When darkness came, the night of Ulna's arrival at Hurley's Gulch, it found the camp excited about the existence of Tom Edwards' receipt—which it was claimed young Sam had—and, as a consequence the miners were divided as to the guilt or innocence of Mr. Willett and Hank Tims.
Three-fifths of the men believed that the prisoners were fairly tried, justly condemned and that they should have been hanged.
Indeed, these fellows felt that Collins, Si Brill and the men they had brought with them to prevent the execution were no better than a pack of outlaws.
All the men at Hurley's Gulch carried pistols, as a matter of course, but now they armed themselves with rifles, for the purpose of destroying Collins and his friends, if they did not at once surrender the prisoners.
From comparative peace the camp was plunged into a state of war, with rival factions ready to slay each other, in order that they might take or save the lives of Mr. Willett and Hank Tims.
Leaving Hurley's Gulch to its enraged rival factions, let us turn to the west and see how it fared with Sam Willett and his friends.
In the wild excitement of battle, soldiers, who hitherto may have secretly doubted their own courage, have been known to perform deeds of the most heroic valor, of which they retained not the slightest memory when the conflict was over.
This was Sam's case.
His manner of freeing Ulna was bold to the verge of madness; but the instant he saw the young Ute vanishing at the head of the rift, he forgot all about the manner by which his release had been effected.
The anger of the chief, Blanco, was so great when he saw what Sam had done that he would have slain that daring youth without doubt had he not feared that in so doing he might lose his own life.
"What you do them for?" roared the chief, as he pointed after the fugitive.
"He was my friend," was all Sam could say, for by this time he had only the haziest conception of what he had actually done.
"He was the foe of my tribe."
"You did not know him."
"You do me bad," said the enraged chief. "You take Ute's place. My people no stand what you do. I like be your friend. You friend of Ute's. No my friend."
The chief snapped the fingers of both hands and turned to talk with his remaining braves.
"Mistah Sam! Mistah Sam!" whispered Ike.
"What is it, Ike?"
"W'at you tink now?"
"About what?"
"'Bout de sitooation?"
"I don't know," said Sam gloomily.
"Tink we's in a bad box?"
"If we are we must bear it."
"Jest so; but somehow I'd like a change to good luck, jest to see how it feels like. 'Peers to me ez if we was nebber to hab no good times no more," and Ike rolled his eyes and sighed at a great rate.
"W'at say me cookee blekfas'?" said Wah Shin, in whom the desire to be at work was stronger than his fear of the savages.
"I don't think they'll let you cook," said Sam.
"Den me tly. Dey say 'no,' den me stopee. Let 'em hab way."
Wah Shin opened the bundle, took out the few remaining rabbits, and going over to the fire, he deliberately raked the coals and began to warm the decidedly simple breakfast.
The Apaches offered no objections to the actions of the Chinaman, though they watched him with the eager curiosity of children at a circus.
The Apaches make a bread from the pounded roots of the maguey or mountain aloe, of which they always carry a supply when on their war forays or hunting expeditions.
This bread is sweet and nutritious, and that it will keep for a long time in its original state is shown by the fact that the recorder of these stirring incidents has still in his possession some of this bread, which he obtained in the mountains of Arizona fifteen years ago.
The odor of the rabbits on the coals reached the nostrils of the chief, and it must have soothed his anger somewhat, for he spoke to his companions in the Apache tongue, and they at once pulled a lot of this bread from their buckskin haversacks—it resembled plugs of very black tobacco and tasted better than it looked—and they gave Sam, Ike and Wah Shin each a piece.
"This is all the food we have left," said Sam, addressing the chief and pointing to the rabbits, "but we shall be glad to share with you, and if you guide us to Hurley's Gulch I will pledge my word that you shall have all I promised you before."
The chief replied to this with a grunt that showed he was still far from feeling good-natured, still he proved that he was not only very hungry, but also very selfish, by devouring one of the four rabbits without asking any outside assistance.
