online distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net the story of geronimo by jim kjelgaard illustrated by charles banks wilson publishers grosset & dunlap new york [illustration: signature books geronimo] © jim kjelgaard 1958 printed in the united states of america library of congress catalog card no. 58-9837 _the story of geronimo_ [illustration: great events in the life of geronimo] _for_ eleanor gefroh _who has been the dearest of friends to me and mine_ [illustration: _it seemed certain the two stallions must close with each other_] contents chapter i duel by stallion 3 ii raiding the papagoes 13 iii alope 28 iv massacre 39 v flight 51 vi revenge 59 vii the white men 71 viii the battle of apache pass 80 ix a wounded chief 90 x a chief dies 99 xi geronimo in chains 108 xii flight into mexico 116 xiii fortress paradise 127 xiv chief gray wolf 136 xv the discontented 145 xvi hunted like wolves 153 xvii a gallant soldier 163 xviii the last surrender 170 illustrations it seemed certain the two stallions must close with each other frontispiece the papagoes saw him, raised their clubs and rushed forward 19 the horses snorted in alarm 35 geronimo brought the skins of puma 37 he halted beside a mexican 46 the first shell struck the breastworks 87 the mimbrenos carried him over mountains and across deserts 95 "look! usan has smiled upon us!" 122 geronimo had cut the wire with his axe 151 the story of geronimo chapter one _duel by stallion_ geronimo crawled up the hill so carefully that no stalk of grass moved, and no bush quivered. a pair of crested quail, feeding on insects in the grass, merely glanced up when he passed and went on feeding. geronimo reached the top of the hill and crouched down in the grass. beyond were more hills, the near ones low, rocky, and given more to shrubs and grass than to trees. geronimo's eyes strayed across the arizona landscape to the east. there lay no-doyohn canyon, where geronimo had been born in 1829, just twelve years earlier. there his father had died when geronimo was five years old. in the far distance beyond the canyon, tall, pine-clad mountains rose. geronimo looked down the slope on a wickiup. this apache house was built of poles thrust into the ground, with deer skin walls and a smoke hole in the center of the roof. it was the home of delgadito, a mighty chief among the mimbreno apaches, the tribe to which geronimo belonged. delgadito was so mighty that only the great chief, mangus coloradus himself, outranked him. delgadito owned many horses. most of them grazed by day in pastures far from the village. but his black war stallion, his nimble-footed gray hunting horse, and the mare that his wife rode were only absent from their picket ropes when a rider was using them. [illustration] now the gray hunting horse was gone, which meant that delgadito was out after deer. but the mare and the stallion were still there. geronimo had come to steal the war horse. this, however, was not the time to do it. the mare's presence proved that delgadito's wife was home. if she saw geronimo stealing the war horse she would tell her husband. the punishment sure to follow would be harsh and long remembered. delgadito knew how to use a switch on headstrong boys. geronimo crouched in his hiding place, waiting. soon delgadito's wife came from the wickiup, mounted her mare, and rode away. geronimo rose and walked swiftly down the hill. the stallion raised its head and watched with eyes that were fearless and questioning. geronimo grasped the buckskin tie rope, and was drawing the horse to him when-"you leave my uncle's war horse alone!" a girl had come from the wickiup. geronimo was so interested in the horse that he did not even know she was near until she spoke. her name was alope, and she was delgadito's niece. geronimo thought she was so lovely that the most dazzling maidens of the mimbreno or any other tribe were drab beside her. when grown, such a girl would be too good for any warrior. only a chief would be worthy to have her as his wife. geronimo said, "i must have this stallion, alope." "why?" alope asked. "i must fight a duel of stallions with ponce, the son of ponce, and the only stallion among my mother's horses is too old to fight," geronimo said. alope asked, "why must you fight such a duel with young ponce?" "he gave me the lie!" geronimo said angrily. "i killed three deer with my bow and arrows. ponce said i _found_ them dead!" "twelve-year-old boys are not supposed to be able to kill deer," alope said. "i did!" geronimo insisted. "i believe you," alope said. "but these duels are dangerous. you know the elders have forbidden them." geronimo patted the stallion's cheek. "if the elders do not know a duel is being fought," he said, "they can do nothing." "and if my uncle's war horse is killed," alope told him, "he'll stake you out on an ant hill and let the ants devour you." geronimo said, "i'll gladly accept any punishment after i have fought this duel, but i must fight!" "what if you are killed?" asked alope. "i won't be. among all his father's horses, the son of ponce shall find no stallion to equal this one, and i am a much better rider!" alope said, "my good sense bids me run and get my aunt, but my heart tells me to speed a warrior on his way. i'll not tell, but i'll tremble for what will happen to you should my uncle's war horse be killed or hurt." geronimo slipped the tether rope, grasped the rein, and vaulted happily to the back of the mighty horse. though the stallion wanted to gallop and geronimo burned to test the speed and fire of such a mount, he held him to a walk. there was a fight coming up. the stallion must go into it rested. at the same time, it was a glorious feeling just to be on such a stallion. all apaches could ride, but few were master horsemen. geronimo had started riding the village colts when he was so small that it was necessary to lead his mount beside a boulder or stump from which he could scramble onto its back. he seemed born to ride. not half a dozen men in the village could stay on the back of delgadito's war horse. but geronimo was riding him. after twenty minutes the indian boy looked down on the secluded swale where the duel would be fought. he and ponce had chosen a battle ground far enough from the village so that the elders would be unlikely to interfere. young ponce was waiting there with one of his father's best horses, a fiery bay that had already slain a half dozen rivals. though the elders knew nothing of the duel, a crowd of boys ringed the chosen arena. they were tense with excitement, but they did not yell and shout as white boys would have. and all stood far enough away so that they could escape if either stallion charged toward them. as geronimo rode down the hill, delgadito's war horse caught scent of the other stallion and screamed his challenge. ponce's bay answered, and the two stallions rushed each other. quickly geronimo planned his battle. such duels were a common way for apache boys to settle arguments. they often resulted in the death of a horse, a rider, or both. when they did, it was usually the rider's fault. geronimo planned on using his riding skill to make a fool of ponce, and he intended that nobody should get hurt. just as it seemed certain the two stallions must close with each other, geronimo turned delgadito's war horse so expertly that they passed within inches. at this wonderful display of riding skill, an excited murmur of admiration rose from the watching boys. geronimo turned back, this time wheeling right in front of ponce's angry stallion. he swerved to come in to the side. ponce's bay reared and pawed the air with skull-crushing front hoofs. the watching boys gasped. but just as it seemed certain that geronimo would be killed, he leaned over and escaped by the width of a hair. suddenly, to geronimo's vast surprise, ponce wheeled his stallion and galloped away as fast as his bay could run. deciding to chase him on delgadito's war horse, geronimo was even more astonished when a shrill whistle split the air. the war horse whirled and trotted obediently to--delgadito himself! for the first time geronimo noticed that the watching boys had disappeared too. he alone had been so interested in the duel that he had failed to see delgadito come. the chief's eyes blazed with anger. "why do you fight a duel of stallions?" he demanded. "the son of ponce gave me the lie!" said geronimo, sitting erect on the war horse. "i killed three deer with my bow and arrows! young ponce said i found them dead!" "come with me!" commanded delgadito. he turned toward his gray hunting horse, which was rein-haltered near by and which had a buck strapped behind the saddle. without a word or a backward glance the tall chief mounted and rode at a walk in the direction of his wickiup. though he shivered inwardly, geronimo did his best not to show it as he followed. nor was he sorry that he had stolen the war horse. he had acted as a warrior should; he would take his punishment like a warrior. when they reached the wickiup, they dismounted and delgadito tethered both horses. then he removed his bow and quiver of arrows from the hunting horse, took a single arrow from the quiver, and gave the arrow and the bow to geronimo. [illustration] "killer of deer, i would see you shoot," the chief ordered. geronimo fingered the unfamiliar weapon. "what target?" delgadito nodded at a pine about twenty yards away. "the knothole." geronimo nocked the arrow, raised the bow, and needed every ounce of his strength to draw it. this was a man's weapon, with a much heavier pull than the bow he had made for himself. but he did not shoot until he knew he was on target. the arrow's shaft quivered as its copper point bit deeply into the knothole. delgadito said, "i saw you ride, and now i have seen you shoot. you told no lies. when the sun has risen three times more, i will lead a raid against the papagoes, for we should steal more horses. you will ride with us." delgadito turned and entered his wickiup to indicate that geronimo was dismissed. but for a full two minutes the dazed youngster did not move. at last, at long last, his fondest dream was coming true. he was to be a true warrior. chapter two _raiding the papagoes_ three days later, at sunrise, an excited geronimo sat nervously on his mother's aging stallion and waited for the raiders to start. besides delgadito, who was the leader, and geronimo, there were four braves named nadeze, sanchez, tacon, and chie. the dome-shaped wickiups where the villagers lived were softly beautiful in the early morning light. here and there the embers of last night's cooking fire--for in this fine spring weather the apaches did most of their cooking out of doors--glowed like a star fallen to earth. but except for the sentries who had been up all night, and the raiders about to set forth, the village slept. when all the raiders were mounted, nadeze and sanchez left the others. presently they returned driving a dozen loose horses among which was a beautiful spotted apaloosa. this horse had belonged to a _shaman_, or medicine man, of the white mountain apaches and had been taken from him in a night raid. it was always necessary to have extra horses when going into enemy country for any reason. they could serve as remounts. if there was no other food they could be eaten, or they could be traded if there were any opportunities for trading. but geronimo wondered why nadeze and sanchez had included the apaloosa. the spotted horse was famous throughout the land. even the papagoes and pueblo-dwelling zuñi knew him, and whoever saw him would surely send winged words to the _shaman_. "then a war party from the white mountain apaches will come to rescue their medicine man's horse," geronimo thought. but he asked no questions. surely delgadito knew what he was doing. nadeze and sanchez drove the loose horses on at full gallop, for the sooner the animals were tired the sooner they would be willing to stay with the rest and the less trouble they would cause. the other raiders rode out from the village more slowly. an hour later they overtook nadeze and sanchez, and the driven horses, now too tired to run. they fell in at the rear and seemed satisfied to stay there. geronimo felt a rising anxiety. he had always imagined raiding to be a stealthy business. these men laughed, shouted, and gaily mimicked a coyote that moaned from a nearby ridge. [illustration] presently lithe, slim tacon challenged fat chie to a race. whooping at the tops of their voices, they were off. geronimo stopped worrying. delgadito was too experienced a raider to do anything foolish. if he let the warriors act as though there were no enemies within twenty miles, then there were none. that night they camped on top of a rocky hill from which they could see in all directions, and they were careful to put all fires out as soon as darkness fell. "fire may be seen for a long distance on a dark night," geronimo said to himself. "that is why they were put out." the next morning the raiders rode on, and not until midafternoon did they make the slightest attempt to hide themselves. but when they finally halted under a cloud-ridden sky, there was a change in every man. this was desert country, and they stopped in a cluster of rocky hills. delgadito and chie dismounted and climbed the tallest hill to scout from its summit. soon they returned and told the others to dismount too. tether ropes were slipped about the necks of the loose horses, which were now led by the raiders as all went on quietly. a half hour later the raiders made a second stop in a dry wash. the banks of this desert creek bed were about four feet high and rimmed by cactus and palo verde trees. sanchez and delgadito felled one of these trees with copper hatchets, cut off two stout chunks, and tied either end of a long rawhide thong to them. then they stretched the thong as far as it would reach, and buried the chunks in the earth, at the bottom of the creek bed. careful to place a gentle horse between two quick-tempered mounts, they tied all animals to this picket line. this done, all got their weapons and started up over the wash. geronimo ran happily for his own bow and arrows and followed. suddenly delgadito turned, put the palm of his hand against the youngster's face, and pushed so hard that geronimo found himself seated in the bottom of the wash. "stay here to watch the horses," the chief growled. "but i'm a warrior too!" geronimo protested. delgadito growled again, and amused smiles flitted over the lips of the others. the raiders melted into the desert. flames of anger scorched geronimo's cheeks, and rage ate at his heart. he had a fierce desire to pursue and kill delgadito in revenge for being knocked down. but he knew that he must obey his chief. and he found it much more satisfactory to be guarding warriors' horses than to be playing children's games in the village. geronimo pillowed his back against a boulder and for a while never took his eyes from the horses. then it began to seem foolish to watch them at all. the animals were standing quietly, and the idea that an enemy might come into the creek bed seemed unlikely. presently geronimo went to sleep. some time later he awakened. at first he thought he had been disturbed by the deepening clouds and a feeling that rain would soon fall. then he peered down the wash. two nearly naked indians carrying war clubs were stalking the horses and were only about forty yards from the nearest animal. their clubs, the way they wore their straight black hair, and their tattooed faces stamped them as papagoes. it was plain to see that they intended to steal the horses. when he was certain that neither papago was looking in his direction, geronimo slung his quiver of arrows over his back. taking his bow in hand, he crawled swiftly to and under the nearest horse. the horses were not in an even line, but all stood perfectly still because they were interested in the papagoes, and their legs formed a rough tunnel. geronimo crawled down it. reaching the last horse, he stopped and licked dry lips. [illustration: _the papagoes saw him, raised their clubs and rushed forward_] he wished delgadito or any of the others were there. it was one thing to dream of becoming a warrior and quite another to face the enemy. what should he do now? then the papagoes saw him, raised their clubs and rushed forward, and there was only one thing he could do. geronimo plucked an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew his bow, took careful aim at the nearest papago, and shot. the papago was hit squarely in the heart. the only sound as the man fell was a jarring thud when he struck the ground. his companion turned to run. forgetting to nock another arrow, geronimo crawled weakly from beneath the horse and for a few minutes sat shivering. then he remembered that, though he was still a boy, he would soon be not just a warrior but an apache warrior. forcing himself to rise, he walked over to look at the dead papago, and told himself that he was glad he had put an end to another enemy of the apache. but he was just as happy that he had not killed the second papago too. before long a black horse, flanked by a gray and four bays, jumped down into the wash, ran across it, and stopped. they stared back in the direction from which they had come, and the tethered horses raised their heads to stare too. geronimo thought that the black was a wonderful stallion and was surely stolen from some mexican _rancheria_ because no papagoes bred horses so fine. now more horses came galloping over the desert until there was a herd of about eighty milling around in the wash. for the most part they were scrawny papago ponies. but geronimo saw one more fine stallion, a dark gray with black spots. riding stolen ponies, which they guided without help of saddle or bridle, delgadito and his raiders were on the heels of the last horses. as their mounts jumped into the wash they slid off. delgadito made his way to geronimo and looked down at the dead papago. "how is this?" the chief asked. "he would have stolen our horses," geronimo replied. "was he alone?" "there was another," the boy admitted. "i did not kill him." "you should have," delgadito scolded. "but come now and mount." geronimo ran with him to the picket line and mounted his mother's old stallion, then he was astounded to see delgadito take time to strip saddle and bridle from his own horse and put them on the apaloosa. geronimo marveled. this was enemy country and, when the papagoes discovered that some of their horses had been stolen, they were sure to launch a hot pursuit. but delgadito seemed as calm as he had ever been at home in his own wickiup. [illustration] mounting the apaloosa and whooping at the top of his voice, delgadito charged the herd. the other riders took off, one after another, and drove the horses full speed straight north. this puzzled geronimo. finally he rode over to talk with nadeze. "why do we go north?" he asked. "our home is almost due east." "worry not and question not," nadeze said coolly. "look and learn." always at full gallop, delgadito was racing from one end of the line to the other. the apaloosa already had run at least six times the distance any other horse had traveled. about an hour and a half later delgadito caught his own horse and transferred saddle and bridle from the apaloosa to him. the exhausted apaloosa staggered ten feet to stand with head drooping. geronimo finally understood. beyond any doubt, papago trackers were already on the trail of delgadito's mimbreno raiders. they could not fail to find the weary apaloosa and they would know its owner was the _shaman_ of the white mountain apaches. they would also see that the stolen horses had been started northward, toward the home of these apaches. thus the papagoes would think that they had been raided by men from the white mountain tribe and they would seek revenge on them, rather than on the mimbreno apaches. "we have a wise chief," thought geronimo, as delgadito's plan became clear to him. just then delgadito said, "chie, continue northward with thirty of the more worthless horses. leave a plain trail, as though we were stricken with panic. but drive the horses back and forth so it will appear as though there were many more than thirty. run as soon as you see pursuers." chie nodded, and the rest of the men started dividing the remaining horses into smaller groups. "why do we do this?" geronimo asked, riding along beside nadeze. "it is easier to hide the trail of a small group of horses," said nadeze. "and the papagoes will find it much more difficult to track us since we will take each herd in a different direction before swinging back to our village." "do i drive some?" "you are too anxious, stripling." nadeze was far more respectful since geronimo had slain the papago. "you will ride with one of us." suddenly the rain clouds which geronimo had noticed earlier loosed an earth-battering torrent. the raiders smiled. usan, god of their tribe, had indeed blessed them. though the papago trackers would certainly find the apaloosa, they would never discover where the rest of the horses had gone after a storm such as this one. driving all the horses ahead of them through the pouring rain, the raiders turned homeward. * * * * * in bright sunlight next day, the stolen papago horses cropped grass on the slope opposite delgadito's wickiup. geronimo listened anxiously while delgadito, as was the right of a chief who led a raiding party, divided the plunder. the leader reserved twenty horses for himself, and the twenty he chose included the two fine stallions. then he gave smaller numbers of horses to the four men who had gone with him. the number each received depended on how hard he had worked to make the raid successful. next came a just share for all families who had no one to steal horses for them. geronimo's heart sank as the horses were given away. he had hoped to get something for himself, but now the only horses remaining were a dozen or so fit only for the cooking pot. delgadito declared them as such. then he announced, so that all could hear: "i give part of my portion, the black stallion and the gray stallion with black spots," he swung to geronimo, "to an apache youth who deserves them because during this raid he behaved like a warrior." for a moment geronimo was too surprised and delighted to move. then he tilted his head, squared his shoulders, and went proudly forth to claim his prizes. chapter three _alope_ it was spring in the year 1846, five years after geronimo's first raid. ten miles south of the arizona-mexico border, geronimo sat silently on the summit of a low hill. his knife was on his belt. his muzzle-loading rifle, powder horn, and bullet pouch were in easy reach. a red blanket was draped over his body, which was naked except for breech cloth, moccasins, and the warrior's headband that bound his black hair. two young warriors, zayigo and pedro gonzalez, sat beside him. both were older than geronimo. yet both had chosen to let the seventeen-year-old warrior lead this raid into mexico because of his cunning and courage. now they were a little uneasy because of their leader's silence. usually geronimo loved to talk, and he was already a leading orator among the mimbreno apaches. when he was least talkative, he was most dangerous. finally zayigo said impatiently: "we sit beside the youngest mimbreno apache ever to become a member of the council of warriors. yet he sulks like a scolded child. it ill befits him." [illustration] "aye," pedro gonzalez agreed. "since leaving the mimbreno village, geronimo, you have smoldered like a fire that is not quite able to burst into flame. is it because some warriors spoke against you when they met to determine whether you might be admitted to the council?" "i care not who speaks against me," geronimo said sourly. "any who consider me unworthy of being a mimbreno warrior i'll fight gladly." "those who did not want to admit you to the council of warriors never questioned your bravery or your skill in battle," zayigo said quickly. "they said only that you are reckless and headstrong, and that trouble goes where you do because you never reckon the odds." "there are some mimbreno warriors who have the cowardly souls of mexicans," geronimo grunted. "and i do not mean that you are a coward, pedro." pedro gonzalez said quietly, "mexican i was once. apache i am now." that was true. captured in mexico when he was five years old, pedro had been adopted by an apache family. he had taken so readily to apache ways that he was now one of their finest and fiercest warriors. he spoke again: "if you care not because some spoke against you, what is the trouble? it is no pleasure to go raiding or anywhere else with one who does little except stew in his own anger." geronimo said bitterly, "ne-po-se was one of the men who spoke against me." "the father of alope does not like you," zayigo said. "but that is no news in the mimbreno village. ne-po-se does not care to have alope marry a mere warrior when it is possible that a chief will offer five horses in exchange for her." for a moment geronimo did not answer. for five years he had watched alope become lovelier each year. her image accompanied him wherever he went by day and haunted his dreams by night. he was as deeply in love as a young man can be. he said finally, "when i became a warrior in full standing, i went to ne-po-se and asked for alope. he sneered at me, and said to come back when i could offer ten horses for his daughter's hand." "ten horses!" zayigo said in astonishment. "that is unheard of, even for such a bride as alope! what do you intend to do?" "pay for my bride what she is worth," geronimo said. "that is why we are in mexico, where there are plenty of horses for the taking." he spoke more easily, for talking about his troubles had made them seem less. zayigo and pedro gonzalez smiled, their white teeth flashing in the darkness. "now you talk as the leader we hoped we were following," pedro gonzalez said happily. "of course there are plenty of horses in mexico. and when it comes to stealing horses, no warriors are more clever than geronimo. you shall gain the price of your bride." "i shall have the price or i shall not return to the mimbreno village," geronimo vowed. "and i know we shall return for we go against mexicans. "i think it must be true that something in the food they eat or the water they drink turns the marrow of mexican men's bones to jelly as soon as they become men. captive mexican women fit very well into our tribe, as do children if taken young enough. the men do little except tremble with fear, and that is why it is better to kill than capture them." pedro gonzalez laughed joyously. "it is long since i have fought mexicans. let us hope this is a good fight." they curled up in their blankets and slept. the night was still black about them when they rose to go on. traveling at a loose-legged gait that covered the ground with amazing