The Lone ranch. A novel

Front matter

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT y ■ u

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I

Contents

CHAFTER. page.

I. — A Street Spectacle 9

II. — A Friend in Need 15

Chapter II. A Friend In Need

The young Kentuckian was half-frenzied by the insult. The proud blood of his republican citizenship was boiling within his veins. What was he to do.?

In the agony of his dilemma he put the question to the gentleman who had no doubt restrained him from committing manslaughter. The latter was an entire stranger to him, never seen before. He was a man of less than thirty years of age, wearing a broad-brimmed hat upon his head, a jacket, and slashed velveteen trousers, and scarfin short, the costume of the country. Still there was a military bearing about him that corresponded to the title by which the swaggerer addressed 'him.

“Cavallero,"’ he said, in reply, “if your own safety be of any consequence to you, I should advise you to take - -^---ther notice of the matter.”

udon me, senor ; but not f ail the world would I your advice — not for my life. I am an American.

■ not take blows, without giving something in return, t have redress. ”

’you seek it by the law, I ma-- a: well say that here on't have much chance of finding it,”

l6 A FRIEND IN NEED.

know that. The law — I did not thitik Of such a thing. I am a gentleman ; I suppose that Captain Uraga pretends to be the same. He cannot refuse to meet me.

“He may, and very likely woul^ on the plea of your being a Stranger — only a rude barbarian, a Tejano, as he would put it.”

“ Oh, Heaven I What am I to do?”

“Well, cavallero, if you are determined on a duel, I think I can arrange it. I feel myself a little compromised by my meddling, as he stytes it, and if you will accept of a stranger for a second, I can answer for it he will not refuse me.” V

“Colonel Miranda — your name, I believe — need I attempt to express my thanks for so much generosity? I cannot; I could not. You have removed the very difficulty that was troubling me, for I am not only a stranger to you, but to every one around me. I reached Chihuahua only yesterday, and do not know a soul in the place. ”

“Enough; you shall not be disappointed for the want of a friend. As a preliminary, may I ask if you have skill in the use of the sword ?”

“Sufficient to risk my life upon it.”

“I put the question because that is the weapon your adversary will be certain to choose. You being the challenger, of course he has the choice ; and he will insist on it for a reason that may perhaps amuse you. It is that a Mexican gentleman believes you Americans som .

A FRIEND IN NEED.

awkward in the handling of the sword, though we know you to be adepts in the use of the pistol. I know Captain Gil Uraga to be as thorough a poltroon as ever wore epaulettes ; but he will have to meet you on my account, and he would perhaps have done so anyhow, 'trusting to the probability of your not being a skilled swordsman.”

*‘In that, Colonel Miranda, he m<ty perhaps be disappointed. ”

^‘1 am glad to hear it; and nbv jr -ue to receive your directions. I am ready to act. ”

The directions were given, and w’^^hin two hours after Captain Gil Uraga of the Lancers was in receipt of a challenge from the young American, Frank Hamersley, Colonel Miranda being its bearer.

With such a voucher the swaggerer could not do otherwise than accept it; which he did with the more confidence for the very reason Miranda had made known. Tejano — a barbarian!” was the reflection; *‘what should he know of the sword ?”

And swords were the weapons chosen.

Had the captain of the Mexican lancers been told that his Kentuckian adversary had spent a portion of his life among the Creoles of New Orleans, he would have had less truSt in the chances likely to favor him. We need not describe the duel, which, if it differed from other encounters of the kind, it was by being on both sides bitter and of deadly intent.

Suffice it to say, that the young Kentuckian displayed l8 A FRIEND IN NEED,

a skill in swordsmanship sufficient to disarrange several of Gil Uraga’s front teeth, and make an ugly hole in his cheek. The lancer had left just enough command over his mouth to enable him to cry enough !” and the affair was over.

“Senor Hamersley,” said the gentleman who had so effectively befriended him, after they had returned from the encounter, and were drinking a bottle of the best wine in the hotel, ^‘may I ask where you are going from here r

intend going north— to Santa Fe, in New Mexico. Thence to the United States, along with one of the return caravans. ”

“When did you propose starting?”

