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  Title: The Silver Canyon

  A Tale of the Western Plains

  Author: George Manville Fenn

  Illustrator: Hildi and Riou

  Release Date: May 8, 2007 [EBook #21368]

  Language: English

  *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILVER CANYON ***

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  George Manville Fenn

  "The Silver Canyon"

  * * *

  Chapter One.

  How they decided to run the Risk.

  “Well, Joses,” said Dr Lascelles, “if you feel afraid, you had better go back to the city.”

  There was a dead silence here, and the little party grouped about between a small umbrella-shaped tent and the dying embers of the fire, at which a meal of savoury antelope steaks had lately been cooked, carefully avoided glancing one at the other.

  Just inside the entrance of the tent, a pretty, slightly-made girl of about seventeen was seated, busily plying her needle in the repair of some rents in a pair of ornamented loose leather leggings that had evidently been making acquaintance with some of the thorns of the rugged land. She was very simply dressed, and, though wearing the high comb and depending veil of a Spanish woman, her complexion, tanned is it was, and features, suggested that she was English, as did also the speech of the fine athletic middle-aged man who had just been speaking.

  His appearance, too, was decidedly Spanish, for he wore the short jacket with embroidered sleeves, tight trousers—made very wide about the leg and ankle-sash, and broad sombrero of the Mexican-Spanish inhabitant of the south-western regions of the great American continent.

  The man addressed was a swarthy-looking half-breed, who lay upon the parched earth, his brow rugged, his eyes half-closed, and lips pouted out in a surly, resentful way, as if he were just about to speak and say something nasty.

  Three more men of a similar type were lying beside and behind, all smoking cigarettes, which from time to time they softly rolled up and lighted with a brand at the fire, as they seemed to listen to the conversation going on between the bronzed Englishman and him who had been addressed as Joses.

  They were all half-breeds, and boasted of their English blood, but always omitted to say anything about the Indian fluid that coursed through their veins; while they followed neither the fashion of Englishman nor Indian in costume, but, like the first speaker, were dressed as Spaniards, each also wearing a handkerchief of bright colour tied round his head and beneath his soft hat, just as if a wound had been received, with a long showy blanket depending from the shoulder, and upon which they now half lay.

  There was another present, however, also an anxious watcher of the scene, and that was a well-built youth of about the same age as the girl. For the last five minutes he had been busily cleaning his rifle and oiling the lock; and this task done, he let the weapon rest with its butt upon the rocky earth, its sling-strap hanging loose, and its muzzle lying in his hand as he leaned against a rock and looked sharply from face to face, waiting to hear the result of the conversation.

  His appearance was different to that of his companions, for he wore a closely fitting tunic and loose breeches of what at the first glance seemed to be dark tan-coloured velvet, but a second look showed to be very soft, well-prepared deerskin; stout gaiters of a hard leather protected his legs; a belt, looped so as to form a cartridge-holder, and a natty little felt hat, completed his costume.

  Like the half-breeds, he wore a formidable knife in his belt, while on their part each had near him a rifle.

  “Well,” said the speaker, after a long pause, “you do not speak; I say, are you afraid?”

  “I dunno, master,” said the man addressed. “I don’t feel afraid now, but if a lot of Injuns come whooping and swooping down upon us full gallop, I dessay I should feel a bit queer.”

  There was a growl of acquiescence here from the other men, and the first speaker went on.

  “Well,” he said, “let us understand our position at once. I would rather go on alone than with men I could not trust.”

  “Always did trust us, master,” said the man surlily.

  “Allays,” said the one nearest to him, a swarthier, more surly, and fiercer-looking fellow than his companion.

  “I always did, Joses; I always did, Juan; and you too, Harry and Sam,” said the first speaker. “I was always proud of the way in which my ranche was protected and my cattle cared for.”

  “We could not help the Injuns stampeding the lot, master, time after time.”

  “And ruining me at last, my lads? No; it was no fault of yours. I suppose it was my own.”

  “No, master, it was setting up so close to the hunting-grounds, and the Injun being so near.”

  “Ah well, we need not consider how all that came to pass, my lads: we know they ruined me.”

  “And you never killed one o’ them for it, master,” growled Joses.

  “Nor wished to, my lad. They did not take our lives.”

  “But they would if they could have broken in and burnt us out, master,” growled Joses.

  “Perhaps so; well, let us understand one another. Are you afraid?”

  “Suppose we all are, master,” said the man.

  “And you want to go back?”

  “No, not one of us, master.”

  Here there was a growl of satisfaction.

  “But you object to going forward, my men?”

  “Well, you see it’s like this, master: the boys here all want to work for you, and young Master Bart, and Miss Maude there; but they think you ought to go where it’s safe-like, and not where we’re ’most sure to be tortured and scalped. There’s lots o’ places where the whites are in plenty.”

