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POWER DISTRIBUTION
SYSTEM RELIABILITY
Practical Methods
and Applications
Ali A. Chowdhury
Don O. Koval
IEEE Press
POWER DISTRIBUTION
SYSTEM RELIABILITY
BOOKS IN THE IEEE PRESS SERIES ON POWER ENGINEERING
Ali A. Chowdhury
Don O. Koval
IEEE Press
IEEE Press
445 Hoes Lane
Piscataway, NJ 08854
Technical Reviewers
Ward Jewell, Wichita State University
Fred Vaneldik, University of Alberta
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey. All rights reserved.
Published simultaneously in Canada
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted
under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of
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Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and author have used their best efforts in
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particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives or written sales materials.
The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a
professional where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other
commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.
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may not be available in electronic formats. For more information about Wiley products, visit our web site
at www.wiley.com.
ISBN 978-0470-29228-0
—Ali A. Chowdhury
—Don. O. Koval
CONTENTS
Preface xix
3 RELIABILITY PRINCIPLES 45
3.1 Failure Rate Model 45
3.1.1 Concept and Model 45
3.1.2 Concept of Bathtub Curve 46
3.2 Concept of Reliability of Population 47
3.2.1 Theory of First Principles 47
3.2.2 Reliability Model 50
3.2.3 The Poisson Probability Distribution 52
3.2.4 Reliability of Equal Time Steps 53
3.3 Mean Time to Failures 54
3.4 Reliability of Complex Systems 55
3.4.1 Series Systems 55
3.4.2 Parallel Systems 56
3.4.3 Partially Redundant Systems 58
3.4.4 Bayes Theorem 60
3.5 Standby System Modeling 62
3.5.1 Background 62
3.5.2 Spares for One Unit 62
3.5.3 Spares for Multiple Interchangeable Units 63
CONTENTS ix
5 ENGINEERING ECONOMICS 97
5.1 Introduction 97
5.2 Concept of Interest and Equivalent 98
5.3 Common Terms 98
5.4 Formulas for Computing Interest 98
5.5 Annual Cost 101
5.5.1 Concept of Annual Cost 101
5.5.2 Alternatives with Different Life Times 102
5.6 Present Value (PV) Concept 103
5.7 Theory of Rate of Return 105
5.8 Cost–Benefit Analysis Approach 106
5.9 Financial Risk Assessment 107
5.9.1 Basic Concept 107
5.9.2 Principles 107
5.9.3 Concept of Risk Aversion 108
5.10 Conclusions 108
References 109
Index 519
PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We are grateful to Dr. Fred VanEldik, professor emeritus, University of Alberta for his
editing skills and valuable suggestions in the writing of this book. We are most grateful to
numerous colleagues and friends: Yakout Mansour, president and CEO of California
Independent System Operator; John Propst, Brent Hughes, and Peter Hill of BC Hydro;
Charles Heising, an independent consultant; Doug Hollands of SaskPower; Dr. Roy
Billinton of the University of Saskatchewan; Dr. James McCalley of the Iowa State
University; Dr. Ward Jewell of the Wichita State University; Dr. S.S. Venkata of the
University of Washington; Dr. Anil Pahwa of the Kansas State University; Dr. Chanan
Singh of the Texas A&M University; Dr. Armando M. Leite Da Silva of Universidade
Federal de Itajubá; Dr. Gomaa Hamoud of Hydro One; Dr. Damir Novosel, Dr. Richard
Brown, James Burke, and H. Lee Willis of Quanta Technology; James Averweg, Richard
Polesky, Tom Mielnik, Brian Shell, Dan Custer, James Hettrick, and James Mack of
MidAmerican Energy; R.M. Godfrey of SNC LAVALIN; Cheryl Warren of National
Grid; C.V. Chung of Seattle City Light; John Vitagliano of Canadian Electricity
Association; Pat O'Donnell, independent consultant; J.P. Ratusz, Andy Swenky, Angie
Kirkwood, and Lance Barker of EPCOR; Tony Palladino and Murray Golden of Atco
Electric; Ibrahim Ali Khan of IK Power Systems Solutions; Roger Bergeron of IREQ; Dr.
Turan Gonen of Sacramento State; Bill Braun of Owens Corning; Robert Arno of EYP
Mission Critical Facilities, Inc.; Ariel Malanot of ABB, Switzerland; David Mildenberger
of AltaLink, Laverne Stetson of University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Glenn Staines of
Stantec; Lou Heimer and Michele Ransum of Public Works and Government Services
Canada; Darcy Braun of ETAP; Dr. Costas Vournas of the National Technical University,
Athens; Professor George E. Lasker, president of IIAS; Dr. Mohamed Hamza, president
of IASTED; and the members of the Gold Book Working Group (IEEE Standard
493-2007) for their keen interest and invaluable suggestions over the many years. We
express our kindest appreciations and gratitude to Dr. Mohammed E. El-Hawary, series
editor; Jeanne Audino, project editor; and Steve Welch, acquisitions editor of IEEE Press
for their constant encouragement and deep interest in our manuscript.