^“As to that, I am not tied to time. The party with whom I am to cross the plains will not be leaving Santa Fe for six weeks to come. I can get there by a month’s travel, I suppose.”

“Less than that. It is not a question of how soon you can get there, but of when you may leave here. I advise you to start at once. I admit that two days is but a short time to see the sights even of Chihuahua ; but you have seen some of them— enough, I should say. If you take my advice, cavallero, you will let it content you, and kick the Chihuahua dust from your feet before another passes over your head.”

“But why, Colonel Miranda?”

^9 yi LV

•'. ‘'Beca'iiSG as long as you rcnia'in y m ^/iil be in danger of losing vour life. You don't i;no?/ the- chaixic Vjr of the man with whom you iiave crossed swords. I do. Altaougb v-^earing the lipiform of an officer in our army, he IS simply a cut-throat and robber. He deems himsfelf no little of a lady-killer; you have .spoiled his physio^^- nomy for life, and, depend upuii it, as long as life lasts he will not be the man to forgive you. I have also comd^ I 'in L-r a share of l^iis spite ; and it behooves both of us to I' beware of him. Daggers can here bo purchased by the

I score, and the arms of assassws to use them. Novr do ^'ou

understand me?'^

I '‘I do. But how do you counsel me to act?’'

? “As T intend doing myself — leave Chihuahua thivS very

J; day. Our roads are tlie same as far as .libuquerque,

■; where you will bo out of reach of this little danger. T am

fctiu.:^ tbiiher from the C.ty of Mexico, where Tve had business wiih the government. I have an escort, and if you choose to avail yourself of it, you are welcome to its prelection. ”

1 hai same afternoon, two hours before the going down cf the sun, a party of horsemen, wearing the uniform of Mexican dragoons of the lire, hfi <^hihiiahaa, and to^-k the northern road leading to Santa Fe. CoionrA Miranda, his ranch ero dre.s3 oharrged for the Dligue umfonii of a -cavalry officer, rode at the- he-id, and by his side the young Arnericau he had so generoasly and gallantly befriended.

?0 the coiomi COM^IkNDAHT.

I

CHAPTER HI

Sis weks have elapsed since the day of the 'duel at Chiauahua. Two men are standing on the terrcced roof of fi large and massive dwelling-house, close to tr*e town of Albuquerque, whose church-towexs arc just visible through the fob age of trees .hat shade and surround the dwelling.

They are Colonel Miranda and his Ken^uckjan friend.

The hospitality of the generous Mexican had not ceased with the termination of their journey from' Chihuahua^ After three w'ceks of toilsome travel, iricluding the traverse of the famed x rA Man's Journey,” he was continuing to extend it in his oxm house and his ow» district — of which he was the rniiitary ccunmandant. Albuquerque was then occupied by a considerable body of troops, stationed there for defense against Indian incursions, at the time frequent and mncii feared.

The house on which the two men stood was that in which Colonel Miranda had been born — the patrimonial mansion of a large estate that extended along the river/ and back toward the Sierra Blanca mountains into territorie'i almost unknown.

THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. 2

Besides being an officer in the Mexican army, Colons randa was one of the magistrates of the county.

The house, as we have said, was a large, massive mai n, having, like all Mexican dwellings of its class, a te ed roof. What is also common enough in that countp vas surrounded by a cupola. Standing less than half •. ■le distant from the soldiers’ barracks, the commandai ind it convenient to make use of it as his headquarter small guard in the covered gate-entranc^ below, and itry pacing in front, indicated this. I

There was no family inside, wife, woman, or child ; f/r colonel, still a young man, was a bachelor. Onms in the field, grooms and other servants around th bles, with domestics in the dwelling — all, male an Male, being Indians of the race known as Pueblos, “Mansos” — brown»skinned and obedient.

