Chapter VI: Part 6

The whole family were disposed to think well of the new member and make her quite one of themselves, especially for Rupert's sake. Don expressed himself as delighted with her looks and manners, and "How beautiful she is!" "Yes, perfectly lovely," were the sentences exchanged between Mildred and Zillah as they left their father's door that night to go to their own homes; and Flora received quite an enthusiastic description of her charms from the doctor when they met at the breakfast-table the next morning.

"Did you see our new sister last night, Celestia Ann?" asked Annis, busy adorning the breakfast-table in her home with flowers.

"Yes, I reckon I did, Annis. Wasn't I in to the readin', prayin', and singin'? Yes, I see her, and I think she's about the purtiest creeter that I ever sot eyes on. I on'y hope she'll turn out as good as she's purty. I wish't she wasn't a furriner, though; for somehow I can't seem to like 'em quite so well as our own folks."

Chapter Fifteenth.

"Calamity is man's true touchstone."

In their retreat after the attack upon the emigrant train to which Rupert and Don belonged, the Indians passed again over the ground where they had shot down the latter.

He still lay motionless and insensible, just as he had fallen from his horse. Several of the savages dismounted and stooped over him, one drawing a scalping-knife from his belt, and with the other hand seizing Rupert by the hair.

At that instant consciousness returned. Rupert opened his eyes, and seeing the gleaming knife lifted high in the air, sent up a swift but silent cry to God for help.

The Indian's hold upon his hair suddenly relaxed, and the knife was returned to his belt. He had changed his mind, as he gave his companions to understand in a few words quite unintelligible to Rupert, who was indeed again fast losing consciousness; an answering sentence or two came indistinctly to his ear as sounds from the far distance; then he knew nothing more for a time, how long he could not tell; but on recovering consciousness he found himself strapped to the back of an Indian pony which was slowly toiling up a steep ascent; a narrow path winding round a mountain; on the right a rocky wall, on the other a sheer descent of many hundred feet.

Rupert turned dizzy, sick, and faint as he caught a glimpse of the frightful precipice, the foaming stream and jagged rocks at its base; and but for the thongs that bound him firmly to the back of his steed, he must inevitably have fallen and been dashed to pieces upon them.

He could not in that first moment remember what had befallen him, and called in a faint voice upon his brother, "Don, where are we?"

No reply, and he called again, more faintly than before, for he was very weak from pain and loss of blood, "Don, Don!"

An Indian's "Ugh!" and a few words in an unknown tongue answered him from the rear.

The sounds were guttural and harsh, and seemed to him to command silence.

Instantly he comprehended that he was a prisoner and in whose hands; sorely wounded too, for every movement of his pony gave him exquisite pain; and now memory recalled the events of the afternoon--the chase, the stinging shot, the fall from his horse, then the waking as from a dream, to feel the grasp upon his hair and see the scalping-knife held aloft in the air and just ready to descend upon his devoted head.

Question upon question crowded upon his mind. Where were his late companions, Morton and Smith? were they killed? were they prisoners like himself? or had they escaped? Had the train been attacked; and if so, what was the result? Oh, above all, where was Don, the younger brother, over whom he was to have watched with paternal care? He would have defended Don's life and liberty with his own; but, alas, the opportunity was denied him.

He thought of his own probable fate: what was there to expect but torture and death? He remembered to have read that the Indians sometimes carried a prisoner a long distance that the rest of their tribe might share the delight of witnessing his dying torments. Rupert shuddered at the thought that this was the fate reserved for him, and feeling very weak, half hoped he might die on the way to meet it.

Silently he lifted up his heart in prayer to God for help and succor in this his sore extremity, and that the consolations of God might not be small to the dear ones at home--especially the tender mother--when the news of his sad fate should reach them.

The last gleams of the setting sun lighted up the lofty pathway they were pursuing, but down in that deep valley at the foot of the mountain it was already growing dark; he could see into its depths as he lay with his cheek resting on the neck of the pony; turning his head, the wall of rock towering on the other side came into view.

He was bound hand and foot and could lift only his head; he seemed to have hardly strength for that; but, anxious to learn the number of his captors and whether he were the only prisoner, he made an effort, feebly lifted it, and glanced before and behind him.

He could only see that there were several mounted Indians ahead, and one or more in his rear, all hideous in war-paint and feathers; there might be many more at each end of the line--for they were travelling single file, along the narrow, winding path, but a small portion of which came within the line of his vision. And there might be other prisoners, though he saw none.

Even that slight exertion had exhausted him; his head dropped, and again pain of body and distress of mind were forgotten in a long and death-like swoon.

It was night, lighted only by the stars, and the path winding downward, when again he revived for a few moments shivering and benumbed with cold, weak and faint with hunger and loss of blood, and suffering greatly from the pain of his wounds.

He heard no sound but the rush of a mountain torrent and the clatter of the horses' hoofs over the stony way; he had scarcely more than noted these things when again his senses forsook him.

