"Ugh!" exclaimed the log, as it went back for the horses. "Mexican! No blue-coat!"
That was a compliment to such men as Captain Moore, but then the log was doing what no kind of fellow would have undertaken with "blue-coats." It now mounted one of the horses and led on up the stream, to a place it seemed to know about, where the water was wide and shallow and could be easily forded. On crossing it the log was still at no great distance from the camp, but upon higher ground. Looking down, it could have a good view of the smouldering camp-fires and the sleeping Mexicans, for tents there were not.
"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" exclaimed the knot at the top of the log, exultingly. "Ugh! Got heap hoss, heap saddle, heap gun, heap all plunder. Ugh! Mexican shoot at him on rock. Wonder how feel now, pretty soon. Ugh!"
An irrepressible whoop of triumph burst from him.
"Ugh! Bad medicine," he said. "Great chief let mouth go off like boy."
He had not lost his wits, however, and he followed that whoop with a dozen more, a whole series of fierce, ear-splitting screeches, while he rapidly emptied the nine chambers of the captured carbine and the six of a revolver. He aimed at the camp-fires and with tip-top success, testified to by sudden showers of sparks and brands which flew around among the startled sleepers.
Great was the uproar in that astonished camp. Seven gallant fellows who had bugles began to blow for dear life the moment they were upon their feet. Every officer began to shout orders as soon as he was awake, and some seemed to begin even earlier. They exhibited tremendous presence of mind, but no soldier received the same order from any two of them. Within a minute, at least a hundred men were at their posts of danger behind something or other, while three hundred more were making a blind rush for the corral. The sentries had all fired their pieces at once, and now there began a general popping of guns and pistols at the awful shadows beyond the little river.
Kah-go-mish could hardly have wished for anything better. He wheeled and rode rapidly away, followed by the string of horses which he had regarded as the fee due to him for being made a target of.
He had not been killed, then, no thanks to the Mexicans, and he had not killed anybody now, deeming it imprudent to take any scalps under the circumstances. He had again, however, proved his claim to be considered an extraordinary collector of enemy's horses, and that is a high fame to win among the wild tribes of the southwest. As for the righteousness of what he had done, in his own eyes, he was a commanding officer of Mescalero Apaches, and his people were at war with Mexico, as the rancheros and militia had declared so recklessly. He made war in a manner every inch as civilized as their own, and thought well of himself for so doing. He said so, quite a number of times, that night, as he rode on deeper and deeper into the rugged passes of the Sierras. About daylight he came to an open, shaded spot, by a spring, where there was grass for his prizes, and where he could build a fire and then find out what there might be for breakfast in a very fat haversack which hung from one of the saddles.