PREFACE xxi
We are particularly grateful to all the undergraduate and graduate students in the
Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering at the University of Alberta for their
valuable suggestions, research works, and validation of many of the reliability concepts
over the years. Particular thanks go to Cameron Chung, Cindy Zhang, Joseph Dong,
Tahir Siddique, Imran Khan, Catalin Statineanu, Jack Zheng, Jianguo Qiu, Mihaela
Ciulei, Haizhen Wang, Kai Yao, Bin Shen, Meina Xiao, Xiaodong Liu, Ming Wu, Vikas
Gautam, Zhengzhao Lu, Shrinivasa Binnamangale, Aman Gill, Sukhjeet Toor, Fatima
Ghousia, Delia Cinca, Faraz Akhtar, Tushar Chaitanya, and many other undergraduate
and graduate students. Our sincere thanks go to Pamela McCready of California
Independent System Operator for meticulously proofreading the entire manuscript.
Finally, our deepest appreciations go to our wives and family for their limitless
patience and understanding while we were working on this book.
ALI A. CHOWDHURY
DON O. KOVAL
Folsom, California
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada,
March 2009
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CHAPTER XIX
RUN TO GROUND
Bending low, now creeping on all fours, now running with his body
doubled to his knees, diverging to right or left as projections in the
Lava Beds seemed to offer a favourable screen, but ever and always
making for the front, the solitary man pressed on, his rifle grasped
sometimes in the left hand, sometimes in the right, as the need for
using one hand or the other in his advance arose. Twice he stopped
to recover breath, while pushing his way onward, and cautiously
twisted his head around to see what had become of his Pueblo
friends; but they were invisible. Their skill in keeping under cover at
least was undeniable. On he went again, till finally he reached the
brow of the great rise in the lava bed from which Miguel had
reconnoitred the Navajo camp. Past this he tried to get without
exposing himself unduly, but thrice he failed to find cover, and
retreated again to look for a better spot. The fourth time he found a
hollow in the lava with a rise on the right of it that promised him
some shelter, and flat on his face in this he wormed himself slowly
along, the eager bulldog flattening himself against the rock by his
side. Often had he crawled like this beside his master to get a
chance at a deer. But it was more dangerous game than deer that
they were stalking now. Having gained some twenty yards by this
creep, Stevens slowly raised his head to get a view of the new
ground that he knew should become visible in front of him from
here. He caught sight of a little green oasis amid the lava beyond, of
a band of ponies grazing in it, and of figures seated in a group on
the far side; and, by Heaven! amid the figures his quick eye detected
the flutter of a pink muslin which he had often seen Manuelita wear.
"Great Scot!" he ejaculated, "she's found. There she is." He raised
himself a little higher to get a better view, and take in the details of
the hostile camp, when suddenly a jet of smoke came out of the lava
scarce a hundred yards away, the sharp snap of a rifle was heard,
and a bullet clapped loudly on the rock close to his head. The
Navajos were not taken by surprise.
The Navajos had spotted the Pueblo scouts; they took their
appearance as a signal for fight, and now they were ready to give
them or anyone with them a warm reception. This bullet was their
first greeting.
The lead, splashing off the rock, spattered sharply on Stephens's
cheek. Instinctively he threw up his right hand and passed it over
the side of his face, but the splashes did not even draw blood, and
his eye was happily uninjured. In a moment he raised his rifle to
shoot back, but before he could get a bead the gleam of the rifle-
barrel from which the shot had come, and the head of the Indian
that had aimed it disappeared. "Dropped down to reload," said the
frontiersman to himself. "He's a goodish shot, that Navajo son of a
gun; that was a close call."
Lowering his head under cover, he decided to try a trick. Opening a
recess in the butt of his Winchester, he drew out four little iron rods
which, when screwed together, made a cleaning-rod about thirty
inches in length. Then he took off his hat, put the end of the
cleaning-rod inside it, and slowly hoisted it into view a yard or so
away to the right of where he had looked over before. He lay on his
left side and elbow, with his Winchester in his left hand, and the
right arm extended raising the hat. Snap went the sharp report of a
rifle again; there was a hole through the hat; dropping the rod
instantly he seized his rifle with both hands and raised himself for a
quick shot. But there was nothing visible worth shooting at. Once
more the quick dissolving puff of smoke and the gleam of a rifle-
barrel disappearing were all that he got a glimpse of. His little ruse
had failed, and he was clearly discomfited, while a loud whoop of
derision rang out from the rocks; it was the Navajo equivalent for
"Sold again!" It was echoed from another quarter, and from another,
by wild unearthly yells.
"Aha, white man," those yells seemed to say, "we've caught you
now! How do you feel now? This is our country and not yours; aha!
it is our home, and it shall be your grave; the vulture and the coyote
know the Navajo war-whoop, and they are hurrying to pick your
bones. Aha, aha!"
The solitary man felt his heartstrings quiver at the cruel sounds, but
he kept his eyes glued to the place where the puffs of smoke had
come from; the next time that devilish redskin put up his head to
fire he would try who could draw a bead the quicker.