When next he revived, two of his captors were busy in undoing the rope that made him fast to the pony, which was standing stock still on level ground only a few feet from a fire of brushwood, that sent up flame and smoke and blazed and crackled with a cheery sound which spoke of warmth for benumbed limbs, while some venison and trout broiling on the coals gave out a savory smell.

Several warriors were grouped about the fire, one giving particular attention to the cooking, the others lounging in picturesque and restful attitudes on the grass.

Rupert was quickly lifted from the pony and laid on the grass beside them, with his feet to the fire. Then the cord was taken from his wrists and a bit of the smoking venison put into his hand. He devoured it ravenously, and, his hunger appeased, presently fell into a deep sleep; having first committed himself and dear ones to the care and protection of that God who is everywhere present and almighty to defend and save.

His wounds had been rudely bound up in a way to stanch the flow of blood, it being the desire of his captors to keep him alive, at least for a time. More mercifully disposed than they oftentimes are, and knowing that he was too weak for flight, they left him unbound through the night, merely fastening a cord round each arm and securing the other end to the arm of a stout warrior, one of whom lay on each side of the prisoner.

Rupert had noted as they laid him down that no other white man was in sight; this gave him hope that the rest had escaped; yet he could not know that it was not by death, so that the discovery brought small relief to his anxiety of mind on their account.

Morning found him feverish and ill, his wounds very painful; but at an early hour the Indians resumed their line of march with him in the midst, strapped to the pony as before.

It was a terrible journey, climbing steep ascents, creeping along narrow ledges of rock, where a single false step would have sent them down hundreds of feet, to be dashed in pieces upon the sharp points of the rocks below; now descending by paths as steep, narrow, and dangerous as those by which they had ascended, and anon fording streams so deep and swift that the helpless, hapless prisoner was in imminent danger of drowning.

He, poor fellow, was too ill to note the direction in which they were travelling, though he had a vague idea that it was in the main south-westerly.

Beside the difficulties and dangers of the way, he suffered intensely from the pain of his wounds, and often from intolerable thirst.

One day he woke as from a troubled sleep to find himself lying on a bearskin in an Indian wigwam, a young girl sitting beside him embroidering a moccasin.

Their eyes met, and hers, large, soft, and dark as those of a gazelle, lighted up with pleased surprise.

"You are better, señor," she said, in low musical tones, and in the Spanish tongue.

Rupert understood her; he was fond of languages, and had gained a good knowledge of Spanish from Dr. Landreth, who had learned to speak it fluently during his long sojourn in South America.

"Yes," he said faintly in that tongue, "and you have been my kind nurse?"

"It has been happiness to care for the weak and wounded stranger," she said in her liquid tones, "though I little thought he could speak to me in my own language; for you are not my countryman, señor; your face is too fair."

"I am from the United States," he replied. "And you, fair lady?"

"I am a Mexican, a captive among the Indians like yourself," was the mournful reply, tears gathering in the beautiful eyes.

His heart was touched with sympathy, and he was opening his lips to express it; but with playful authority she bade him be quiet and not waste his feeble strength in talk.

Then she brought him food and drink prepared by her own fair hands, and fed him too--for he had scarce strength to feed himself--and directly his hunger was satisfied he fell asleep again.

When again he woke it was night; the stars were shining in the sky, as he could see through the opening in the top of the wigwam left for the escape of smoke, and by their glimmer he could faintly perceive the outlines of dusky forms lying on all sides of him; their quietude and the sound of their breathing telling that they slept.

The impulse came strongly upon him to rise and flee--captivity was so dreadful, liberty so sweet--and it might be that, though so strangely spared up to this time, torture and death were yet to be his portion if he remained.

He started up, but only to fall back again in utter exhaustion. He could do nothing to save himself, and there was no earthly helper near; but sweetly to his mind came the opening verses of the forty-sixth psalm, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea," and silently committing himself and loved ones--all, alas, so far distant--to the care of that almighty Friend, he fell asleep again.

He was quite alone when next he woke, and it was broad daylight, for a bright sunbeam had found its way through the opening in the roof, and laid bare to his view the whole interior of the wigwam, with all its filth and lack of the comforts of civilized life.

All was silence within, but from without came the merry shouts and laughter of the Indian children at play. Presently one pushed aside the curtain of skins answering for a door, and a pair of wild black eyes stared Rupert in the face for a moment; then the curtain fell, and soft, swift-retreating footfalls came faintly to his ear.

Not many minutes had passed when it was again drawn aside, and Juanita, the Mexican girl he had seen the day before, stepped within, dropping it behind her.

Her sweet though melancholy smile seemed to light up the forlorn hut as she bade Rupert good-morning in her liquid tones, using the Spanish tongue as before, and asked if he could eat the morsel she had brought. Alas, not such a breakfast as would have been served him in his own far-away home.

It was a broiled fish, hot from the coals, laid upon a bit of bark covered with green oak-leaves in lieu of a napkin. He thanked her gratefully, and asked if she could give him some water with which to wash his face and hands before eating.

