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<h3>Chapter Forty Seven.</h3> <h4>Councils of War.</h4> Chris awoke next morning to find his father standing over him. “Well, my boy; better?” Chris started up, uttered a squeak and screwed up his face with a laugh, and fell back. “How’s my pony, father?” “What was the matter?” said the doctor anxiously. “A pain anywhere inside?” “No, father, only I seem to hurt all over, I’m so sore. But how’s my pony?” “Let the pony wait, boy. I want to be certain that you have no serious hurt. Wait a minute. Let me try.” The doctor began his examination, and question after question came. “Does that hurt?—Does this?—Now then, do you feel anything when I press here—or there—or there?” “Yes—yes—yes!” cried the boy petulantly, as he winced and started and cried “Oh!” and “Ah!” and “I say, father!” and “Oh, please don’t!” “I must make sure, my boy.” “But I’m sure, father; won’t that do?” cried the boy, in a tone of remonstrance. “Of course all that hurts me; you pulled and pinched me about so. I was as sore as sore all over before you began, and now I’m ever so much worse.” “No, you’re not, boy. You’re all right. There’s nothing broken. You’re bruised and strained, but that’s all. You’ll soon come right. Sleep well?” “Part of the time, father. The rest was all waste, and I lay there feeling as if I ought to be keeping the watch, and thinking that some one else ought to be sleeping who could.” “But you were sleeping soundly when I came.” “Of course, father. I wanted to make up for lost time.” “And you feel now as if you can’t touch food?” Chris stared. “Are you saying that as a joke, father?” “Certainly not. You feel as if you had no appetite?” “That I don’t, father. I feel as if I could eat anything.” “Nothing the matter at all but stiff. That will soon pass off.” “Then you’re not going to mix up anything horrid for me, father?” “Nothing worse than tea or coffee; and you may have damper and bacon to take afterwards,” said the doctor, laughing. “Have a good wash and rub out in the sunshine before breakfast. Then eat a good meal and lie about all day again in the sunshine.” “What for, father?” “To give nature time to get your bruises right.” “But you won’t tell me how my pony is—and he’s worse than I am. Don’t say he’s tired, father?” cried the boy piteously, for the doctor’s face looked very serious. “Certainly not. Poor beast, he’s far more stiff and sore than you are, besides having all those bad wounds.” “But they’re getting better?” cried Chris anxiously. “They’re no worse, my boy,” replied the doctor, “but they have had no time to get better. I have stopped them from getting into a bad condition, and the poor thing is limping about grazing as if nothing much was the matter. Are you satisfied?” “Oh yes,” cried Chris eagerly, as he rose and began to try himself in different attitudes. “It has done me good to hear it. I—I don’t think I’m quite so stiff this morning.” “That’s right.” “Are we going on to-day?” “On? No. We’re prisoners; and besides, we couldn’t start with you and your pony in hospital.” “What about the Indians?” “We haven’t seen a sign of them. They’re either laying some trap for us, or they have been regularly sickened and have stolen away in the night.” “Are you going to see?” “Perhaps,” said the doctor; “but I’m more disposed to keep a quiet lookout, and rest. We’re quite safe here, and provisions are more plentiful than I thought for. Griggs has found the spoor of some big buck and his young does. They have straggled into the valley during the night.” “That’s good news, father.” “For the larder: yes. What do you say to taking up land here and making a fresh start in life?” “Wouldn’t do, father,” said the boy, shaking his head. “Too far away from everybody.” “Yes, it would be the life of a hermit. Ready to come out?” “Yes, I’m going out to the water-bucket, as you advised.” “That’s right; go. It will give you an appetite for your breakfast.” It was Ned’s turn to keep watch from the observatory, as they termed a little shelter, roughly-made on the top terrace; but Chris would have taken his place had not his father interposed. “But it seems so hard for him to go up there while we’re having a good meal down here,” said Chris wistfully. “He shall be looked after,” said the doctor, “and I don’t want you to do much climbing about yet. You must rest.” Chris was silent, and took an opportunity to have a word or two with Ned before he started to climb up the narrow ways. “That was very good of you, old chap,” whispered Ned, gripping his comrade by the left arm, with the result that Chris groaned and ground his teeth. “Oh, you brute!” he said sharply. “Chris!