At this moment he was startled by a loud, coarse voice, quite close
to him apparently, but coming from an unseen speaker. The words
were Spanish. "Es tu, Sooshiuamo?"—"Is it you, Sooshiuamo?" The
voice was the unmistakable voice of Mahletonkwa, with its thick,
guttural tones.
Stephens hesitated a moment. Should he break silence and answer?
He had neither fired a shot nor uttered a sound so far. But he had
been discovered, for all that, and was there any further use in trying
to conceal his exact position? He decided to answer.
"Si, soy," he called out in a loud voice. "Yes, that's who I am. Is that
you there, Mahletonkwa?" But he did not turn his eyes in the
direction of the unseen voice that had addressed him; he kept them
fastened on the distant spot where he expected the rifle-barrel to
reappear. Nor did he judge amiss. The hidden marksman, who
thought that the American's gaze would be turned in the direction of
the voice in answer to which he had spoken, put up his rifle for a
third shot at him. Quick as lightning Stephens brought the
Winchester to his shoulder; but even now he did not pull the trigger,
for as his rifle came up the Indian's head went down again, and
again those wild derisive whoops rang out, and again the voice of
the unseen man, concealed so close to him, addressed him in
Spanish.
"What are you doing here, Sooshiuamo? and what do you want?"
Was the voice nearer than before? Was this only a trick of the
Navajos to get him off his guard? Stephens mistrusted that it was
so; but he coolly made reply. "Why do your men shoot at me,
Mahletonkwa? I want to talk to you. I want that Mexican girl, the
Señorita Sanchez, whom you have carried off." He would see if they
were open to an offer.
"Who is with you?" asked the voice of Mahletonkwa. "Who are those
behind you? Where are the soldiers?"
Stephens determined to try to run a bluff.
"They're coming," said he confidently. "Don't you delude yourself.
We've got force enough to take her back. You'd better surrender her
quietly at once."
"Pooh!" answered Mahletonkwa tauntingly, "you've got no soldiers.
The storekeeper burnt the letter you sent to the general, I know."
This was a blow to Stephens, and the moment he heard the Indian
say it, he recognised the probability of its truth. Backus must have
played traitor, and, what was more, he must have told the Navajos
that he had done so. This Indian could never have invented such a
story himself.
"Suppose he did," returned Stephens, determined to keep up his
bluff; "that doesn't prevent me meeting Captain Pfeiffer and a troop
of cavalry on the road and bringing them along." He raised his voice
so that all those Indians who were within earshot might hear him.
"If you dare hurt one hair of the señorita's head, you will every one
of you be shot or hanged. You mark me."
While he was speaking the Navajo who had fired at him twice
already put up his head for a third shot, but he bobbed it down
quicker than before as the ready Winchester came up to the
American's cheek.
The prospector lowered his piece once more instead of letting fly; he
was determined not to throw away his first shot. He had plenty of
cartridges, but he knew that to risk beginning with a miss would only
embolden his enemies, and he meant to strike terror from the start.
The red Indian is as brave as the next man, but he objects to getting
killed if he can help it, and he will carefully avoid exposing himself to
the aim of a dead-shot. These Navajos had all seen Stephens drive
the nail.
Stephens's verbal threat, however, only provoked Mahletonkwa's
derision. "Pooh!" he retorted jeeringly, "where are your friends now?
It is getting time for them to come and save you. You'll see, though,
they can't do it. We'll show you what we are. We are Tinné; we are
men." The word Tinné means "men" in the Navajo language. They
call themselves "the men" par excellence.
"Chin-music's cheap," rejoined Stephens, taunting him back. "Say,
have you forgotten your time on the Pecos at Bosque Redondo
already? You felt like 'men' there, didn't you, when you were
grubbing for roots and catching grasshoppers and lizards to eat like
a lot of dirty Diggers?"
"Hah!" replied the Indian indignantly, "I never saw Bosque Redondo.
All the soldiers you could get couldn't take me where I didn't choose
to go. I don't take orders from any agent or any general. Nobody
ever commands me." There spoke the soul of the true son of the
desert. Personal liberty was to him as the breath of his nostrils.
Nevertheless, beneath his boastful assertions Stephens thought he
detected an undertone that might indicate a willingness to treat, and
he slightly altered his own tone.
"Mahletonkwa, you're playing the fool. Why don't you bring the girl
back quietly?"
"Well, if you want her," answered the Navajo, "why don't you come
out of your hole and talk business?"
"Yes, and get shot by treachery for my pains!" answered Stephens
indignantly. "I haven't attacked you. Your men began; they've shot
at me twice without warning."
"Well," said the Navajo, "you tell your men, if you have any, that
they are not to shoot, and I'll tell mine not to shoot, and then you
and I can talk together. I'm willing to treat."
