Chapter 15: The Shot of Shots

“Don’t speak yet,” said the Professor in a low tone when they had gone about fifty yards. “My power over them cannot last long. An influence of this kind goes away with the one who creates it.”

But Charles could not be restrained wholly.

“You are the bravest man in the world, Professor, and the wisest,” he breathed in tones of the deepest gratitude.

But the Professor merely danced on for another fifty yards. Then he said:

“I don’t think I can keep this up much longer. I was never a dancing man, and if I were I should not choose such a blazing sun as this under which to make my exhibition. But another fifty yards and I’ll turn into the bushes. The fright of old Ka-jú will last just about so far.”

Charles longed to look back. He wanted to see what the Apaches were doing, but he did not dare. It was his part to follow with eyes fixed upon the one whom Se-má-che had chosen as his messenger.

The fifty yards that the Professor had named were passed. Then the little man turned abruptly into the scrub, and Charles as quickly followed. The Professor stooped down and picked up a rifle from the place where it lay hidden in grass and leaves. The music box he strapped upon his back. “We cannot part from so good a friend as this,” he said. “But come, Charles, we must run for it. My spell has now just about worn out. These things are psychological, and with our disappearance from sight that shrewd old medicine man will realize that we have no more to do with Se-má-che, the Sun God, than he has.”

The Professor dashed forward into the mouth of the pass that led toward the village and Charles closely followed him. All sorts of joyous thoughts surged up into the boy’s mind. He was free again! Rescued in the most extraordinary manner by this wonderful man! He was armed, too, and he had all his strength. He did not believe that he could be taken again.

Behind them rose a great cry.

“There!” said the Professor. “The spell has broken. The courage of the old shaman has come back, and he will urge the others to follow us. It’s quickness and skill now that will save us, Charles, my lad.”

“I owe you my life, Professor,” said the boy, as they ran together. “It was a wonderful thing to do. How did you know I was there?”

“I missed you, came down the pass and saw you in the hands of the rascals. The rest—well I think I may say it was an inspiration.”

“I heard you speaking in their own tongue. I didn’t think you knew Apache.”

“I make it a point to learn languages. It’s a part of my business. It’s a very simple matter, after you learn the first twelve or fifteen. The others are merely derivations and the ordinary linguist can pick one up in a week or two. Of course, I have studied the Apaches and their tongue. I would not think of coming to their country without first doing so. Those behind us are Apache-Yumas. They call themselves in their own language Tulkepaias or Natchous. They live north of the Gila between the Verde and the Colorado. There is another branch of the Apaches, the Apache-Mojaves, who call themselves in their own language the Yavapais or Kokenins, who claim as their country the region from the valley of the Verde and Black Mesa to Bill Williams Mountain. I might mention also a third branch, the Apache- Tontos who live in the Tonto Basin and around Pinal Mountains.”

The Professor spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. It came from him naturally and not as learning that might be displayed.

“All Apaches look alike to me,” said Charles.

“That is, equally bad,” said the Professor. “Well, we won’t discuss it, but I think, my boy, that we are running too fast. If we keep up this pace we shall exhaust ourselves at the start. The Apaches are good trailers, but this is hard rough ground, and they will have great difficulty in following us. If they do overtake us, I wish I could get a shot at that old shaman. A sure bullet now might save many a white man from torture and death.”

The Professor ferociously tapped the barrel of his rifle. Charles could not see the eyes behind the glasses, but he believed that the little man was in earnest. They were his own sentiments, too.

“They will certainly follow us up the pass,” he said.

“Beyond doubt,” said the Professor, “and the desire to overtake us may make them follow us to the cliff village. But if so, the four of us can probably hold them off there. It’s a place of great strength.”

They ran rapidly up the stream. There was practically only one path to choose, that is, to ascend by the side of the stream, as the mountains on either side were too steep for flight. The Professor, though small, was compact, and he seemed to be made of woven wire, while Charles was full of youthful strength and life. They did not stop their steady trot for about three hours, when they drank from the stream which was now cold in its rush down from the snowy mountains. They rested a little at the brink, always looking toward the south, whence the foe would come, if he came.

“Perhaps they’ve turned back,” said Charles hopefully.

“I think not,” said the Professor. “The shaman has probably convinced them that we are impostors and they must be raging. They are likely now to rush to the other extreme, and, under the impulse of it, they will overcome, for the time at least, all the superstitious fears that they may have had of the cliff village.”

“Which means that we must make a fight?”

“I fear so.”

The day was now far advanced and they were deep in the hills among the ash, the piñon, the oak and the cedar. The way had grown rough and they were compelled to rest, sitting in the deep shade on the crest of a precipice, full two hundred feet above the stream. Professor Longworth produced some venison from his pocket, and they chewed it hungrily. Charles was not a demonstrative boy, but he could not keep from saying again:

“Professor, I can never thank you enough for coining as you did. They were going to bury me alive, and leave me to the snakes and the vultures.”

“Don’t bother about the thanks, my lad,” said Professor Longworth, “I was glad of the chance to save you and, moreover, it has given me one of the most interesting experiences of my life. Perhaps never again shall I have the opportunity to test the power of superstition over a shaman so old and cunning as the one they call Ka-jú. It was a chance that can come only once in a lifetime, and even then to but a few men. After all, I am more in your debt than your are in mine.”

Charles gazed in astonishment at the Professor, but the little man was obviously in earnest. To his inquisitive mind it was a wonderful, a surpassing experience, and the danger of it was a matter of small moment.

“The human mind can be crushed for the time being by a blow,” he said. “Ka-jú, although before alive with suspicion, was overwhelmed with terror when the music box would not go for him, while it went freely for you and me. But his mind was too strong to remain under the influence of that blow. It came back like a bent sapling rising again, when we disappeared in the bush. Then disbelief and rage of pursuit rose in him. It is certainly he who is urging on the chase.”