Setting his breakfast on the ground beside him, she went out, and presently returned with a gourd filled with cold, clear water from a little stream that ran sparkling and dancing down the mountain-side but a few yards away.

He first took a long deep draught, for he was suffering with feverish thirst, then laved face and hands, she handing him his own pocket-handkerchief, which had been washed in the stream and dried in the sun, to use in place of a towel.

He recognized it; then glancing down at his person, saw that he was attired in the clothes he had on when taken, and that, as they were free from blood-stains, they too must have been washed by some kindly hand and replaced upon him after their cleansing.

"How much I owe you!" he said, looking gratefully at her.

"No, not much," she answered, with shy modesty. "Now eat, señor, or your breakfast will be cold."

"I must first rest a little," he returned, with a sigh of weariness, as he fell back exhausted upon his rude couch.

She caught up several deer and bear skins that lay scattered about, rolled them together and placed them as a pillow under his head; then drawing two small objects from beneath that one on which he had been lying, she held them up to his gaze, asking, "Do you value these, señor?"

"Indeed do I," he cried, stretching out an eager hand; "my precious little Bible and my medicine case! I am thankful beyond expression that they have been preserved to me. How did it happen, señora?"

She explained that she had seen them in the possession of his captor, had begged that they might be given to her, and the Indian, thinking them of little worth, had readily complied with her request.

He poured out renewed thanks as he took up his Bible and turned over the leaves, gazing upon it the while with loving, delighted eyes.

"An English book, is it not?" she asked, watching him with mingled surprise and curiosity.

"Yes," he said, "the Book of books; God's own holy Word. You have read it in Spanish, señora?"

"The Bible? We are not allowed to touch it; our Church forbids; I never saw one before," and she gazed upon it with a kind of awed curiosity and interest.

"A Papist," he thought, pityingly; "peradventure it was for her sake I was sent here--that I may lead her from that darkness into the true light. If life be spared me, I will, with God's help, do my best."

She broke in upon his thoughts. "Come, señor, eat, your fish will be quite cold."

When Juanita left him, carrying away with her the remains of his repast, an old squaw paid him a short visit, looking curiously at him, and grunting out several questions which were utterly unintelligible to him; he could only shake his head and feebly sign to her that he did not understand.

She left him, and he took up his book, but found the light was not sufficient to enable him to read, for it was a very small edition which he had been accustomed to carry in his pocket.

He was heartily glad when Juanita again appeared, this time with the moccasin she was embroidering in her hand, and seated herself at his side.

"I am stronger to-day, señora," he said, "and can listen and talk; tell me of yourself."

To that she answered briefly that she was an orphan, both parents having died while she was yet a mere infant; that she had lived in the family of an uncle, where she was made to feel her poverty and dependence, and her life rendered far from happy; that some months ago the Indians had made a raid upon her uncle's ranch, killed him and all his family, and carried her off a prisoner to this mountain fastness; that she had been adopted by one of their chiefs, Thunder-Cloud, and had no hope of any better fate than a life spent among the savages.

"Too sad a fate for one so beautiful, señora," Rupert said; "but do not despair; God, who rescued Daniel from the lions' den, and Jonah from the belly of the whale, can save us also even from this stronghold of our savage foe."

"I know nothing of the occurrences you speak of," she said, "and I dare not venture to address any petition directly to the great God; but I pray daily to the Blessed Virgin and the saints to have pity upon a poor friendless girl and restore me to my country and my people, though, alas! I know not of one in whose veins flows a single drop of my blood."

"Ah, señora," replied Rupert, "you need not fear to approach the great God in the name of His dear Son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He bids us do so, and tells us that He is the hearer and answerer of prayers."

He paused, closed his eyes, and lifted up his heart in silent supplication for her and for himself.

She thought he slept, and sat very quietly, busy with her embroidery and waiting for him to wake again.

At length he opened his eyes, and asked her if she knew what fate the Indians had reserved for him.

She told him a council had been held while he lay unconscious from his wounds; that there was a heated discussion, some of the braves being set upon putting him to a torturing death, while others would have held him for ransom; but finally Thunder-Cloud, whose shot had brought him to the ground, had claimed him as his peculiar property, and declared his intention to adopt him as his son. "So," she concluded, "you, señor, need have no fear of being slain by any of the tribe, unless caught in an attempt to escape."

"God be praised!" he ejaculated, with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, "for life is sweet so long as there is a possibility of future restoration to home and loved ones."

"You will attempt to escape?" she asked, with a look of apprehension; "it will be very dangerous, señor, for they are terribly fierce--these Apaches."

He looked at her with a faint smile. "I am far too weak to think of it now, but one day, when I have recovered my health and strength, I may find an opportunity."

"And I shall be left alone with the savages as before," she said, with a touchingly mournful cadence in her exquisite voice.

"You must fly also, señora," he answered. "I think it is to you I owe my life, for have you not been my faithful nurse through I know not how long a sickness? Then how could I be so ungrateful as to leave you here in captivity while I seek home and freedom for myself?"

