A princess of Mars
Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley
and was much surprised to note three little dots in about the same
place I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals. I am not
given to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself
that all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his
trail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure
myself.
Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian,
and we had, therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to
ridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these vicious
marauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in
lives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless
clutches.
Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian
fighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in
the North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party of
cunning trailing Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense no
longer, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, I
strapped two belts of cartridges about me and catching my saddle horse,
started down the trail taken by Powell in the morning.
As soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged my mount into a
canter and continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upon
dusk, I discovered the point where other tracks joined those of Powell.
They were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies
had been galloping.
I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to await
the rising of the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on the
question of the wisdom of my chase. Possibly I had conjured up
impossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife, and when I should
catch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains. However, I am
not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty,
wherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with me
throughout my life; which may account for the honors bestowed upon me
by three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old and
powerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword
has been red many a time.
About nine o’clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceed
on my way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fast
walk, and in some places at a brisk trot until, about midnight, I
reached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp. I came upon
the spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of
having been recently occupied as a camp.
I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, for
such I was now convinced they must be, continued after Powell with only
a brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate of
speed as his.
I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished
to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I
urged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope
that I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.
Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two
shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell would need me now if ever,
and I instantly urged my horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and
difficult mountain trail.
I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further
sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau
near the summit of the pass. I had passed through a narrow, overhanging
gorge just before entering suddenly upon this table land, and the sight
which met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.
The little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and
there were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around some
object near the center of the camp. Their attention was so wholly
riveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I
easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and
made my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this
thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any
possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this
episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.
I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes,
because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts
have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one
where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many
hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am
subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to
tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted
that cowardice is not optional with me.
In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center
of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but
within an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had
whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of
warriors, shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.
Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men,
convinced by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars
was upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows,
arrows, and rifles.
The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with
apprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon
lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the
braves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet
I would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches
as quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.
Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his
cartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backward
glance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more
hazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my
poor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I could
distinguish on the far side of the table land.
The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was
pursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that it is
difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by moonlight,
that they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent,
and that I was a rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various
deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadows
of the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.
My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had
probably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass
than he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to the
summit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry
me to the valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to this
fact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and adventures which
befell me during the following ten years.
My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard the
yells of the pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far off
to my left.
I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rock
formation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horse
had borne me and the body of Powell.
I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail below
and to my left, and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearing
around the point of a neighboring peak.
I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrong
trail and that the search for me would be renewed in the right
direction as soon as they located my tracks.
I had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be an
excellent trail opened up around the face of a high cliff. The trail
was level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction I
wished to go. The cliff arose for several hundred feet on my right, and
on my left was an equal and nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom of
a rocky ravine.
I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turn
to the right brought me to the mouth of a large cave. The opening was
about four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at this
opening the trail ended.
It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is a
startling characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almost
without warning.
Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstaking
examination failed to reveal the faintest spark of life. I forced water
from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbed his
hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hour in
the face of the fact that I knew him to be dead.
I was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in every respect; a
polished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was with
a feeling of the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crude
endeavors at resuscitation.
Leaving Powell’s body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the cave
to reconnoiter. I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet in
diameter and thirty or forty feet in height; a smooth and well-worn
floor, and many other evidences that the cave had, at some remote
period, been inhabited. The back of the cave was so lost in dense
shadow that I could not distinguish whether there were openings into
other apartments or not.
As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasant
drowsiness creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of my
long and strenuous ride, and the reaction from the excitement of the
fight and the pursuit. I felt comparatively safe in my present location
as I knew that one man could defend the trail to the cave against an
army.
I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desire
to throw myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments’ rest, but I
knew that this would never do, as it would mean certain death at the
hands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment. With an
effort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly
against a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.
CHAPTER II
THE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD
A sense of delicious dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed, and I
was on the point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the sound of
approaching horses reached my ears. I attempted to spring to my feet
but was horrified to discover that my muscles refused to respond to my
will. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable to move a muscle as
though turned to stone. It was then, for the first time, that I noticed
a slight vapor filling the cave. It was extremely tenuous and only
noticeable against the opening which led to daylight. There also came
to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor, and I could only assume that I
had been overcome by some poisonous gas, but why I should retain my
mental faculties and yet be unable to move I could not fathom.
I lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short
stretch of trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the cliff
around which the trail led. The noise of the approaching horses had
ceased, and I judged the Indians were creeping stealthily upon me along
the little ledge which led to my living tomb. I remember that I hoped
they would make short work of me as I did not particularly relish the
thought of the innumerable things they might do to me if the spirit
prompted them.
I had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their