In the Pecos Country | Page 9

a half dozen brother-demons sulking among the undergrowth, like so many rattlesnakes, except that they did not give any warning before striking their blow? Had any of them visited Mickey or Thompson, and was a general attack about to be made upon the settlement? Such questions as these surged through the mind of Fred, as he stood leaning against the tree, rifle in hand, listening, looking, and thinking.
Suddenly he gave utterance to a low whistle, which he was accustomed to use as a signal in communicating with Mickey. It was almost instantly answered, in a way which indicated that the Irishman was approaching. A minute later the two were together. The lad hastily related his stirring adventure with the great Apache war-chief, and, as may be imagined, Mickey was dumfounded.
"It's meself that has n't seen or heard the least sign of one of the spalpeens since the set of sun, and they've been about us all the time."
"How was it they got here without being seen?"
"There be plenty ways of doing the same. They've found out that we were watching this pint, and so they slipped round and came the other way."
"Do you think they will attack us to-night?"
"I'm thinkin' they're only making observations, as me uncle obsarved, when he was cotched in the house of Larry O'Mulligan, and they'll be down on us some time, when everything is ready."
"It seems to me it is a poor time to make observations--in the night."
"The red-skin is like an owl," replied Mickey. "He can see much better at night than he can by day; but there's Thompson; let us see whether some of the spalpeens haven't made a call upon him in the darkness. Be aisy now, in stepping over the leaves, for an Injin hears with his fingers and toes as well as his ears."
The Hibernian led the way, each advancing with all the caution at his command, and using such stealth and deliberation in their movements that some ten or fifteen minutes were consumed in passing over the intervening space. At last, however, the spot was reached where they had bidden good-bye to their friend, earlier in the evening.
"Here's about the place," said Mickey, looking about him; "but I does n't observe the gintleman, by the token of which he must have strayed away. Hilloa!"
He repeated the call in a low, cautious voice, but still loud enough to be heard a dozen yards or more from where he stood; but no response came, and, although neither of the two gave any expression to it, yet they were sensible of a growing fear that this absence or silence of their friend had a most serious meaning.
"Yonder he is now," suddenly exclaimed Fred. "He's a great sentinel, too, for he's sound asleep."
The stalwart figure of Thompson was seen seated upon the ground, with his back against a tree, and his chin on his breast, like one sunk in a deep slumber. The sentinel had seated himself on the edge of the grove, where all the trees and undergrowth were behind, and the open space in front of him. At the time of doing so, no doubt his figure was enveloped in the shadow, but since then the moon had climbed so high in the sky that its rays fell upon his entire person, and the instant the two chanced to glance in that direction, they saw him with startling distinctness.
"Begorrah! if that does n't bate the mischief!" exclaimed Mickey, impatiently, as he looked at his unconscious friend. "I thought he was the gintleman that had traveled, and knew all about these copper-colored spalpeens. S'pose we' all done the same, Lone Wolf and his Apaches would have had all our skulp-locks hanging at their goordles by this time. I say, Thompson, ain't you ashamed of yourself to be wastin' your time in this fashion?"
As he spoke, he stooped down, and seizing the arm of the man, shook it quite hard several times, but without waking him.
"Begorrah, but he acts as if he had n't a week of sleep since he had emigrated to the West. I say, Thompson, me ould boy, can't ye arouse up and bid us good night?"
While Mickey was speaking in this jocose manner, he had again seized the man, but this time by the shoulder. At the first shake the head of the man fell forward, as if he were a wooden image knocked out of poise.
The singularity of the move struck Mickey, who abruptly ceased his jests, raised the drooping head, and stooped down and peered into it. One quick, searching glance told the terrible truth.
"Be the howly powers, but he's dead!" gasped the horrified Irishman, starting back, and then stooping still lower, and hurriedly examining him.
"What killed him?" asked the terrified Fred, gazing upon the limp figure.
"Lone