"You have home and kindred, father and mother perhaps, señor?" she said inquiringly, the soft eyes she fixed upon his face wistful and dim with unshed tears.

"Ah," he answered with emotion, "the thought of their anguish when they shall learn my fate doubles my distress."

"Then," she sighed, "better to be alone in the world, like me, with none to care whether you live or die."

"Nay, sweet lady, there is one who cares very much, though he has known you so short a time," he said with a grateful look; "one who would feel doubly desolate were you to leave him here alone with his captors."

Chapter Sixteenth.

"Calamity is man's true touchstone."

"You have talked too much, señor," Juanita said with concern, noting the look of utter exhaustion that came over his face with the last words; "I am but a poor nurse to have allowed it. Your lips are parched too," she added, dropping her work and gliding from the tent to return a moment later with a gourd full of the cold, sparkling water of the mountain stream.

She raised his head and held the cup to his lips.

He drank with feverish eagerness.

As he lay back upon his couch again Juanita remarked that his wounds must be painful and in need of dressing, adding that Light-of-the-Morning, Thunder-Cloud's wife, who had great knowledge of the virtues of many plants and roots growing in that region, would soon come in and dress them with a certain kind of leaf that was famed among the Indians for its healing qualities, and had already worked wonders for him.

"And she has been dressing my hurts all these days?" asked Rupert.

"Yes."

"Ah, how long have I lain here, señora?"

"Three weeks, señor," she answered, and at that moment the old squaw he had seen before came in bearing a bark basket filled with the healing leaves.

Juanita withdrew to the farther side of the wigwam, and seated herself with her back toward them while Light-of-the-Morning did her work.

The task was performed a trifle roughly, but with dexterity and skill, and the applications proved very cooling and soothing to Rupert's wounds, which before had tortured him with a sensation of dryness and burning heat.

He returned warm thanks, Juanita acting as interpreter.

The squaw nodded, her grim features relaxing in a slight smile, as of pleasure, that her labors were appreciated; then pointing to Rupert's medicine case, lying by his side, asked what it was.

Juanita repeated the query in Spanish, and translated Rupert's answer into Apache, which she had learned to speak with tolerable fluency.

The squaw then asked for some medicine for a sick child in the camp, whose ailment baffled her skill.

Rupert was a good druggist, and had sufficient knowledge of medicine to prescribe for the child when he had heard what were the symptoms; also the proper remedy was in his case, and he gave it. The result was satisfactory, and raised him in the esteem of the whole village.

Squaws, pappooses, a few lads and young girls, and a sprinkling of old men were all that were in it at this time, the braves having gone again upon the war-path. This Rupert learned from Juanita.

In a few days he was able to crawl out from the wigwam and lie on a bearskin, which she laid for him underneath a spreading tree. He found the pure mountain air very delightful and invigorating, and from that time his recovery was rapid.

He was soon able to sit up a part of the day and amuse himself with whittling bits of soft wood, making whistles for the little Indian boys and a variety of toys for the girls--tiny chairs, tables, spoons, knives and forks--which greatly delighted them.

Thus he made friends of the children, and also of their mothers, while to his generous nature it was a great satisfaction to be able to give such pleasure even to these rude children of the desert.

Also, as he picked up their language, he tried to tell them the old, old story so dear to every Christian heart. To Juanita he was able to tell it at once, and often as she sat by his side during his convalescence, he read to her passages from his Bible, stopping now and then to give an explanation or answer a question; for she listened with interest and a desire to fully comprehend.

That his Bible had been spared to him was a source of deep joy and thankfulness, such comfort did he find in its many great and precious promises.

His heart was often oppressed with sadness as he thought of Don, and longed to know his fate, or of the dear ones at home and the distress they would undoubtedly feel on account of his disappearance. He supposed the report would be that he had been killed by the Indians, and pictured to himself his mother's anguish on hearing the terrible tidings; his father's also, for he knew that to both their children were very near and dear.

When overwhelmed by these sorrowful reflections, his only comfort was in prayer to Him who is mighty to save, and who, he doubted not, was able both to give consolation to his loved ones and to deliver him from the hands of his foes.

His situation was not an enviable one at the first, but it became less so upon the return of the braves, most of whom regarded him with scowls and looks of hate.

He gave them back pleasant looks, was on the watch to do them any little service in his power, but avoided them when he could without offence. As time went on he found opportunities to win their good-will.

From a boy he had made a practice of learning all that he could on every subject, and about every kind of work that came in his way; and now he found use for some kinds of knowledge that most lads would think it beneath them to acquire; and he was not only an expert whittler, but equally accomplished as a cook, and he taught the squaws to make savory dishes that the braves, their husbands and sons, loved, thus winning favor for himself.

Yet it seemed not altogether good policy; for finding him so useful they were the more determined never to part with him; and while treating him well in other respects, kept him a close prisoner in that little mountain fastness, watching with vigilance his every movement, and never suffering him to go out of sight of the village.

