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Page 78
"I reckon you haven't more than a flesh-wound," encouraged Jack.
"Can you crawl to the horse?"
"I think I can," answered Dick.
"Then go. Take the trail home. I'll keep these fellows busy
while you get away."
The Apaches were showing themselves more as they darted from rock
to rock, drawing closer to the entrapped men down the
boulder-strewn draws or ravines leading into the canon. An
Apache had crawled to the head of a draw, and crossed the butte
into a second ravine, which led to the trail down the cliffside.
On his belly he had wormed his way up the pathway until he
overlooked the rear of the defensive position the two men
occupied. Screened by a hedge he awaited a favorable shot.
Jack again cautiously raised his head and peered over the
barricade. Still not an enemy was in sight. As the Apaches had
ceased to fire, he knew they were gathering for another
simultaneous rush. The purpose of these dashes was twofold:
While one or two men might be killed in the advance, the whole
party was nearer the object of attack at the finish, and the
defenders were demoralized by the hopelessness of all resistance.
For the silent rising of naked, paint-daubed Indians from out of
the ground, the quick closing in of the cordon, similar to the
turn of a lariat around a snubbing-post when a pony weakens for a
moment, is calculated to shake the nerves of the strongest of
Indian-fighters.
In the breathing-space which the Apaches had given them Jack, who
had resigned himself to die, took a new grip on life. His dream
of atonement had worked out better than he had planned. Selling
his life bravely fighting in a good cause was far, far better
than ending it by his own hand. It was a man's death. Fate had
befriended him in the end.
Reaching his hand out to Dick, he touched his shoulder, rousing
him from a stupor into which he was sinking.
"Quick, Dick, they're coming closer. Go," he ordered. "Don't be
a fool, only one of us can escape. One of us alone. Let it be
you, Dick, go back to her, back to home and happiness."
Dick struggled to a sitting posture, offering a fair target for
the Indian hidden behind the ledge on the cliff trail. The
Apache took full advantage and fired, but missed. Dick returned
the shot with his revolver before the warrior could sink back
behind the rock. The Apache lurched forward in his
death-blindness, with the last convulsive obedience of the
muscles ere the will flees. Then his legs crumpled up beneath
him and he toppled forward off the ledge. His breech-clout
caught in a rocky projection, causing the body to hang headlong
against the side of the cliff. His rifle fell from his nerveless
hands, clattering and breaking on the rocks below.
The sight served as a tonic to Dick. His success braced his
strength and will. The old battle-spirit surged over him. Only
with an effort did he suppress the desire to laugh and shout. He
would have left Jack to fight it out alone but a minute before,
but the one shot drove all such ideas from his mind.
"No. I'll be damned if I'll go!" he shouted. "I'll stay and
fight with you," and, seizing his rifle joined Jack in stopping a
rush of the Apaches.
"We stopped them that time," Jack cried, with satisfaction. In
the lull he again urged his comrade to escape to the horse and
return to Echo. "Take the horse," he insisted. "Go while
there's a chance."
"No," shouted Dick determinedly. It was as much his fight as
Jack's now.
Jack thought more for Echo in that moment than he did for
himself. Here was the man she loved. He must go back to her.
The woman's happiness depended upon it. But Jack realized that
while he was alive, Dick would stay. One supreme sacrifice was
necessary.
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