—I am sorry.” “What’s the good of being sorry? That’s the sorest place I’ve got.” “I didn’t know, old chap.” “I did; and I do now,” replied Chris, rubbing the spot softly. “Never mind.” “But I do mind. I ought to have thought. Just too when you’d offered to do my work for me so that I could stop down to breakfast.” “Don’t say any more about it,” said Chris, with a grin of pain in his face dying out before a rather malicious smile. “They won’t let me help you one way, so I will in another. I’m precious hungry, and I won’t let your breakfast grow cold.” “Oh, thank you, old chap. That’s very good of you, for I’m precious hungry too.” “I thought you were,” continued Chris, looking quite solemn now. “I’ll eat your lot for you.” For a few moments Ned’s face was a study. It was so full of dismay. Then there was a look of doubt, and directly after he had read the truth. “Get out!” he cried, and his hand was raised to give his comrade a heavy slap on the back; but Chris cried “Murder!” and shrank away. “Oh, I forgot again,” cried Ned hurriedly. “You’d better be off up now, my boy,” said Bourne. “Don’t forget the glass.” “No, father. All right,” cried the boy, and exchanging glances with Chris and following up his own with a clench of the fist, he took the binocular and hurried up to the lookout, while the rest applied themselves to the needed meal, but half-expecting to be alarmed, and impressed always by the expectation of attack, every one’s weapons being kept ready to hand. Chris ate, as his father said laughingly, like an impostor, a remark which Griggs, who did not join them till the meal had been going on for some minutes, readily endorsed. Chris laughed, and the remarks did not spoil his appetite; but his thoughts were busy all through, and he looked anxiously for the termination of the meal, and when all was over he turned uneasily to Griggs. “I say,” he whispered, “oughtn’t some one to go and relieve Ned?” “What for?” was the uncompromising response. “What for? Why, because he must be starving.” “Poor fellow! He must have an appetite then,” said Griggs, laughing. “Did you see what I took up to him?” “Oh,” cried Chris remorsefully. “What a shame! Here was I thinking that every one had been selfish to the poor fellow, while all the time—” “We had all played quite fair—you most of all. Here, how are all the aches and pains now?” “Getting better. I have no right to make so much fuss about them and play at being in hospital.” “You’re not, lad. You’re only doing what the doctor ordered. A fellow can’t fall nearly a mile perpendicular and slantingdicular without being a good deal shaken.” “How far?” said Chris, laughing. “Well, say half-a-mile.” “What nonsense!” “Say quarter of a mile then,” cried Griggs sharply. “Divided by what?” “You are hard to please. I didn’t measure the distance; but I will as soon as we’ve got rid of these precious redskins.” “Don’t,” said Chris. “I didn’t fall far, and it was most of it sliding down.” “Turn round,” cried the American, “and set your eyes at the very bottom of the cliff, and then run them up to the sharp edge where we saw you having that battle with your poor mustang before you went over, and then tell me again that you didn’t fall far.” “Don’t want to,” said Chris, who looked all the same, and felt a little shiver as of something cold running down his back. “There, I’m off.” “Where are you going? The doctor said you were to rest.” “That’s what I’m going to do,” said Chris, “but I must go and see how my pony is.” “Ah, well, I suppose that won’t hurt you. I’ll go up and have a chat with Ned, and see if I can mark down any of the enemy.” They parted, and Chris walked over the rugged stones and down the slopes till he was at the bottom of the valley, with his feet brushing aside the long rich grass in which the mules were standing knee-deep, and which they neglected for the fresh green branches of the shrubs which grew thickly here and there. “I forgot all about the snakes,” said the boy to himself; “but there can’t be any here, or the jacks wouldn’t be so quiet.” Quiet they were, for though he walked right through the browsing herd they hardly turned their heads in his direction. It was different when he reached the half-dozen ponies, which still kept themselves aloof as if preferring their own more aristocratic company. They were so rested and well fed that they were disposed to turn skittish, and two of them communicated their spirits to three of the others, which joined in, tossing their heads, prancing, and making a show of treating their visitor as one who was hiding bridle and bit behind him, ready to entrap and change their pleasant hour’s grazing there amongst the rich succulent grass to a mouthful of hard iron with the burden of heavy riders upon their backs. In fact, five of the ponies contrived to keep the advancing lad at a distance, while the sixth, which had been grazing slowly, suddenly raised its head and