Still, Rupert never for a moment faltered in his determination to effect his escape; but while constantly on the alert for an opportunity, was extremely careful to do nothing to excite suspicion that such was his purpose.

It was, however, no secret from Juanita, who was to share the attempt whenever made; and frequently when alone, plans for flight, the direction it should take, and what provision could be made for it, formed the principal theme of their conversation.

Neither knew exactly where they were, but Rupert had an idea that their nearest route toward civilization would lie in a south-easterly direction and take them into Texas.

He had no means of determining the matter, nor could he for a long time do anything more than think and plan.

In the mean while he tried to be useful in every possible way to those about him, more especially Juanita.

He taught her to speak and read English, using his Bible as his text-book; it was the only one at hand, but it proved sufficient. He found her deplorably ignorant of almost everything but embroidery and music--for which she possessed remarkable talent--but managed, in the course of the three years they spent in the wilds together, to give her a great amount of general information--teaching her many things orally--drawing maps in the sand for her instruction in geography and history, using the heavens at night to assist in giving her a knowledge of astronomy, the plants and flowers to which they had access to teach her the rudiments of botany.

Juanita proved an apt pupil, bright and interesting, readily catching an idea and retaining it in her memory; all the more easily, doubtless, that she dearly loved her teacher.

She was very young, had seen nothing of the world, and in her artless simplicity made her affection quite apparent to its object; but he had no difficulty in returning it, and before they had been six months together they had come to a full understanding, and were plighted lovers.

Then Rupert drew bright pictures of his home--the home to which he hoped one day to take her--and of his father and mother, brothers and sisters, all of whom he said would welcome and love her as one of themselves.

But one year and then another rolled slowly away, while deliverance seemed no nearer than at first, and oftentimes their hearts were sick with hope deferred.

It was harder for Rupert than for Juanita; for he whom she had with her was all she had to love, while he, though fondly attached to the lovely girl sharing his captivity, was separated from many who were also very dear to his heart, and who must, he knew, be suffering much distress of mind on his account.

Then, too, the enforced inactivity in business matters was very trying to him, while she knew nothing of it.

He was her world, and she had him there; yet she did not enjoy savage life; longed to return to civilization for her own sake, and still more for his.

Besides, they were at times in great danger when the Indians were excited by drink or preparations to go upon the war-path, or upon the return of the braves from such an expedition, either exultant from victory or depressed and angered by defeat.

At length, in the third year of Rupert's captivity, the vigilance of the Indians began to relax somewhat; they thought their prisoners had become enamored of their wild life, and would hardly care to risk an attempt to escape, knowing, as they undoubtedly did, that if recaptured torture and death would be almost sure to follow; so Rupert and Juanita would occasionally find themselves free to ramble through the extent of the valley, and even to climb some of the nearer hills and mountains.

Hope now revived in their breasts, and was quickened erelong by a fortunate discovery: they one day came upon some small nuggets of gold, which they carefully secreted about their persons, with the joyful thought that it would help them on their contemplated journey.

Then, some weeks later, Rupert picked up a stone which he felt confident was a diamond. This too he secreted with the greatest care, sewing it securely upon the inner side of the deerskin hunting-shirt which he now wore day and night, and letting no one but Juanita know of its existence. From her he had no concealments, for their interests were one and the same.

They now watched more eagerly than ever for the longed-for opportunity; but weeks and months dragged on their weary way, and it came not.

Another winter, with its suffering from cold and storms, from which they were but poorly protected in the rude huts of the savages, passed slowly by, spring opened, and once more the braves went forth upon the war-path.

Seated together upon a ledge of rock on the side of a mountain overlooking the Indian village, and forming part of the barrier shutting in the little valley from the outer world, Rupert and Juanita watched the departure of the Apache chiefs and braves, hideous in their war-paint and feathers; and as the last of them disappeared in the defile that formed the sole entrance to this natural mountain fastness, Rupert, turning to his companion, said, in tones of half-tremulous eagerness and excitement, "Juanita, love, this is our opportunity; I doubt if we shall ever have a better."

"What mean you, Rupert?" she asked in some surprise; "what will prevent Light-of-the-Morning from watching our every moment as vigilantly as ever? and does not old Crouching Wildcat keep guard day and night at the only entrance to the valley? and is he not constantly armed and ready to shoot us down if we so much as approach the spot where he stands sentinel?"

"All quite true," returned Rupert; "yet I have a plan; listen, maiden mine, while I unfold it. It is that to-day and to-morrow we make, quietly and unobserved, every preparation in our power; then that you make a quantity of that savory venison stew that both Light-of-the-Morning and Crouching Wildcat delight in, adding a little white powder which I shall give you; let them both sup upon it, and they will sleep soundly for some hours--so soundly that we may steal from our wigwams, join each other at the old warrior's side, and pass out of the valley unmolested and unnoticed by him."