But there was no Lving lady to make her soft footstej ard within the halls of Colonel Miranda’s mansioilj lere was the portrait of a lovely girl, that hung agaip •

5 wall of the main room, upon which his America est had more than once gazed in silent admiration. Dwed signs of having been recently painted ; which wi t strange, since it was the likeness of Colonel Miranda ter, some years younger than himself, scarce yet »man-^at the time on a visit to some relations in a di it city of the republic.

The host and his guest upon the house-tCp were leisu g away the time in the indulgence of a cigar.

: v

2 THE COLONEL COMMANDANT.

“And so you must go to-morrow, Senor Don Fi isco?’' said his host, looking inquiringly into the face le American.

“There is no help for it, colonel. The prairie n lants with whom I came out will be leaving Santa le day after to-morrow. There will be just time for > get there. Unless along with them^ there may be pportunity for months, and you know one cannot cr le plains alone. ”

“.Well, I suppose I must lose you. I am sorry. I ; tmewhat lonely here. There’s not one of my office ith the exception of our old medico, exactly of the s be companionable. But my sister will soon be he * id the brave girl has plenty of life in her, though s but young. What a romping creature she is ! wild mustang-filly fresh caught. I wish, Don Francisco, y luld have seen Adela. I’m sure you’d be delighted w; tr.”

If the portrait on the wall was anything of a faithl ;eness, Hamersley could not have helped it. This s reflection, though he did not in speech declare it.

“It is hoped we shall meet again. Colonel Miranda is the simple rejoinder. “If I did not have this ho should now be parting from you with greater regrc deed, I have more than a presentiment we shall me. ain, for I have as good as made up my mind to retu New Mexico. I have always had a fancy for the adve rous life of the prairie-trader; and as I have sufficie

THE COLONEL COM/kTANDANT. >3

means to stock a small caravan for myself, I think now of irymg it. My present trip has been one of experiment and exploration. I am satisfied with the result, s.nJ if no accident arises you may see me on the Del No' 0 belore either of us shall bo twelve months older/'

*‘Theti, indeed, is there hope of our meeting again. I am rejoiced at it. But, SfCnor Don Francisco," continued his host, changing to a serious tone, '‘‘a word lest I might forget it — a v/ord of counsel, or warning I may call it- Dou are too unsuspicious, too regardless of danger. Il does not all lie upon the prairies, or among the red-skinned savages. There is as much of it here, amid the abodes of our so-called civilization. When j-ou are traveling through this countr]/ keep your late antagonist in mind, and should you at any time meet, Icware of kim, I have given you some hints about the character of Gil Uraga. I have not told you all. He is worse than you can ever imagine. I know him well. Do you see tiiat ranch standing out among the suburbs — a mere hovel it is?"

Hamersley nodded assent.

*‘IIe was bom there. His father was a robbei, himself the same. He has left in his native place a record of crimes welt known, with otheis still worse tliat we more than suspected. In short, he is, as I have told you, a robber. No doubt you wonder that such a man should be a captam of lancers. That i.s because you are ignorant of the state of our army — our ilociety as well. It is but

CGMMANbANT.

ing changes iu our polilictil system. Would you believe it, senor, that this wretch, since (^pa-ulettes have been set on his shoulders— -placed there for some vile service — has had the audacity to inspire to the hand of my sister. A dela Miranda standing m bridal rcbes by tfie side of Gil Uraga i I would rather seo he;f in her coffin V*

Hametsley s bosom swelled up under the exciting vswds.

The young A merican felt an emotion almost equal to that of bis host He thought of the .^jveet face that must be the original of- that portrait, of the beautiful and innocent expression..

He thought of the ruffian whose blow he had felt, and whose blood he had drawn,. He thought of the wolf^vsl the hmk

^‘But, surely, Colonel Miranda,” he said, at lengtli,

there could be no danger of such an event as that?”