stood staring at him. At the first glance Chris set this down to feebleness, and looked upon it as a bad sign. But he altered his mind directly after, when he walked up to the animal’s side, patting its neck and passing its soft ears through his hand, for the poor beast whinnied softly, and slowly advanced its muzzle to rest it against the boy’s arm. “Why, I believe you’re better, old chap,” cried Chris, as he began to examine the pony’s wounds, seeing at once that they appeared to be drying up, while when he moved a yard or two the animal followed him, limping, it is true, but not in a way that suggested permanent injury. “Why, this is cheering,” cried Chris eagerly. “I thought that you and I were never going to have a long gallop over the plains again, and now you look as if you’ll be ready for me to mount in a fortnight at the most—perhaps in a week, eh, old chap? There, I am glad. I say, I should like as soon as the Indians have gone, for you to carry me up to the head of the valley there, and then for you to show me exactly where it was that you fell, and—Hallo! What’s that?” Chris looked round sharply, but could see nothing but the groups of grazing horses and mules. “It sounded as if some one had thrown a stone. Can’t be Ned stalking me and up to his games, can it?—There it goes again.” He started round to look behind him towards the terraced fortress he had left, but all was quiet there and no sign visible of Ned or any one to play any trick. Then again something—something, he knew not what; but it was as if a pebble had fallen from the sky. “Not going to hail, is it?” thought Chris; and then he laughed at the absurdity of the idea, for the sky was perfectly clear. Rap! Another something fallen from on high, but the mystery was at an end, for he not only saw it falling but where it had struck, to stick quivering and nearly upright amongst the grass. An arrow, and from its slope it must have come from the unexplored side of the valley, and been shot high in the air for it to stand so nearly upright in the grass. “Indians on the other side,” thought Chris, and his first thought was to run round the grazing animals and drive them towards the part where they had made their camp. He started to do this, but stopped at once, uttering a groan of misery, for in spite of his brave effort, his run proved to be a miserable hobble, and then the agony he suffered in his side forced him to stop. “Help! help!” he shouted hoarsely, but he felt that his cry sounded like a call to the animals amongst whom he stood, and as far as he could make out there was no one visible to heed his waving hat. “I must fire my revolver,” he thought, and his hand went to his belt to unbutton the leather flap of the holster; but he did not withdraw the weapon, for he knew that the report would scare the poor beasts and send them galloping in all directions. The time occupied in this was very short, but it was long enough for two more arrows to fall very near him, one nearly upright to cut its way with a sharp whizz amongst the grass and bury its head in the soft earth at an angle of forty-five degrees. Then another idea struck Chris—tardily, for he felt that he should have thought of it at first. Thrusting his hand into his breast, he drew forth a little chain, at the end of which was a metal whistle, and the alarm note he blew sounded piercing and shrill. He did not stop there, but did what he felt was best. Hobbling to the side of his mustang and talking caressingly to it the while, he took hold of the thick forelock and began to lead it towards where he hoped to find safety. The docile little animal made no opposition to being led from the pleasant pasture, but started and shivered as there came the sharp whizz of another arrow—too painful a memory to his ear—making the poor beast limp along a little faster in obedience to his master’s effort to get him away. Then another arrow came terribly near them, and Chris whistled again, his spirits rising though, for the rest of the animals, taking in the fact of one of them being led away from either corn or water, began to neigh and squeal as they closed in after their leader, so that if there proved to be time enough before the arrows took effect, Chris felt, as he blew a long and shrill note again, that he would be able to guide the herd into safety. “Why are they not on the lookout?” groaned the boy, for his progress was painfully slow; “they ought to see that something is wrong.” But he was ignorant of the fact that nothing was visible from the lookout but himself and the animals trotting about playfully as they kept pretty close to the wounded mustang. An arrow again, and another, each wonderfully near, but no harm was done. Then another which fell with a dull thud, and was followed by a wild scream which