"And they will wake again and suffer no harm from the powder?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "You know, Juanita, I would not murder them even to gain liberty for myself and you. The powder will cause them to sleep heavily for a time, and perhaps make them sick for some hours after, but will do them no permanent injury."

The girl's face grew radiant. "Oh," she cried, clasping her hands in ecstasy, "how sweet, how delightful to be free! But why not to-night? why should we wait another day?"

"That when our flight is discovered the braves may be too far away for a messenger to reach them with the news in time for them to overtake us."

"Ah, yes; you are much wiser than I; you think of everything."

The braves were quite gone; the last faint echo of their horses' hoofs had died away far down the pass, and the squaws and children, who had been watching their departure, scattered to their work or play.

Juanita sighed; then, with a shudder, "How many bloody scalps shall we see dangling aloft from their spears when they come back!" she said.

"Please God, we shall not be here to behold the horrible, sickening sight," said Rupert. Then taking her hand in his, "Juanita, you should be my wife before we start upon our journey."

She glanced up into his face half shyly, flushing rosy red. "But how can it be?" she asked timidly; "there is no priest here to unite us."

"We will marry ourselves by Friends' ceremony," he said; then explained it to her, for she had never heard of it before.

"I fear I shall not feel married," she remarked, in a tone of doubt and hesitation.

"I have the same feeling," he said, "particularly because we have no witnesses. But it is the best we can do now, and as soon as we can we will be remarried by a minister.

"Juanita," tightening his clasp of her hand, "I take you to be my wife, and promise to be to you a true, faithful, and loving husband till death do us part."

The beautiful eyes filled with glad tears. "And I," she said, in low, musical tones, "take you, Rupert, to be my lawful and wedded husband, and promise to be to you a true, loving, faithful, and obedient wife."

He put his arm about her, and drew her into a close, tender embrace, imprinting a long and ardent kiss upon the rich red lips. "We are one, love," he whispered, "and what God hath joined together shall no man put asunder."

After some further discussion of their plans they separated, and by mutual consent were seen together less than usual during that day and the next, so fearful were they of arousing suspicion of their design to attempt an escape.

But late in the afternoon of the second day Rupert contrived to give Juanita the little morphine powder which she was to administer to Light-of-the-Morning and Crouching Wildcat, and to do it unperceived by any of the Indians.

Juanita hastily concealed it, fastening it into the folds of her tunic with a pin.

There were but few cooking utensils in the Indian village, but Light-of-the-Morning was the proud possessor of a little iron pot carried off by the braves in one of their raids upon their white neighbors, and of this Juanita was allowed to make use in preparing the savory stew of which Rupert had spoken.

When she proposed doing so to-night, the old squaw nodded consent with a smile of approval.

The newly made bride went cheerily to work, moving about with her accustomed grace, and softly humming a snatch of song, yet with a quaking heart as she thought of the risk she and Rupert were now to run.

As he and she were to partake of the meal, she also broiled venison and fish over the coals, and baked bread, making her dough into long, slender rolls, which she then twisted round and round a stick; that she stuck into the ground close to the fire, and so baked the bread, now and then pulling up the stick and replanting it with another side to the fire.

Light-of-the-Morning sat watching her with a look of great satisfaction, evidently enjoying the feast in anticipation.

At length all was ready, and Juanita began to despair of an opportunity to carry out her design, when the squaw supplied it by seizing a gourd and going for water for the meal.

She had scarcely dropped the curtain of the wigwam behind her ere Juanita had snatched the powder from its hiding-place and poured it into the stew, trembling and turning pale as she did it; for oh, how much depended upon the success of the measure!

And it was an anxious moment to both herself and Rupert when Light-of-the-Morning first tasted of the medicated dish. She paused, tasted again, and remarked that it was not quite so good as usual, had a slightly bitter taste; Juanita must have been careless and let it scorch; but to their great relief she went on to make a hearty meal of it, not seeming to notice that neither of them touched it.

There was a good deal left, and Rupert surreptitiously carried it off to Crouching Wildcat, who received the attention with satisfaction, and devoured the food with great gusto, apparently never noticing the unusual taste of which the squaw had complained.

Although but little past sunset, the village was already quiet, scarcely any one, old or young, to be seen moving; for as a rule they kept early hours there.

Juanita had purposely delayed the evening meal in Thunder-Cloud's wigwam, rather to the displeasure of its mistress, whose appetite had grown very keen while waiting; a good thing for the success of the young people's plans, for she ate very heartily, and almost immediately threw herself down on her couch of skins and fell into a deep sleep.

It was thus Rupert found her on bringing back the vessel in which he had carried Crouching Wildcat his portion.

Juanita sat beside the couch, gazing upon the sleeper with bated breath, her hands folded in her lap, her whole frame trembling with excitement.

As Rupert pushed aside the curtain and entered, she looked up at him, and laid her finger upon her lips.

He smiled and nodded, then stooped and whispered in her ear, "All is already quiet; I think we may set out as soon as it is dark enough to gain the entrance of the pass unperceived. Come then, love; you will find me there."

