The Angel of the Gila Part 53

Late on the following day, when Esther returned from her rounds, she found the Mexican, who had come to the Christmas entertainment, awaiting her. After learning that his Indian wife was sick, she gathered up her medical outfit, and started with him up the canyon. It was a long and fatiguing tramp.

The Indian woman proved to be another fever patient. She refused the medicine, but drank the beef juice the nurse offered her. After trying to make the Mexican understand what to do till she came again, Esther started down the canyon alone.

It was nearly dark. After walking some distance, she heard the cry of wolves. The cries came nearer. She quickened her pace to a run, when, catching her foot, she was thrown violently forward into the stream below.

She struggled to regain her footing, to climb to the bowlder from which she had fallen; but suddenly discovered that she had in some way twisted her ankle, and that she could not bear her weight on that foot. What was she to do? She was still over a mile from Clayton Ranch. If she called, no one could hear her. Oh, those wolves! Their cries sent a chill of terror through her. Again she struggled to climb up on the bank, but the bowlder above her was slippery, and there was nothing to cling to. At last she sent a loud cry for help echoing down the canyon. Then she listened. Suddenly she heard a step above her. It was the young Apache who had visited the school. His coming was about as welcome to her as the wolves would be.

"N[=e]-sh[=e]-ad-nl[)e]h'," he said, beckoning her to join him. She shook her head, pointed to her ankle, and again tried to climb. Her efforts were futile. Then the Indian lifted her, carried her to a level place, and set her down. She was unable to bear her weight on the injured foot, and fell. She pointed to her ankle, then down towards Gila, hoping the Indian might make her plight known to the people in camp.

As if in answer to her pantomimic request, he lifted her easily in his arms, and strode swiftly down the canyon. Could it be that he had rescued her in order to return her to her friends? It seemed so.

At last it occurred to her to sing her call for help, to attract the attention of any miner, or charcoal tender who might chance to be going up or down the canyon. So with all the volume she could muster, she sang words, telling her plight.

Every little while the Apache would repeat the words:

"N[=e]-sh[=e]-ad-nl[)e]h'."

What could he mean?

About the time Esther was caring for the sick squaw, Kenneth Hastings learned from Wathemah that the teacher had gone to the Mexican's shack up the canyon. He was filled with alarm.

"What's that ye are sayin', Wathemah?" asked Pete Tompkins, who, pa.s.sing along, had overheard the conversation.

"Me teacher up canyon. Mexican. Sick squaw," replied the child laconically.

"Are you sure, Wathemah?" questioned Kenneth.

The child nodded his head, and pointed toward the canyon.

"Them devilish Apaches has been about camp all day," said Pete Tompkins, stopping to speak to Kenneth. "I seen some of 'em goin' up canyon jest 'fore dark."

"We must go to Miss Bright's rescue at once!" said Kenneth excitedly.

"I'm with ye," said Pete Tompkins. "If a blanked savage harms that air schoolma'am I'll smash his skull with the b.u.t.t o' my gun. I'll jine y'r party. Let's take all the hounds. We're likely ter run across more'n one Apache. h.e.l.lo, kids!" he called out. "Jine a rescue party.

The schoolma'am's went up canyon ter tend sick squaw,--the Mexican's woman. Them devilish Apaches is up through the canyon, an' we're afeared they'll capture schoolma'am."

Ten well-armed men, some mounted, some unmounted, started up the canyon. On their way, they met John Clayton, who joined them. His horse was neck and neck with Kenneth's.

"Good G.o.d!" said the former to his companion. "What may have happened to Miss Bright? What may yet happen to her?"

Kenneth made no reply, but his face was tense.

These two men were in advance, closely followed by Jack Harding and Pete Tompkins, on their Mexican ponies.

Suddenly, the party heard the distant cry of wolves, and--was it a human voice?--they strained their ears to hear. It was a human voice, a woman's voice. They dug their spurs into their horses' sides, and fairly flew.

As they were journeying up the canyon, the savage, with his captive in his arms, was speeding down the canyon. Suddenly he turned, and took the trail leading towards the Apache reservation.

Esther's song for help died on her lips. Every moment seemed eternity; every step, miles away from hope of rescue. Then with the energy born of despair, she sang again so that her song reached the ears of her rescuers:

"Abide with me!

Fast falls the eventide.

The darkness deepens-- Lord, with me abide!

When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O, abide with me!"

Then she listened. Could it be the baying of hounds she heard? Her heart beat faster. She was not mistaken; she had heard the hounds. And now she heard the shouts of men. She began to sing again, but the Indian pressed his hand over her mouth, and tightening his hold with his other arm, started to run with her. She struggled desperately. He held her like a vise. She screamed for help, as she continued to struggle.

"Courage!" came ringing back in response to her cry. She knew the voice. It was the voice of Kenneth Hastings.

Again the Apache muttered in her ear:

"N[=e]-sh[=e]-ad-nl[)e]h'."

She realized that the men were gaining rapidly upon them, and struggled more violently to free herself.

As the Apache ran, his breath came harder. It was no easy task to carry his struggling captive, and escape his pursuers. Still he kept up a remarkable speed.

A moment more, the hounds came upon him. He kicked desperately, but could not free himself from them. Then, winding his fingers around Esther's throat, he choked her, and threw her to the ground. He lifted his gun, faced his pursuers, and fired. The ball entered the chest of Kenneth Hastings, who was in hot pursuit, and nearing the Indian.

Kenneth fell from his horse, and the savage escaped.

"My G.o.d!" exclaimed John Clayton, as he came up. He sprang from his saddle, and knelt by Kenneth's side. A little farther on lay Esther, unconscious. Her face was ghastly in the dim light, her clothing wet.

"Brandy!" he called. "Any one got brandy?"

"Here," said Pete Tompkins, stepping forward; "here's a flask."

"With shaking hand, John Clayton tried to staunch the wound in Kenneth's shoulder. Then he put brandy between his lips, then between Esther's. She was like ice.

"The brute!" he exclaimed. "I fear he has killed her!"

Then he pulled off his coat and wrapped it about the girl, saying as he did so:

"If she is not dead, the warmth may do her good. Some one ride ahead and prepare Mrs. Clayton."

"I'll go, sir," said a Scotch miner, mounting one of the ponies.

"Thank you. Tell Mrs. Clayton that Miss Bright and Mr. Hastings have met with an accident, and both are unconscious. Tell her to have hot water and blankets ready."

"Come, John," he said, turning to Jack Harding. "Just help me lift Miss Bright to my saddle." Mechanically the cowboy obeyed.

"Can one of you fellows carry Hastings on his horse?"

Jack Harding volunteered.

Few words were spoken by any of the men, as they made their way back to camp.

Pete Tompkins had noisily boasted that he would kill the Indian; but, hearing no reply from any one, he subsided. In spite of his coa.r.s.eness and vulgarity, he was touched by the tragic ending of the young teacher's life, and by the evident sorrow of his companions. He looked at the still, white face, and something tugged at his heart.

As they pa.s.sed Keith's house, Mrs. Keith ran out.