  “And where every gully and mountain has been ransacked for metals, my lad. I want to go where white men have never been before, and search the mountains there.”

  “For gold and silver and that sort of thing, master?”

  “Yes, my lads.”

  “All right, master; then we suppose you must go.”

  “And you will go back because it is dangerous?”

  “I never said such a word, master. I only said it warn’t safe.”

  “And for answer to that, Joses, I say that, danger or no danger, I must try and make up for my past losses by some good venture in one of these unknown regions. Now then, have you made up your minds? If not, make them up quickly, and let me know what you mean to do.”

  Joses did not turn round to his companions, whose spokesman he was, but said quietly, as he rolled up a fresh cigarette:

  “Mind’s made up, master.”

  “And you will go back?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “All of you?”

  “All of us, master,” said Joses slowly. “When you do,” he added after a pause.

  “I knew he would say that, sir,” cried the youth who had been looking on and listening attentively; “I knew Joses would not leave us, nor any of the others.”

  “Stop a moment,” interposed the first speaker. “What about your companions, my lad?”

  “What, them?” said Joses quietly. “Why, they do as I do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Course I am, master. They told me what to do.”

  “Then thank you, my lad. I felt and knew I could trust you. Believe me, I will take you
into no greater danger than I can help; but we must be a little venturesome in penetrating into new lands, and the Indians may not prove our enemies after all.”

  “Ha, ha, ha! Haw, haw, haw, haw!” laughed Joses hoarsely. “You wait and see, master. They stampeded your cattle when you had any. Now look out or they’ll stampede you.”

  “Well, we’ll risk it,” said the other. “Now let’s be ready for any danger that comes. Saddle the horses, and tether them close to the waggon. I will have the first watch to-night; you take the second, Joses; and you, Bart, take the third. Get to sleep early, my lads, for I want to be off before sunrise in the morning.”

  The men nodded their willingness to obey orders, and soon after all were hushed in sleep, the ever-wakeful stars only looking down upon one erect figure, and that was the form of Dr Lascelles, as he stood near the faintly glowing fire, leaning upon his rifle, and listening intently for the faintest sound of danger that might be on its way to work them harm.

  * * *

  Chapter Two.

  What went before.

  As Dr Lascelles stood watching there, his thoughts naturally went back to the events of the past day, the sixth since they had bidden good-bye to civilisation and started upon their expedition. He thought of the remonstrance offered by his men to their proceeding farther; then of the satisfactory way in which the difficulty had been settled; and later on of the troubles brought up by his man’s remarks. He recalled the weary years he had spent upon his cattle farm, in which he had invested after the death of his wife in England; how he had come out to New Mexico, and settled down to form a cattle-breeding establishment with his young daughter Maude for companion.

  Then he thought of how everything had gone wrong, not only with him, but with his neighbours, one of the nearest being killed by an onslaught of a savage tribe of Indians, the news being brought to him by the son of the slaughtered man. The result had been that the Doctor had determined to flee at once; but the day was put off, and as no more troubles presented themselves just then, he once more settled down. Young Bart became by degrees almost as it were a son, and the fight was continued till herd after herd had been swept away by the Indians; and at last Dr Lascelles, the clever physician who had wearied of England and his practice after his terrible loss, and who had come out to the West to seek rest and make money for his child, found himself a beggar, and obliged to begin life again.

  Earlier in life he had been a great lover of geology, and was something of a metallurgist; and though he had of late devoted himself to the wild, rough life of a western cattle farmer, he had now and then spent a few hours in exploring the mountainous parts of the country near: so that when he had once more to look the world in the face, and decide whether he should settle down as some more successful cattle-breeder’s man, the idea occurred to him that his knowledge of geology might prove useful in this painful strait.

  He jumped at the idea.

  Of course: why not? Scores of men had made discoveries of gold, silver, and other valuable metals, and the result had been fortune. Why should not he do something of the kind?

  He mentioned the idea to young Bartholomew Woodlaw, who jumped at the prospect, but looked grave directly after.

  “I should like it, Mr Lascelles,” he said, “but there is Maude.”

  “What of her?” said the Doctor.

  “How could we take her into the wilds?”

  “It would be safer to take her into the deserts and mountains, than to leave her here,” said the Doctor bitterly. “I should at least always have her under my eye.”

  He went out and told his men, who were hanging about the old ranche although there was no work for them to do.

  One minute they were looking dull and gloomy, the next they were waving their hats and blankets in the air, and the result of it all was that in less than a month Dr Lascelles had well stored a waggon with the wreck of his fortune, purchased a small tent for his daughter’s use, and, all well-armed, the little party had started off into the wilds of New Mexico, bound for the mountain region, where the Doctor hoped to make some discovery of mineral treasure sufficient to recompense him for all his risk, as well as for the losses of the past.