speed, they were many miles from their camping place when the sun rose. they stopped to nibble parched corn from pouches that hung at their belts, rested less than five minutes, and went on. geronimo, who had been this way many times and who also had a splendid sense of direction, led the others through steep-walled canyons and over brush-grown hilltops. by midafternoon they were looking from the top of a hill down on the _rancheria_ they intended to raid. the house and other buildings were built of adobe, or sun-dried brick. to one side were extensive corrals made of poles that had been laboriously hauled from some river bottom or other where trees were plentiful. there were about fifty horses in the corrals. the three apaches crouched in the brush and bided their time. they were heedless of the sun that burned down upon them. thirst that would have driven a white man mad bothered them not at all. they were trained to endure thirst. an hour before dark, several mexican riders came with a herd of forty horses. they put them in the same corral where the fifty were already confined, and turned their own saddle mounts in with them. two more riders came, stripped saddles and bridles from their mounts, and shut them in the corral. then all the mexicans went into the house. night fell before the three apaches stirred. geronimo gave his orders. "zayigo and pedro, keep those in the house from coming out. i go to the corral." geronimo slipped away in the darkness. he could no longer see the corral, but his sense of direction was so sure that he went exactly to it. the mexicans had draped their saddles over the top rail and hung their bridles on the saddle horns. taking no saddles, for all three raiders were expert bareback riders, geronimo looped three bridles over his shoulder and entered the corral. the horses snorted in alarm when they got his scent, then wheeled to run to the corral's far side. geronimo did not hurry even slightly, for in the first place any quick move would frighten the horses. in the second place, with zayigo and pedro gonzalez watching the house, he was not afraid that the mexicans would come. in the third place, geronimo had done this so many times that he knew exactly how to go about it. [illustration: _the horses snorted in alarm_] presently he backed a group of horses into a corner of the corral. geronimo caught one, held it by looping the reins of one of his three bridles around its neck, and bridled it. he mounted. at that moment, a stallion screamed. the door of the house was flung open. but when zayigo's rifle spoke, the door was slammed shut quickly. still refusing to hurry, geronimo caught and bridled two more horses. sitting his own mount, and holding the reins of the other two, he whistled shrilly. zayigo and pedro gonzalez appeared out of the darkness. not speaking, for each knew exactly what he must do, they mounted the two bridled horses. geronimo opened the gate and the three drove the herd through. there were hundreds of other horses grazing on the vast acreage of the _rancheria_. but this was the only herd kept near the house and the raiders had been careful to take all of them. the rest were miles away at other water holes. even if the mexicans recovered their wits immediately, they would still need hours to get more horses and launch any kind of pursuit. the raiders drove their herd toward apache land at a leisurely walk. [illustration: _geronimo brought the skins of puma_] on their return geronimo gave ne-po-se twenty fine horses. it was a gift so dazzling that even mangus coloradus, giant chief of the mimbreno apaches, came to inquire about it. and ne-po-se could no longer forbid alope to marry the brave young geronimo. several thousand people lived in the mimbreno village. but since most apaches liked plenty of room between themselves and their neighbors, the village was spread over several hills. geronimo and alope, however, built a fine wickiup very near the house of geronimo's widowed mother. alope decorated it with pictures while geronimo brought the skins of elk, deer, antelope, puma, and other creatures that fell to his hunting arrows. there were no bear skins because bears are sacred to apaches. the following twelve years were probably the only truly happy ones geronimo ever knew. a daughter came to live in the wickiup, then a son, then another daughter. it was a full and wonderful life for all. chapter four _massacre_ again it was spring, the spring of 1858, and almost the entire village of mimbreno apaches was on the move. twenty or more youngsters, who couldn't contain their own bubbling spirits and wouldn't restrain their lively ponies, led the main column by half a mile. next, riding his immense war horse and surrounded by his sub-chiefs, came mangus coloradus himself--a giant of a man and a great leader. immediately behind this group were more than three hundred pack horses and burros. their packs bore tanned skins, fruit of the saguaro cactus, edible roots of the mescal plant, and other trade goods. the pack train was guarded by warriors who rode on either side. far enough behind so that they would not be bothered too much by the dust of the pack train, came the remainder of the warriors, the old people, and the women and children. all were mounted. some of the smaller children rode four or five to a pony. they were going on a holiday of the happiest sort. [illustration] though the apaches were usually at war with the mexicans, they had arranged a peace so that they might have their great annual trading party, or _fiesta_, in mexico. most of their trading would be done in the town of casas grandes, deep in the mexican state of chihuahua. but before reaching casas grandes they intended to stop and trade at a smaller town which they called kas-kai-ya. two and a half miles short of town they halted and set up camp. this was a simple enough business. most of the indians just cast their blankets down on the ground and arranged a fireplace. some cut green saplings and thrust the thick ends in the ground to form a circle. next they bent the tops together and held them with buckskin thongs. then they thatched the walls with deer skins or blankets. geronimo started building such a wickiup for his mother, alope, and his three children. his two daughters, ten and five, and his seven-year-old son tried so enthusiastically to help him that the wickiup never would have been built if alope hadn't taken charge. the apaches had not stopped so far from kas-kai-ya because they were afraid of the mexicans. but, though mexican women might roam at will in apache villages, no apache woman would think of showing herself in a mexican town. besides, trading was a man's business. leaving enough warriors to protect a peaceful camp, the eighty men who were going in town to trade set out, led by mangus coloradus himself. they took only thirty horses, twelve of which were laden with trade goods. the rest of the trade goods and the pack horses and burros were saved for trading in casas grandes. every warrior except geronimo had a hidden knife. some carried hidden pistols, and a few had carbines, or short rifles, thrust inside their breeches. to enter the town openly armed would surely provoke a fight, and a fight would spoil the holiday. but even though they were supposedly at peace, no apache ever trusted any mexican and no mexican ever trusted any apache. geronimo carried only a buckskin pouch filled with yellow metal that, to him, hadn't the slightest value. made into arrow or lance heads, it blunted on almost any target. it was too heavy for hair or ear ornaments, and useless to the apaches except as playthings for the children. but the mexicans, who called the metal _oro_--gold--prized it greatly. the traders reached the sun-dried brick wall enclosing the town of kas-kai-ya and found a squadron of _rurales_ drawn in formation across the gate. all these soldier police were mounted and armed, and their snapping black eyes were filled with hatred for apaches. as geronimo knew, there was good reason for this hate. apaches had raided too long, too often, and too successfully in mexico to win any friendship from _rurales_ whose duty it was to stop them. mangus coloradus addressed the uniformed officer: "_buenas tardes, señor rurale._ we would trade." the officer made an effort to stare mangus coloradus down, and when he couldn't do it, flushed angrily. but he replied civilly: "_buenas tardes_, good afternoon, señor apache. you may enter." the _rurales_ drew aside, let the apaches through the gate, and then reformed across it. the apaches braced themselves to meet the horde of peddlers that screeched and squawked down on them. geronimo was confronted by a lanky man whose only garment was a tattered _serape_, or blanket-like robe, that was draped over one shoulder and pinned at the sides with thorns. his hair looked as though it hadn't been combed in years, his beard was as tangled. his body was dirty. his eyes were both cunning and humble. in sharp contrast were the fierce eyes of a golden eagle that the mexican had imprisoned in a wooden cage. in spite of broken and bedraggled feathers, the eagle still looked royal. the mexican lifted the cage. "see?" he whined. "see, señor apache? grieved though i must be to part with anything so precious, this noble bird is yours for only three horses." geronimo brushed haughtily past the man and walked on. the peddler called anxiously, "will you give me some mescal?" geronimo's eyes expressed his disgust. if wild things were not meant for the wilds, the god, usan, would not have placed them there. they might be hunted for food but never should any be imprisoned. "some tobacco?" the eagle's captor wailed. geronimo turned, glared, and the mexican scurried away. geronimo continued his unhurried walk. kas-kai-ya was truly remarkable, largely, geronimo thought, because so many people could live in such a small area. they were so crowded that geronimo wondered how they kept from suffocating each other. he saw a man lying with his head on a chunk of adobe, the same sun-dried brick from which the town walls and all the buildings were fashioned. suddenly the man leaped up and began to scream. other mexican men, women, even children at once started to scream or shout as loudly as they could. the clamor was deafening. the amazed apaches halted and gaped. after a bit, assuring himself that this senseless yelling must be a sickness suffered by those who allow themselves too little room, geronimo went on. presently he halted beside a mexican who had a basket supported by a ragged rope over one shoulder. the basket was divided into compartments and filled with glass beads that were separated according to color. [illustration: _he halted beside a mexican_] the beads were so fascinating that geronimo scarcely knew that the horrible din had quieted. he caught up a half dozen assorted beads and one by one put them back in the proper compartments. he took out his pouch of gold. but though he yearned for the beads, and would gladly have given all his gold for them, he was too good a trader to offer everything at once. geronimo dropped two small nuggets onto the palm of his hand and held them out. "no," the bead vendor refused. but excitement made him breathe hard, and he could not take his eyes from the pouch. geronimo gave him two more nuggets. the mexican gasped and geronimo thought he was once more refusing. recklessly he poured half the gold into the bead vendor's palm. the mexican moaned, slipped the basket from his own shoulder and hung it on geronimo's, cupped the gold with both hands, and ran. geronimo dropped the still half-filled pouch of gold into the dust and forgot it. he noticed for the first time that his comrades were making their way toward the gate. trading had been brisk. the apache trade goods were gone and each warrior had at least a double handful of knickknacks. the _rurales_ drew their horses aside and let the departing apaches through the gate. the indians started back to their camp. but when they were halfway there mangus coloradus halted suddenly. a split second later, every warrior was alert. from a brush-grown _arroyo_, or gully, came the hushed voice of pedro gonzalez, one of those who had stayed behind. "this way." [illustration] the eighty melted into the _arroyo_ as quietly as eighty quail might slip away from an approaching hunter. they found nadeze with pedro. the wives of five of the men who had gone into town and the wives of four who had stayed behind were there also. and two girl children. the faces of all showed shocked, numbing grief. but the eyes of all, even the two children, blazed with fury. "some _rurales_ came!" pedro snarled. "i know not from where! but they outnumbered us two to one. and when we warriors would have fought rather than let them enter the camp, they reminded us that this is a time of peace! they said they wished only to trade and talk, but once among us they attacked without warning! we slew many, but our horses, our arms, our trade goods, are now theirs! of those men, women, and children who stayed behind, we alone live!" "where are the _rurales_ now?" asked mangus coloradus. "in what was our camp, awaiting your return," pedro said. mangus coloradus said, "when apaches do not make fools of mexicans, the mexicans seem determined to make fools of themselves. the _rurales_ must have known that some escaped, and that we would be warned. they should have ambushed us as we left the gates of kas-kai-ya." sadly he thought of all who had been killed. then he added "i will take the wives of our brave men and these two children with me, and i will hold myself responsible for their safety. of the rest, each seek a different path and hide his trail. we will meet at the place we have chosen to be our rendezvous." a moment later, the _arroyo_ was empty of apaches. chapter five _flight_ light from a thin slice of moon glanced from the bavispe river, stole through thinly leaved trees, and painted a lichen-crusted boulder with moonbeams. but the moonlight made not the faintest impression in the grove of thick-limbed, heavy-trunked trees on the river's bank. beneath the trees it was black enough for devils to dance. but any devils who might have been there would have been frightened away by the apaches who had come to mexico in peace but who knew now that there must be war. this grove was their appointed rendezvous should anything go amiss while they were trading. geronimo sat as though he had lost everything that made him alive but was still not dead. he knew dimly that mangus coloradus was talking in low tones with men whom geronimo was too dazed to recognize. the mimbreno chief said, "we must go to our village." "and leave our dead?" the question was laden with heartbreak. mangus coloradus said, "we are deep in enemy country, with few arms, no food, and no horses. is there another way?" "i will not go," nadeze said firmly. "then you will not return to meet again those who massacred our people," said the chief. "return?" nadeze was puzzled. "we will come again," mangus coloradus promised, "but with warriors only." "ha!" nadeze snarled like an angry puma. "if my dead know that, they will forgive me for leaving! i must go and tell them!" others announced their intention to return to the encampment for one last visit with their dead. "go we may, but we must go cautiously and we must not linger," mangus coloradus said. "the _rurales_ may still await us there. if they do not, the night is our friend. and we must ask our friend to shield us while we travel far." a clear thought penetrated geronimo's numbed brain. at the time when the massacre must have occurred, the people of kas-kai-ya had set up a deafening racket. why, if not to make it impossible for the warriors in town to hear rifle shots? the thought faded and geronimo was again a live body with a numbed brain and sick soul. he understood dully that they must return to their village, but that first they would have one last visit at the encampment. he rose only because the others did, and started out of the grove. they found and traveled the trail to the apache encampment. it was a bold move and, under a lesser chief than mangus coloradus, might have been disastrous. but the mimbreno chief had rightly decided that mexicans gauged apache hearts by their own. if such a disaster had stricken mexicans, the survivors would never have dared show themselves on the trail. neither would they have visited the scene of the massacre. when the angry and grief-stricken apaches reached the encampment, they found that the _rurales_ had left. the moon was merciful. the crumpled figures that lay all about seemed like so many sleeping persons. geronimo sought the wickiup where he had left his family. he stopped suddenly. alope lay full length before him, head turned and cheek resting on her right hand. her long black hair tumbled at her side. many times had geronimo watched her sleep in just such a fashion, and now she seemed asleep. but she did not wake. [illustration] geronimo's mother had fallen at the entrance to the wickiup, and the children were near. the two little girls had embraced when the mexicans overtook them, and had fallen with their arms still about each other. the boy was at his sisters' feet. his right arm was stretched toward them, and he still clutched the rock which he had intended to throw at the treacherous mexicans. geronimo was unaware of the hand that touched his arm, until mangus coloradus said gently, "come with us, brother." geronimo responded like an obedient dog. he felt no grief, no shock, no pain, for he was too numbed to feel anything. he knew he must follow only because he had been told that he must. by sunrise the apaches were many miles from the scene of tragedy. mangus coloradus had led them over the roughest and rockiest places. they had waded streams wherever streams flowed and done everything possible to hide their trail. at last mangus coloradus called a halt and sent some out to hunt while he told others to build a smokeless fire from dead wood. one by one, the hunters returned. since a shot from a gun would have attracted attention, the game had been brought down with thrown rocks or knives. their bag consisted of some jack rabbits and a crippled peccary. they ate, rested, and went on. geronimo remembered nothing of the flight. on reaching the village, he went first to his mother's wickiup. he entered, but at once ducked out again and sought his own house. slowly the fogs faded from his brain. he discovered that he still carried the basket of beads for which he had traded half a pouch of gold in kas-kai-ya. he had not realized, that night while the thin moon lighted the scene of the massacre, that the beloved people upon whom he looked were dead. nor had he understood since. but he knew it now. geronimo plunged into his wickiup and sought his store of weapons. shotguns, rifles, muskets, powder, shot, knives, hatchets, lances, bows, and arrows were carried a safe distance from the wickiup and put carefully down. the basket of beads was placed near them. then geronimo strode to a nearby fire. catching up a burning brand, he fired the wickiup he had shared with alope, then cast the brand against his mother's house. he turned his back on the burning wickiups. like his old life, they would soon be ashes. but there would be a new life, he told himself. a life of revenge! pedro gonzalez was attracted to the fires, and geronimo asked him, "do you have weapons?" "bow and arrows, a knife, a lance, a hatchet." geronimo indicated his own store. "choose what you will." pedro's brows arched in surprise. "you make gifts of such?" "i give a weapon to whoever will ride with me and meet the _rurales_ who murdered our people." "i will ride, but only when mangus coloradus says to. he is still chief." [illustration] "coward!" geronimo spat. pedro's face tightened with anger, and he drew his knife. geronimo grunted contemptuously and snatched at his own knife. before either could make a thrust, mangus coloradus stepped between them. "what insanity is this?" the chief thundered. "i offered him his choice of weapons if he will return and fight the _rurales_!" geronimo flared. "he will not go!" "i will!" pedro snapped. "but i wait until mangus coloradus leads!" mangus coloradus whirled on geronimo. "have you turned fool?" "i go to fight the murderers of my family," geronimo said flatly. "none of us has forgotten our dead," the chief replied. "we will go to avenge them, but to do so we must not only fight the mexicans. we must defeat them. to defeat them, we must plan." "plan?" geronimo inquired. "we will seek cochise, chief of the chiricahua apaches, and whoa, chief of the nedni," mangus coloradus said gravely. "we will ask their help. then we will prepare. and then we will ride!" chapter six _revenge_ all fires in the camp near the bavispe river had been extinguished before sundown. naiche, the young, tall, courageous son of cochise, sat in the darkness with geronimo. geronimo spoke. "an autumn, a winter, and a spring have been born and died since mangus coloradus sent me as his spokesman to ask the help of the chiricahuas and the nedni." "i well remember your visit," naiche said. "when you spoke, your words were fire that burned into my very heart. as i listened i knew that, if no other chiricahua would follow you to mexico and help avenge the massacre of your people, naiche would." "soon the battle," geronimo said. "soon the battle," naiche echoed. "and at last i shall know." "what shall you know?" "why so mighty a warrior as geronimo, who owns many fine rifles, goes to fight mexicans armed with a shotgun, a pouch of beads, a knife, and a lance." geronimo stared moodily into the darkness. since fleeing from the encampment he had lived only to go back to kas-kai-ya. but much time had been needed to plan an expedition large enough to attack the _rurales_ there. new weapons had been fashioned. countless messages had been exchanged by mangus coloradus, cochise, and whoa, the three chiefs. the women and children of all three tribes had been taken to mountain retreats whose only approaches consisted of narrow canyons that a few warriors might defend. then those retreats had been stocked with ample provisions and fuel. planning the campaign had been no easy task. every warrior burned to go into mexico and fight the _rurales_. nobody wanted to stay home to guard the women and children. nor would any warrior serve under any leader except his own chief. finally each of the three leaders had chosen his picked men. mangus coloradus included among his warriors all who had been at kas-kai-ya. now, with two hundred and fifty braves under cochise, two hundred under mangus coloradus, and a hundred and fifty led by whoa, they were well into mexico. each of the three divisions kept apart from the others, but not so far apart that they would be unable to join forces when it was time for a battle. naiche preferred to travel with the mimbreno apaches rather than with the chiricahuas led by his father, cochise. this was because of his great liking for geronimo. geronimo said finally, "i took the beads from the mexicans. now i return them. that is only justice." "only justice," naiche agreed. an owl hooted three times, and naiche said, "the signal. a scout returns." geronimo said, "come." they rose and made their way to the camp of mangus coloradus. a short time later, dressed as a mexican and driving a burro, pedro gonzalez loomed up in the darkness. he had been to mexico in advance of the warriors to gather such information as he could. mangus coloradus rose to meet him. "what saw you?" he asked. "i saw _rurales_," pedro said. "i even talked with them, since they thought me a mexican. there are two companies of foot soldiers and two companies of horse soldiers. among them are those who attacked us at kas-kai-ya. but they are not now at kas-kai-ya. they are at arispe, in the mexican state of sonora and to the west of kas-kai-ya." [illustration] geronimo blurted, "then we go to arispe!" "to arispe!" naiche echoed. mangus coloradus asked haughtily, "do warriors decide where the battle shall be fought?" "i will fight the _rurales_ who killed my wife, my mother, and my children," geronimo said stubbornly. "if we must attack the people of kas-kai-ya, that may come afterwards." naiche growled, "i fight beside my friend." "we will all go to arispe," mangus coloradus said. "we will start at once. for in truth we must fight the _rurales_ who massacred our people." "i shall tell cochise," naiche said. mangus coloradus said, "ask cochise to inform whoa. tell both that we join forces before arispe." "i shall inform whoa," naiche promised. naiche disappeared in the darkness. the word spread like wind-driven wildfire, and warriors prepared to march. nobody was mounted. even with almost a year to make ready, there had not been enough time to capture war horses for everyone. besides, so great a number of horsemen would be far easier to detect than foot soldiers, so nobody rode. geronimo felt in the darkness to make sure his knife was at his belt. in turn he fingered his powder horn, the pouch of beads, his parcel of jerked meat, and his parcel of parched corn. he hung over his shoulder the blanket that served him as bed by night and clothing by day. like all the rest of the warriors, he was going into battle wearing as little clothing as possible, and the blanket would be flung aside when the fight started. taking his lance in his left hand, geronimo carried his shotgun in his right hand. mangus coloradus said, "lead on." geronimo strode into the darkness. partly because he knew mexico so well, and partly because of his marvelous sense of direction, he had been appointed guide for the entire expedition. in late afternoon of the third day following, they came before the walled town of arispe. they halted in a woods some five hundred yards from the town, and geronimo's heart leaped as he stood beside naiche. again, in imagination, he saw his mother, his wife, his murdered children. a great joy rose within him at the knowledge that, only a short distance away, their murderers awaited. the apaches had come upon arispe so stealthily that the _rurales_ couldn't possibly have fled. a battle was assured. but their presence must be known soon, and when they were discovered they could expect action from arispe. the sun was sinking when naiche said: "they come." eight townsmen bearing a white flag of truce left the walled town and walked toward the trees. geronimo could not help admiring them. eight mexicans who approached any number of apaches _must_ be courageous. "what would you do with them, brother?" naiche asked, stepping closer to geronimo. "hold them prisoner and force the _rurales_ to come out to attempt a rescue," replied geronimo. "thus we may be sure of a battle." "their flag says they come to talk. it is not honorable to capture them." "the _rurales_ who slew our women and children at kas-kai-ya were less than honorable