An idea struck Stephens; he had already insinuated that he had
Captain Pfeiffer—a name of terror to the Navajoes and Apaches—at
his back; he would keep up that pretence, at least for a time. He
turned and shouted aloud in English at the pitch of his voice, "O
Captain Pfeiffer! O Captain Pfeiffer! Keep your soldiers back. Don't
let them fire a shot." He paused, and then continued shouting again,
but this time in Spanish, "O Captain of the Indian scouts," he would
not give away the Santiago cacique in any wise by calling him by
name, "let your scouts keep their posts and watch, but let them not
fire a shot. Let them wait till I return. Peace talk."
The four Pueblo Indians heard him, and understood, and from their
hiding-places they shouted back in assent.
"You see," cried he to his wily foe, "my men are warned. Do you
send your men back to your camp, and come out and meet me in
the open, eye to eye."
"No treachery?" said the Indian.
"No treachery," answered the white man.
The Navajo called to his companions, and presently Stephens had
glimpses here and there of stealthy forms slinking through the Lava
Beds back in the direction of the oasis where their horses were
grazing.
"Now you come out," called Mahletonkwa to the American.
"Come forward then, you, too," said Stephens.
"You first," returned the savage.
Stephens decided to take the risk and set the example. Grasping his
rifle in his left hand, he held it across his body, while he raised his
open right hand above his head in sign of amity, as he rose to his
full height. Not twenty yards away, across the ridge of rock that had
covered him on his right hand, he caught sight of Mahletonkwa's
copper-coloured visage, with the watchful dark eyes fastened on
him, as they peered through a loophole-like fissure in the lava,
where he was crouching.
Stephens, his head a little thrown back, his breast expanded, braced
himself to receive, and to return if he could, the treacherous bullet
he more than half expected.
"Stand up there you, Mahletonkwa, like me." He spoke proudly. "Be
a man; stand up."
Very watchfully, both hands grasping his gun at the ready, the Indian
rose to his feet. He looked like a fierce, cunning wolf hesitating
whether to snap or to turn tail.
With right hand still extended, Stephens moved step by step towards
his enemy, Faro keeping close to his heels. Not for a moment did the
white man remove his eye from the Indian, alert to detect the first
motion towards raising the gun, as he felt for his footing on the
rough lava blocks, careful not to look down lest an unfair advantage
should be taken of him. At five yards off he halted. The fissured rock
behind which Mahletonkwa had been crouching was now all that
separated them.
"Is there not peace between us?" exclaimed Stephens. "What do you
fear? Why does your gun point my way?"
"Is not your gun in your hand, too?" returned the Indian. "Put it
down and I will put mine down."
Stephens lowered his right hand, and bending his knees slowly he
sank his body near enough to the ground to lay his Winchester at his
feet, but he never took his eyes off the Indian, and his fingers still
encircled the barrel and the small part of the stock.
"Down with yours too, Mahletonkwa," he said quietly.
The Indian placed his piece at his feet, hesitated a moment, and
then removed his hands from it and sat up, resting himself on his
heels. Stephens likewise took his hands from his weapon and sat on
a rock. Mutual confidence had advanced so far, although each was
still intensely suspicious of the other.
"Now, tell me," said Stephens, "what did you carry off the girl for?"
"To get our pay for our dead brother," returned the red man.
"You did wrong then. You should have complained to the agent at
Fort Defiance if you thought you had a claim to compensation. You
should not have done an act of war by carrying her off."
"Huh! Was it not you who tried to send for the soldiers when we
came to claim compensation?"
"Certainly I sent for them. You refused a reasonable offer, and you
threatened to kill my Mexican friends instead. That was why I sent
for them."
"It was you who caused the Mexicans to refuse compensation. They
would have paid up and settled with us if it had not been for you."
"No, not so. It was you who asked a ridiculous price. I urged
Nepomuceno Sanchez to make terms with you. But not at your price.
You asked for the dead man's weight in silver, pretty near. I don't
believe you know how much a thousand dollars is; I don't believe
you could count it."
"Yes I could," said the Indian sulkily; "it's a back-load for a man to
carry a day's journey."
Stephens figured on the weight, as stated by the Indian, for a
moment. "Well, I've got to admit you do seem to know something
about it, after all," he answered; "your figures come out about right.
And, as I said before, it was a perfectly absurd amount to ask. And
then, to make it worse, instead of trying to make terms, you commit
an outrage of this kind by carrying off an innocent girl by violence."
"She has not been ill-treated," said the Indian; "she has not been
subject to violence while we have had her. We have taken good care
of her." He spoke very earnestly and with marked emphasis.
"That's your story," returned Stephens; "I only hope it's true. It'll be
better for you if it is. But anyways there's no denying the fact that
she's been brutally dragged from her home."
"That's nothing much," said the Indian briefly; "she's not been ill-
treated"; and he explained clearly enough what he meant by ill-
treatment. Stephens understood him, and shuddered to think of that
poor girl having lain for two days and nights completely at the mercy
of this savage. But he remembered Madam Whailahay, and the
cacique's wonderful account of the power of that superstition over
the Tinné. It might prove to be true, as Mahletonkwa asserted, that
the captive had been spared the worst. And the Navajo really did
seem to have a notion of coming to terms. But on what basis were
they to deal? How far could they trust each other? That was the
crucial question.
