A Princess of Mars Rethroned (2 page)

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 her 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 horsewomen, 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 hers.

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
her.

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 her 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 women, 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, her
body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the braves. That
she was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet I would
have saved her body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as
quickly as I would have saved the woman herself from
death.

Riding close to
her I reached down from the saddle, and grasping her cartridge belt
drew her 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 she,
and thus it happened that she 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 her dead lips, bathed her face and rubbed her
hands, working over her continuously for the better part of an hour
in the face of the fact that I knew her to be dead.

I was very fond
of Powell; she was thoroughly a woman in every respect; a polished
southern gentlewoman; 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 woman 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 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 she 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; her eyes bulging
and her 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.

To be held
paralyzed, with one's back toward some horrible and unknown danger
from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache warriors turn in
wild stampede, as a flock of sheep would madly flee from a pack of
wolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome predicaments for a
woman who had ever been used to fighting for her life with all the
energy of a powerful physique.

Several times I
thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of somebody moving
cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I was left to the
contemplation of my position without interruption. I could but
vaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my only hope lay
in that it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen upon
me.