too," geronimo said grimly. "that is true, but whether we capture or parley is for the chiefs to say. let us hear." they made their way to where mangus coloradus, cochise, and whoa awaited the eight townsmen. no apache stirred until the mexicans were so near the woods that there was no possible chance of their running back into arispe. then mangus coloradus ordered: "capture them so the _rurales_ must try a rescue." geronimo and naiche remained with the chiefs, for they scorned to fight townsmen. but other warriors ran forward. the mexicans halted and grouped together, each man with his back against a companion's. pedro gonzalez, one of those attempting the capture, said in spanish, "submit and you will not be hurt." "you come to kill!" a mexican snarled, and eight hands flew to knives. the encircling warriors drew their own knives. near-naked apaches ringed the mexicans and it was over. pedro gonzalez came to the chiefs. "we would have captured them, but they chose to fight," he said. "it is no matter," cochise shrugged. "the _rurales_ will come now for revenge." the next morning some of the soldier police did come. twenty horsemen galloped toward the woods where the apaches were hiding, fired wildly into them, and retreated without hurting anyone. that evening the apaches captured a mexican supply train whose leaders knew nothing of the powerful war party concealed near the town. besides a store of food, the apaches took many guns and much ammunition. at ten o'clock the next morning, the _rurales_ came in force. two companies of infantry in battle formation advanced toward the woods where the apaches were still hidden. two of cavalry were held in reserve just outside the town walls. lying near the chiefs, with naiche on one side and nadeze on the other, geronimo poured powder into the cavernous muzzle of his shotgun. he emptied the pouch of beads on top of it, tamped them in with cloth, and primed the gun. naiche grinned, understanding at last. nadeze exclaimed, "there are the murderers of kas-kai-ya!" "so?" mangus coloradus said calmly. "what think you, cochise? what think you, whoa? these enemies slew geronimo's mother. they slew his wife. they slew his children. should geronimo lead the first attack?" "it is well," cochise murmured. "it is just," whoa agreed. geronimo turned to naiche. "take fifty warriors and go unseen into that strip of woods we see from here. wait until the enemies are past and we have attacked. then charge them from the rear." "i go, brother," naiche said grimly. "good hunting." when the _rurales_ were four hundred yards away they stopped to fire. those in front kneeled so that those behind could shoot over their heads. keeping his men hidden, geronimo noticed that every weapon was discharged. the _rurales_ fired a second volley from two hundred yards and, as before, every weapon was emptied. now, before they could reload, was the time to take them. shotgun in one hand, lance in the other, geronimo sounded the apache war whoop and raced out of the woods toward the enemy. the mexicans worked desperately with their guns, but fewer than half reloaded in time. the remainder drew sabers and awaited the attack. when only fifty feet separated geronimo from the mexicans, he leveled his shotgun, cocked it, and fired. the weapon spewed its glass beads forth, and half a dozen mexicans fell. flinging the now-useless shotgun from him, geronimo leveled his lance and raced on. he saw naiche and his warriors swarm out of the woods to attack from the rear. at the same time he saw the mexican cavalry charge to the aid of their hard-pressed comrades. an officer, saber raised, rode straight at geronimo, determined to ride him down. geronimo sidestepped, thrust with his lance, brought the officer out of his saddle, and lost his lance in doing so. [illustration] armed with only a knife, he awaited the next horseman. he dodged beneath the soldier's saber, caught the arm that wielded it, and pulled the _rurale_ from his saddle. they rolled in a desperate struggle for the saber until a stray bullet, ricocheting across the battle-field, buried itself in the _rurale's_ brain and he went limp. geronimo leaped to his feet, grabbed the saber, and went on fighting with it until he took another lance from a dead apache. before sunset, the battered remnants of the _rurales_ were trembling behind arispe's walls. there would be wailing soon in some of the lodges of the mimbreno, the nedni, the chiricahuas. but for every mimbreno who had been slaughtered in the massacre of kas-kai-ya, and for every warrior who had died before arispe, two _rurales_ lay dead on the field of battle. chapter seven _the white men_ hidden by brush, geronimo lay motionless on a hilltop and riveted his eyes on the scene below. he was watching a man, one of the strange white men whom geronimo had first seen when surveyors came to mark the boundary between the united states and mexico. the man was leading four burros, each with a pack on its back. he was approaching a bluff. hiding behind the bluff, geronimo saw two other white men on horses. when the man with the burros was near enough, the two leaped their horses in front of him. leveling pistols, they said something geronimo could not hear but was obviously menacing. the man dropped his burros' lead ropes and raised both hands. the horsemen dismounted. while one continued to point his pistol at the man with the burros, the other rummaged through the packs. presently he turned to his companion and exclaimed: "gold!" "so you made a strike, pop?" the other man asked. "where is it?" "'twas just a pocket," the man with the burro quavered. "better not lie to us, pop." he who had searched the packs encircled the prospector's throat with one arm and held tight while the other man tied him. then they built a fire and in it thrust a knife. grimacing, geronimo stole down to where he had left his hunting horse. apaches tortured prisoners, but only when they seemed to have important military information that they would not reveal. even then, geronimo had seen battle-hardened warriors turn away because they could not look upon the prisoner's suffering. mounting his horse, geronimo heard the prospector shriek as his captors used the red-hot knife to make him tell where the gold mine was. he put his horse to a run because he cared to hear no more screams, and slowed only when he was out of hearing. not once did he even imagine that the prospector's body would be found by other white men and the killing would be considered as another terrible crime of apaches. after a while geronimo stopped beneath another hill. he tethered his trained hunting horse. bow in hand and arrow-filled quiver on his shoulder, he crawled up the hill so carefully that even a stalking cat would have been more noticeable. reaching the top, he looked down upon fifteen antelope. very slowly, for antelope have wonderful eyes that notice the least move, he took two arrows from his quiver. one he nocked loosely in his bow, then laid the bow where he could grasp it instantly. to the feathered end of the other arrow he tied a strip of cloth. he raised this second arrow so that the cloth appeared above the grass, and waved it slowly back and forth. [illustration] every antelope swung at once to gaze at this wonder. they turned their heads this way and that, stamped their hoofs, and blew through their nostrils. then they let curiosity overcome caution and walked forward for a closer look. when they were well within range, geronimo dropped the arrow. in the same instant he seized and drew his bow and rose to one knee. the antelope whirled to run, but the hunting arrow geronimo loosed caught a fat buck in mid-leap and brought him to earth dead. geronimo dressed his game, tied it behind the hunting horse's saddle, and rode on to meet naiche. he found his friend, who also had a fat antelope, waiting near the rocky spire where they had agreed to meet. "i saw a great herd of antelope," naiche announced. "i might have killed several, but i need only one." geronimo said, "i found only a small herd of antelope, but i saw three white men. i could not attack because they have guns and i carry only a bow and arrows. two of the white men tied the third and burned him with a hot knife blade." "all white men are crazy," naiche growled. "and there are far too many of them in land that belongs to apaches." "there are not as many as there were," geronimo pointed out. "it has come to my ears that they could not find enough indians to kill, so they started a great fight among themselves. i have heard they call it the civil war, and all the soldiers who were in apache country have gone to kill each other." naiche said, "let us wish them great success in such a worthy undertaking. now is the time for apaches to kill the white men who remain and again be masters in our own land." "we are fast becoming masters," geronimo said. "the three men i saw today must be either great fools or of great courage. most white men dare not leave their cities of tucson and tubac unless they are in numbers and well armed. their stages no longer run, and their mail carriers no longer ride. the ashes of their wagons are blowing throughout apache land. their houses and stage stations are abandoned to the sun and wind. their graves are more than one man may count." "true," naiche agreed. "but i worry." "for what reason?" naiche spoke thoughtfully. "first came the men who measured land and drove stakes in the ground. they left and we apaches rested easier. then came rock scratchers, gold seekers, to pinos altos, and again we had cause for anxiety. [illustration] "thinking to be rid of the rock scratchers, mangus coloradus himself went among them and offered to lead them south to rich gold mines in the sierra madre. truly the gold was there. and truly mangus coloradus would have led them to it, for at that time we had not yet learned the worth of gold. but the miners thought your mimbreno chief was lying. they overpowered and bound him. then they flogged him more mercilessly than we ever flogged the most rebellious mexican prisoner. "i worry because mangus coloradus is growing old," naiche went on. "he cannot forget that white men fought us with weapons better than our own. when we won or stole such weapons for ourselves, they came with still better ones. mangus coloradus thinks that, when the white men are weary of killing each other, they will return with weapons even more terrible. he thinks the only hope for apaches is to seek peace. yet he fights on." geronimo said, "the only hope is to fight for that which is ours." "i agree, but i worry for another reason," naiche said. "my father, cochise, long kept the peace. he let the white men run their stages. he protected their wagons and mail carriers from renegades who would have destroyed them. "then, only a few moons ago, a white chief named bascom came to apache pass with some soldiers. he summoned cochise to his tent, saying he wanted to talk. suspecting no treachery, cochise went with five warriors. bascom said we chiricahuas had stolen a boy named mickey free and some cattle. he demanded their return." geronimo said, "i have not heard all this story." "cochise denied that chiricahuas had stolen either the boy or the cattle," naiche went on. "bascom gave him the lie and ordered his soldiers to make prisoners of those who had come to talk. cochise escaped by slashing the tent with his knife and running. but the warriors were captured. so we captured some white men." there was a moody silence while naiche pondered his words. he continued: "meanwhile a white chief named irwin, who outranked bascom, came to apache pass. we sent word to him that we would free our white captives if our warriors were freed. instead, while we watched from surrounding cliffs, irwin had them killed in the peculiar fashion of white men. he tied ropes around their necks and let them dangle from a tree until they were dead. in turn, we killed our white prisoners." "i was raiding in mexico at the time, for i have raided mexicans at every opportunity since the massacre at kas-kai-ya," geronimo said. "i wish that i had been present." naiche said, "if you had been, you would have seen for yourself why the chiricahuas are at war with the white men. but, though no warrior is more courageous nor any chief more wise, i know my father. he wars with them now, but in his heart he, too, thinks that we must some day make peace with the white men." "there is no peace at present," geronimo said, "so let us return to the village, get guns, and kill the two white men i have just seen. we shall not find the third alive." "let us do that," naiche agreed. they rode into the chiricahua encampment just in time to see the women and children, with an escort of warriors, leaving. the remaining warriors were looking to their weapons. naiche and geronimo made their way to cochise, who was calmly giving orders to sub-chiefs. "why should this be?" naiche inquired. "our scouts bring word that many soldiers from the land to the west, who call themselves the california volunteers, are marching in this direction. they go to fight in the war that other white men are fighting to the east," cochise said. "the path they have chosen will lead them through apache pass. i have sent word to mangus coloradus to join us. then we will kill every soldier!" at the exciting news of a great battle in store, geronimo and naiche forgot all about the two white men whom they had intended to find and kill. chapter eight _the battle of apache pass_ high on the steep and boulder-strewn side of narrow apache pass, geronimo lay behind a pile of rocks. he had made the little breastwork appear natural by uprooting a cactus and standing it on top of the rocks. his best rifle and all the powder and bullets he had been able to gather lay within easy reach. now he had only to await the soldiers, who intended to march through apache pass, and to give thanks to usan, who had created an ambush so perfect. apache pass was a narrow slit between the chiricahua mountains on the west and the dos cabezas on the east. it was one of the very few passes in the southwest through which travelers could take wagons. far more important, in a land of little water it sheltered sweet and cool springs that never failed. turning his head, geronimo saw the stone house built by men of the overland stage company and abandoned since cochise took the warpath. some six hundred yards beyond the house, tall trees and green grass marked the flowing springs. geronimo smacked his lips in satisfaction. behind each rock in the pass, each shrub, each cluster of cactus, crouched an armed apache. there were almost seven hundred mimbrenos and chiricahuas. they were so well hidden that even geronimo, who knew they were there, could see few of them. he smacked his lips again. the scouts had reported that there were about as many white soldiers as there were apaches in ambush, some on foot and some mounted. the soldiers had stopped with their supply train at dragoon springs, forty miles west of apache pass. there they could drink to their heart's content, water their stock, and load up with enough water to see them through to apache pass. but their water would be gone by the time they entered the pass, and they could not get more until they reached the springs beyond the stone stagehouse. geronimo glanced with pleasure at the stone breastworks which mangus coloradus and cochise had had built on the heights overlooking these springs. the fortifications were manned by warriors who could shoot without being shot, since the breastworks protected them. unable to renew their water supplies, the soldiers who were not killed by bullets would die from thirst. the greatest apache victory of all time was almost certain. [illustration] soon two apache scouts who had gone out to watch for the soldiers' arrival came into the pass. one went to cochise's ambush. the second turned to where mangus coloradus lay. geronimo burned to know what the scouts had seen and what they were saying, for then he would know how soon he might expect battle. but he did not leave his position. presently, naiche slipped down beside geronimo. he was grinning. [illustration] "most of the heavy wagons, without which white soldiers go nowhere, remain at dragoon springs," he said. "a few horse and many foot soldiers are coming to apache pass, but they are no more than one to our six. they wear their foolish uniforms of blue cloth and they reel with the heat. they cannot live without water." "nor can they get water," geronimo's grin reflected naiche's. "before they reach it we shall slay them all." "we shall slay them all," naiche agreed. naiche slipped back to his ambush. a half hour later geronimo saw the thin cloud of dust that hovered above the marching soldiers. the soldiers entered apache pass, and most of the cavalrymen led their mounts, for the horses were so desperate for water that they could not be ridden. there were pack animals too, and they carried strange wheels and tubes that were typical of the silly things white soldiers took into battle. but in spite of heat, thirst, and the heavy uniforms, the white men kept a smart military formation as they walked unsuspectingly into the trap. they were two thirds of the way into the pass when a shot from the rifle of cochise rang out. at once firearms blazed from behind the indians' breastworks. but the hoped-for massacre did not come about. this was partly because the apaches were so sure the soldiers could not escape that they did not bother aiming as carefully as they should have. and it was partly because so many of the indians were shooting smoothbore muskets that were not accurate at a long distance. even as he shot at them, geronimo could not help admiring soldiers such as these white men. they did not flee in panic, as mexicans nearly always did, but coolly shot back. in good order, shooting as they went and taking their wounded with them, they retreated from the pass. geronimo swallowed his disappointment. he had hoped all the soldiers might be slaughtered at the first volley. but he knew that those who still lived must reach the springs or die of thirst. leaving his position, geronimo raced to the heights overlooking the springs. he found a place behind the breastworks on the heights and waited. the white soldiers came again. but they were in battle formation this time, and their rifles were far superior to smoothbores. every shot from an ambushed indian drew a quick reply. soldiers dropped, but here and there an apache went limp too. carrying their dead and such wounded as could not help themselves, the soldiers fought their way to the stone stagehouse. some entered the building, and some sheltered themselves behind it. geronimo made ready for the attack on those who would attempt to get to the springs. he had thought not even one soldier would ever reach the stagehouse, but most were there. however, they were still six hundred yards from the water they must have and the deadliest ambush of all. the soldiers stayed in or behind the stagehouse for almost an hour and a half. when they came out and advanced toward the springs, geronimo was amazed to see them pulling little wagons with tubes mounted on them. only warriors who knew nothing of battle would bother with such clumsy things. geronimo's confidence rose. the soldiers neared the springs, and the apaches loosed a rain of bullets. again, very few soldiers were hit. it seemed to the puzzled geronimo that the others were very busy with their little wagons. one wagon escaped from the men who were handling it and started to roll. immediately other men pounced upon and halted it. they turned the little wagon about, so that the tube pointed at the breastworks. [illustration: _the first shell struck the breastworks_] the first shell--for the little wagons were really howitzers--struck the breastworks squarely about thirty feet to one side of geronimo. dust, dirt, stones, boulders, and apaches flew into the air. the rest of the apaches waited in stunned silence until the second shell exploded. then the indians began a panicky scramble up the slope. when they reached the heights, geronimo stood with mangus coloradus and twenty other mimbreno braves and looked down on the battle ground. they watched the soldiers drink, fill canteens, and retreat with their horses to the stone stagehouse. "we would have killed them all, but they shot wagons at us," mangus coloradus said wonderingly. "but we are still many more than they are, and we will kill them yet. to do so, we must first kill the messengers they will surely send for help. come." the warriors followed mangus coloradus to the west end of the pass. soon they heard the pounding of horses' hoofs. a moment later they saw the five mounted messengers who were riding to warn those camped at dragoon springs of the ambush and to ask for help. the indians shot. three horses went down at the first volley, but two riders were quickly pulled up behind two other soldiers and thundered on. there remained no one to help the rider of the third downed horse. in the thickening night, the apaches advanced to kill this lone man. the dismounted trooper crouched behind his dead horse and prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible. the trooper's carbine cracked. geronimo and two other warriors caught mangus coloradus as he fell and carried him behind an outjutting shoulder of rock. they forgot all about the trooper who, after the apaches left, made his way to his companions at the stagehouse and lived to tell the tale. chapter nine _a wounded chief_ the sorrowful warriors gathered around their wounded chief. grieving because he was hurt, they were also worried. while mangus coloradus led them, even though they might suffer temporary defeats, in the end they always triumphed. what now? nadeze said, "we need a medicine man." "i am a medicine man," geronimo said. geronimo told the truth. following the massacre of kas-kai-ya, he had taken the training which he needed in order to become an apache medicine man. this he had done in the hope that he might discover some powerful medicine which would make sure the defeat of the _rurales_ responsible for the massacre. but even though he had learned all the rituals that an apache medicine man must know, he was far too intelligent to have much faith in them. but others believed in them. he said again, "i am a medicine man." "true," nadeze agreed. "i had forgotten." opening his pouch of _hoddentin_, or sacred pollen, geronimo rubbed a bit on mangus coloradus' forehead. then he made a cross of _hoddentin_ on the chief's breast. he sprinkled a thin line of the sacred pollen all around the mimbreno leader and put a touch on the forehead of every warrior who stood near. finally, he applied a pinch to his own forehead and took a bit in his mouth. [illustration] and even as he finished, he knew that _hoddentin_ was not enough. geronimo was not so blinded by the ways of the apaches that he was unable to see for himself that other people had better ways. often he had seen _rurales_ so badly wounded that he thought they could never fight again. yet, in a later skirmish, he had fought the same _rurales_, and apparently they were as whole as before. with the rest of the nearby mimbreno braves too stricken to do anything, and no sub-chief near, geronimo took charge. he said, "make a litter." "where do we go with my father?" asked mangas, son of mangus coloradus. "to the mexican medicine man at janos," geronimo said. mangas said, "the mexicans are enemies." "that i know," geronimo grunted. he paid no more attention to mangas. though a brave warrior, the son of mangus coloradus lacked the qualities that made his father great. when he was forced to make an important decision, mangas was never able to decide on the wise course and always trembled between the two. geronimo was not a chief, but the other warriors obeyed him now because he acted like one. some went to fashion a litter of deer skins or deer-skin jackets stretched between cottonwood poles. some went to rally the rest of the mimbreno warriors. as word reached the followers of mangus coloradus they gathered around their stricken chief. mangas said, "if all of us depart, the chiricahuas alone must battle the white soldiers." "let them," geronimo grunted sourly. he could not know that the chiricahuas were to fight again, and to be defeated again, the next day. had the mimbrenos stayed to help, the soldiers might have been defeated. then, at least until the civil war ended and more soldiers came, the combined apache forces probably would have retaken all their homeland. but almost none of the mimbreno warriors had any thought for anything save the badly wounded mangus coloradus. under his leadership, they had become a very powerful tribe. if they were robbed of his wisdom, who knew what might happen? stockily built victorio, a cold-eyed, ferocious mimbreno sub-chief, had hurried to mangus coloradus as soon as he heard of his wound. now he said: "i will help carry our leader. guide us, geronimo." he picked up one end of the litter. mangas took the other. geronimo led the way through the darkness. he dropped pinches of _hoddentin_ as he walked, for this was supposed to make the wounded mangus coloradus' path much easier. but the seventy-year-old chief was unable to speak above a whisper during the long and difficult journey. stopping only to hunt food and for snatches of sleep, the mimbrenos carried him over mountains and across deserts. at last they were in mexico, before the gates of the walled town of janos. the _rurales_ of the town came out to meet them. though they were armed and in considerable force, the _rurales_ were afraid. the mimbreno braves were in full strength. they also were fully armed, and with no women and children to hamper them. murmuring prayers, the _rurales_ made ready to defend themselves and the townspeople. but geronimo stepped up to their captain. "we come in peace," he said. "our chief is wounded, and we bring him to your medicine man." a sweat of fear bathed the captain's face, but a gasp of relief escaped his lips. there was hope. this was no war party. the captain dismounted, gave his horse's reins to a private, and walked beside geronimo and the two men carrying mangus coloradus' litter. men, women, and children shrank against houses or scurried away as the procession made its way to the doctor's house. [illustration: _the mimbrenos carried him over mountains and across deserts_] "they come in peace. their chief is wounded and they wish only to bring him to our doctor," the captain explained to whoever remained near enough to hear. those who heard passed the word to others. then all the people of janos hurried to the church. often they had wished that mangus coloradus might die. now they prayed for his life, for they feared that, if he died, the angered apaches would kill everybody in janos. when they reached the doctor's house, mangas and victorio carried