_ CHAPTER XVI. THE RECONNOISSANCE
It was a mystery to young Munson why the shots fired, as he supposed, by the Apaches, should have checked his pursuer, who was so close upon him. Had he known that they came from a couple of hostile Kiowas, and that they were intended for the warrior whose hand was outstretched to grasp him, the matter would not have been so hard to understand. But he saw the night closing in about him, while he remained among the rocks, moving forward in the same stealthy manner, upon his hands and knees, and his strained ear failed to catch the slightest sound that could make him fear that any of his enemies were near at hand.
Of course he looked with all the eyes at his command, but they also stared upon a blank, so far as animated creation was concerned. At last Fred halted, tired out with this species of locomotion.
"I do believe I've given them the slip," he exclaimed, his heart throbbing more than ever with renewed hope. "I don't exactly understand how it was done, but I thank the Lord all the more for it."
He now arose to his feet and reconnoitered his own position. So far as he could judge, he was fully two hundred yards away from and above the ravine where he had made this successful attempt at escape. The day was so far gone by this time that he could barely discern the open space which led through the mountain. His view on the left was shut off by the angle to which reference has been made, and on the right the gathering obscurity ended the field of vision.
As soon as he was able to locate the gorge, his eyes roamed up and down in quest of those from whom he was fleeing. Not a glimpse could be obtained. It was as if he had penetrated for the first time a solitude never before trodden by the foot of man. Satisfied of this pleasant fact, he then made search for the smoke of the campfire which was the real cause of his escape.
No twinkling point of light revealed its location, but, having decided where it was first seen, he fancied he could detect the faintest outline of a column of vapor rising until, clear of the crest of the mountain behind it, it could be seen outlined against the sky beyond. He more than suspected, however, that it was merely imagination. Leaning back against a boulder, the lad folded his arms and endeavored to take in the situation in its entirety.
"Thank the Lord, that I have a good start," he mused, his heart stirred with deep gratitude at the remarkable manner in which he had eluded the Apaches.
With the knowledge that for the nonce he was clear of his enemies, several other facts impressed themselves upon his mind--facts which were both important and unpleasant. In the first place, he had not eaten a mouthful of food since morning, and he was hungry. He had swallowed enough water to stave off the more uncomfortable sensation of thirst, but water is not worth much to appease the hunger. He felt the need of food very sorely.
In the next place, he could think of no immediate means of getting anything to eat. He had no gun or pistol--nothing more than his simple jack-knife. The prospect of procuring anything substantial with that was not flattering enough to make him feel hopeful.
And again, now that he had freed himself of captivity, how was he to make his way back to New Boston, where friends were awaiting him, with little hope of his return? He had traversed many miles since the preceding night, and had gone through a country that was totally unknown to him. To attempt to retrace his footsteps without the aid of a horse was like attempting that which was impossible.
While in the act of fleeing, he thought not of these. He was unconscious of hunger, and forgot that he was so many miles from home; but now both conditions were forced upon him with anything but a pleasant vividness. But all of Fred's ingenuity was unequal to the task of suggesting a way whereby his want could be supplied. Even had he a gun, there was not much show for anything like game in the darkness of night, and thus, under the most favorable circumstances, he would be forced to wait until morning.
"I'm pretty tired," he said, as he thought over the matter, "and, maybe, if I get asleep, I can keep it up until morning, and in that way worry through the night. But I tell you, Fred Munson, I would like to have a good square meal just now. There is fruit growing here and there among those mountains, but a chap can't find it at night. Now, if there was only some camp of the hunters, where I could get in and--"
He abruptly paused, as his own words suggested an idea.
It was a camp-fire to which he owed his escape. Why couldn't he use it still further? Was it not likely that the Indians who had kindled it had taken their meals there, and that there might be some remnants of the feast which could be used to satisfy his hunger?
It was not a very pleasant prospect to contemplate. It was like going back into the lion's mouth; nor, indeed, could it be considered a very wise proceeding to return to the very spot from which he had escaped by such a providential interference. But a hungry or thirsty man is not in the best mood to reason, and the incapacity is still more marked in an excessively hungry boy.