Ike witnessed this performance in open-eyed wonder, and he could not resist whispering to Sam:
"I've seed a good many hogs in my time, but that ar Injun as went an' eat a hull rabbit all by hissel', is jest 'bout de biggest one I ebber sot my two eyes on. Dar, he ain't lef' noffin' but de bones."
"When you no have more meat," said the chief, coming over and standing before Sam, while he cast a covetous look at Maj, "then I tell you what you do."
"What?" asked Sam.
"Don't you like the dog?"
"Oh, yes," said Sam, thinking that the Indian who could like dumb creatures must have a kindly heart. "I am very fond of the dog."
"Then why you no eat him?" asked Blanco.
As Sam had never looked at Maj as something that might be eaten instead of being fed, he was not a little puzzled what to reply, still he managed to say, with an attempt at smiling:
"That isn't the way I like the dog."
"No," said Ike in a low voice, "we likes dog wid de ha'r on an' de bark in him."
All unmindful of this discussion Maj went on eating the bones that had been thrown to him and looking as if he had room for a great many more than were in sight.
After this very informal meal was over the chief gave an order to his own people and then told Sam that he and his friends must follow him.
"Where to?" asked Sam.
"We see, me don't know," was the surly reply.
As there was no food left, Sam rolled up the blankets and throwing these and the saddle-bags containing the gold dust and the precious paper over his shoulder, started up the ravine.
Ike and Wah Shin followed, the former clinging to his old shot-gun as if his life depended on it.
Eight lithe Indians, none of them burdened with clothes or the world's goods, brought up the rear.
On reaching the uplands the chief came to a halt, the others doing the same, and shading his eyes from the sun, he looked long and eagerly to the eastward.
With a thrill of joy Sam saw that neither Ulna nor his pursuers were in sight, and well knowing the young Ute's powers as a runner, he had now no fears of his being overtaken.
As if he understood what was passing in the white youth's mind, the chief said:
"You know Ulna long time?"
"Only a few months."
"You like him heap?"
"I do."
"You make him free?"
"I am glad I did," said Sam, boldly.
"Then you take his place like same as he was here," said Blanco, with an angry glint in his eyes.
"I do not understand."
"If Ulna stay we kill him."
"Yes," said Sam, feeling a cold chill and wondering what was coming next.
"But Ulna get away."
"Yes."
"You help him."
"I did."
"Then you take Ulna's place. You all same like Ulna to us. We take you to Apaches, way off," and the chief waved his hands to the south where the purple peaks of the San Francisco range could be seen rising into the bluest of blue skies.
"Would you kill a man because he loved his friend?" asked Sam with a calmness of manner that did not at all indicate his feelings.
"When man's friend my foe—yes."
"But Ulna would not do that."
"You think so."
"I am sure he would not."
"Ha! you don't know Ute."
"I know Ulna," persisted Sam.
"Ulna he like take my scalp."
"I am sure he would not hurt you unless it was to save his own life. The whites have taught him better."
"The whites!" repeated the chief, with a grunt of contempt. "Oh, yes, the whites, heap fine the whites. They take all Apaches' land, kill his wife, kill him when he don't like it. Apache don't go to white man's land; why, then, he comes here we no send for him?"
Sam saw that this was a mixed question to which the answer could not be truthfully given unless it agreed with the Indian's notion of right, still he said evasively:
"All men do wrong at times, but all men should try to do right."
"What is right? what is wrong? White man think one thing, Apache think another thing; no one know. Sit down on stone; I wait till braves come back with Ulna's scalp, then all leave."
Without waiting for any comment, Blanco again snapped the fingers of both hands above his head, and turned away to show he did not care to discuss the subject further.
This conversation took place near the point of rocks in which Sam and his friends had spent the previous night.
On some of the outlying stones Ike and Wah Shin were seated, eagerly watching the chief, while their faces showed that they were taking anything but a hopeful view of the situation.
"Mistah Sam, w'at you t'ink 'bout dis time?" asked Ike as he placed a blanket for his young master to sit on.
"I hardly know what to think, Ike," was the reply.
"Don't you t'ink we made a mistake?"
"In what way, Ike?"
"By comin' up out ob dat canyon."
"Would you want to stay there forever?"