mangus coloradus in. most of the warriors took up positions outside the house so that no one might come near. the captain of the _rurales_ and geronimo entered with the litter bearers. geronimo addressed the doctor. "make him well." the doctor was a slender man, not young enough so that his hair was all dark but not old enough so that it was all white. the hard life he had led in janos had taught him to fear nothing. stepping close to the litter, he looked at the wounded chief. "put him on the table," he said. mangas and victorio lifted mangus coloradus to a rude wooden table and stepped back against the wall. geronimo watched mangus coloradus steadily. there had been times during the long march when the mimbreno chief's wound had caused him to sleep, and times when his mind had wandered. but he was awake now and he knew what was taking place. he was ready to meet this as he had always met everything else. whatever came, his eyes would be toward it, and his heart would be strong. though outwardly the apaches showed nothing of what they thought or felt, inwardly they were taut as stretched buckskin. the captain of the _rurales_, hoping mangus coloradus would live and fearing the consequences if he died, was staring, gasping, and sweating. the doctor and the mimbreno chief were the only calm people in the room. the doctor examined the wound, shook his head doubtfully, and the captain of the _rurales_ cried aloud. the doctor looked sternly at him and said: "captain ruiz, if you cannot control yourself, be good enough to leave." "i'll stay, and i'll be quiet," captain ruiz promised. with a delicate, but firm and sure touch, the doctor slipped a probe into the bullet wound. mangus coloradus did not cry out, but pain brought a bath of sweat to his forehead. mangas stepped angrily forward. geronimo reached out a hand to stop him. the doctor again shook his head doubtfully, and captain ruiz clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle another cry. again the probe went in, gently but surely. two hours after the chief had been laid on the table, the doctor took the bullet from mangus coloradus. he applied a compress of soothing herbs and held them in place with a bandage. then he turned to geronimo, victorio, mangas, and captain ruiz. "he'll live," he said. thus the mimbreno apaches came to janos and left without harming a single person. chapter ten _a chief dies_ sitting on a hillock beside victorio, geronimo's restless eyes sought the valley beneath, the next hill, and the hills beyond. often he turned his head to look behind him. the years had taught geronimo that an enemy might come from anywhere at any time. he who failed to see the enemy first was apt to die swiftly. victorio's eyes searched the hills, too, despite a frown that told of a troubled mind. "it is possible," he said as he continued his conversation with geronimo, "that the mangus coloradus who was, leaked out through the white soldier's bullet hole. we did not bring the same chief from janos that we took to the medicine man." "i have often wondered if the mexican doctor did not put a spell upon him," geronimo remarked. "many times i have thought of going back to janos and killing him. but i have thought each time that even mangus coloradus could not suffer such a wound without being ill. it is a natural thing." "a natural thing," victorio agreed, "and for many days he was ill. remember the snail-pace we were forced to keep when we finally left janos? it is a good thing we were many, for even mexicans might have overtaken us. but mangus coloradus is ill no longer. still he counsels that apaches must make peace with white men or there will be no more apaches." geronimo said, "he lives much in the spirit world. i entered his wickiup to speak to him, and he said, 'i am happy to see you once more, delgadito. now you must tell our people that we cannot conquer these americans as we did the mexicans.' ha! delgadito died many years ago in a battle with mexicans. yet mangus coloradus talked with him when he should have been talking with me. it chilled me, for i cannot talk with spirits." "nor can i," said victorio. "i can talk only with people and be guided only by them and by my own common sense. good sense tells me that if we do not fight the americans, they will overrun us and there will be no more apaches anyway. in spite of the fact that they still war among themselves, they have soldiers to spare for apache land. white men who come among us are more instead of fewer, but only the chiricahuas still fight them." "mangus coloradus points that out," geronimo said. "the warriors of cochise kill and are killed by soldiers, cattle drivers, and rock scratchers who are forever looking for gold. but it is as though every dead white man is a seed from which two more spring up." "do you think that?" victorio questioned. "there is reason for so thinking," geronimo said. "but i also think we must fight until every white man is driven from our land or until all apaches are killed. if white men become our masters we shall know sorry times indeed. do you know they call us thieves, liars, murderers, and every other vile name their tongues can form? ha! any apache can take lessons in thievery, lying, and murder from any white man!" "what do you mean?" asked victorio. geronimo said, "when the white men warred against mexico, apaches sold them horses and mules and brought them food. we told them to take the places called sonora and chihuahua and we would help. they accepted our help when it was needed. the war ended and for a time no more was heard. "then came a surveyor named bartlett, and he sent word that he was a good friend to all apaches. we believed and trusted him, but when we brought our mexican slaves to his camp, bartlett took them away. "it seems that, when the war ended, americans and mexicans became brothers. bartlett said it was wrong to make slaves of his brothers. he said also that the americans' god frowns upon those who keep slaves. ha! i have since learned that the americans keep millions of slaves themselves!" "it was a great lie," victorio said. "a very great lie," geronimo agreed, "but far from the greatest. bartlett's real purpose in coming here was to mark where this land ends and mexico begins. the americans were at war with mexico. they might have taken the whole country by force of arms, but when they wanted land, they bought and paid for it. "that was very silly, and it was just as silly for the americans to think they bought land from mexico that mexico never owned. they paid mexico for _our_ land, the country of the apaches. then they told us, 'we bought you when we bought your land. obey our laws, or we shall punish you.' was there ever a greater swindle?" "never!" victorio growled. "so we fight white men whom we would never hurt at all, if they just stayed home. and they call us evil! suppose we went to the people of the north, the canadians, and paid money for the lands of the americans. then suppose we told the americans that they must live by apache laws or be punished. would they not resist?" "fiercely," victorio growled. "i agree with you that we must fight, but the mimbreno warriors follow mangus coloradus and will for as long as he is chief. let us go see if we might again persuade him to be a war chief and lead us against the white men." the two made their way to the mimbreno village, and knew as soon as they looked upon it that something unusual was taking place. people scurried here and there, dogs barked, and horses on a nearby hill were nervous. victorio and geronimo began to run. they saw mangus coloradus in the center of the village surrounded by a group of his people. beside him was a bearded white man whom geronimo recognized as jack swilling, a skilled frontiersman who had lived for a long time in the southwest. towering over everyone in the group, old mangus coloradus was as erect at seventy-two as he had been at seventeen. his hair was snow-white now. but it was still abundant, and it had just been carefully dressed. he wore his finest moccasins and buckskins, and he was talking calmly. "long have i led the mimbreno apaches, and always my first thoughts have been for my people. of late i have been greatly troubled. constant war is a poor companion, and starvation is a thankless bedfellow. "now comes this messenger from captain shirland, of the united states army. he asks us to go into captain shirland's camp bearing a white flag, and he brings captain shirland's own pledged word that neither i nor any who choose to go with me shall suffer harm. he has promised that the mimbreno apaches will have their own reservation and plenty of food. i believe, and i would lead all who choose to go with me to peace and plenty." geronimo flung himself forward and knelt before his chief. "think!" he pleaded. "think carefully before you do this thing! the white men will have much cause for boasting if they may say that mangus coloradus is their prisoner!" [illustration] "it is a trick!" victorio warned. mangus coloradus spoke with the dignity of a chief and from the wisdom of years. "you, geronimo, and you, victorio, have ever been two of the most hot-headed warriors. nothing i can say will make you believe that you cannot continue to battle the white man. experience alone must teach you. rise and let me pass." geronimo rose to his feet and soon mangus coloradus and the little group who had chosen to go with him left the village. the evening fires had been lighted six times and were lighted again when diablo, a young warrior who had gone with mangus coloradus, shuffled back into the village. his eyes were downcast, his tread weary. he walked slowly to a fire and stared at it. for a long while he did not speak. "you saw?" geronimo questioned. "i saw," diablo said dully. "what saw you?" diablo said, "we walked into the soldiers' camp. mangus coloradus carried the white flag that should have been our protection, but soldiers rose up and seized him. they tied our chief as we might tie a mexican, or a dog. the rest of us they herded into an unused stable. i know the rest of the story from acona, an apache scout who is serving the soldiers." diablo quieted and stared intently into the fire, as though he could not go on. at last he continued. "into the camp came a colonel west, an army chief who outranks captain shirland. he talked with some of the soldiers. the soldiers loosed mangus coloradus' bonds and left. only two soldiers remained on guard. [illustration] "our chief, old and ill, and who must have been weary, lay down by the fire. he slept. one of the guards thrust the long knife, the bayonet that white soldiers carry on the end of their guns, into the fire. when the bayonet glowed red with heat, the soldier touched it against our chief. mangus coloradus sprang up, as who would not? he started to run, as who would not if awakened in such a fashion? there were two shots and ..." diablo fell silent and stared moodily into the fire. chapter eleven _geronimo in chains_ in the apache camp at warm springs, new mexico, victorio and geronimo braced themselves against the side of a big wooden building which had once been a barracks for white soldiers. all about them wickiups sprouted like misshapen plants. a large herd of horses grazed near by. women and older children ground corn in their stone grinding bowls. others prepared freshly killed meat, but they were not working over the carcasses of elk, deer, and antelope. these were stolen range cattle that the women made ready for cooking pots. but they were as tasty as any wild game. and they also furnished a great deal more meat for every shot expended. the warm sun had made geronimo and victorio sleepy, so that neither warrior felt like moving unnecessarily. but their conversation was lively enough. "the days of our fathers are truly gone, and i do not believe they will ever be again," said geronimo. "even war as we once knew it is no more. there was a time when apaches fought more for adventure and plunder than anything else. but now, since the white men have become our enemies, both sides fight only to kill." "that is how cochise fought the white men for ten long years," victorio remarked. geronimo said bitterly, "but finally even he made terms. he promised to fight no more if his chiricahuas were permitted to stay in their homeland, the chiricahua mountains. general howard, with whom cochise treated, pledged his word that they might. "yet, less than eighteen months after cochise has gone to join his ancestors, all his people have been rounded up by troops and shipped to a new reservation. it is somewhere here in new mexico, and the chiricahuas do not like it. many have already deserted to go back on the warpath. many more will desert. there will be much trouble." victorio said bitterly, "the white soldiers are great fools. if they had left the chiricahuas alone, there would have been no trouble. but has there ever been a time when white soldiers did not promise us one thing and give us another?" "why do you think i followed you to this place where you and your people have fled?" geronimo queried. "i will not live with the other apaches in that stinking country called the san carlos reservation which the white men saw fit to give them. and there are too many soldiers being stationed in arizona. i knew that i and those few who came with me could not hope to fight them. it is good here." [illustration] "it is good here," victorio agreed. "but only because the white soldiers are so stupid. in arizona, every group of soldiers starting on an apache trail had many mules to carry provisions. thus they were able to stay on the trail for many days or even weeks. here in new mexico, each soldier has only his own horse. when they set out to pursue us, they may continue only until their horses are too weary to go on. then the soldiers must turn back." "there is small need to fret about them," geronimo said confidently. "for many years we have run away from all the soldiers in arizona and new mexico too. they will not catch us now." [illustration] victorio said, "it is not the soldiers who worry me, but a white man who is now in charge of the san carlos reservation. his name is john clum, and he is no more like the ordinary white man who comes to oversee indians than a jack rabbit is like an elk. he has treated the apaches fairly, and as a result they have grown to respect him. some of the bravest and best apache warriors have joined his indian police force. and he has vowed to put you and me, whom he calls renegades, on the reservation too." "let him talk," muttered geronimo. "one cannot catch us with words." he did not know that even as he spoke, john clum and a number of his most fearless and sharpest-shooting indian police were on their way to the camp. they had left san carlos a week earlier for the sole purpose of capturing these two men and their followers. for more than a year the apaches had remained unmolested in this isolated camp in new mexico. when they went to bed that night, they scarcely bothered to post a sentry. in the first light of early morning john clum and his indian police closed in. taken wholly by surprise, the apaches could do nothing but surrender. geronimo felt the cold of iron manacles as they were clamped over his wrists. he and seven other troublemakers were chained together. john clum directed a company of his police to take victorio and his band to the ojo caliente reservation in texas. all the rest were returned to san carlos in arizona. geronimo knew perfectly well that this reservation, along the banks of the gila river, had been given to the apaches only because no white man thought he would ever want the land. the reservation was blistering hot in summer and wind-blasted in winter. there was so little year-round rainfall that nothing would grow well except cactus, palo verde trees, greasewood, mesquite, and other desert vegetation. even as he arrived on the reservation, geronimo knew that he would never stay. but all his ammunition and his rifle had been taken away. his knife was gone too. since no warrior could travel far without weapons, geronimo could do nothing for a while except bide his time and draw his rations of worm-ridden flour and tough, stringy beef. but he was not idle, as he waited for a chance to escape. searching daily, he found a bullet here, another there, and finally stole a rifle and hid it out on the desert. the agent who replaced john clum was not interested in watching him closely. so geronimo was able also to rebuild his horse herds through night raids on the papagoes. other discontented apaches were doing likewise. [illustration] one dark night, little more than a year after geronimo had been brought to san carlos in chains, a visitor came to his wickiup. he was carlos anaya, who had been one of victorio's warriors. "i come from the warpath," carlos said softly to geronimo. "victorio broke out?" geronimo asked. "aye," carlos said. "he left ojo caliente and fled south to join caballero, chief of the mescalero apaches. their combined forces made war throughout texas, new mexico, arizona, and old mexico. they killed more than a thousand people. "they forced many soldiers and many men called the texas rangers, and a vast number of the _rurales_, into the field against them. but finally most of them were killed. only a few of us escaped. still a warrior's death is better than a reservation life." "far better," said geronimo. "i and those who follow me are almost ready to make a break for freedom too." chapter twelve _flight into mexico_ the lowering sun scorched camp goodwin, the united states army fort on the san carlos reservation. but despite the sun, geronimo had been sitting near the fort all day, as he had sat for the past six days, with a navajo blanket draped about him and his fastest pony near at hand. he wanted the indian agent at camp goodwin, a man named hoag, to become accustomed to his sitting thus so that hoag would pay no attention to him. on this seventh day, plans that had been more than a year in the making were at last as perfect as they ever would be. swift action lay ahead. geronimo's blanket hid a winchester repeating rifle and bullet-filled belts. he watched a little group of apaches, all mounted, riding southward. nobody else paid any attention; the group might have been going hunting or wood gathering. geronimo returned his attention to camp goodwin. two apache chiefs named loco and nana, with most of their people, were gathered near the building. they all knew that geronimo and another leader, whoa, were about to make a break for mexico with sixty warriors and a hundred and sixty women and children. loco and nana wanted to be sure that the agent could see them near the fort and know that they were taking no part in this break. geronimo wanted to make sure that neither chief told hoag of the forthcoming flight. if there was any sign that they intended to betray his plans for escape, geronimo would shoot them, and loco and nana both knew it. planning the flight had not been easy. and when the plans were made it had been necessary to choose the right time for the break. there would never be a better one than this afternoon. many of the soldiers usually stationed at camp goodwin were away. some were campaigning in new mexico. some were hunting outlaw apaches who had been reported near the arizona-mexico border. whoa had left early this morning to wait in a dry wash some miles to the south. all day long apaches had been quietly drifting out to join him. they intended to start just before dark so they would have all night before the soldiers still in camp goodwin could take their trail. geronimo's eyes narrowed. loco and nana and their followers had done nothing. but the man named sterling, chief of san carlos police, now rode up with some apache policemen. had someone betrayed the careful plans? or had sterling intended to bring his apache police to camp goodwin anyhow? the sun told geronimo that it was a little past four o'clock. he rose. still keeping the rifle hidden under his blanket, he walked to his pony and was preparing to mount when the man named sterling shouted: "hey you! wait!" pretending he did not know that he was being addressed, geronimo did not look around. sterling shouted again: "i mean you, geronimo! stop or i'll shoot!" geronimo sprang to the saddle, dropping his blanket as he did so. sterling's rifle cracked and a bullet sang close. leveling his own rifle from the back of the already running pony, geronimo flung a shot at sterling. he bent low on his pony's back to make a smaller target as bullets from sterling's apache police whistled past. then he galloped over a hill and was hidden. [illustration] geronimo raced into the dry wash where the rest awaited him. all the warriors were on foot and holding their horses. the women and children were mounted, and some of the women held tightly to babies not yet old enough to ride alone. most children, often with three on the same pony, managed their own mounts. whoa, an indian so big that he dwarfed the wiry little pony he rode, came to meet geronimo. "what news do you bring?" whoa asked. geronimo said, "the man named sterling came with his apache police. he shot at me, and i shot at him, but i do not know if i hit him. the soldiers must know soon that we are gone." "come." the warriors mounted. with an advance and rear guard, and scouts on either side, men, women, and children rode on at a fast trot. night fell, and they were safe until the sun rose again. but sunrise might find soldiers hot on their trail, so there could be no thought of sparing horses. the only sleep they dared allow themselves was such snatches as might be had in the saddle. from time to time they nibbled a bit of the parched corn or jerky, sun-dried beef that they carried in pouches. with daylight, geronimo reined in on top of a hill and looked behind him. there were no soldiers in sight and no cloud of dust, to indicate that any were coming. geronimo turned and overtook whoa. "nobody comes from the rear," he said, "but we shall be in trouble soon. our mounts reel from weariness." "yes," whoa grunted. neither said more. both had known that they and their people must travel fast. and both had also known that their horses and ponies could not run all the way to mexico. they did not know yet what they would do when the animals were played out. some apaches were asleep in the saddle, and now the fastest must suit their gait to the slowest. a pony stumbled, almost went down, then found his balance and pounded on. suddenly geronimo pointed ahead and exclaimed: "look! usan has smiled upon us!" a long pack train, with some horses and mules bearing packs and many more running loose, was making its way up the valley. knowing how to get the last burst of speed from his tired pony, geronimo whooped and sped to the attack. he began to shoot as soon as he was in range, and he heard the rifles of the rest of the warriors blasting behind him. [illustration: "_look! usan has smiled upon us!