  They were, then, six days out when there was what had seemed to be a sort of mutiny among his men—a trouble that he was in the act of quelling when we made his acquaintance in the last chapter—though, as we have seen, it proved to be no mutiny at all, but merely a remonstrance on the part of the rough, honest fellows who had decided to share his fortunes, against running into what they esteemed to be unnecessary risks.

  Joses and his three fellows were about as brigandish and wild-looking a set of half savages as a traveller could light upon in a day’s journey even in these uncivilised parts. In fact, no stranger would have been ready to trust his life or property in their keeping, if he could have gone farther. If he had, though, he would most probably have fared worse; for it is not always your pleasantest outside that proves to hide the best within.

  These few lines, then, will place the reader au courant, as the French say, with the reason of the discussion at the beginning of the last chapter, and show him as well why it was that Dr Lascelles, Bart Woodlaw, and Maud Lascelles were out there in the desert with such rough companions. This being then the case, we will at once proceed to deal with their adventurous career.

  * * *

  Chapter Three.

  The First Apachés.

  Evening was closing in, and the ruddy, horizontal rays of the sun were casting long grotesque shadows of the tall-branched plants of the cactus family that stood up, some like great fleshy leaves, rudely stuck one upon the other, and some like strangely rugged and prickly fluted columns, a body of Indians, about a hundred strong, rode over the plain towards the rocks where Dr Lascelles and his little party were encamped.

  The appearance of the Indians denoted that they were on the war-path. Each wore a rude tiara of feathers around his head, beneath which hung wild his long black hair; and saving their fringed and ornamented leggings, the men rode for the most part naked, and with their breasts and arms painted in a coarse and extravagant style. Some had a rude representation of a Death’s head and bones in the centre of the chest; others were streaked and spotted; while again others wore a livery of a curiously mottled fashion, that seemed to resemble the markings of a tortoise, but was intended to imitate the changing aspect of a snake.

  All were fully armed, some carrying rifles, others bows and arrows, while a few bore spears, from the top of whose shafts below the blades hung tufts of feathers. Saddles they had none, but each sturdy, well-built Indian pony was girt with its rider’s blanket or buffalo robe, folded into a pad, and secured tightly with a broad band of raw hide. Bits and bridles too, of the regular fashion, were wanting, the swift pony having a halter of horse-hair hitched round its lower jaw, this being sufficient to enable the rider to guide the docile little animal where he pleased; while for tethering purposes, during a halt, there was a stout long peg, and the rider’s plaited hide lariat or lasso, ready for a variety of uses in the time of need.

  The rugged nature of the ground separated the party of Indians from the Doctor’s little camp, so that the approach of the war party was quite unobserved, and apparently, from their movements, they were equally unaware of the presence of a camp of the hated whites so near at hand.

  They were very quiet, riding slowly and in regular order, as if moved by one impulse; and when the foremost men halted, all drew rein by some tolerably verdant patches of the plain, blankets and robes were unstrapped, the horses allowed to graze, and in an incredibly short time the band had half a dozen fires burning of wood that had been hastily collected, and they were ravenously devouring the strips of dried buffalo meat that had been hanging all day in the hot sun, to be peppered with dust from the plain, and flavoured by emanations from the horse against whose flank it had been beaten.

  This, however, did not trouble the savages, whom one learned in the lore of the plains wo
uld have immediately set down as belonging to a powerful tribe of horse Indians—the Apachés, well-known for their prowess in war and their skill as wild-horsemen of the plains. They feasted on, like men whose appetites had become furious from long fasting, until at last they had satisfied their hunger, and the evening shadows were making the great plants of cactus stand up, weird and strange, against the fast-darkening evening sky; then, while the embers of the fire grew more ruddy and bright, each Indian, save those deputed to look after the horses and keep on the watch for danger, drew his blanket or buffalo robe over his naked shoulders, filled and lit his long pipe, and began silently and thoughtfully to smoke.

  Meanwhile, in utter unconsciousness of the nearness of danger, Dr Lascelles continued his watch thus far into the night. From time to time he examined the tethering of the horses, and glanced inside the tent to stand and listen to the regular low breathing of his child, and then walk to where, rolled in his blanket, Bart Woodlaw lay sleeping in full confidence that a good watch was being kept over the camp as he slept.

  Then the Doctor tried to pierce the gloom around.

  Away towards the open plains it was clear and transparent, but towards the rocks that stretched there on one side all seemed black. Not a sound fell upon his ear, and so great was the stillness that the dull crackle of a piece of smouldering wood sounded painfully loud and strange.

  At last the time had come for arousing some one to take his place, and walking, after a few moments’ thought, to where Bart lay, he bent down and touched him lightly on the arm.

  In an instant, rifle in hand, the lad was upon his feet.

  “Is there danger?” he said in a low, quiet whisper.

  “I hope not, Bart,” said the Doctor quietly, “everything is perfectly still. I shall lie down in front of the tent; wake me if you hear a sound.”