A Princess of Mars (2 page)

The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona
mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little pack
animals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley,
and all during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them
as they topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau. My last
sight of Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the
shadows of the range on the opposite side of the valley.

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.

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
nearness, and then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust
cautiously around the shoulder of the cliff, and savage eyes looked
into mine. That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was
sure for the early morning sun was falling full upon me through the
opening.

The fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his
eyes bulging and his jaw dropped. And then another savage face
appeared, and a third and fourth and fifth, craning their necks over
the shoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the
narrow ledge. Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for
what reason I did not know, nor did I learn until ten years later.
That there were still other braves behind those who regarded me was
apparent from the fact that the leaders passed back whispered word
to those behind them.

Suddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses
of the cave behind me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians,
they turned and fled in terror, panic-stricken. So frantic were
their efforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of
the braves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below.
Their wild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then
all was still once more.

The sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had
been sufficient as it was to start me speculating on the possible
horror which lurked in the shadows at my back. Fear is a relative
term and so I can only measure my feelings at that time by what I
had experienced in previous positions of danger and by those that I
have passed through since; but I can say without shame that if the
sensations I endured during the next few minutes were fear, then may
God help the coward, for cowardice is of a surety its own
punishment.