_"] the white men and the mexicans with them were outnumbered six to one. they fired a few hasty return shots and spurred out of danger, leaving their pack train and loose horses behind them. letting the fleeing men go, geronimo rode in ahead of the frightened horses and turned them. the warriors surrounded the herd. there was a quick exchange of saddles and bridles, a swift rummaging through all the packs for priceless rifles and bullets, and most of the apaches rode on. freshly mounted, geronimo returned to the top of a hill for another look at the back trail. he could still see neither soldiers nor the telltale dust cloud to indicate any were coming. geronimo hurried to catch whoa. "no soldiers are near enough to cause trouble from the rear," he reported. "so rather than go on at full speed, it would be wise to ride these fresh horses at a pace they can maintain." "wise indeed," whoa said. "but let us not forget that some soldiers are elsewhere and even now may be returning to camp goodwin. we must be alert for whoever approaches from the front." geronimo said, "you speak wisely." alternately walking and trotting their mounts, they rode steadily toward mexico. that day they stopped only long enough to let the thirsty apache horses drink from a water hole. a herd of range horses was already drinking there, and they took those horses with them when they went on. into the night they traveled, and stopped again for two hours at another water hole. the horses drank and grazed. some of the weariest people slept. geronimo, who often had been afield a full week with only such sleep as he could get in the saddle, climbed a hill to look for danger on the back trail. the next day, riding as advance scout, geronimo saw soldiers coming a moment before they saw him. there were two companies, about sixty men, of the fourth cavalry, and they were directly in the path the apaches must follow. geronimo waved his rifle as a signal that enemies were sighted, and the warriors whooped to join him. this was apache country, a land in which they were familiar with every rock and crevice, and to the west was a bypass around the soldiers. driving the loose horses at full run, the women and children raced toward that bypass. yelling, but not shooting, because they had no bullets to waste, the warriors swooped down on the soldiers. it looked as though they intended to have a hand-to-hand fight with them. again geronimo could not help admiring american soldiers, who never ran as mexicans so often did but always stood their ground. however, the apache charge was a trick. suddenly the racing indians swerved east, toward some rocky hills. they rode up a narrow cleft, the only one around which horses could climb. the soldiers shot, but the range was so long that they hit no one. reaching the summit of the cleft, the apaches took their horses behind some rocks where they would be safe from bullets. then they scrambled back to take up positions in the rocks themselves. the soldiers launched a spirited attack, but they could not advance under the withering fire rained down upon them. they retreated, re-formed, and attacked again. the apaches shot slowly and carefully, for they wanted neither a fierce battle nor close-quarter fighting. their only purpose was to delay the soldiers until the women and children had had time to reach a place of safety. two hours after the soldiers first opened fire, the apaches began to slip away. each mounted his own horse, and each took a different path to rejoin the women and children. finally only geronimo and a dozen others were left. they fired at the soldiers and drove them to cover in the rocks. then all the remaining apaches rose and ran to their horses. on their next attack, the soldiers took the hilltop. there was not an apache left to resist them, but there were sixty different trails that led in sixty different directions. forty-eight hours after they left san carlos, the apaches crossed the mexican border and were safe in the sierra madre mountains. chapter thirteen _fortress paradise_ urged by three of geronimo's warriors, fifty-three cattle climbed laboriously up a slope and shuffled into pine forest. stolen from a mexican _rancheria_, they had been driven most of the night at the fastest pace they could keep up. now the cattle staggered with weariness. but they would rest soon. geronimo and a warrior named francisco, who had helped steal the cattle, were with the raiding party. watching only until the cattle had reached the mountain top, they turned to look back down the slope. beneath, the sierra madres leveled into low foothills. in the distance, the hills seemed to fold into each other, so that instead of many mountains there was just one. finally the one was lost in a shimmering blue haze. the two apaches tied their horses to nearby trees and continued to scan the hills below them. it was geronimo who spoke. "they come." far beneath, made small by distance, a line of mexican soldiers moved slowly but steadily on the cattle's trail. the two apaches looked at them as one might regard some interesting insects. [illustration] geronimo had never been a chief while apaches still lived by their ancient customs. but he was one now because he had been chosen by the people who had escaped from san carlos, to be their leader. neither he nor francisco, the warrior, were the least bit excited by the sight of the mexican soldiers. their rifles leaned against two trees. the sierra madres, with their low foothills that rose to ten-thousand-foot peaks, were known only to apaches. two hundred miles long by a hundred miles wide, the only human dwellings in the entire vast range were wickiups. it was here that the apaches held their pony races, played their endless games, and hunted. when they felt in need of amusement or plunder, they left their camps in the sierra madres to raid mexican towns or ranches. returning to the mountains, they were always safe. no force of _rurales_ had ever penetrated this wild retreat. after a bit, geronimo sat down and cast only an occasional glance toward the oncoming soldiers. he yawned. "we needn't have been so hasty," he said. "mexicans know two gaits, slow and slower." "yes," francisco was amusing himself by tracing designs in the earth with a stick. "still, there are more than there were, and they come deeper into the sierra madres than they ever did," geronimo said. "i am glad loco has come with his people, and benito, and nana, and mangas, and chato, and naiche." geronimo was speaking of other apache chiefs and braves who had come to mexico. after seeing for themselves that the american soldiers were unable to bring whoa and geronimo back, they, too, had defied the army and fled the reservation. now they, too, were living a free life in the sierra madre mountains. "we did not really need them to fight mexicans," the sulky francisco remarked. "i am not so certain," geronimo said seriously. "have you so soon forgotten the battle we fought in the stream bed south of arispe? it was no more than three weeks after we finally returned to the sierra madres. do you remember the mexican general who shouted my name in such foul terms? "he said, 'that dog of a geronimo is finally cornered!' he screamed to his soldiers that they must kill every apache, and that he would post his wounded to shoot cowards and deserters. they were many more than we, and we might have been overwhelmed had i not shot the general." "but you did shoot the general," francisco pointed out. "i did," geronimo agreed, "and i am very glad. i have no love in my heart for mexicans, especially mexican generals. that is why i am happy to see so many apaches in the sierra madres. together we may fight all the mexicans." francisco reminded, "we are not together." "that is as it should be," said geronimo. "apaches need room, and they cannot crowd together as mexicans and americans do. but we may get together when we choose." "if i had known that chato was going raiding into arizona, i would have chosen to ride with him," francisco said. geronimo said wistfully, "i too, for i have longed to see arizona once more and have a good fight with american soldiers." "let us wish chato all success," francisco said. geronimo said, "he will have it. benito rides with him, and twenty-six picked warriors." "were i there, there would be twenty-seven picked warriors," francisco bragged. geronimo grunted sourly and lay down to sleep. a half hour later he was awakened by francisco's hand on his shoulder. "they come," said francisco. geronimo sat up and looked down the slope to see some thirty soldiers climbing it. all led their horses, and they stopped often to rest. geronimo turned to francisco. "these are not the _rurales_ we once fought," he said. "_rurales_ never came so deeply into the sierra madres. if they did, they were never so foolish as to be caught in daylight on a slope such as this." francisco asked disinterestedly, "who are they?" geronimo said, "it has come to my ears that they have been sent from a far-off place known as mexico city. the nan-tan, the chief, of mexico city has at last discovered and is greedy for the gold and silver to be found here. he has sent his soldiers to protect it. ha!" "ha indeed," francisco grunted. "are you ready?" "ready," said geronimo. each lifted a football-sized boulder from its bed, tilted it on end, and let it go. the rolling boulders gathered stones, gravel, more boulders. a fair-sized landslide, indeed an avalanche, thundered down. a great cloud of dust arose. when the dust cleared, geronimo and francisco again saw the soldiers. they had escaped the avalanche by running frantically to one side or the other, taking their horses with them. but all were mounted now and galloping frantically back in the direction from which they had come. [illustration] geronimo said, "the soldier chief at san carlos asked me how we fought mexicans. i told him bullets are too hard to get to waste on them, and that we fought them with rocks. he thought i lied." without another word he started up the slope, following the trail of the other three raiders and the cattle. a week later chato, benito, and twenty-five of the twenty-six warriors who had gone raiding in arizona, rode into geronimo's camp. chato dismounted, loosed his horse, and went to sleep beneath a pine. benito regarded him admiringly. "that one sleeps only in the saddle while he is on a raid!" he said. "when the rest of us slept, he stood guard!" "was it a good raid?" geronimo inquired. "a very good raid," benito said. "for the six days we spent in arizona, we were seldom out of the saddle. we struck where we would, and stole fresh horses where we needed them. in six days we rode four hundred and fifty miles." geronimo said, "i do not see tzoe among those who returned." "you will not see tzoe," said benito. "though chato warned him that it was a foolish thing to do, he left us and went to visit his friends who remain at san carlos. he is now a prisoner of the white soldiers." geronimo staggered, as though from a sudden blow on the head. he gasped. though a young warrior, tzoe had been among the loudest and fiercest in declaring that never again would he submit to the white man's rule. but he had surrendered to the same loneliness and yearning for his loved ones that was afflicting all the renegades. who would be next? "is geronimo ill?" benito asked. "i am not ill," geronimo said. but he saw a dark cloud hovering over all apaches. chapter fourteen _chief gray wolf_ rumor prowled like a hunting mountain lion over the foothills of the sierra madres. it crept up the canyons, climbed the peaks, searched out every apache camp, and came to geronimo. he surrounded his camp with scouts. the sun was four hours high when one of the scouts imitated the call of a jay. geronimo did not stir. a jay's call meant that a friend came; a hawk's scream indicated an enemy. ten minutes later whoa rode into geronimo's camp. the huge chief of the nedni was sweating, and geronimo hid his wonder. he had known whoa for many years, and had fought with him when the kas-kai-ya massacre was avenged. this was the first time he had seen his friend show fear. "have you heard?" whoa demanded. geronimo replied, "it has come to my ears that chief gray wolf is in the sierra madres." "he is!" whoa exclaimed. he held up both hands with all fingers spread. "ten times this many warriors he leads, and ten times again, and twice again! the word is that he comes in peace and only to ask apaches to return to the reservation in arizona. benito believed him and let his band surrender in peace. gray wolf's soldiers shot the men! they cut the throats of the women and children!" for a moment geronimo remained silent. ten times ten, and ten times a hundred, and twice a thousand. not even chief gray wolf, known to the white men as general george crook, could lead two thousand soldiers into the sierra madres unobserved. nor was general crook a white chief who said one thing but meant another. he kept his promises, and he would not massacre prisoners. but it would not be well for even geronimo to give whoa the lie. finally geronimo asked, "this you saw?" "this i saw," said whoa. "you saw it with your own eyes?" geronimo asked. "not with my own eyes," whoa admitted. "one of my warriors saw." "name him," geronimo said. "it was not really one of my warriors," whoa said. "a warrior from naiche's camp, or zele's, or loco's, saw. he told my warrior." geronimo said, "i would live in arizona again, if i could live as befits an apache. i would even live on the reservation, but not on the gila river flats." "you would put yourself in the white man's power?" whoa asked unbelievingly. geronimo said, "i put myself in no man's power. but if i might once more live in arizona, i would keep peace with the white man and let him go his way if he kept peace and let me go mine." "you speak madness!" whoa gasped. "i speak no madness," said geronimo. "and i do not think that even chief gray wolf can catch me now that i know he is here. we saw _you_ coming." "as you shall see me go," whoa promised. "i have ridden this far to ask you to go with us." "whither?" "far to the south, where no white soldier ever has been or ever shall be," whoa said. geronimo said, "i do not think i would like the south." "i say no more," said whoa. whoa caught his pony and rode away. geronimo knew a great sorrow. whoa was frightened. because he feared, he was willing to see through the eyes of others rather than find out for himself how things truly were. it was indeed a sad thing. [illustration] two days later the scout announced another friend. in twenty minutes, ana, benito's wife, climbed the hill to geronimo's camp. "why are you here?" geronimo demanded. "i bear a message from chief gray wolf," said ana. geronimo said, "it has come to my ears that chief gray wolf killed all the followers of benito. yet you, benito's wife, are not dead." "we did indeed fight some of chief gray wolf's apache scouts," said ana. "they were commanded by the white chiefs, crawford and gatewood. they surprised us in our camp, and we thought they came for war. but they came for peace, and though they killed a few of us because we fought them, they took most of us prisoner and treated us very well. "the men remain prisoners. but the children have freedom of chief gray wolf's camp and all women have been sent forth with the message chief gray wolf has for all apaches. that is why i am here." "and what is this message?" geronimo asked. "return to arizona and live in peace." geronimo asked, "was chato in benito's camp when gray wolf's scouts came?" "chato was there," ana said. "and what says chato to the message?" "chato and benito have agreed to return," said ana. "so have zele and naiche. i know not of the others." "she lies," francisco warned. geronimo said, "women do not lie about their husbands. would chief gray wolf speak with me?" "he would," said ana. "where?" ana used a stick to trace a map on the ground. geronimo studied it, rubbed it out with his moccasin, and nodded. "eat and rest," he told ana. "then go to chief gray wolf and say geronimo will come in four days." in four days, carrying his winchester repeating rifle and wearing a belt full of bullets, geronimo approached the meeting place an hour after sunrise. he looked straight ahead only, for anything else might betray him. his warriors, who had left camp while night still held, were hidden all about. but they were to attack only if there was treachery. [illustration] geronimo saw captain crawford and lieutenant gatewood, army officers whose deeds had earned them the respect of all apaches. there was al sieber, famed chief of scouts and one of the very few white men who could think like an apache. mickey free, whom cochise had been accused of kidnapping years before, stood ready to tell geronimo and general crook what each said to the other. geronimo spoke apache, spanish, and some english. general crook spoke and understood english only. proud and haughty as the apache himself, every inch the warrior, general crook's eyes met geronimo's. they did not look away. geronimo asked, "what would you talk about?" "your return to arizona," said general crook. geronimo said, "you think i will live again on the hot flats of the gila?" "it was not i who sent you there," said general crook. "choose your home. there are the white mountains." a mighty yearning stirred in geronimo's heart. he was homesick for arizona, and the white mountains. "what else do you ask?" geronimo inquired. general crook said, "your promise to live in peace." "who promises me that the white man will also keep the peace?" geronimo asked. "i do," said general crook. "and have you known me to lie?" "i have never known chief gray wolf to speak falsely," geronimo admitted. "and i see no treachery here." humor lighted general crook's eyes. "how many of your warriors surround us, geronimo?" "do you think i came in fear?" geronimo asked angrily. "i did not say that," said general crook. "i asked how many of your warriors surround us." "some," geronimo admitted. "but they are to shoot only if you start a battle." "see for yourself that we want no battle," general crook said. "will you come back to live on the apache reservation if you may choose your home in the white mountains?" "i will if i may do that," geronimo said. "will you live in peace?" geronimo promised, "i will live in peace." "when will you come?" general crook asked. "when i am ready." geronimo turned on his heel and strode away. chapter fifteen _the discontented_ a mile and a half from his farm on turkey creek, in arizona's white mountains, geronimo skulked in a thicket and looked sourly at a flock of wild turkeys. they were so many that they seemed a living carpet over the five-acre clearing in which they were catching grasshoppers. but they held no charm for geronimo. who besides white men would eat a bird that ate snakes? white men also ate the trout that swarmed in white mountain streams, and trout were akin to snakes. geronimo grimaced. he had had enough, and more than enough, of white men and their ways. a lark called three times. the turkeys skulked away. they knew that it was not a lark calling, but a man imitating a lark. a moment later naiche slipped into the thicket where geronimo hid. naiche said, "no one saw me." "it is well," said geronimo. "chato suspects that we are again on the point of fleeing to mexico. he will be happy to inform the soldiers if he can discover our plans." naiche said, "chato suspects everything since he turned from his own people to the white men. in his own opinion, chato is a very great man. he told me himself that chief gray wolf never would have come to the sierra madres if he, chato, had not gone raiding into arizona. he said the settlers of arizona had decided that the apaches would never dare leave mexico. his raid taught them otherwise, and so chief gray wolf came." "for once, chato spoke the truth," geronimo said. without announcing himself, old nana came so silently that neither geronimo nor naiche knew he was coming until he was almost upon them. mangas and chihuahua arrived, and the leaders who had planned this second outbreak were gathered. geronimo spoke. "when i met chief gray wolf in mexico, i told him that i would return to arizona if i might live as an apache should. but before i could come, i needed time. not wishing to return to arizona a poor man, i had to steal enough cattle to make me rich. my warriors and i took three hundred and fifty cattle from the mexicans. they were honorably stolen. we brought them to arizona when we came. but when we arrived at fort apache, our cattle were taken from us." [illustration] the chiefs growled like angry wolves. geronimo continued: "that was not what chief gray wolf promised, but where is he? where are captain crawford and lieutenant gatewood? where are any white men we may trust? they brought us here and over us set strangers like lieutenant davis, who knows nothing about apaches and cares less." "i told mickey free to tell the fat white chief, lieutenant davis, that i had killed men before he was born!" old nana snarled. "he cannot tell me what to do!" chihuahua said angrily, "he and others do tell us! we must not do this, we must not do that! but we must scratch the ground with those foolish plows they gave us, and try to grow corn when it is much easier to steal it! i promised to keep peace with white men! i never promised not to fight with and raid papagoes and navajos!" "none of us promised anything except that we would live on the reservation and bother no white men," geronimo said. "it is true that we live in the white mountains rather than on the flats of the gila, but how do we live? it is still better to be free and at war in mexico than to be at peace and live like the stupid sheep which navajo herders chase." "right!" nana agreed. "it is better to die in battle than to live as a slave! before we go, i think that i will pick a fight with the fat white chief." "have men, not boys, beside you if you do," geronimo advised. "lieutenant davis is a warrior. how many are we?" naiche said, "in all, we are thirty-five men, eight boys who know how to shoot, and a hundred and one women and children. we might have had as many more as we cared to take with us if we had been able to provide arms for them. as it is, three of the boys who can shoot must carry bows and arrows since we were unable to get enough rifles." "it is as well," geronimo said. "the smaller the party, the faster we may travel. we know that the apache scouts and the white soldiers will stop us if they can. and i feel that lieutenant davis is suspicious." naiche said, "i can go to him and pick a fight. he would kill me, or i would kill him. if i killed him, he could not stop us." "since we are not sure he knows anything, this is not the time to fight him," geronimo said. "he has not tried to stop us. when we are gone, he cannot stop us." "he can send a message by the wire that talks, the telegraph," said nana. "he can tell the soldiers at fort thomas to stop us, and we shall have to fight them when we meet." geronimo said, "if we start a fight here, we must fight all the soldiers and all the apache scouts. if we run, we cannot be sure that we will meet anyone. it is wiser to run." the apaches started in late afternoon. geronimo was the last to leave, and he scouted thoroughly. seeing nothing, he turned his pony southward. only another apache could have hidden from geronimo's final scouting. as soon as the runaways had gone, mickey free rose from the patch of brush in which he had hidden and watched every move. he ran full speed to the army headquarters and found lieutenant davis. "geronimo, chihuahua, mangas, and nana lead many people toward mexico," mickey free said. lieutenant davis hurried to the telegraph operator. "send this message at once to captain pierce, in fort thomas: 'an unknown number of apaches under geronimo and other chiefs are fleeing toward mexico. head them off.'" "right away," the operator said. while the operator worked his key, lieutenant davis tapped his foot nervously up and down. he did not as yet know how many apaches had fled from the reservation. but he did know that, even if they were only a few, they were far more dangerous than the most savage pack of wolves that had ever roamed. [illustration: _geronimo had cut the wire with his axe_] if they escaped again into the sierra madres, it meant more terror for the citizens of arizona. from their stronghold in the mexican mountains, the apaches would certainly raid arizona towns and ranches. it meant equal terror for mexico, and it meant a long and costly military campaign before the runaways were again under control. the telegraph operator continued to work his key. but geronimo had already stopped long enough in his flight to climb one of the trees to which the telegraph wire was fastened. he had cut the wire with his axe and tied the two ends together with a piece of buckskin. this he did so that the wires would not dangle, making it easy for soldiers to find and repair the break. after five minutes, the operator turned, much puzzled, to lieutenant davis. "i cannot get through," he said. "stay at your key and keep trying," lieutenant davis said. "if you get through, say that i'm on the trail with soldiers and scouts. i hope we may catch them, but trailing will be slow at night, and i think it means another campaign in mexico." lieutenant davis was right. geronimo and all his followers again reached mexico and found a haven in the sierra madres. chapter sixteen _hunted like wolves_ geronimo galloped wildly through the black night. naiche rode beside him. ten of the eighteen warriors who remained with geronimo followed. geronimo turned his head. he saw light from the burning buildings of the arizona ranch that he and his warriors had just raided, reflected in the sky. the apaches had taken fresh horses. but the four men who had been at the ranch had fled after firing a few shots. presently geronimo pulled in his horse to a trot. the rest slowed. naiche drew in nearer to his chief. "i wish that the white men had stayed to fight," he said. "i too," said geronimo, "but the white men are not fools. they remain great liars. the last time, i raided in arizona with but six men, and kieta deserted to return to san carlos. but the white men said we had two hundred warriors. loco, who remains on the reservation, sent me a messenger, asking to know where we found such strength." [illustration] naiche asked anxiously, "was that the whole message?" "there was no more," geronimo said. said naiche, "then i am sad. my wife and children are in arizona. my relatives are there. i am sorely in need of news of them. why does chihuahua send me no word? he returned to the reservation the second time chief gray wolf came to us and asked us to come in." "there is no knowing what happened to chihuahua," geronimo said. "chief gray wolf has gone from arizona, and the apaches will never see him again." general crook had indeed made a second journey to mexico, and again he met the runaway apaches and tried to persuade them to come back to the reservation. chihuahua and his followers had returned. mangas and two or three others had fled deeper into mexico, but geronimo and naiche had promised to return. at the last minute they, with eighteen other men and nineteen women and children, had changed their minds and fled back into the sierra madres. general crook had been sharply rebuked by his commander for letting geronimo escape. so he had asked to be relieved of duty in arizona and sent back to texas. his wish was granted, and a general named miles had come to arizona to take his place. general miles had five thousand soldiers at his command, and their principal duty was to capture geronimo. a large number of mexican _rurales_ and police were afield for the same purpose. besides these, there were many ranchers, cowboys, miners, and townsmen who would gladly do anything they could to put an end to geronimo and his followers. there were certainly at least ten thousand people actively plotting the downfall of this one apache chief. and not all of them together had come near to succeeding. by special arrangement with mexico, american troops were permitted to range south of the border, and there had been several fights between them and geronimo's band. some american soldiers had been killed or wounded, and the mexicans had suffered too. but geronimo had not lost a single warrior. not one of his followers had even been wounded. yet the apache chief was discouraged. he swayed in the saddle, and bright lights flashed before his eyes. he put a hand in front of his eyes to shut out the lights. "are you ill?" naiche asked in alarm. "i am tired," said geronimo. naiche said, "we may stop and rest." "i speak not of body weariness," geronimo said. "my spirit is tired." "i understand," said naiche. "we have fought for a very long while. we have been driven from our camps and our cooking fires. seven times in fifteen months we lost all our horses and had to steal more. we know not when we will have to fight many soldiers. the spirits of all of us are tired, but we dare not surrender." "we dare not," geronimo agreed. "chief gray wolf is gone. captain crawford is dead. lieutenant gatewood is gone. there is not one white man among all who pursue us whom we may trust. almost i wish that i had gone in with chief gray wolf." "i too," naiche murmured. they halted at daylight in a rockbound little canyon. horses that had become both weary and thirsty stood with heads raised and nostrils flared. they smelled water, for there was a water hole ahead. but the warriors tied their mounts and waited. carrying his winchester repeating rifle, geronimo slipped off alone. with no more fuss than a slinking coyote, he made his way among the boulders and the scrawny little trees that grew between them. after a bit geronimo stopped and cut a number of leafy twigs. he thrust them into his headband so that, if he held very still, whoever saw him would think they saw a bush instead. then he dropped to wriggle forward on his stomach. presently he looked down into another canyon. the water hole was there, and the water was fresh and cold. green grass surrounded it. great cottonwood trees bordered it. but a herd of horses browsed on the grass, and pack mules stamped at a picket line. there were packs and tents, and there were more than twenty soldiers whose only reason for being here was to keep geronimo away from the water. geronimo slipped away as quietly as he had come. "soldiers await," he told naiche when he had returned to his warriors. "many soldiers?" naiche asked. "too many for us to fight," geronimo said. naiche said, "then we must go." "no. we must loose our horses," said geronimo. naiche said, "they will run to water." "they will run to water," geronimo agreed. naiche asked wonderingly, "you would give good horses to white