Her speaking eyes gave the promise he sought, and with a parting, half-regretful glance at the old squaw, who had always been kind to him and Juanita also, he left the wigwam.

Withdrawing to a short distance, he knelt in the shadow of a tree and poured out his soul in fervent prayer for guidance and help in this perilous undertaking.

The shades of evening were falling fast as he rose from his knees. He sent one swift glance around to make sure that no human eye was near enough to watch his movements, and, satisfied of that, walked with rapid yet noiseless step toward the foot of the mountain that shut in the valley on the nearest side.

Ascending a little way, he came to a ledge of rock; here stooping down and thrusting aside the overhanging branches of a wild vine that concealed a little hollow, he took from thence a bundle of jerked buffalo meat and venison, which he had collected in preparation for the flight, and with it in his hand rapidly retraced his steps.

He paused beneath the tree he had but just left, to take another reconnoitring glance, and was startled to find some one leaning against it, the faint outline of whose figure was barely perceptible in the gathering darkness; but only for an instant; the next he knew it was Juanita, and his arm stole round her waist.

"My love, my darling," he whispered, "does your heart fail you?"

"No, beloved, not while you are with me and lead the way," she answered softly.

"Come, then; I think they are all asleep, and it is quite dark; now is our time," he said, taking her hand and leading her onward.

Both had learned to walk with the Indian's noiseless tread; they wore moccasins, and there was no sound of footsteps as they pursued their silent way to the mouth of the pass.

Before they reached it the loud snoring of the sentinel told them there was no danger of molestation from him. He lay prone upon the ground, so soundly asleep that Rupert was able to divest him of his arms without waking him.

The gun, powder-horn, and shot-bag were Rupert's own, which had been taken from him at the time of his capture, so that the most scrupulous conscience could have seen no wrong in his taking possession; though, indeed, had they not been his own he would have thought it no robbery under the circumstances.

He was exceedingly glad to find both bag and horn well filled, for on that largely depended his ability to supply food for himself and Juanita on the long journey that lay before them ere they could reach the confines of civilization.

Attaching those two articles to the belt that confined his hunting-shirt about the waist, and putting the gun over his shoulder, with the bag of dried meat hung upon it, he took Juanita's hand in his again, and led her up the pass, away from the scene of their captivity.

It was very dark in that narrow defile, with the mountains towering far above them on each side, and the way was narrow, rough, and stony; again and again they stumbled and were near falling, yet held each other up; but they pressed patiently, determinately onward, without pause or exchange of word or syllable, till they reached the end, and came out upon a wide open plain.

The newly-risen moon, flooding it with silver light, showed them something of its nature and extent; it was treeless and, except along the margin of a stream that crossed it, a sandy waste. It did not look inviting, but across it lay the path to freedom, home, and friends.

They paused but a moment to recover breath and take in the view by one sweeping glance from side to side, then pressed forward more rapidly than had been possible in the darkness of the defile from which they had just emerged.

"Thank God, there is no foe in sight!" ejaculated Rupert, "but we must make all haste across this plain; for if pursued we can be seen from a great distance. Also let us gain yonder stream as quickly as possible, and walk in the water to destroy the scent of our footsteps, and leave no mark of a trail, by which we can be tracked."

"Yes, yes," panted Juanita; "oh, let us hasten."

"My poor darling, you are already almost spent," Rupert said tenderly. "Lean on me. If I were but free of the gun and bag of meat, I would take you in my arms."

"No, no," she returned, with a little pleased laugh. "I should not allow it. I am but a trifle out of breath; that is all, my best of husbands."

"I am happy to hear it," he said, "for I fear your strength will be sorely tried before we can reach a place of safety. Draw your blanket more closely about you, for the night wind has full sweep across this open plain, and its cold is piercing."

They had both been forced to adopt the Indian style of dress; Juanita had neither cloak nor shawl, but wore a blanket wrapped about her shoulders, after the manner of the squaws.

She drew it closer, took Rupert's arm, and they sped swiftly over the plain, the sense of impending danger lending them unnatural strength and speed.

They reached the stream, and followed its course for some miles, keeping just within the water's edge, then left it for a more direct route, which brought them, about daylight, to a dense forest.

Being now utterly spent with fatigue, they were obliged to stop and take some rest. Rupert spread his blanket at the foot of a tree, made Juanita lie down upon it, and carefully covered her with his own. "My poor child, how very weary you are!" he sighed in tender accents.

"Ah, if I could but provide a cup of hot coffee and a good warm breakfast for your refreshment! But I have nothing to offer you but this dried venison, and dare not even kindle a fire to dry your wet feet, lest the smoke should attract the attention of our savage foes."

"Ah," she said, with a determined effort to be cheerful, and giving him a sweet, bright smile, "we will not mind such trifles, if only we may escape being recaptured. Give me a bit of the venison; I can eat it with appetite."

They rested and slept where they were for some hours; then, late in the afternoon, started on again through the forest, trying to keep a south-easterly direction, and guided by the sun, of which they caught occasional glimpses between the tall tree-tops.