The prospect of getting something to eat overshadowed all other questions, and after several attempts to consider the matter fairly, Fred came to the conclusion that he would make the attempt.
To do this it was necessary to go back over the same path he had followed, and to return to the very spot where he had been ready to break his neck, if it would assist him in escaping, but a short time before. But he reasoned that he had the darkness in his favor, that the Indians were not likely to stay in the same place, and that none of them would be looking for his return. This, together with the prospect of securing something to satisfy his hunger, easily decided the question. Within five minutes from the time the thought had entered his head he was carefully picking his way down the mountain-side toward the ravine.
Fred did not forget the precaution necessary in a movement of this kind. He moved as silently as he could, pausing at intervals to look and listen; but the way remained clear, and nothing occurred to excite alarm until he had descended into the gorge itself.
At this precise juncture, he was startled by the sharp crack of a rifle, which seemed to come from a point two or three hundred yards away, directly behind him.
In his terror, his first fear was that the shot had been aimed at him, and he started to retrace his steps--but before he went any distance, he reflected that that could not be and he stood motionless for a few minutes, waiting to see what would follow. All remained as quiet as before, and, after a time, he resumed his cautious movement along the ravine, keeping close to the side, and advancing on tip-toe, like a thief in the night.
The further he got along, the more convinced did he become that he was venturing upon a fool-hardy undertaking; but when he hesitated, his hunger seemed to intensify and speedily impelled him forward again. At the end of a half hour or so, he reached a point in the gorge which he judged to be at the foot of where the camp-fire was, and he began the more difficult and dangerous task of approaching that.
As upon the night before, there was a moon in the sky, but there were also clouds, and the intervening rocks and stunted vegetation made the light treacherous and uncertain. Shadows appeared here and there, which looked like phantoms flitting back and forth, and which caused many a start and stop upon the part of the young scout.
"I wonder where they have gone?" he said to himself fully a score of times, as he picked his way over the broken land. "Those two Apaches must have come back by this time, and I hope they knocked the other one in the head for letting me get away. They must have been looking for me, but I don't think they will hunt in _this_ place."
Fred had made his way but a short distance up the side of the mountain, when he became assured that he was upon the right track. Standing upon a lower plane and looking upward, he saw that the column of smoke from the camp-fire was brought in relief against the sky beyond. The vapor was of nearly the same rarity as the natural atmosphere, and was almost stationary--a fact which also proved that the fire from which it arose had not been replenished, as, in such a case, a disturbance would have been produced that would have prevented this stationary feature.
When the lad was within some fifty yards of the camp-fire, he discovered that he was not nearly as hungry as he supposed, and, at the same time, he began to suspect that he had entered upon a very risky undertaking.
"I don't know how I came to do it," he said to himself, as he hesitated. "If there's a camp-fire in this part of the world, it must have been kindled by Indians, and it's very likely that some of them are hanging around, so that if I attempt to get too close, I'll tumble right into their hands. I can wait till to-morrow for something to eat, so I guess I'll go back."
But, curiously enough, he had scarcely started to act upon this decision when he was tormented more than ever with hunger, and he turned about with a desperate resolve.
"I won't stop again! I will go!"
As has been already intimated, the camp-fire, which had played such an important part in the events of the afternoon had been started immediately behind a large rock, the evident purpose being to mislead the very ones who were deceived by it. Consequently, the boy could not gain a fair view of it without making a detour to the right or left, or by coming rather suddenly upon it from behind the rock. Just then it was shut out entirely from view.
Fred stole along like a veritable Indian scout, until he was within arms' length of the rock. Then he sank down upon his hands and knees, and, making sure that he was enveloped in shadow, he crept forward, with the utmost possible stealth, until at last he reached a point where he had but to thrust his head forward around the corner, and the camp-fire would be before him.
Here it was natural that he should pause awhile longer, for the very crisis of this perilous task had been reached.
The silence remained as profound as the tomb. Not a rustle, not the slightest sound, even such as would have been made by a sleeping person--surely no one could be there. The camp-fire must be deserted and all his precaution useless. _