startled the herd into disorder, sending the mules helter-skelter, kicking and plunging, all but one, which galloped away by itself, turning its head the while to bite at an arrow which had buried itself in its back. That strange scream had done what Chris’s whistle failed in, drawn attention to something being wrong, while directly after a little puff of smoke darted from the upper terrace, followed by its report and the reverberation of echoes. Then another shot, and another, and no more arrows fell, though Chris in his slow progress suffered as much agony as if they had still been dropping all around. But now the doctor came running out, followed by Wilton, and under the cover of a few more shots the little herd was driven in, slowly enough, for the wounded mule progressed more and more slowly till it hung back close alongside of Chris’s mustang, showing that it was badly hurt. “Only enough to prove that the enemy are well on the watch,” said the doctor, after he had seen to the wounded mule, “and a warning to us that we must not relax our care.” Griggs had by this time descended from the terrace, it having been his rifle that had put an end to the coming of the arrows. “Hardly thought they could have shot so far,” he said; “but after all, they didn’t get an arrow much more than half-way here. Say, didn’t do you much good, Master Chris, hurrying back like that.” “I’m afraid it’s the mustang that has suffered,” said Chris. “I didn’t hurt, only it was dreadfully hard to find that I couldn’t run.” “You ought to be very thankful that you can walk, Chris,” said the doctor quietly. “It is next door to marvellous that you should have escaped without a broken bone. But now then, Griggs, matters begin to look serious. What is to be done?” “That’s just what I have been thinking, sir. The enemy isn’t a bit satisfied, and the next time they begin making targets of us they may be more fortunate.” “What I am afraid of is that they may now get upon the high ground above us here.” “And that would be awkward, sir,” said the American thoughtfully. Then after a pause—“We’ve got the whip hand of them with our rifles.” “Of course.” “And we’ve shown them a little of what we can do, but not enough. There’s only one thing left now.” “And what’s that?” asked the doctor, after a glance at his son. “Give them such a lesson that they won’t stop to have any more, but make off into the desert.” “That’s very good advice,” replied the doctor, “but how can it be done without risk to ourselves?” “Let them think we daren’t stir away from here, while we wait for a few days to let some one get well again, and his nag too, while we have not been wasting time, but under the screen of hunting and shooting have been watching, and when once we have got to know where they camp, we must come upon them suddenly some night, and the rifles must do the rest.” “Well, Chris, what do you think of that?” said the doctor, turning to where the two boys sat listening. “Can’t be done,” said Chris shortly. “Why?” “How are you going to find out where they make their camp? They’re in one place to-day and another to-morrow.” “Yes, Griggs, that is the difficulty.” “Well, I know that, sir,” replied Griggs; “but can you think of a better plan?” “Only that of waiting till we see them some time in the open, and then coming out to attack them.” “Half-a-dozen of us against a hundred,” said Griggs dryly; “all mounted men who can ride as if they were part of their horses. We could shoot a good many of them, of course, but they’d be too much for us if we killed or wounded fifty of them. For how many of us would go down in doing it?” “They could spare ten,” said Bourne, who had just sauntered up, “while we couldn’t spare one.” “No, nor half one,” said Griggs. “What we’ve got to do, gentlemen, is something that will give them such a startler that they’ll have had enough of it; and it must be done without our getting a scratch.” “Yes,” said the doctor; “but how?” “That’s what we’ve got to think out, sir. We ought to be a bit cleverer than a set of savage Indians. I vote we all make up our minds to think it out. We’ve got plenty of time, for we’re all right here as to food and shelter, and can’t move for a week certain.” “On account of Chris and the injured beasts,” said the doctor. “Very well; we must all put on our wisdom caps and puzzle it out. I’ll go and have a chat with Wilton now.” The little meeting broke up, and Griggs went to spend his short time before going on duty in cleaning his rifle, while, as if attracted to the same spot, Chris and Ned followed him to a sheltered nook near the place where a bucket was standing ready for sending down to the running water and bringing up refilled. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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