"Look here now, Mahletonkwa," said he, "you take me straight to
where she is, and let me talk to her quietly; and you give me your
solemn promise that you won't try to make me prisoner, but will let
me return to my own men unharmed, and I'll see what I can do to
make peace for you." He had a special object in making this speech;
it was to test the truth of the Indian's words. If the Navajo refused
the permission for him to see her, he would be discrediting his own
assertion that the girl was not seriously harmed; moreover, though
Stephens had small faith in the Indian's honour, and was by no
means unprepared to find that the promise, if given, was given only
to entrap him, he nevertheless thought it politic thus to require it,
that by making such a show of confidence on his own part in
Mahletonkwa's honour he might beget a corresponding return of
confidence from the other.
The Navajo pondered a moment on the proposition. "Yes," he said
presently, looking up, his distrustful eyes, still full of suspicion,
resting doubtfully on Stephens. "Promise, you, that your men stay
where they are, and do nothing against us, and I'll take you to her."
"I'll do that much," answered the American; "so then it's a bargain."
"It's a bargain," returned the red man; the confidence shown in him
was producing its effect.
"That's all right then," said Stephens cheerfully, rising to his feet and
leaving his Winchester still on the ground. He was not one whit less
on the alert than before, but his cue now was to betray no distrust.
For the first time since their meeting he took his eyes off
Mahletonkwa and looked back to where he had left his Pueblo
friends, who had remained all this time as invisible as ever, waiting
on the event with the inexhaustible patience of their race.
"Hullo!" he called back, "you scouts, stay there where you are till I
come back again. I am going to the camp of the Navajos to see
about settling things."
As before, the Pueblos acknowledged his message from afar with a
wild answering shout of assent.
He turned round, picked up his Winchester in a quiet,
undemonstrative manner, and threw it into the hollow of his arm.
"Go ahead, Mahletonkwa," said he, "you heard what I said. They will
keep still till I return. Let's go to your camp, you and me."
The redskin likewise stood up with his weapon in his hand. "I've got
to give some orders, too," he said, and he began to speak in his own
tongue. Much to Stephens's surprise he was answered at once from
a few yards off. The head of a concealed Navajo suddenly appeared
from a fissure near at hand. Stephens instantly recognised him as
the Notalinkwa whom Don Nepomuceno had said was as big a villain
as the other. He rapidly calculated in his mind what this might mean.
It was, in a measure, evidence that the Navajo chief had not been
intending to keep faith. At any rate, this was proof positive that he
had only made a pretence of sending his men away while he met
Stephens alone; and yet during their colloquy he had kept this
confederate posted within a few yards of him the whole time. "It's all
right," said Mahletonkwa, in answer to the look of surprise apparent
on Stephens's face; "no treachery, no lies. I leave Notalinkwa here to
watch for us that your men don't advance. Come along. It's all
right."
That Mahletonkwa should leave a sentinel now seemed natural
enough, and Stephens decided promptly to acquiesce. He was in for
it now, and he must play the game boldly, and with unhesitating
steps he followed the Navajo chief over the rugged lava to the camp
where the prisoner was held.
The camp lay in a narrow sunken meadow, of a few acres in extent,
bordered on either side by the black, forbidding wall of the lava bed.
An unknown cause had here divided the lava stream for some
hundreds of yards, leaving the space between unravaged by the
desolating flow. And in the little oasis thus shut off the grass grew
rich and green, looking tenfold brighter from its contrast with the
blackened wilderness around.
"What a perfect place for stock-thieves to hide in," thought Stephens
as he beheld it. "Of course these Navajos know every hidden recess
like this in the country." His eyes eagerly scanned the scene for the
form that was the object of his search. Close under the rocks, on the
far side, was the group of which he had already caught a glimpse
from the point where he had had his colloquy with the Indian chief.
Yes, it was indeed her dress he had discerned. There she was, sitting
on the ground amid the saddles and horse furniture, the Navajo
guards standing watchfully about in the space between him and her
as he and Mahletonkwa approached. Guns were visible in the hands
of most of them, but some carried only bows. He took note that the
latter were strung, and that besides the bow two or three arrows
were held ready in the fingers of the left hand.
But though his swift, wary glance took in every detail, it was to the
face of the captive girl that his eyes were most anxiously directed.
As he approached she sprang to her feet, and with a cry of
recognition ran forward to meet him. Some of the Indians put out
their hands as if to restrain her, but at a sign from Mahletonkwa they
refrained. His outstretched hand met hers in a vigorous clasp.
"You have come," she cried in broken tones, "you have come at last.
And my father,—is he safe?"
"Yes, he's safe," said the American, "and so are you."
CHAPTER XX
THE WOLF'S LAIR
And why was this debate between the American and the Navajos so
stubborn and tedious?