soldiers?" "these horses are too spent to serve us any longer," geronimo said. "let them go." tie ropes were slipped. following the smell of water, the horses were off at a gallop. geronimo led his warriors forward. he stopped them just beneath the rim of the canyon in which the water hole lay. again he thrust bits of brush into his headband and crawled forward to look. the thirsty horses had come in and were crowding each other at the water hole. a young lieutenant was ordering his men to mount. a scout whom geronimo had seen, but whose name he had never heard, was arguing with the lieutenant. "don't do it!" the scout said. "don't do it, lieutenant!" "you say these horses were loosed by geronimo's men?" the lieutenant asked. the scout said, "couldn't of been nobody else, an' every horse wears the pratt brand. geronimo must of stole them there. i figure we'll find the pratt ranch burned an' maybe the pratt brothers dead. but don't dash off in all directions thisaway." "if geronimo's lost his horses, he and his men are afoot!" the young lieutenant exclaimed. "the only horses geronimo ever _lost_ was them our scouts or soldiers took away from him," the scout said. "he's turned these loose for some deviltry of his own. an' did you ever try to hunt apaches when they was afoot?" "no," the lieutenant admitted. "but they should be easy to catch." [illustration] "'bout as easy as so many quail with six extry wings," the scout said. "you can't catch 'em." the lieutenant said sternly, "mount and come with us." "all right," the scout said. "but don't leave no horses here!" "i won't. but we must travel fast so i'll leave the pack mules." "then leave a guard too." "i'll need every man," the lieutenant said. "s'pose the apaches come here?" the scout asked. "they won't," the lieutenant said. "they're too cowardly. geronimo and every last one of his men are running for mexico. we must overtake them. geronimo's the last apache war chief! when he's captured or killed, it will mean an end to indian wars here in the southwest! the least i'll get out of this is a captain's rating, and perhaps even a major's!" the scout said, "if i'm asked, i'll say i told you 'twas a fool thing to do." "say what you please," the lieutenant said. "i know what i'm doing." the soldiers followed the scout, who in turn followed the back trail of the horses. when they found the place where the horses had been loosed, the lieutenant thought, they would also find helpless apaches on foot. when the soldiers were out of sight, geronimo signaled his men forward. they drank at the water hole. then they rummaged hastily through the packs and tents and took all the rifles and ammunition they could find. minutes later, each warrior was mounted on a mule. geronimo led them into rough and rocky ground where mules could travel but horses could not. long before the young lieutenant brought his men back to their camp, every apache was safe. chapter seventeen _a gallant soldier_ sitting in the shade of some pines on the rim of a lofty mountain, geronimo stared down at mexico's bavispe river. from the mountain top the river looked like a silver ribbon that followed the curves of the valley and gave back the sparkle of the sun. geronimo shook his head. when he was a medicine man, he had tried in vain to see the visions that should appear to all _shamans_. though he was no longer a _shaman_, visions came now. he saw that long past day when he had stolen delgadito's war horse to fight a duel of stallions with the son of ponce. again he went with delgadito on the raid, and saw the two papagoes who had come to steal horses. once more he lived in his mother's wickiup, and knew the love that had warmed him there. next followed his happy days with alope, but not the massacre at kas-kai-ya. then the battle that avenged the massacre, the ambush of the california volunteers in apache pass, and the battles that had been since. he thought of all that had passed since his first fight with the two papagoes. geronimo had been twelve years old then. he was fifty-eight now. he had known forty-six years of war. [illustration] more visions came. geronimo saw old mangus coloradus, leaving the mimbreno village to surrender to the white man. he saw cochise, who fought fiercely for ten years after the death of mangus coloradus but finally gave in too. no more visions appeared. geronimo turned to naiche, who sat beside him. "you told me that you long to see your wife, your children, your relatives," he said. "i do," said naiche. "have you no wish again to visit your blood kin?" "no one awaits me--" geronimo was interrupted by the whistle of a hawk, the sentry's signal that an enemy came. the sentry signaled again, the enemy was not in force. the women and children ran to hurry the horses into hiding. the men hid themselves where they could ambush their foe. in less than a half minute, not one of geronimo's band and no horses could be seen. presently two apaches appeared. one was kieta, who had deserted geronimo while raiding in arizona. the second was a warrior named martine. when the pair was well within the ambush, geronimo and his hidden warriors sprang up. kieta and martine stood motionless. but both knew that, if either raised a weapon, both would die. geronimo said, "it is good to see you again, kieta." "i am here because i like you, geronimo," kieta said, "and i like you because you led us well. i know you bear me no ill will because i left you and returned to san carlos." [illustration] said geronimo, "if you wished to follow me no more, your own path was before you, and how can i bear ill will because you chose it? have you now returned to me and brought martine with you?" "we are here as messengers for a very gallant soldier," kieta said. geronimo said harshly, "i treat with no soldiers." "will you hear his name?" kieta asked. geronimo said, "i will hear his name." "lieutenant gatewood," said kieta. geronimo could not hide his astonishment. he knew that lieutenant gatewood was fierce in battle, merciful in victory, and always true to his word. with that respect which one great warrior must feel for another, geronimo said, "more than once i have met lieutenant gatewood in battle. but it came to my ears that he had gone far from the land of the apaches." "your ears heard truly," kieta said. "lieutenant gatewood has been in a place so far off that i do not even know its name. but when he learned that geronimo refuses even to talk with the soldiers who are pursuing him, he came as one whom geronimo himself knows he may trust." "how many soldiers are with him?" geronimo asked. kieta said, "there are six soldiers, all of whom serve as couriers and none as warriors. there are two interpreters, jose maria and tom horn." "they are all?" geronimo asked. "they are all with lieutenant gatewood," said kieta. "but there are many soldiers not far away. will you talk with this brave man?" geronimo gave himself to serious thought. after a while, he looked at kieta. "i will talk with him," he said. "but only lieutenant gatewood, the six couriers, and tom horn and jose maria. no one else must come to the meeting place. should there be soldiers, we fight." "we go to tell him," kieta said. geronimo said, "martine goes to tell him. just to be sure martine speaks truly, you stay with us until he returns." later geronimo stood very still as he watched lieutenant gatewood and his group come near. lieutenant gatewood had been ill and showed it. but he was armed as a warrior should be, and mounted as a warrior should be, and he was completely at ease. true to his word, he was accompanied only by the six couriers and two interpreters. geronimo's mind took him back almost six years to a nameless canyon. he and naiche, with a large band of well-armed warriors, had succeeded in luring a company of united states cavalry to a water hole in the canyon. the apaches fell upon the soldiers and might have massacred every one had not the brave lieutenant gatewood rallied his men and led them out of the trap. geronimo stirred uneasily. his warriors could kill these few men in less than a minute. but even as the thought occurred to him, he knew that he would never give the order to shoot. not when this gallant soldier was in command. chapter eighteen _the last surrender_ lieutenant gatewood dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to one of the couriers, and shook hands with geronimo. geronimo searched the officer's face for some sign of fear. but there was not even a slight nervousness. lieutenant gatewood was indeed worthy of his reputation for both courage and gallantry. geronimo said, "your face is pale and drawn, as though it has not seen the sun in too many days. or perhaps you have been ill?" "it is nothing," said lieutenant gatewood. "i have merely ridden far and fast so that i may talk with geronimo." "you did not say, 'my friend, geronimo,'" geronimo pointed out. "you are not my friend," lieutenant gatewood said calmly. "you are the friend of no white man or mexican as long as you continue to live like a wild beast, and raid and kill at your pleasure. except for those who are with you now, even the apaches have turned against you, for you have given a bad name to apaches who would live at peace." "it is true that many thirst for my blood," geronimo said thoughtfully. "it is equally true that you still speak with a straight tongue. some have called me 'friend,' and when they thought i was no longer suspicious, have tried to betray me. but you say at once that you are not my friend, and that is honest talk. what would you have from me?" lieutenant gatewood said, "for myself i want nothing, and as a soldier i may ask nothing. but for general miles, the great chief in command of the soldiers who are pursuing you, i ask your surrender and the surrender of all your band." geronimo asked, "and what does general miles offer in return?" "imprisonment in florida for you and your families," lieutenant gatewood said. "is he mad?" geronimo flared angrily. "his soldiers have pursued me for many months, and we have fought them many times. many soldiers have died in these fights, but not a single apache has been killed by white soldiers. does your general miles not know that we are capable of carrying on the fight?" "he knows," lieutenant gatewood said. "but if you fail to surrender, general miles has another offer. he will hunt you down and kill every one of you if it takes another fifty years." "take a message to your general miles," geronimo said. "tell him that we will return to arizona if we may go back to our homes in the white mountains, and if we may live there as we did before fleeing into mexico." "that is childish talk, geronimo," lieutenant gatewood said. "you have had many opportunities to prove that you would live in peace on the reservation. there will not be another chance. general miles' orders stand. accept imprisonment in florida or be killed by soldiers." "we may also kill soldiers," geronimo reminded him. "that you have proven many times," lieutenant gatewood admitted. "but you remember the times of long ago, when for every white man in arizona there were a hundred apaches. now, for every apache, there are two hundred white men and more to come. you cannot kill all the soldiers." "nor can they kill us," geronimo said. "my terms stand. we return to the white mountains and live as we once lived, or we continue the war." lieutenant gatewood turned suddenly to naiche and smiled. "i saw your mother and daughter, naiche, just after they came in with chihuahua's band. they have been sent to florida with the rest, but both inquired about you." "are they well?" naiche asked eagerly. "very well," lieutenant gatewood said. "they wish you to surrender so that you may join them, and i am to remind you that an enemy more merciless than any soldiers lies in wait. it is winter that is just ahead. geronimo, do i have your final answer?" geronimo said, "may we talk again tomorrow?" "we may," said lieutenant gatewood. they parted. lieutenant gatewood and his party returned to their camp while the apaches went to theirs. the indians were sober and thoughtful. "it is true," geronimo said, "that few animals have been hunted harder than we. we have fought and fought well, but we are very few, and our enemies are very many. we cannot continue to fight them forever." said naiche, "it is also true that we would like to see our friends and families again. there is small chance of doing that as long we are in mexico and they are in florida." [illustration] others of the band murmured agreement. all were desperately tired and lonely. they had endured far more than flesh and blood should be expected to bear. but they were willing to continue the fight if geronimo and naiche decided that that was best. "yet," naiche continued, "i fear to surrender even more than i fear to continue the battle. mexicans south of the border and americans north of it would kill us as readily as we would kill a pack of rabid wolves. if we hand our arms over to lieutenant gatewood, who will protect us until we are safe in florida?" suddenly geronimo, who had been silent, saw in full the vision he had seen only in part as he sat beside naiche. there was old mangus coloradus advising his people to make peace with the white men, since they could never hope to conquer them. there was cochise, who had needed ten years of bloody war to teach him what mangus coloradus had been taught by his own wisdom. now, almost twenty-five years after the death of mangus coloradus, geronimo finally understood what one of these chiefs had known and the other had learned. apaches could not fight the white men. but neither could they surrender to them unless it was possible to work out a plan guaranteeing their own safety. when they resumed their talks the next day, geronimo said bluntly to lieutenant gatewood, "forget you are a white man and pretend you are one of us. what would you do?" "trust general miles and surrender to him," lieutenant gatewood said promptly. "so you have spoken and so shall we do," said geronimo. "but it is a long way to the border where general miles awaits, and this is enemy country. we will not surrender our arms until we are met by general miles." "that is agreeable," said lieutenant gatewood. "in addition, captain lawton and a company of soldiers are camped not far away. i will ask them to march with you and help beat off any mexicans who may attack." [illustration] "you march with us," geronimo said. "captain lawton and his soldiers may come, but they are to stay ahead or behind. we do not care to mingle with white soldiers." "that, too, is agreeable," said lieutenant gatewood. [illustration] it was thus that the apaches marched to the border of mexico. lieutenant gatewood marched with them. captain lawton provided an escort of american soldiers. and a mob of two hundred mexicans, who finally saw the hated apaches in captivity, trailed them all the way. but the mexicans did not dare start a fight. when they reached the camp where general miles was waiting, geronimo stalked haughtily to the general, who stared coldly at the great apache leader. geronimo and his warriors laid down the arms that they had carried so many miles and into so many battles. the disarmed apaches were surrounded by soldiers who took them, first to prison cells at arizona's fort bowie, then to the train that carried them to exile in florida. so ended the fighting days of geronimo, the last and fiercest apache war chief. and so, also, ended the indian wars in the southwest. never again would men and women on lonely ranches or in isolated villages awaken, trembling, in the middle of the night to hear the pound of ponies' hoofs and the wild apache war cry. never again would travelers in arizona, new mexico, and northern mexico find it necessary to travel in groups and well-armed for fear of apache attacks. geronimo and his followers, as well as many other chiricahua and warm springs apaches, were imprisoned at old fort pickens, or at fort marion, in florida. eventually they were moved to a reservation in what was then indian territory and what is now the state of oklahoma. there geronimo died at fort sill, on february 17, 1909. whether he was a great villain or a great patriot depends on whether one looks at him with the eyes of the white men whom he plundered, or the apaches whom he championed. but nobody can deny that he fought for a free life for himself and his people and that he was one of the greatest warriors of all time. _about the author_ jim kjelgaard was born in new york city but spent his childhood and youth in the pennsylvania mountains. there he learned to hunt, fish, and handle dogs. he still likes to hunt and has done so in most parts of the united states and canada, although he has exchanged his rifles and shotguns for cameras. after graduating from high school, he spent two years at syracuse university extension. since then he has held a variety of jobs ranging all the way from trapper to factory superintendent, and has been writing professionally for over twenty years. of some thirty successful books, all but one are for young people. _about the artist_ charles banks wilson, well known to young people for his illustrations of many historical books about the west, has achieved equal success as a painter. over 150 exhibitions of his work have been held in museums throughout america. in both book illustration and painting, mr. wilson is associated with the contemporary life of the american indian. many indian ceremonials which have never been photographed are recorded in his work, which has taken him throughout the southwest as well as the far west. he lives in his native oklahoma with his wife, a quapaw indian princess, and their two children. since 1947 he has been head of the art department of the northeastern oklahoma a. & m. college. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) sunset pass or running the gauntlet through apache land by captain charles king author of "the deserter", "a war-time wooing", etc copyrighted, 1890 by john w. lovell company new york john w. lovell company 150 worth st., cor. mission place [illustration: capt. chas. king] list of illustrations. capt. chas. king he drew little nell close to him manuelito was shuffling about the fire apparently doing nothing "where's manuelito?" his first duty seemed to be to get the provisions from the wagon "jim, old boy, we've got to pull together to-night" "my god! there's not a living soul in sight" bending down he raised her in his strong arms away he flew at full speed the two men set to work to build their breastwork nellie, clinging to her nurse, was terrified by the sounds the poor devil was now seated, bound and helpless, on a rock by the roadside "that's what jim took for an apache" one vehement kick and curse he gave him with one backward look he staggered wearily on "my god! what can have happened? it's captain gwynne?" evidently the one who was shot was a man of some prominence among them--possibly a chief all of a sudden a black shadow rushed through the air down with these stones, now!" the bullet of the little ballard had taken him just under the eye sunset pass. chapter i. a rash resolve. "better take my advice, sir. the road ahead is thick with the patchies." "but you have come through all alone, my friend; why should i not go? i have been stationed among the apaches for the last five years and have fought them all over arizona. surely i ought to know how to take care of myself." "i don't doubt that, captain. it's the kids i'm thinking of. the renegades from the reservation are out in great numbers now and they are supposed to be all down in the tonto basin, but i've seen their moccasin tracks everywhere from the colorado chiquito across the 'mogeyone,' and i'm hurrying in to verde now to give warning and turn the troops this way." "well, why didn't they attack you, then, al?" the party thus addressed by the familiar diminutive of "al" paused a moment before reply, an odd smile flitting about his bearded lips. a stronger, firmer type of scout and frontiersman than al sieber never sat in saddle in all arizona in the seventies, and he was a noted character among the officers, soldiers, pioneers, and apaches. the former respected and trusted him. the last named feared him as they did the indian devil. he had been in fight after fight with them; had had his share of wounds, but--what the apaches recoiled from in awe was the fact that he had never met them in the field without laying one at least of their number dead in his tracks. he was a slim-built, broad-shouldered, powerful fellow, with a keen, intelligent face, and eyes that were kindly to all his friends, but kindled at sight of a foe. a broad-brimmed, battered slouch hat was pulled well down over his brows; his flannel shirt and canvas trousers showed hard usage; his pistol belt hung loose and low upon his hips and on each side a revolver swung. his rifle--arizona fashion--was balanced athwart the pommel of his saddle, and an old navajo blanket was rolled at the cantle. he wore tonto leggins and moccasins, and a good-sized pair of mexican spurs jingled at his heels. he looked--and so did his horse--as though a long, hard ride was behind them, but that they were ready for anything yet. "it makes a difference, captain--their attacking me or you. i've been alive among 'em so many years that they have grown superstitious. sometimes i half believe they think i can't be killed. then, too, i may have slipped through unnoticed, but you--with all this outfit--why! you're sure to be spotted, followed, and possibly ambushed in sunset pass. it's the worst place along the route." captain gwynne looked anxiously about him a moment. he was a hard-headed, obstinate fellow, and he hated to give up. two months ago his wife had died, leaving to his care two dear little ones--a boy of nine and a girl of six. he soon determined to take them east to his home in far pennsylvania. there was no southern pacific or any other arizona railway in those days. officers and their families who wanted to go east had to turn their faces westward, take a four or five days' "buckboard" ride across the dusty deserts to the colorado river, camp there perhaps a week before "captain jack mellon" came backing or sideways down the shallow stream with his old "cocopah." then they sculled or ground their way over the sand bars down to fort yuma, a devious and monotonous trip; then were transferred to "lighten" or else, on the same old cocopah, were floated out into the head of the gulf of california and there hoisted aboard the screw steamers of the ocean line--either the newbern or the montana, and soon went plunging down the gulf, often very sea-sick, yet able to get up and look about when their ship poked in at some strange old mexican town, la paz or guaymas, and finally, turning cape st. lucas, away they would steam up the coast to san francisco, which they would reach after a two weeks' sea voyage and then, hey for the central pacific, cape horn, the sierras, ogden, and the tramp to the union pacific and, at last, home in the distant east, all after a journey of five or six weeks and an expense of months of the poor officer's pay. now captain gwynne was what we called a "close" man. he could not bear the idea of spending something like a thousand dollars in taking himself, little ned and nellie, and their devoted old nurse, irish kate, by that long and expensive route. he had two fine horses and a capital family wagon, covered. he had a couple of stout mules and a good baggage wagon. jim, his old driver, would go along to take care of "the concord," as the family cart was termed. manuelito, a swarthy mexican, would drive the mules; the captain would ride his own pet saddle horse, gregg, and a discharged soldier, whom he hired for the purpose, would ride mcintosh, the other charger. all were well armed. parties were going unmolested over the sunset pass route every month. why should not he? the officers at prescott shook their heads and endeavored to dissuade him, but the more they argued the more determined was he. there were tearful eyes among the ladies at prescott barracks, where mrs. gwynne had been dearly loved, when they bade good-by to the children. but one fine day away went "the outfit;" stopped that night at camp verde, deep down in the valley; started again early in the morning, despite the protestations of the garrison, and that evening were camping among the beautiful pine woods high up on the mogollon range. sieber's pronunciation of the name--"mogeyone"--will give you a fair idea of what it is really like. and now, three days out on the mesa, ned and nellie, in silence, but with beating hearts, were listening to this conversation between their father and the famous scout, and hoping, poor little mites, that their father would be advised and turn back until met by cavalry from verde; yet so loyal to him, so trustful to him, that neither to one another nor to kate would they say a word. "well, sieber, i've argued this thing out with all prescott and verde," said the captain at last. "i've sworn i wouldn't turn back, and so, by jinks, i'm going ahead. it's all open country around snow lake, and i can keep on the alert when we reach the pass." "you know your business best, i suppose, captain, but--" and sieber stopped abruptly and gazed through the open windows of the concord at the two little forms huddled together, with such white faces, on the back seat. "well, won't you at least wait and camp here a day or so? i'll go down by way of wales arnold's and get him to send up a couple of men. that won't be going back, and you'll be tolerably safe here. the cavalry won't be long getting out this way." "and meantime having my beasts eating barley by the bucketful so that i won't have enough to get through? no, al, i've made calculations just how many days it will take me to get over to wingate, and delay would swamp me. i don't mean to discredit your story, of course, but everybody, even at verde, said the renegades were all down by tonto creek, and i cannot believe they would be out here to the northeast. i'm going ahead." "well, captain gwynne, i give up. if you're bound to go there's no use talking. stop one moment though!" he spurred his broncho close to the window, and thrusting in his wiry arm drew little nell close to him, bent and kissed tenderly her bonny face. [illustration: he drew little nell close to him.] "god guard you, baby," he murmured, as finally he set her down. "adios, ned, my lad," and he shook the little man heartily by the hand. "good luck all! now i must gallop to make up time." he turned quickly away and went "loping" down the trail, but his gauntlet was drawn across his eyes two or three times before he disappeared from view. two white little faces gazed wistfully after him and then into each other's eyes. irish kate muttered a blessing on the gallant fellow's head. "come on, jim," said the captain, with darkening face, and