Harper's Young People, January 10, 1882. Various
interest of this terrible event had by no means died away, and I well remember, as a boy, going on board the ship that was stationed above the scene of the calamity, to see the divers who were still employed upon the wreck. The aspiration of the poet,
"Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by her foes,"
was never realized; but almost everything was taken out of her; and more fancy articles – paper-knives, work-boxes, etc. – affirmed to have been made from her timbers, were sold, I am afraid, than the Royal George, big as she was, could ever have furnished. In country places and at the sea-side in England you may purchase them even now at the bazars – old-fashioned articles, with this tomb-like inscription on them: "This desk" (or letter-weight, or paper-knife) "was made out of the wood of the Royal George, sunk off Spithead in 1782, with eight hundred of her crew."
THE TALKING LEAVES. 1
he advance of To-la-go-to-de and his Lipans that day had been a slow one, and it grew slower and more cautious as hour after hour went by without any word from the two pale-face scouts.
The chief himself grew uneasy. He thought they would surely return or send him some word before night-fall; but the sun was nearly setting when at last he went into camp with his discontented warriors on the very spot where Steve and Murray had made their halt before daylight.
Then, indeed, he could wait no longer, and several braves were ordered out on foot, with others on horseback a little behind them, to explore what was left of the pass, and see what they could find.
They could have done more for their chief and themselves if the night had not been a cloudy one, so that not a brave among them ventured to descend into the valley.
If they had done so they might have discovered two very important facts. The first was that the Apache hunting village had left it, bag and baggage. The second, and quite as important a discovery, would have been that the camping ground abandoned by the Apaches had been promptly occupied by a strong party of pale-faces.
All the scouts could really do was to bring back word that the pass was clear of enemies to the border of the valley.
That was an anxious night for To-la-go-to-de.
The morning would bring news, at all events, for he determined to dash on with all his warriors, and find out about matters for himself.
"No Tongue is wise. He is a great warrior. Sometimes wise old warrior gets knocked on the head. Then he not come back at all."
There was a possibility, as he well knew, that the Apaches themselves had something to do with the silence of his two pale-face friends.
Another head had been quite as busy and troubled as that of To-la-go-to-de all that day. Captain Skinner also would have given something for a few minutes' conversation with "them two mining fellers."
He felt sure they could have given him both information and advice; but he said to himself: "Of course they won't come nigh our outfit. They know we've jumped their claim. Still, they did the friendly thing with Bill and the boys, and they sent word they didn't bear us any ill-will. That's 'cause they feel sure of their own ground. They're on good terms with the red-skins. I wish I could say we were."
Well he might, considering how many of them there were in that country, and how near to him some of them were coming. All the way down the pass the ragged little Captain had ridden in advance of his men, carefully scanning every rock and bush and tree. At last he paused at the very spot where Bill and his companions had had their little difficulty. He seemed to see some signs that needed studying, and he stooped down and picked up something. Only a pair of strong thongs of buckskin, that looked as if they had been recently used in tying up something. He could make very little out of them; but he noticed the marks of horses' feet going in and out of the forest.
"Signs are getting pretty thick. Hullo! an arrow. Cut in two, and blood on it. Bill, isn't this the spot?"
"This 'ere's the very place, Cap. We came awful nigh havin' a fight right yer."
"Glad you made out not to have any. Did those two white men and the Indians ride away in company?"
"Wa'al, no. The red-skins rid away first, and the two fellers promised to foller 'em after a while. Then I reckon they cut off into the timber. 'Peared like they must ha' been huntin'."
"Most likely they were; and waiting for us to get away, so they could go back to their mine. Boys, I'm afraid our claim won't be worth a great deal by the time we get back."
"We'll take care of that when we come, Cap. They said they'd take thar chances. We'll take ours; that's all."
Slower and more and more cautiously the mining train again moved forward, until from under the last of the pine-trees Captain Skinner could look out upon the valley and see that it was empty.
How would he and his men have felt if they could have known that at that very minute Murray was chipping away with his chisel at his inscriptions upon the central monument of the great Buckhorn Mine?
"Not a red-skin in sight," he remarked. "We'll go straight on down. There must be plenty of ways out of the valley."
No doubt of it, but the first business of those wanderers, after they reached the spring and unhitched their mule-teams, was to carefully examine every hoof-mark and foot-print they could find.
The fact that there had been lodges was proof that the Apaches were not a war party, but there was plenty of evidence that they were numerous enough to be dangerous.
"Glad Bill didn't pick a quarrel with such a band," grumbled Captain Skinner. "But how did he happen to show so much sense? I never suspected him of it."
This was not complimentary to Bill, and it was clear that the Captain's opinion of him had not changed.
"Some kind of an accident," he said. "Nobody need waste any time looking out for another one just like it."
It was getting late in the day, and a better place for a camp could not have been found.
"This'll do for to-night, won't it, Cap?" asked one of the miners.
"Of course it will. We'll try to move east from here, or south, when we leave it."
"Shall any of the boys go for game? Must be plenty of it all around."
"Game? Oh yes. Plenty of it, after a hundred Apache hunters have been riding it down for nobody knows how long. The red-skins leave heaps of game behind 'em, always."
This answer prevented any further remarks on the subject of hunting that afternoon. They had plenty of fresh meat with them, nevertheless, and there was no reason why they should not cook and eat.
There was a reason why they should not be altogether pleased with their camping ground. They found the coals of one fire still hot enough to kindle with.
"The Apaches haven't been out of this a great while," said Captain Skinner, "but the trail of their lodge poles shows that they set off to the west'ard. That isn't our direction. I don't care how far they go, nor how fast."
The other miners did not agree with him. Neither did they like the looks of the mountain range through which the Apaches had come.
"Danger behind us or not," said one of the men, "I move we spend a day or so in huntin' and findin' out jest what's best to be done before we light out of this. We must be getting pretty close to the Mexican line."
They were even closer than he had any idea of, but when their evening conference ended, Captain Skinner was outvoted, and a "hunt and scout" was agreed upon.
THE STORY OF A LITTLE DOG'S TAIL
Flash was the name of the little dog whose tail I am going to tell you about. Flash's master was a great actor, whose name was David Garrick. Flash and his master lived more than a hundred years ago.
One evening the family and a number
Begun in No. 101, Harper's Young People.