When two shrewd men are each determined to drive the best
bargain he can, and neither trusts the other, the diplomacy between
a frontiersman and a redskin may be as lengthy as if it were
between rival ambassadors of contending empires. In their secret
hearts both Stephens and Mahletonkwa were anxious to come to an
understanding, but each thought it politic to simulate comparative
indifference, and not to give any advantage to his opponent by
betraying undue eagerness.
Stephens demanded at the outset the immediate restoration of the
captive to her father, safe and sound. Granted that, he was willing to
promise fair compensation for the Navajo who had been slain, and
amnesty for the subsequent outrage of carrying off the girl; and also
he was ready in person to guarantee these terms. He could offer no
less, much as he longed to see her abductors punished, because it
was obvious that, as long as they were not secure from retaliation,
they would prefer to keep possession of her to the last possible
moment, and take their punishment fighting.
To this first demand Mahletonkwa signified his willingness to agree,
but only on conditions. Stephens's offer was an amnesty and fair
compensation. That was precisely what he wanted. Fair
compensation, plus an amnesty. But the question arose, what was
fair compensation? and here for a time they split. Stephens
maintained that Don Nepomuceno's offer of a hundred and twenty-
five dollars cash, was fair. Mahletonkwa would not hear of it. His
dead brother was worth a great deal more than that. He had asked
a thousand dollars for him, and a thousand dollars he intended to
have. Apart from that he had no use for the captive.
"Pay the bill, and take the girl," that was the sum and substance of
his argument; "and if her father won't pay, will you?"
Right here the American saw it was essential to make a stand. If he
weakly yielded to this preposterous claim, Mahletonkwa would be
sure to conclude that he was scared into acquiescence and could
have no soldiers or Indian scouts in any force to back him up. That
being so, most likely the Navajo would raise his terms, and ask
perhaps double, treble, quadruple,—anything he pleased in short,—
till the whole affair became a farce! No, Mahletonkwa's thousand-
dollar demand was almost certainly a bluff. Then why shouldn't he
try a bluff, too?
"I can't do it, Mahletonkwa," said he with an air of finality, but
speaking more in sorrow than in anger, as one who sees good
business slipping through his fingers. "I'd like to come to terms first-
rate, but I can't meet you there. You're too stiff in your figures. It's
not a deal."
He thought of the girl sitting there all alone in the cave, and his
kindly heart longed to say, "What's a thousand dollars, more or less?
Hang it all, here, take it! or rather, take my word for it, and let's be
off home." But prudence whispered, No.
Mahletonkwa calmly repeated his demand. He, too, thought it wisest
to play the part of the close-fisted trader, and show no hurry to
make a bargain.
"Well, look here then, Mahletonkwa and Navajos all," said the
American, appealing directly to the cupidity of the followers as well
as of the chief. "It's a big thing I've offered you on my own hook
already in this matter of the amnesty. It's a big thing for me to say
I'll stand between you and Uncle Sam" (he did not say Uncle Sam,
but the Great Father at Washington); "but I stick by that, and I'll do
it. And I've offered you payment for the dead man, same as Don
Nepomuceno, a hundred and twenty-five dollars; and you say it aint
enough. Now, I can't meet you the whole way, but I'll raise my offer
a bit, and you can take it or leave it. It's my last word." He rose to
the level of the part he was playing, and threw himself into it with all
the sincerity he was master of. "You see that rifle"—he pointed to
the long, heavy, muzzle-loading hunter's rifle that lay beside
Mahletonkwa's right knee—"well, I'll give you the weight of that rifle
in silver dollars. Me, looking as I do, I'll see that you get them.
There's my word upon it. This is my personal offer to compensate
you for your dead brother. You shall have silver dollars enough to
weigh down that rifle on the scales. I don't know how many that'll
take, but it's bound to be a right big pile. Now understand me, you
chaps, we'll take a balance, a fair and square balance, and put the
rifle in one scale and pour silver dollars into the other till the rifle
kicks the beam. Sabe?"
The sons of the desert looked one at another, and curious excited
sounds came from their lips, and significant gestures were made.
Some of them had actually seen scales used to weigh out the rations
at Fort Defiance, and they quite understood what they were for, and
made the thing clear to the less instructed among them. The
American saw that his offer had created an impression, and he did
his best to rub it in.
"You'll find it pay you to accept, Mahletonkwa," he said. "You'll be
able to fix things in grand style with all that silver. Here, let's have a
look at that rifle of yours, and let me heft it." He put out his hand
cautiously—no objection was offered; he laid it on the piece—still no
objection; he raised the rifle slowly on both palms, dandling it, as it
were, up and down. "Why, it's a real heavy gun. It don't weigh less
than twelve or thirteen pounds, I reckon. I tell you that'll come to no
end of a lot of silver; all silver dollars, mind you; and it'll take
hundreds of them, you bet, to weigh down this gun." He turned his
eyes from one to the other of the redskins, and they seemed to
understand him as he laid it down again beside the chief.
It was clear that his way of putting it had a great effect on the
Navajos. To tell the truth, most of Mahletonkwa's followers had by
this time begun to tire of their recent escapade. They had sallied out
from their own country under his leadership, at the summons of
Ankitona, the headman of their clan, to obtain the redress for the
death of a member of their clan called for by their peculiar religion.
