,” he said, “now we push through the Modocs.”
“We will, heaven help us! It is the only path to liberty,” said the scout. “When I say ready—”
“Quick!” interrupted Cohoon, in a tone of danger. “Quick, Kit, Jack coming!”
The scout who was stooping for the purpose of crawling upon the besieged red-skins sprung to his feet as a torch shot around a rock, and revealed the redoubtable Jack at the head of a force of his braves.
He needed no further commands to dart forward, and the next moment he was among the savages at the mouth of the cave.
He dropped two before they were aware of the presence of foes, for they heard only the shout of the red reinforcements, and cleared the threshold unhurt.
Cohoon and ’Reesa were not far behind, but the savages had comprehended the true state of affairs before they could join the scout.
The mouth of the passage was obstructed by the bodies of Kit’s victims, and Cohoon, discommoded by his burden, stumbled over one of the forms, and found himself grasped by three Indians before he could rise.
’Reesa sprung to the rescue, for the torches of the reinforcing party revealed the Indian’s situation; but a savage hurled her back, and she rose as Mouseh appeared upon the scene.
“At last I’ll end the Modoc war!” she cried, and impulsively pulled the trigger as she thrust the muzzle of her revolver against the breast of Captain Jack.
But no report followed—alas! the hammer had descended upon the portals of an empty chamber, and in the twinkling of an eye she found herself in the grip of the Modoc chief.
Then the new-comers hurled themselves upon the struggling Cohoon, who was soon overpowered.
He was picked from the ground, and yells of mingled rage and vengeance burst from the Indians’ throats when they saw that he and Wiaquil the Klamath were identical.
But what of Kit South?
His absence proclaimed his escape.
Once he sprung to the rescue of his child, but discovering that he could do nothing, had retired. But as he gained the starlight again, he shouted back:
“I’ll come again, ’Reesa—never fear. They’re too much for me now.”
His daughter heard not the words; but some of the savages did, and they felt that he had promised future succor.
They sprung after him, but soon returned empty-handed, and declaring that he had borne away the body of a man.
They spoke the truth, for Evan Harris lay unconscious across the ranger’s shoulder.
“Now back to the bloody cave!” suddenly cried Captain Jack. “The false-face has been torn from the spy. Turn upon your heels, Modocs, to witness the punishment that Mouseh inflicts upon the dog that steals to his councils with lying words!”
He darted a fierce look upon Cohoon, whose eye did not quail the least, and the next moment turned upon his heel, followed by the executioners of his will.
Now all hopes of succor from the Klamath nation had been torn from the Modoc’s heart. He saw that he had been completely hoodwinked by his worst enemies, and the events which had just transpired were transforming him into the demon incarnate.