presently the little train was again in motion, winding over the range that, once passed, brings them in view of snow lake with the gloomy, jagged rocks bounding the horizon far beyond. there is a deep cleft that one sees in that barrier just as he emerges from the pine woods along the ridge, and that distant cleft is sunset pass. though seldom traveled, the mountain road from fort verde over to fort wingate was almost always in fair condition. rains were very few and did little damage, and so at a rapid, jingling trot the wagons lunged ahead while the captain and pike, the retired trooper, rode easily alongside or made occasional scouts to the front. knowing that his children must have heard his talk with sieber, the captain soon dropped back opposite the open window and thrust in his hand for the little ones to shake. "you're not afraid to go ahead, ned, my boy! i knew i could count on you," said he heartily. "and nell can hardly be afraid with you and her old dragoon dad to guard her. isn't it so, pet?" and the wan little face smiled back to prove nellie's confidence in father, while ned stoutly answered: "i'm never afraid to go anywhere you want me to go, father. and then i haven't had a chance to try my rifle yet." the boy held up to view a dainty little ballard target gun--a toy of a thing--but something of which he was evidently very proud. "and then we've got good old pike, papa--and kate here--i'm sure she could fight," piped up little nell, but there was no assent to this proposition from the lips of poor kate. all along she had opposed the journey, and was filled with dread whenever it was spoken of. vainly had she implored the officers and ladies at prescott to prohibit the captain from making so rash an attempt. nothing would avail. as ill-luck would have it the lieutenant colonel recently gazetted to the infantry regiment stationed in northern arizona had just come safely through from wingate with exactly such an "outfit," but without such guards, and captain gwynne declared that what man had done man could do. there were plenty of people who would have taken her off the captain's hands, but nothing would induce the faithful creature to leave the motherless "childer." she loved them both--and if they were to go through danger she would go with them. all the same she stood sturdily out in her resentment toward the captain and would not answer now. jim, too, on the driver's seat, was gloomily silent. manuelito with the mules in rear had listened to sieber's warning with undisguised dismay. only pike--ex-corporal of the captain's troop--rode unconcernedly ahead. what cared he for apaches? he had fought them time and again. nevertheless when captain gwynne came cantering out to the front and joined his old non-commissioned officer, it was with some surprise that he listened to pike's salutation. "may i say a word to the captain?" "certainly, pike; say on." "i was watching manuelito, sir, while the captain was talking with sieber. them greasers are a bad lot, sir--one and all. there isn't one of 'em i'd trust as far as i could sling a bull by the tail. that manuelito is just stampeded by what he's heard, and while he dare not whirl about and go now, i warn the captain to have an eye on the mules to-night. he'll skip back for the verde with only one of them rather than try sunset pass to-morrow." "why! confound it, pike, that fellow has been in my service five years and never failed me yet." "true enough, sir; but the captain never took him campaigning. they do very well around camp, sir, but they'd rather face the gates of purgatory than try their luck among the tontos. i believe one apache could lick a dozen of 'em." the captain turned slowly back, and took a good look at the mexican as he sat on his high spring seat, and occasionally encouraged his team with endearing epithets, or, as in the manner of the tribe, scored them with wildest blasphemy. ordinarily manuelito was wont to show his white teeth, and touch the broad, silver-edged brim of his sombrero, when "el capitan" reined back to see how he was getting along. to-day there was a sullen scowl for the first moment, and then, as though suddenly recollecting himself, the dark-skinned fellow gave a ghastly sort of grin--and the captain felt certain that pike's idea was right. the question was simply how to circumvent him. at sunset the little party was cosily camped on the edge of snow lake--a placid little sheet far up among the mountains. the plateau was broken by a low ridge a few miles east, through a gap in which, known as jarvis pass, ran the road to sunset pass beyond. horses and mules, securely tethered, were grazing close at hand. the two wagons were drawn in near the little camp-fire. the children were having a jolly game of hide and seek and stretching their legs after the long day's ride in the wagon. kate was stowing away the supper dishes. manuelito was stretched upon the turf, his keen, eager eyes following every motion of his captain, even though his teeth held firmly the little paper tobacco holder he called his "papelito." out on the open ground beyond the little bunch of trees pike could be seen, carbine in hand, scouting the prairie-like surface and keeping guard against surprise. the sun went down. twilight hovered over them; kate had cuddled her beloved "childer" into their beds in the wagon and the captain had come around to kiss them good-night. manuelito still sprawled near the tiny blaze, smoking and watching, and at last, as the bulky form of the irish nurse-maid disappeared within the canvas walls of the wagon, the mexican sprang from his recumbent position, turned, and with quick, stealthy step sped away through the clumps of trees to where the animals were placidly browsing. he bent his lithe body double, even though he knew that at this moment the captain and the ex-corporal were over at the east end of their little camp-ground, chatting together in low tones. he laughed to himself as he reached his mules and found them heavily hoppled with iron chains. "as if i would take a burro when one stroke gives me a _caballo grande_," he muttered, and pushed still further out to where the four horses were "lariated" near the timber. a word to "gregg" whom he had often cared for; a gleam of his knife from the sheath and the gallant horse was free to follow him. still in silence and stealth he led him back toward the camp-fire where the saddles were piled. still he marked that captain gwynne and pike were in earnest talk down at the other end of the camp. warily he reached forward to grasp the captain's saddle, when a low exclamation was heard from that officer himself and, peering at him through the trees, the mexican could see that he was eagerly pointing westward and calling pike to his side. instinctively manuelito glanced over his shoulder and saw a sight that told him horse-thieving would not save his tawny hide; that told him their retreat was cut off, and their only hope now was in standing together. back among the pines through which they had come; well upon the ridge, and not ten miles away, blazed an indian signal fire. it was the apache summons for a quick "gathering of the clans." now god help the bairnies in the wagon! chapter ii. manuelito's treachery. all this time darkey jim had been sleeping soundly, wrapped in his blankets, with his feet to the fire. there was never an hour, day or night, when this lively african could not loll at full length, in sunshine or shade, and forget his cares, if cares he ever had, in less than three minutes. in this case, despite sieber's warning, which he had overheard, he simply took note of the fact that the captain and corporal pike were looking after things and that was enough for him. there was no use in worrying when "marsa gwin" was on guard, and within an hour from the time he had had his substantial supper, jim was snoring melodiously, with his head buried in his arms. manuelito was thoroughly aware of this trait of his "stable-mate," else he had not dared to bring the captain's horse so close to the fire. now his fierce, half indian face seemed full of perplexity and dread. the apache signal fire still glowed among the black pines away to the westward. the captain and corporal pike were hurriedly coming towards him through the stunted trees,--yet here he stood with "gregg," all irresolute, all fearful what to do. back towards those black pines and the long reach of road beyond he dare not go. the tontos held the line of retreat. here in camp he hardly dare remain for the keen cut in "gregg's" side line showed plainly that the knife had been used, and left him accused of treachery. out of the fire light and back to the grazing ground he must get the horse at once--but what then? noiselessly turning, he led gregg, wondering, back to the glade in which the other horses were tethered, and quickly drove his picket pin and put him on the half lariat. but how was he to conceal the severed side line? off it came, both nervous hands working rapidly, and then when he had about determined to cut off the lines of one of jim's mules and so throw suspicion on him, his african mate, he was aware of his captain striding through the trees toward him. he could almost have run away. but the next words re-assured him. "that you, manuelito?" challenged captain gwynne in low, hoarse tones. "all right! take the side lines off gregg and saddle him for me at once. i have work to do." the mexican could hardly believe in his escape. for the time being, at least, he stood safe. it would be easy enough later to "lose" the telltale side line in the waters of the lake. manuelito cursed his folly in having used the knife at all. haste prompted that piece of bad judgment. he could have unbuckled them just as well. but all the same he blessed his lucky stars for this respite. in three minutes he had "gregg" saddled and ready by the little camp-fire. there stood the captain and pike in low and earnest conversation. "i shall only go out a short four miles," said the former, "but i must satisfy myself as to whether those beggars are coming this way to-night. gregg and i have 'stalked' them many a time and the country is all flat and open for six miles back." "i wish the captain would stay here and let me go," pleaded pike. "no! i'm never satisfied without seeing for myself. you and manuelito will have your arms in constant readiness, and watch for me as i come back. there's no moon--no light--but so much the better for my purpose. is he all ready, manuelito? let me glance at my little ones in the ambulance before i start." who can say with what love and yearning the father bent over those little faces as he peered in upon them? the flickering light of the camp-fire threw an occasional glimmer over them--just enough to enable him to see at times the contour yet hardly to reveal the features of "his babies." he dare not kiss for fear of waking them. "god bless and guard you, darlings," was the choking prayer that fell from his lips. then, vigorous and determined, he sprang into saddle. "now, pike," he muttered, "you've been with me in many a night bivouac and you know your orders. they never attack at night unless they know they have an absolutely sure thing, and they haven't--with you three. jim, there, can fight like a tiger whenever there is need. watch the horses. i'll be back in an hour or there'll be reason for my staying." three minutes more and they heard the rhythmic beat of "gregg's" hoofs out on the open plateau and dying away westward, sturdy, measured, steady in the trot the captain preferred to any other gait. pike moved out to the edge of the timber, where he could hear the last of it--a big anxiety welling up in his heart and a world of responsibility with it; but he clutched his carbine the more firmly and gave a backward glance, his face softening as his eyes fell upon the wagon where little ned and nell lay sleeping, and darkening with menace and suspicion as he took one swift look at manuelito, cowering there over the fire. "blast that monkey-hearted greaser!" he muttered. "i believe he would knife the whole party just to get the horses and slip away. i'll keep my ears open to the west--but i'll have my eyes on you." once out at his chosen station, pike found himself in a position where he could "cover" three important objects. here, close at his right hand, between him and the lake, the horses and mules were browsing peacefully and as utterly undisturbed as though there were not an apache within a thousand miles. to his rear, about fifty yards, were the two wagons, the little camp-fire and flitting restlessly about it the slouching form of manuelito. in front of him, close at hand, nothing but a dark level of open prairie; then a stretch of impenetrable blackness; then, far away towards the western horizon, that black, piney ridge, stretching from north to south across the trail they had come along that day; and right there among the pines--pike judged it to be several miles south of the road--there still glared and flamed that red beacon that his long service in arizona told him could mean to the apaches only one thing--"close in!"--and well he knew that with the coming morn all the renegades within range would be gathered along their path, and that if they got through sunset pass without a fight it would be a miracle. the night was still as the grave; the skies cloudless and studded with stars. one of these came shooting earthward just after he took his post, and seemed to plunge into vacancy and be lost in its own combustion over towards jarvis pass behind him. this gave him opportunity to glance backward again, and there was manuelito still cowering over the fire. then once more he turned to the west, watching, listening. many a year had old pike served with the standards of the cavalry. all through the great civil war he had born manful, if humble part, but with his fifth enlistment stripe on his dress coat, a round thousand dollars of savings and a discharge that said under the head of "character," "a brave, reliable and trustworthy man," the old corporal had chosen to add to his savings by taking his chances with captain gwynne, hoping to reach santa fe and thence the kansas pacific to st. louis, to betterment of his pocket and to the service of one, at least, of his former troop commanders. no coward was pike, but he had visions of a far-away home his coming would bless, where a loved sister's children would gather about his knee and hear his stories of battle and adventure, and where his dollars would enable him to give comforts and comfits, toys and "taffee" to her little ones. was he not conscious that her eldest boy must be now fourteen, named for him, martin pike, and a young american all through? it must be confessed that as the ex-corporal stood there at his night post under the stars he half regretted that he had embarked on this risky enterprise. "if it were anybody else now but old gwynne," he muttered to himself, "things wouldn't be so mixed, but he never did have any horse sense and now has run us into this scrape--and it's a bad one or i'm no judge." then he glanced over his shoulder again. manuelito was shuffling about the fire apparently doing nothing. presently the ex-corporal saw the mexican saunter up to the wagons and pike took several strides through the timber watching before he said a word; yet, with the instinct of the old soldier, he brought his carbine to full cock. somehow or other he "could not tolerate that greaser." [illustration: manuelito was shuffling about the fire apparently doing nothing.] but the suspected greaser seemed to content himself with a cursory examination of the forage and baggage wagon and presently came slouching back to the fire again. he had some scrap of harness in his hand and pike longed to know what, but it was too far from his post of observation. he decided to remain where he was. he must listen for the captain. all the same he kept vigilant watch of manuelito's movements and ere long, when the fire brightened up a bit, he made out that the "greaser" was fumbling over nothing else than a side line. now what did that mean? pike took a turn through the little herd of "stock," bending down and feeling the side line of each horse and mule. all were secure and in perfect order. the one in manuelito's hands, therefore, was probably "gregg's," or an extra "pair" that he had in his wagon. there was nothing out of the way about that after all, so pike resumed his watch towards the west, where still the apache beacon was burning. it must have been half after ten o'clock. manuelito had slunk down by the fire, and not a sound was to be heard except jim's musical snore, and a little cropping noise among the horses. yet pike's quick ear caught, far out on the prairie to the west, the sound of hoofs coming towards him. "when those apaches named a horse 'click-click' they must have struck one that interfered," he muttered. "now that's old gregg coming in, i'll bet my boots, and there's not a click about his tread. 'course there might be on rock, instead of this soft earth. the captain's back sooner than i supposed he'd come. what's up?" quickly, crouchingly, he hurried forward some few rods, then knelt so that he might see the coming horseman against the sky. then challenged sharp and low: "who comes there!" "captain gwynne," was the quick answer. "that you, pike? by jove, man! i've come back in a hurry. are the horses all right? i want to push right on to the pass to-night." "horses all right, captain. what's the matter back there?" "i didn't venture too far, but i went far enough to learn by my night glass and my ears that those scoundrels were having a war-dance. now the chances are they'll keep it up all night until they gather in all the renegades in the neighborhood. then come after us. this is no place to make a fight. it's all open here. but the road is good all the way to sunset, and once there i know a nook among the rocks where we can stow our whole outfit--where there are 'tanks' of fresh water in abundance and where we can stand them off until the cavalry get out from verde. sieber said he'd have them humming on our trail at once. tanner and canker and lieutenant ray are there with their troops and you can bet high we won't have long to wait. it's the one thing to do. rouse up jim and manuelito while i give 'gregg' a rest. poor old boy," he said, as he noted his favorite's heaving flanks. "he has had a hard run for it and more than his share of work this day." in ten minutes black jim, roused by vigorous kicks, was silently but briskly hitching in his team, manuelito silently but suddenly buckling the harness about his mules. irish kate, aroused by the clatter, had poked her head from underneath the canvas to inquire what was the matter, and, at a few words from the captain, had shrunk in again, stricken with fear, but obeying implicitly. "let the children sleep as long as possible, kate," were gwynne's orders. "the jolting will wake them too soon, i fear, but we've got to push ahead to sunset pass at once. there are indians ten miles behind us." a few minutes more and all was ready for flight. "now, pike, ride ahead and keep sharp lookout for the road. i'll jump up here beside jim and drive, keeping right on your trail. old 'gregg' will tow along behind the wagon. he is too tired to carry any one else this day--and you--manuelito, hark ye, keep right behind 'gregg.' don't fall back ten yards. i want you right here with us, and if anything goes wrong with your team, or you cannot keep up, shout and we'll wait for you. now, then, pike, forward!" an hour later in its prescribed order this little convoy had wound its way through jarvis pass and was trotting rapidly over the hard but smooth roadway towards the high sunset range. the little ones had been aroused by the swaying and jolting and were sitting up now--silent and full of nameless fears, yet striving to be brave and soldierly when papa threw back some cheery word to them over his shoulders. never once did he relax his grasp on the reins or his keen watch for pike's dim, shadowy form piloting them along the winding trail. little ned had got his "ballard" and wanted to load, but his father laughed him out of the idea. "the tontos were ten miles behind us, ned, my boy, when we left snow lake, and are farther away now. these mountain apaches in northern arizona have no horses, you know, and have to travel afoot. not a rod will they journey at night if they can help themselves--the lazy beggars!" and so the poor father, realizing at last the fruits of his obstinacy, strove to reassure his children and his dependants. little nell was too young to fully appreciate their peril, and soon fell asleep with her curly head pillowed on kate's broad lap. ned, too, valiant little man, soon succumbed and, still grasping his ballard, fell sound asleep. in darkness and silence the little convoy sped swiftly along, and at last, far in the "wee sma' hours," pike hailed: "here we are, right in the pass, captain! now can you find that point where we turn off the road to get into the rock corral?" "take the lines, jim; i'll jump out and prospect. i used to know it well enough." down the road the captain went stumbling afoot. everything was rock, bowlder and darkness now. the early morning wind was sighing through the pines up the mountain side at the south. all else was silence. presently they heard him hail: "come on! here we are!" jim touched up his wearied team and soon, under the captain's guidance, was bumping up a little side trail. a hundred yards off the road they halted and gwynne called back into the darkness: "how's manuelito getting on, pike?" no answer. the captain stepped back a few yards and listened. not a sound of hoof or wheel. "pike!" he called. "where are you?" no answer at all. "quick, jim, give me the lantern," he called, and in a moment the glimmering light went bounding down the rocky trail, back to the road. and there the two soldiers met--pike trotting up rapidly from the west, the captain swinging his lantern in the pass. "where's manuelito?" was the fierce demand. [illustration: "where's manuelito?"] "gone, sir. gone and taken the mules with him. the wagon's back there four hundred yards up the road." "my god! pike. give me your horse quick. you stay and guard my babies." chapter iii. on the alert. obedient to the captain's order, pike had dismounted and given him the horse, but it was with a sense of almost sickening dread that he saw him ride away into darkness. "take care of the babies," indeed! the old trooper would shed his heart's blood in their defence, but what would that avail against a gang of howling apaches? it could only defer the moment of their capture and then--what would be the fate of those poor little ones and of honest old kate? jim, of course, would do his best, but there remained now only the two men to defend the captain's children and their nurse against a swarm of bloodthirsty tontos who were surely on their trail. there was no telling at what moment their hideous war-cry might wake the echoes of the lonely pass. with all his loyalty, pike was almost ready to blame his employer and old commander for riding off in pursuit of the mexican. it was so dark that no trail could be seen. he could not know in which direction manuelito had fled. it was indeed a blind chase, and yet the captain had trotted confidently back past the deserted wagon as though he really believed he could speedily overtake and recapture the stolen mules. pike thought that the captain should stay with his children and let him go in pursuit or rather search, but every one who knew gwynne knew how self-confident he was and how much higher he held his own opinion than that of anybody else. "it is his confounded bull-headedness that has got us into this scrape," thought poor pike, for the twentieth time, but the soldier in him came to the fore and demanded action--action. knowing the habits of the apaches it was his hope that they would not follow in pursuit until broad daylight and that it would be noon before they could reach the pass. by that time, with or without the mules, captain gwynne would certainly be back. meanwhile his first duty seemed to be to get the provisions from the wagon up to the little fastness among the great bowlders where the children, guarded by poor, trembling but devoted kate, were now placidly sleeping--worn out with the fatigue of their jolting ride from snow lake. she kept black jim with a loaded rifle close by the side of the family wagon and prevented his falling asleep at his post, in genuine darkey fashion, by insisting on his talking with her in low tones. she kept fretting and worrying about the absence of the captain and the non-arrival of manuelito with his wagon. she asked jim a hundred questions as to the cause of the delay, but he could give no explanation. it was with joy inexpressible, therefore, that she heard pike's well-known voice hailing them in cheery tones. he wanted jim. [illustration: his first duty seemed to be to get the provisions from the wagon.] "where's the captain and the wagon?" demanded kate in loud whisper. "up the road a piece," answered pike in the most off-hand way imaginable. "we'll have it here presently but jim'll have to help. we've lost a linch-pin in the dark. come along, jim." "shure you're not going to take jim away and leave me alone with the poor children. oh, corporal, for the love of the blessed saints don't do that!" "sho! kate. we won't be any distance away and there ain't an indian within ten miles. they wouldn't dare come prowling around at night. here, you take jim's gun and blow the top of the head off the first apache that shows up. we'll be back in five minutes. how are the kids--sleeping?" "sleeping soundly, god be praised, and never draming of the awful peril we're in." "peril be blowed!" answered pike stoutly. "we're safer here than we could be anywhere east of the verde and as soon as it's good and light and the horses are rested, we'll be off for the colorado chiquito and leave the tontos miles behind. take things easy, old girl, and don't worry. come along, jim." and so away they went through the inky darkness, plunging along the rocky and winding path by which they had brought the ambulance up the steep. not until they had got down into the road itself did pike give his negro comrade an idea of what had happened. then, speaking low and seizing the other's arm, he began: "jim, old boy, we've got to pull together to-night. there's nothing the matter with the wagon--that's all right, but that whelp manuelito has run off with the mules and the captain's put out after him. it'll be daylight soon and he'll get the son of a gun--sure, and then hurry back to join us; but the wagon lies just where i think you and i can start it down the road and fetch it nearer camp. then we can rake out what provisions we want in case we have to stand a siege. see?" [illustration: "jim, old boy, we've got to pull together