But so far they had not taken much by their move. They had not as
yet got any compensation; they had carried off a Mexican girl; and
now they were beginning to feel that in doing so they had decidedly
risked putting their heads in a noose. They began to believe they
were in danger of being surrounded by United States soldiers, here
in the Lava Beds, and were likely to have an extremely unpleasant
time of it ere long unless they succeeded in escaping to a new
hiding-place. The cool confidence shown by this solitary man coming
forward so boldly to treat with them convinced them that he must
have a strong force behind him. And now he was making an offer of
a complete amnesty, plus a heap of silver dollars. First one and then
another began to urge Mahletonkwa to close the bargain. He was a
chief, of course, and upon him, as such, rested the responsibility of
making decisions; but a Navajo chief is practically very much in the
hands of his followers. When actually under fire they may obey him
well enough, but when it comes to questions of policy, if the greater
number are dissatisfied with his schemes or his methods, they
simply leave him, and he finds himself deserted. He has no power to
coerce them. Call this anarchy, if you will, or call it liberty, it is at all
events the very opposite of despotism. No Navajo chief can play the
despot; and Mahletonkwa, conscious that his authority was slipping
from him, acceded to the terms, which indeed gave him nearly all he
wanted.
"Bueno, Sooshiuamo", said he, using Stephens's Indian name in a
friendly way, "I accept your offer, and there shall be peace between
us. But you must agree to stay with us when we come out from the
Lava Beds, and you must go with us all the way to San Remo for the
money, and you must prevent any trouble with the soldiers or with
the Mexicans if they try to hurt us. You promise that?"
"Yes," said Stephens slowly, weighing every word of the Indian's
speech, "I'll promise that. I'll see you safe to the settlement and pay
you the money with my own hands. And if we meet any Americans
or Mexicans who are after you, I'll explain that it is peace, and they
are not to attack. I'll guarantee that much."
"Then," said the Indian, "it is peace between us; peace is made and
sure."
"Peace it is," said Stephens, rising; "and now by your leave I'll go
and tell the señorita, and then go and tell my men."
He hurried back to the cave where he had left her, and found her on
her knees. He had laughed at the orisons offered up by the Santiago
people before blasting the acequia; he did not laugh at hers.
She sprang up at his approach.
"We've fixed it all right," he said, "so don't you fret, señorita. I was
real sorry to have to keep you so long in suspense, but I couldn't
well help it. I'll explain all that to you later. But peace is made, and
we're going back to San Remo together, you and me, along with the
Navajos, and we'll start right away. But I've got to go over to where
I left my party yonder in the Lave Beds, and explain the whole
arrangement to them. Otherwise there might be considerable of a
fuss. Now, don't you fret," he took her hand again to reassure her,
"you'll be all right, and I won't be gone many minutes. You're sure,
now, you won't get scared?"
"If you say you will come back," she answered, "I know you will
come back, and I will try to be brave till you do."
With one glad pressure of her hand and one more long look into her
eyes he turned away and left her. She watched his active steps as he
hastened across the oasis and sprang up the broken lava rocks
beyond. On the summit he turned and looked back in her direction,
and waved his hand as a signal to her that all was well. Five minutes
later he bounded down into the grassy opening where his mare was
feeding with the four horses of the Pueblos. The cacique and the
three others ran to meet him.
"How have you succeeded?" exclaimed the cacique. "Who was that
shooting? Have you shot any of them?"
"Not me," replied Stephens. "I've been making peace, I have. I
found Mahletonkwa had just as lief trade as fight, and a bit more so.
'Ditto,' says I to that, and just talked peace talk to him, and we
made things square. Cacique, you were plumb right about
Whailahay; they haven't harmed the girl. I've fixed it up with them
about compensation for their dear departed, and we 're all going
back to San Remo together, to take her home and get the silver for
them. See?"
The cacique looked rather disconcerted. "I don't want to join
company with these Navajos out here," he said decidedly.
"Oh, I didn't mean you," rejoined the American; "I quite understand
that you might feel a delicacy in obtruding yourself on them out here
in No-man's-land. They might have heard of that little affair of the
seven Navajos in the sweat-house, eh? and this might seem a good
time and place to pay off old scores?" His spirits had gone up with a
bound, and he found it impossible not to chaff the cacique a little.
"No, Cacique; you brought me here upon their trail just like a smell-
dog, as I wanted you to do, and I've managed the rest of the
business myself. Now, what I want you to do is to take their back
trail and meet Don Nepomuceno and his party—they're sure to have
found it again by now and to be following it up—and you tell them
how I've fixed things, and say the señorita's all right and we'll meet
them in San Remo. Stop, I'll write it down here on a scrap of paper
and you can take it to them; that'll be best." He produced a pencil
and a small note-book, tore out a leaf and hastily wrote on it his
message to the Mexican. "There, Cacique," said he handing it to
him, "give that to Don Nepomuceno when you see him, and tell him
the whole show. I'd like to have you wait and meet us at San Remo
if you get back there before us. Hasta luego."