"Wa'al, not adzackly; but if I had any choosin 'bout it I'd a heap sight rudder be dar dan heah. I neber did hab no use for a Injun nohow. Jest only tink, dey's been a-watchin' an' a-watchin' Maj, an' a-lickin' ob dar lips as if dey was feelin' how he tasted. But if dey gits away wid dat dog den dey'll hab to steal him whin dis yar chile's asleep," said Ike, and he reached out and pulled the dog nearer to him by means of a rope he had fastened about his neck.
"Dogee, he no so belly bad fol to make eat. Way off Chinaland fat dogee allee same's nice lilly tulkey. Big man he like him muchee heap."
"Wa'al," said Ike, with ludicrous contempt, "I tanks de Great Mastah I ain't a Injun or a Chinee. Dar's only two decent kind ob people; one's black, like me, de odder's w'ite like Mistah Sam. But," he added, with a sigh, "I don't go foh to blame no one jest kase dey's so unfortnit as not to be ob de right culah."
Sam could not keep his mind on the very funny discussion which followed between Ike and Wah Shin, as to the merits of their respective races. He was thinking of his beloved father, and wondering if he still lived and was waiting for the paper that was to prove his innocence, by showing to the world that he could have had no possible motive for desiring the death of Tom Edwards.
One, two, three hours passed and the fierce sun poured down a blistering heat on the bare rocks, till the hot air rose in shivering, shimmering waves, that distorted every object seen at any distance, and threw into the most fantastic shapes the hills that studded the wide plateau.
Every few minutes Sam looked to the east, expecting the return of the braves who had gone in pursuit of Ulna, but it was not till the sun had been past the zenith more than an hour, that his keen gaze detected four figures—the mirage gave them the appearance of giant spectres—approaching at a deliberate pace.
Blanco made the discovery about the same time, and at once sent a messenger to hurry up the pursuers. He did not need to be told that his braves had not been successful in their mission, for had they been returning with a scalp they would not have been so deliberate in their movements.
When the braves were within a few hundred yards, Blanco ran out to meet them, and seeing that one of them was wounded he said:
"Did the Ute win?"
"He did," replied the wounded man. "An antelope could not have kept up with him had he put forth all his speed."
"Yet, you came close enough to him to catch his bullet," said the puzzled chief.
"Yes, and close enough to lose my scalp, if Ulna had cared to take it," said the brave, with a candor but rarely manifested by a savage.
In answer to the chief's desire to learn how this unusual event came about, the brave told frankly and truthfully the whole story, even to the conversation he had with Ulna before he left.
This story evidently had a powerful effect on Blanco, for he stroked his forehead for some minutes, and then said:
"The Utes are changing; the Apaches must change too. I will not harm the young white man who told me the truth."
Turning, the chief strode quickly to the place where Sam was sitting and eagerly watching, and then extending his hand, he said with some feeling in his voice:
"You no tell lie. Ulna is good. Ulna escape. I am glad in my heart, for he no take life one of my braves when he can."
Sam could hardly credit his ears, but there was no mistaking the expression on the swarthy face, despite its half-covering of war paint, so he shook the chief's hand and said with a great sense of relief:
"I told you the truth about Ulna, I tell you the truth about myself. Now guide me to Hurley's Gulch and I will pay you all I promised."
For reasons which he did not state, the chief said he could not go to Hurley's Gulch, but he was willing to guide Sam part of the way there, and to take all the rifles and other weapons they had with them as part payment, the other things promised to be sent out to a certain point two days after the party reached the Gulch.
These were certainly anything but generous terms, but as Sam was in no humor to press a close bargain, he agreed to them at once.
There was not much preparation to be made. All the canteens were filled with water, and about the middle of the afternoon they began the march for Hurley's Gulch, which the chief said could be reached the next afternoon, though he would leave them in the morning.
With a lighter heart than he had carried for many a day, Sam, with Ike, Wah Shin, and the dog following him in the order named, started off by the side of the chief.
They moved so fast that by dark, when they went into camp in the bottom of a gulch where there was water, they had traveled at least twenty miles.