‘*Ne’/er, so long as I live. But, senor, this is a strange hiid—a countr}^ of quick changes. I am here to-day, commandant of this district, with power, I may almost Bay, over vhc lives of alj around me,. Xo-morrov’ I may be a fugitive, or dead. If the latter, where is she, my 'v poor sister, to find the band that could or would protect her?” _ 4

Agivin the breast of Hamersley heaved convulsively* ;4'

Strange as it might appear, the wolds of his friend seemed 1 like an appeal to him, J

Hamersley could not help having strange and varied •

THE COLONEL COMMANDANT.

imaginings; yet among them was one thought in the shape of a determination. It was to return to Albuquerque.

“I am sure to be back here/’ he said, as if the promise might in some way tranquillize the apprehensions of his friend. Then changing to a more careless tone, he added : “I cannot come by the spring caravan, for there would not be time for me to make my arrangements. But I shall write you by the trains leaving the States in spring, so that you may know when to expect me. And if, Colonel Miranda,” he added, after a short, reflective pause, in which his countenance took an altered and graver form of expression — ''if any political trouble, such as you speak of, should occur, and you may find it necessary to flee from your own land, I need not tell you that in mine you will find a friend and a home. After what has happened here, you may depend upon the first being true ; and the second, hospitable if humble. ”

Next morning saw Frank Hamersley riding away from the town, on the road toward the Rio Arriba.

Not alone, but with an escort of dragoons, sent to see him safe on the way.

The hospitality of the Mexican commandant went beyond the walls of his house— even beyond the limits of the district he commanded; for the escort did not leave his late guest till the latter had set foot upon the plaza of Santa Fe.

Chapter IV. Surrounded

A plain of pure sand — glaring red-yellow under the first rays of the jising sun — toward the east and west apparently illimitable, but interrupted northward by a chain of tabletopped hills, and along its southern edge by a continuous cliff, rising wall-like to the height of several hundred feet, and trending each way beyond the verge of vision. About half distance between the prolonged escarpment and the outlying hills, six Conestoga wagons are locked tongue and tail together, inclosing a lozenge-shaped or eliptical space — a corral — inside which are fifteen men and four horses.

Only ten of the men are living, the other five are dead, their bodies lying between the wheels of the wagons. Two of the horses have succumbed to the same fate.

Outside are the dead mules, several still attached to the protruding poles, broken as their bodies fell crashing across them. Fragments of leather straps and cast gearing tell of others that have stampeded and desperately escaped from the spot. Inside and all around are traces of a struggle, the ground scored and furrowed by the hoofs of horses and the booted feet of men, with here and there little rivulets or pools of blood. This, fast filtering into sand, shows that it had been freshly spilled, some of it yet smoking. All the signs tell of a recent conflict. And so should they, since it is still going on, or only suspended to recommence a new act of the tragedy that promises to be still more sanguinary than the one just terminated.

A tragedy easy of explanation. There is no question about why the wagons are corraled, or "how the men, mules, and horses came to be killed. Distant about three hundred yards upon the sandy plain are other men and horses to the number of near two hundred. Their halfnaked bodies of bronze color, fantastically marked with devices in chalk-white, charcoal-black, and vermilion-red, their buckskin breech-clouts and leggings, with plumes sticking tuft-like above their crowns, tell them to be Indians.

It is a band of roaming red men, who have attacked a caravan of whites — no new spectacle on the prairies.

They have made the first onslaught, which was intended to stampede the caravan, and at once capture it. This was done before daybreak. Foiled in the attempt, they are now laying siege to it, having surrounded it on all sides at a distance just clearing the range of the rifles of the besieged. Their line forms the circumference of a circle of which the wagon-clump is the center. It is not very regularly preserved, but ever changing, ever in motion, like some vast constrictor serpent that has thrown its body into a grand coil to close whenever ready to give the

SURROUNDED.

fatal squeeze to its victim. And their victims appear to have no hope of escape, no alternative but to succumb.