About the time of his setting they came out upon a little opening in the forest; and here they halted, made another meal upon the dried meat, then lay down and slept until the moon rose, when they pressed on again, guided by her light.

So for many weeks they journeyed on, the sun guiding them by day, the moon and stars at night, sometimes, when clouds covered these from view, obliged to lie by for hours or days; often compelled to do so from utter weakness and weariness, drinking water from the streams, and satisfying their hunger upon fish caught in them, or such game as Rupert was able to bring down with his gun or catch in snares laid for them when he and Juanita stopped for a night's rest.

He kept an account of the days of the week, and was careful to observe the rest of the Sabbath. He had brought his Bible with him, and the greater part of the day would be passed in the study of its pages and prayer to that God who is everywhere present and able to deliver from all dangers and fears. Rupert and Juanita were in a situation to feel very sensibly the need of His protecting care; for danger from wild beasts and roving bands of Indians threatened them on every side; venomous reptiles, too, often lay in their path, and they were not seldom assailed by both hunger and thirst, sometimes travelling many, many miles without finding either food or water.

Chapter Seventeenth.

"Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
It must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy."
SHAKESPEARE.

It was late in the afternoon of a sultry August day that our poor travellers, footsore and weary, reached a great cattle ranch in Texas, owned and occupied by a family of the name of Baird, who had emigrated from Ohio years before.

Their large, comfortable house, separated from the road by a wide, grassy yard and flower-garden, was the first civilized dwelling Rupert and Juanita had seen since their capture by the Indians, and their pulses quickened with joy at the sight.

Mrs. Baird was getting supper for her husband and sons, all of whom were in the field with the cattle. Turning from the fire where she was broiling chickens, baking biscuit, and frying potatoes, she caught sight of two forlorn figures coming up the garden path.

"Injuns!" she cried aloud, as, pale and breathless with fright, she looked this way and that for some weapon of defence, "and me here alone!"

But a second glance reassured her. They were nearing the open door, and she could see not only that they were whites, but that there was nothing sinister or fierce in the expression of the man's face, while that of the young girl, though pale and travel-stained, was winsome and even beautiful.

She stepped forward with a cordial "How d'ye do? Walk in, and sit down, and rest, for you are dreadfully tired, I know," setting out some chairs as she spoke.

"Thank you, madam; indeed we are," Rupert replied, lifting his hat with a courtly bow.

But as they crossed the threshold Juanita staggered, and would have fallen had not he caught her in his arms.

"Oh, my darling, my darling!" he cried in tones of acute distress, "have food and rest come too late for you?"

"Food and rest?" repeated Mrs. Baird, greatly shocked, "is she starved? Here, lay her down quick on the lounge in the sitting-room, and I'll bring her a glass of milk at once; 'twont take me a minute to get it."

With a word of thanks Rupert followed the good woman's directions, and had scarcely done so ere she was at his side with the milk.

He raised Juanita's head. Mrs. Baird held the glass to her lips, and noted, with tears of mingled joy and compassion, the eagerness with which it was swallowed.

Then a sudden thought sent her flying from the room to return immediately with a pitcher, from which she filled the glasses again and again, first for Juanita, then for Rupert.

"Now," she said, when her pitcher was empty, "you shall both have a good hearty supper in about ten minutes. If you'd like to wash off the dust first, you'll find soap, water, and towels handy out there on the porch. Now I must leave you, or my supper will be all spoiled."

"O Rupert, how good and kind she is!" whispered Juanita, with tears in her eyes, as their hostess left them alone together, "and she could never suppose from our appearance that we have anything to pay with."

"No; she must be a truly benevolent woman, and a Christian one also, I think; and truly we have great reason to thank our heavenly Father for bringing us to such an one in our sore need," said Rupert, adding, as Juanita made a movement as if to rise, "Lie still, love; I will bring a basin of water to you."

"Please do," she answered, lying down again; "a wash will be very refreshing. Ah, if one only had some clean clothes to put on!"

"That desire also shall be granted before long, my darling," Rupert answered between a tear and a smile, glancing down rather ruefully at the worn and soiled garments of his pretty young wife.

He had shielded her as far as possible from the hardnesses of their terrible journey, yet he knew that her sufferings had been great--so great that his kind, loving heart bled at the very thought of them.

She had beautiful hair, very fine, soft, glossy and black as the raven's wing; very long and luxuriant too; when unconfined falling in a great mass of ringlets below her waist.

Rupert was very proud of it, as well as of her regular and delicate features, her starry eyes, sylphlike form, and graceful movements.

At present she wore her hair in a great coil at the back of her shapely head, held in place by a wooden pin that he had made for her.

"May I take this down and comb it out for you?" he asked, laying his hand caressingly upon it. "But perhaps it would tire you too much."

"Oh no, it would rather be a refreshment," she answered, smiling up at him, "and I shall be much obliged."

So he did, then brought her the water to lave her hands and face.