He gathered up the riata of the mare, and started to pick his way
with her through the Lava Beds to the oasis where the Navajos were
camped, while the Pueblos speedily made themselves scarce in the
opposite direction.
By the time Stephens reached the camp the Navajos had collected
their scanty equipment and bound it on their saddles; they all took a
long drink of pure, cool water from the hidden "tinaja" or rock-
cistern, and, leading their animals, made the best of their way over
the Lava Beds to the open country. Stephens explained to
Mahletonkwa before starting that he had arranged for his party to
return to San Remo by the route they came.
"Bueno," said Mahletonkwa shortly, "and we will go by another. I
know many trails through the sierra; there is one that I like well, and
I will take you by it."
"Right you are," said Stephens, "that suits me. Lead on." His object
now was to avoid any chance of a collision between the Navajos and
Mexicans till they should meet at San Remo.
Manuelita walked beside him as they followed the winding and
difficult trail taken, by the Navajos through the Lava Beds, but as
soon as they emerged from them and found themselves on the
smooth ground beyond, he spread a blanket over the saddle to
make it easy for her, and insisted on her riding Morgana while he ran
alongside.
After a while the leading Indians came to a halt, and were seen to
be examining the ground intently. When Stephens and the girl came
up to them he found that they had cut their own trail made by
themselves the previous day. But there were more hoof-marks in it
now than those of the eleven ponies, and they were busily studying
the newer signs. Stephens looked at them, too; they were
undoubtedly the tracks of the pursuing party under Don
Nepomuceno; it was hard to say just how many of them there were,
as they were confused with those of the Indians, and the Mexican
horses being barefooted, like the Indian ponies, it was impossible to
distinguish them. But there were more than a dozen at least, and
not one of them wore shoes.
"No soldiers in this party," said Mahletonkwa, looking up at Stephens
suspiciously. United States army horses are always shod, as he well
knew.
"Certainly not," answered the American unhesitatingly. "These are
not the tracks of my party. I never was over this piece of ground
before. My scouts cut your trail farther on."
"You had the Santiago scouts with you?" said the Navajo; "I was
sure of that when you came to the Lava Beds so quick. Which of
them did you have?—the cacique?" His dark eyes snapped as he
mentioned him. "Miguel, perhaps, that tall, slim one with the scar on
his cheek?" He knew a good deal about the Santiago folk; after the
submission of the Navajos had ended the long wars, there had been
some intercourse between the former enemies.
Stephens thought it better not to give any names. "Oh, I got some
good trailers," he said easily; "but there are other Pueblos besides
Santiago, and there are trailers in all of them. Cochiti has men who
are first-class on reading signs."
"I know you had that Santiago cacique," said Mahletonkwa
cunningly.
"Then if you think so, you'd better ask him to tell you about it when
we get back to the settlement," rejoined the American.
They entered the sierra a little before nightfall, and were soon
involved in a difficult and tortuous way amidst pine-crowned crags
and precipices. Sometimes their horses' feet clattered upon shady
slopes of débris; at times they trod softly upon a padded carpet of
fir-needles. They were traversing a little cañon just after sunset,
when, nearly two hundred yards away on the opposite side, the
forms of a herd of deer were silhouetted against the fading sky.
Instinctively Stephens threw up his rifle to his shoulder; he got a
bead as well as he could, though it was too dark to pick the exact
spot on the animal's side as he pressed the trigger, and at the sharp
report the band of dark forms disappeared as if by magic, but the
loud "thud" of the bullet proclaimed that one of them had been
struck. Instantly he and three of the Navajo young men dashed on
foot across the little gorge and scaled the opposite steep, Faro
leading the way. The bulldog nosed around for a moment where the
deer had been, and as the climbers emerged on top they heard him
give one joyful yelp as he darted forward on the scent; two minutes
later they heard his triumphant bark, and when they got up to the
spot they found him over the dead carcass of a yearling buck, shot
through the lungs. It had run some five hundred yards before it
dropped, and the bulldog coming up had seized it by the throat and
finished the business.
The Indians were loud in praise of the dog, as their knives rapidly
and skilfully dressed and cut up the game, while Stephens looked on
and rewarded his pet with the tit-bits. All three of the Navajos spoke
Spanish well enough for him to understand them as they praised the
dog, but when they turned over the deer, and found the place where
the conical bullet had come out on the other side, they changed
from Spanish into Navajo, and significant laughter followed as they
pointed out to one another the two holes, and then pointed to
Stephens's rifle. Suddenly it flashed across him that they had got a
joke on about something, and that it was not a thing new to him.
Their manner made him think instantly of the day when he drove the
nail, and Mahletonkwa pointed to his Winchester and told the funny
story—funny, that is to say, for the Navajos—about the murder of
the prospector. Though he understood no word of what they said,
their gestures were too full of meaning for him to mistake them.
"I say," said he abruptly, but with seeming carelessness, "aint this
the place that Mahletonkwa told that story about? About the man
who was shot with his own rifle, you know?"
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