That the party protected by the wagons have not '‘gone under " at the first onslaught of so many enemies, is significative of their character. Of a surety they are not common emigrants crossing the prairies on their way to a new home. Had they been so they could not have closed their wieldy vehicles with such speed and skill ; for they had started from their night camp, and the attack had been made while the train was in motion, advantage being taken of their slow drag through the soft, yielding sand. And had they been but ordinary emigrants, they would not have stood either so promptly or so courageously on the defense, or shown such an array of dead enemies around them ; for in the circle of savages outside can be seen at least a score of forms lying prostrate on the sand.

There is a suspension of hostilities. The red men, disappointed by the failure of their first charge, have retreated to a safe distance.

On one side of the circle a body of them, clumped together, holds council ; others gallop around it as bearers of instructions that evidently relate to a changed plan of attack. With so much blood before their eyes, and the bodies of their slain comrades, it is not likely they will retire from the ground. In their shouts there is the ring of a resolved vengeance and a speedy renewal of the fight.

“Who do you think they are?” asked Frank Hamers-

SURROUNDED.

ley, the proprietor of the assaulted caravan. '‘Are they Comanches, Walt?”

“Yes, Kimanch,” answered the individual addressed. “An' the wust kind o' Kimanch. They're a band o' the cowardly Tenawas. I kin tell by their bows. Don’t ye see that thar's two bends in 'em ?''

“Ido.”

“Wal, that’s the sort o' bow the Tenawas cariy — same’s the Apach. They hope to make short work of us, and I can see no chance 'cept fight it out to the bitter eend. There's no mercy in them yells — ne'er a morsel o’ it.”

“What do you think they intend doing next?”

“Jest yet 'tain’t easy to tell. Thar’s somethin' afoot among 'em — some durned Injun trick. Clar as I kin see, that big chief with the red cross on his ribs air him they call the Horned Lizard, an' ef it be, thar ain't a cunniner coon on alFthis contynent.”

“Don't you think our best way would be to make a dash for it, and try to cut through them? If we stay here they’ll starve us out. We haven’t water enough in the wagons to give us a drink apiece. ”

‘ ‘ I know all that, an’ have tho't of it. But ye forget about our horses. Thar's only two left alive, yours an' mine ; all the rest air shot or stampeded. Thar's but two o’ us would stand a chance o' getting clur, and that slim enough. ”

“You are right, Walt. I did not think of that. I

SURROUNDED.

would not leave my men, even if assured of my own safety — never !”

‘‘Nobody as knows you, Frank Hamersley, need be told that. Ah !” suddenly exclaimed Wilder, as he gazed toward the savages, “I knew the Horned Lizard 'ud be arter some trick. I see it now. ”

“What is it?” asked several voices.

“ Look where that lot’s stannin’ out yonder. Can’t ye see they’re wrappin’ somethin’ ’round the heads o’ the arrers — look like bits o’ rags. ”

“ I can see that.”

“Rags it air, then, sopped in spittles and powder.”

“For what purpose?”

“They’re a-goin’ to set the wagons afire.”

The men, each of whom was watching the post assigned to him, despite their danger, already extreme, saw fresh cause of alarm in the announcement.

When they now looked around them, and beheld the canvas-tilts and light timbers, dry as chips from long exposure to the hot prairie sun, the piles of dry-goods, woolen blankets, cotton* and silken stuff, that had been intended for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they had hastily pulled from their places to form protecting barricades— when they saw all this, and then the preparations the Indians were making, it is no wonder they should feel dismay when Walt Wilder cried out :

“They’re a-goin’ to set the wagons afire !”

The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveyed

SURROUNDED.

no counsel. Even the guide, with a life-long experience on the prairies, knew not how they should act in this unexpected emergency. In the wagons, water there was none, at least not enough to have drowned out a conflagration such as that threatened; and, from the way the Indians were gesturing, the traders could predict that soon a shower of fiery missiles would be sent like meteors into their midst. None of them but had experience sufficient to admonish them of the mode intended. Even if they had never set foot upon a prairie, their school stories and legends of early life would have told them.

Arrows with tinder-rag wrapped round their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks or ablaze !

If any were ignorant of the missile, or the mode of dispatching it on its mischievous errand, it was- not to be for long. Almost as soon as Wilder had given utterance to the warning words half a score of the Indians were seen springing to the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow, with a bunch of the prepared shafts, and, before any steps could be taken by the besieged traders, or any counsel exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display had commenced. It was done by the savages galloping in circles around the wagon camp, their bodies concealed behind those of their horses, only a leg and arm showing, or now and then a face seen for an instant, and then quickly withdrawn. Not exactly in circles, but in a spiral ring, at each turn contracting nearer and nearer, till the true distance was attained for sending their fiery shafts.

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‘‘Stand to your guns, boys !” was the hurried command of the guide, backed by a speech of encouragement from the proprietor of the caravan.

“Two an’ two o’ ye look out togither. Let one bring down the horse, t’other take care o’ the rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore you pull trigger, an’ don’t waste so much as the snappin’ o’ a cap. Thar goes the fust o’ the fireworks. ”

As he spoke a spark was seen to shoot out from one of the galloping horses, which, rising rocket-like into the air, came in a parabolic curve toward the wagons.

It fell short some twenty yards, and lay smoking and sputtering in the sand. ^

“They hain’t got thar distance yit,” cried Walt Wilder; “but this child has got his — leastwise for that skunk on the black mustang. So hyar goes to rub him off o’ the list o’ fire-shooters.”

And with the last words went the crack of Wilder s rifle.

The young prairie-merchant by his side, supposing him to have aimed only at the Indian’s horse, had raised his own gun, ready to take the rider as soon as he should be uncovered.

“No need, Frank,” said the guide, restraining him. “This child don’t waste two charges o’ powder that way. Keep your bullet for the karkidge o’ the next as comes ’ithin range. Look yonder 1 I know’d I’d fetched him

THEY HAIN T GOT THAK DISTANCE YIT, BUT THIS CHILD HAS GOT HIS. SO HYAIt GOES TO RUB HIM OFF O’ THE LIST o’ FIRE-SHOOTERS/’ CRIED WALT WILDER. — [page 32 .]

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WJ it V

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out o’ his stirrups, tight as he’s tried to cling to ’em. Thar he goes to grass. ”

Hamersley, as also the others on the same side of the corral with Wilder, thought that the shot had been a miss, for the Indian at whom he had aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried for some distance on in the curving career. Nor did the animal show any signs of having been hit. But the rider was. While engaged in the effort of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his face, one arm, and part of the other, and, ere he could withdraw them, the bullet had struck him on the arm that supported him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He had clung on with the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to let go would be as good as death to him. But, despite all his efforts, the crippled arm failed to sustain him ; and, with a despairing cry, he at length dropped to the ground. Before he could get to his feet his body was bored by a bullet from one of the men watching on that side, laying him out lifeless upon the sand.

The fall of their comrade taught the other freebooters a lesson, and for a time they made their approach with more caution. But the shouts of those standing spectators in the outer circle stimulated them to fresh efforts, as the slightest slow of cowardice would have caused the? taunted.

They closed nearer and nearer, till their arr after another, went hurtling through the air, an like a continuous shower of spent rocket-stick'

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tilts of the wagons. Several savages fell under the bullets from the barricade, but their places were supplied by fresh volunteers from the outside circle, and the sparkling shower was kept up till a curl of smoke was seen soaring from the white tilts of the wagons; not one, but half a dozen of them, and on different sides of the corral.

“ '^ere on fireT cried Walt Wilder, looking above and around. ‘ ‘ On fire everywhere !”

“ Great Heaven, yes I What are we to do?” asked several voices, despairingly.

“What are we to do?” shouted the guide, in response. “What kin we do but fight it out to the death, an’ then die. So, boys, let us die, not like dogs, but as men— as AmiricansT

Chapter V. Knife, Pistol, And Hatchet

The brave words had scarcely passed from Walt Wilder’s lips, when the wagons became enveloped in smoke. From all sides the cloud rolled into the corral, and the men could no longer see each other.