to-night."] black jim's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. he had been on scouts with his master, and bragged prodigiously around garrison about how they fought tontos down along the black mesa and in the infested "basin." to hear jim talk one would fancy he had killed at least half a dozen indians in hand to hand encounters. indeed he had behaved with self-possession and a very fair degree of coolness in the two affairs which gwynne's troop had had when jim happened to be along. but this was different. then they had forty or fifty veteran soldiers. here--only old pike and himself were left to defend the position--and no one might say how many apaches might come along. besides it was still dark (and napoleon said all men were cowards in the dark), though far in the east a grayish pallor was creeping up from the horizon. who could blame poor jim if his knees shook and his teeth chattered a little, but he went manfully along by pike's side and soon they reached the abandoned wagon. as luck would have it, manuelito had stopped where the road began a pretty sharp descent and pike felt sure that if they could only start the thing they could run the wagon almost opposite their hiding place. then it would be far easier to get the stores up the rocks. taking the pole himself and telling him to "put his shoulder to the wheel" pike sung out a cheery "heave!" and, slowly at first, then more rapidly, the vehicle with its precious freight came thundering down the rocky and almost unused road. pike had to hold back with all his might and to shout for jim to join him, but between them they managed to control the speed of the bulky runaway and to guide it safely to a point not far from their little camp. the old trooper rummaged about until he found the lantern hanging under the seat. this he quickly lighted, and then, loading a sack of barley for the horse on jim's shoulders, and lugging a box of hard bread under one arm and of bacon under the other, he led the way up among the rocks until they reached kate's "field hotel," as he called it. there they dumped their load under the ambulance. pike whispered a jovial "go to sleep, old girl. you're all safe" to the still trembling irish woman, then down they went for another load. this time they came laden with a wonderful assortment. coffee, sugar, condensed milk, canned corned beef, potted ham, canned corn and tomatoes, some flour and yeast powders, a skillet or two, the coffee pot, some cups, dishes, etc., and these, too, were placed close to the ambulance, to kate's entire mystification; and then, sending jim down for another little load, pike set to work to build a tiny fire far back in a cleft in the rocks. "we'll all be glad of a cup of coffee now," he said to himself, "and so will the captain; he should be brought back before day. we may have no chance for cooking after the sun is up. thank god, there's water in plenty here in these hollows." out in the arizona mountains one may journey day after day in july or august, and all through the fall and winter, and cross gulley, gorge, ravine, caã±on and water cross and find them all dry as a bone--not a drop of water running. it is useless to dig below the surface, as one could do in sandy soil and find water, for it is all rock. indeed it would be impossible to dig; nothing short of blasting would make an excavation. but a kind providence has decreed that the scout or traveler should not be left to die of thirst. here and there in the low ground or in the ravines are deep hollows, in which the water has gathered during the rainy season, and this is almost always palatable and sweet. one only has to know where these "tanks" are, and he is all right. both captain gwynne and pike had twice been over to the pass before, and, spending a day or more there scouting the neighborhood, had noted the little nook among the great bowlders and the abundant supply of water. it was god's mercy that this was the case. and now as he boiled his coffee in the little niche whence no betraying gleam from his fire could shoot out across the gorge, pike gave himself over to a calm look at the situation. if the captain recovered the mules and got back by sunrise--despite fatigue they could give them and the horses a good feed of barley and then push for the colorado chiquito, some twenty miles away. once across that stream they were comparatively safe, for the apaches had a superstitious feeling against venturing beyond. that country was considered as belonging to the maqui pueblo indians, of whom the wild tontos stood a little in dread. then, a little further on, began the navajo country, and the navajos--once the most fearless and intractable of mountain tribes--were now all gathered in at their reservations about old fort defiance,--the richest indians in sheep, cattle and "stock" on the face of the globe. no apache dare venture on their territory, and white men, on the contrary, were safe there. "if we can only get away before those scoundrelly tontos get after us," said pike to himself. "even if the captain doesn't get the mules, we can abandon the wagon and the heavy luggage, cram the ambulance with provisions and make a run for it to sunset crossing. i wonder which way that blackguard of a greaser did go. he would hardly dare go back the way he came with every chance of running slap into the tontos. he has taken hard tack and bacon enough to keep him alive several days. it's my belief he means to hide somewhere about jarvis pass until he sees the indians following our trail and then, when they are fairly past, to make a run for the verde. the cowardly hound!" then jim came stumbling up the path with his load and the lantern. pike gave him a big tin mug of steaming coffee and a couple of "hard tack." took another down to kate, whom he pacified by saying that the captain was with manuelito and the mules and bidding her to lie down and get a little sleep before day. then he went back to jim. "now young man," said he, "i want you to listen carefully to what i say. you had a nap last evening--a sound sleep in fact and i've not had a wink. if i can get an hour or an hour and a half it will fetch me out all right for the day's work. this coffee will freshen you up and keep you awake. you stand guard until sunrise--until the sun is well up, in fact, then call me. keep your ears wide open; listen for every sound; if it's the captain coming back you'll hear the hoof beats down there on the road; if it's apaches you won't hear anything. but you take my word for it, jim, they won't attempt to follow beyond snow lake to-night. they can't be here before noon, and by that time we'll be miles away towards the river. don't get stampeded. just keep cool; watch and listen. if kate asks anything more about the captain tell her he's down by the wagon. it was too heavy to fetch up here. i don't want to make a man lie, but we mustn't let her and those poor little kids know he's away. now are you game for it, jim?" the negro mechanically took the rifle that pike handed to him. "i'll do my best, corporal," he said. "that's a trump! now i believe i can rest easy," answered pike, and so saying he unrolled his blankets, spread them on the ground close by the ambulance, looked to the chamber of his revolver to see that every cartridge was all right, lay his rifle by the wheel, lay down and rolled himself into his soldier bedding, and was asleep in three minutes. how long afterwards it was that he was aroused pike could not begin to guess. it seemed to him that he had not slept five minutes yet he had had a good, long, refreshing nap, and now it was broad daylight. the sun was shining brightly and black jim was bending over him; his finger on his lips. pike sat up and rubbed his eyes. the first question he longed to ask was: "has the captain got back?" but jim pointed to the ambulance and, listening, the old trooper heard childish voices, soft and low; their bubbling laughter telling of their utter ignorance of the dread anxiety which hovered over the camp. kate, worn out, was evidently still asleep and the children were chatting blithely together but taking care not to disturb their kind old nurse. little ned poked his hand out through the narrow space between the curtain and the frame of the door and peeped through with one merry blue eye as he shook hands with pike, who had scrambled to his feet. "where's papa?" he whispered. "he's all right, little man," answered pike, smiling cheerfully up at the bright boy face, though the old soldier's heart was heavy as lead. "he's all right. he's down looking after the mules with manuelito. you and nellie hungry? i'll get you some breakfast presently, but better let old kate sleep as long as she can." "i'd like to come out, corporal, and look around," whispered ned. "wait a little while, my lad. it's very early and the air is pretty keen. i'll let you out presently. see if you can find papa's field glasses in there anywhere. i want to take a look at the road with them." ned withdrew his little brown fist and could be heard groping around the dark interior. the captain had so arranged the seats in his "family wagon" that they could be turned and flattened against the sides of the vehicle, leaving a clear space in which there was abundant room for kate and the children to lie at full length and sleep in comfort, and this was their tent and sleeping apartment. the captain and his party slept as we always used to sleep when scouting in the dry season in arizona, without shelter of any kind, in the open air. presently the little fellow re-appeared at the aperture. "here it is, pike," he whispered. "but you'll have to open the door to get it out." pike turned the handle, took the "binocular," gave ned a jovial nod and another shake of the hand, closed the door and strode away signalling jim to follow him. when they were out of earshot of the ambulance he turned: "have you heard nothing--no hoof beats?" "not a thing," answered jim. "we can't see the wagon from here, but i could hear anything if anything had come." pike looked wistfully back up the pass. in one or two places the road was visible from their lookout, winding and twisting around the rocks. three hundred yards away it turned around the foot of a hill and from that point was utterly lost to view. pike looked at the sun, then at his old silver watch. "after seven o'clock, by jove! and not back yet," he muttered. "it's full time we were off for the chiquito, but we can't stir without the captain." then he turned once more to jim. "water the horses and give them a good measure of barley each, then put some dry wood on those embers in the niche there--be sure and make no smoke--and cook some breakfast for us all. i've got to go up to that point yonder. from there i can see all over the open country to the west, and the road, too, as far as jarvis pass. these glasses will show every moving object to me, and i haven't a doubt i'll see the captain somewhere out there in the distance coming back to join us. darn the mules! i don't much care whether he gets them or not, but i'd like about two minutes' private interview with that blasted greaser." so saying, pike got a pail of water from the "tank," liberally soused his head, face and neck in the clear, cold water; then, throwing his rifle over his shoulder, the brave fellow went springing down the winding trail to the roadway and then strode westward up the pass. a few moments brought him to the base of the little hill, a short, sharp climb brought him to its crest, and there, kneeling, he adjusted the glasses, and for a long, long minute swept the open country and the winding road lying before him in the bright sunshine. he could see every inch of the way to jarvis pass, and when at last he lowered the glass he groaned aloud: "my god! my god! there's not a living soul in sight." [illustration: "my god! there's not a living soul in sight."] chapter iv. on the watch. for fully half an hour poor old pike remained there at his post of observation, every now and then vainly scanning the plateau through his field glass. meantime he was talking over the situation to himself. "the jig is up now. i've got to go back to camp presently. i'll have to tell them the captain is still away and that i have no idea where he has gone. i might just as well make a clean breast of it and admit that manuelito has deserted and gone off with the mules, and that the old man (for by this half-endearing appellative the soldiers often spoke of their captain) is in pursuit. i don't suppose he found their trail until broad daylight anyhow." then he looked back towards the nook in which his precious charges were doubtless impatiently awaiting his return. he could just see the top of the ambulance over the ledge of rock that hid it from the road. "jim is just giving them his breakfast about this time," he went on with his self-communion. "they could not eat another mouthful if i were to go back now with my bad news. better wait until they've had a square meal before i tell them. they can bear it better then." still the stout-hearted veteran would not give up hope. again he swept the road with his glass, searching wistfully for some little dust cloud or other sign of coming horseman across the wide, open plateau, but all was silence and desolation, and, at last, feeling that he must go back to camp and get something to eat, he shouldered his rifle and went down the hill, his heart heavy as lead. of course it was still possible for him to hitch up the team and make a run for it, with kate and the children, for sunset crossing, but he felt confident that neither kate nor little ned would listen to such a project if it involved leaving the captain behind. there was yet a chance of his old commander's returning in time. although he was not to be seen anywhere over the twenty-mile stretch towards jarvis pass it was all the more probable that he might have found manuelito's trail leading into the mountains north or south of the gorge in which they were now hiding. the mexican had long been employed in the pack train and had been up through this range towards chevelon fork--he had heard him say so. very probably, therefore, he had struck out for the old "short cut" back to the verde. it was impracticable for wagons but easy enough for mules--and it lay, so pike judged, ten or fifteen miles south of the pass. the very thing! it would be the most natural course for him to follow since the signal fire west of snow lake had showed them the evening previous that the indians were on their trail. doubtless the captain had reasoned it out on the same line and ridden southward along the western base of the range until he had overtaken his treacherous employã©. a huge shoulder of the mountain shut off the view in that direction, but the theory seemed so probable to pike that his spirits began to rise again as he struck the road why! it might readily be that at this moment the captain was not more than a mile or two away, and hurrying back, fast as the mules would let him, to join the loved ones whom he had left at camp. "it's a theory worth banking on for an hour or two at least," said pike to himself. "by jinks! i'll swear to it as long as it can possibly hold good. there's no use in letting them worry their hearts out--those poor little kids. god be with us and help me to bring them safely through!" and so, much comforted in spirit, the old trooper--half new england puritan, half wild frontiersman--strode briskly down the road, determined that he would make no move for the colorado until he knew from the evidence of his own eyes that the apaches were coming in pursuit. the shortest way from jarvis pass to the point where they now lay resting, was by way of the road along which they had come the night before, on both sides of which, as has been said, the country lay comparatively clear and open for miles to both north and south. pike felt certain that with the aid of his glass he could see the indians almost as soon as they got out upon the plain and while still many a long mile away. then there would be abundant time to bundle their supplies into the ambulance, run it back to the road, stow kate and the children safely in the interior and whip up for "the chiquito," leaving their pursuers far behind. what a mercy it is, thought pike, that these tontos have no horses! the captain, too, he argued, even if he had not started before, would have an eye on that road wherever he was, and would gallop for camp the moment he saw the distant signs of the coming foe. even as he trudged along, whistling loudly now by way of conveying an idea of jollity to the anxious little party at the ambulance, pike's keen eyes were scanning the mountain sides. north of the pass the ground did not begin to rise to any extent until fully half a mile away, but southward the ascent began almost at the roadside and was so steep as to be in places almost precipitous. a thick growth of scrub oak, cedar and juniper covered the mountain and here and there a tall tree shot up like some leafy giant among its humbler neighbors; and, standing boldly out on the very point where the heights turned southward, was a vertical ledge of solid rock. pike stopped instantly. "now that's a watch-tower as is a watch-tower!" he exclaimed. "i'll scramble up and have a look from there before i do another thing." so saying he left the road and pushing his way among the stunted trees and over rocks and bowlders he soon began a moderately steep climb. long accustomed to mountain scouting, the craft of the old indian fighter was manifest in his every movement. he carefully avoided bending or breaking the merest twig among the branches, and in stepping he never set foot on turf or soft earth, but skipped from rock to rock, wherever possible, so as to leave no "sign" behind him. it was more a matter of habit than because he believed it necessary to conceal his trail from the indians in this case. no human being on earth can follow an enemy, like an apache; a bent twig, a flattened bit of sod, even a tiny impression in the loose sand or rocky surface will catch his eye in an instant, and tell him volumes. pike knew well that there was no such thing as hiding the trail of his party, and thinking of them he stopped to take breath and look down. their little fastness was hidden from him by the trees, but he could see the baggage wagon down in the road, and, being unwilling to have kate and the little ones worrying about his long continued absence, he set up a loud and cheery shout. "hullo--o--o jim!" jim's voice came back on the instant. "what d'you want?" "just save a little breakfast for the captain and me, will you? we'll be hungry as wolves when we get in." "is papa there?" piped up little ned in his childish treble. "no--he's down around the west side. he'll be in presently. i look for him every minute. he's all right, ned." "where you at?" shouted jim again in his southern vernacular. "up here on the hill. i'm going a piece farther to look at a big rock. i'll be down in ten or twenty minutes." and so having cheered and re-assured them, pike pushed on again. a few minutes' sharp climbing brought him to the base of the ledge which proved to be far bigger and higher than he had supposed, and all the better for his purpose. clambering to the top he could hardly repress a shout of exultation. not only had he now a commanding view of all the plateau over to the ridge through which wound jarvis pass, but he could even see over beyond towards snow lake, while northward for several miles the western foothills of the range were open to his view. it was by long odds the best lookout he could have found and he only regretted that his view southward was still shut off. adjusting his binocular he again gazed long and carefully over all the plain and especially along the western edge of the range to the north, but the search was fruitless as before. not a living, moving object was in sight. finding an easy descent on the side farthest from camp and opposite that on which he had clambered to the top pike half slid, half swung himself to the base again, and there he came upon a sight that filled his soul with joy. from base to summit the ledge was probably fifty feet in height and was so far tilted over on the western side as to have an overhang of at least fifteen. more than this, there was a great cleft near the base and an excavation or hollow running inwards and downwards, perhaps fifteen feet more. pike went in to explore, and, to his farther satisfaction, found a "tank" where the water had gathered from the melting snows and in the rainy season. he tasted it and found it cool and fresh, and then, sprawling at full length, he drank eagerly. "what a find!" he almost shouted, with glee. "we can store kate and the children back in there, throw up a little barrier of rock at the front with loopholes for our rifles. not a bullet or arrow can reach us from any direction except the tops of those trees yonder, and god help the tonto that tries to climb 'em. and, even if the captain don't come, by jinks! we can stand off all the apaches in arizona. it won't be more than three days before al sieber will be galloping out with a swarm of the old boys at his back, and if jim and i, in such a fort as this, can't lick es-kirninzin and his whole gang, call me a 'dough boy!'" the more he explored, the better was pike pleased with the situation, and in five minutes he had made up his mind what to do. the little nook in which the party had been hiding was all very well for the night and a good refuge for the horses as well as the human beings, but in broad daylight the indians would have no difficulty in finding and surrounding it, and there was hardly any space within its rocky walls which would be safe from bullet or arrow when once the assailants got up the hillside. here, however, they could stand a siege with almost perfect safety. from above or from the flanks the indians could not reach them at all, and if they attacked from the front--up hill--nothing but a simultaneous and preconcerted rush of the whole band could succeed, and pike knew the apache well enough to feel secure against that possibility. now it was possible to wait for the captain indefinitely. if he got back in abundant time for them to load up and push out for the colorado chiquito before the indians reached the pass--well and good. if he did not--well, thought pike, from here i can see the scoundrels when they are still miles away, and all we've got to do is stock this cave with blankets, provisions and ammunition, build our breastwork and let 'em come. "with kate and the kids out of harm's way, back in that hole, i wouldn't ask anything better than to have those whelps of tontos trail us up here and then attempt to rout us out. we'd make some of 'em sick indians; wouldn't we, old girl?" wound up the ex-corporal apostrophizing his henry rifle. greatly elated over his discovery, pike went scrambling down the rocky hillside in the direction of camp. he no longer took any precautions about concealing his "trail." he well knew that in the two or three trips it would take to bring their stores and then kate and the children up to the cave, such "signs" would be left that the apaches could follow without the faintest hesitation. five minutes brought him into the midst of his charges, and here for a moment the stout-hearted soldier was well nigh unmanned. instantly he was besieged with eager and anxious inquiry about papa, and poor little nellie, who had come running eagerly forward when she heard his cheery voice, looked wistfully beyond him in search of her father, and seeing at last that pike had come alone, she clasped her little arms about his knees and, looking imploringly up in his face, burst into tears and begged him, amid her sobs, to say why papa did not come. bending down, he raised her in his strong arms and hugged her tight to his heart. [illustration: bending down he raised her in his strong arms.] "don't cry, little sweetheart," he plead. "don't worry, pet. papa isn't far away. he's coming soon and i've got such a beautiful playhouse for you and ned and kate up there on the hill. we won't go up just now, for we all want to be here to give papa his breakfast when he comes in. and my! how hungry i am, nellie! won't you give old pike some coffee now, and some bacon and _frijoles_?" nellie, like a little woman, strove to dry her tears and minister to the wants of her staunch old friend, the corporal. ned manfully repressed his own anxiety and helped to comfort his little sister, but kate retired behind the ambulance and wept copiously. she knew that something must be wrong. no mere matter of a mule astray would keep the captain from "the childer" all this long while. black jim had set the coffee pot and skillet again on the coals and in a few moments had a breakfast piping hot, all ready for the present camp commander who, meantime, slung aside his slouch hat and neck-handkerchief, rolled up his sleeves and was giving himself a plentiful sluicing of cold water from one of the "tanks" below them. then, as he went up to take his rations, he sung out gaily to ned: "here, ned, my boy. we ought to have a sentry posted to present arms to the captain when he comes in. get your rifle and mount guard until i get through here." and ned, proud to be so employed, and out in the indian country, too, was presently pacing up and down on the side nearest the road, with all the gravity and importance of a veteran soldier. pike made great pretence of having a tremendous appetite and made little nell help him to coffee twice, refusing to take sugar except from her hand. once during his repast, poor old kate came forth from behind the ambulance, and with her apron to her eyes slowly approached them, but the trooper sternly warned her back, saying no word but pointing significantly to the ambulance. he did not mean to have the little ones upset by the nurse's lamentations. his "square meal" finished, he asked nellie to see to the breakfast for her father being carefully kept in readiness and then, sauntering off towards the road, called jim to follow him. then, while they were apparently examining the bolts of the baggage wagon, he gave the darkey his instructions. "jim, i don't know when the captain will get back or how far he's gone, but i haven't a dread or fear of any kind now. up there where you see that big gray rock i've found a cave that is the most perfect defensive position i ever saw. no bullet can reach it from any point, and on the contrary, from the mouth of the cave, we command the whole hillside. now if those apaches are bound to follow, they ought to be along here about noon. if the captain gets here in plenty of time we'll pull out for the chiquito. if he doesn't i mean to move the whole outfit up to the cave. i want you now to roll and strap all the blankets; to get the provisions and everything of that kind in shape so that we can easily 'pack' them, then i'm going back to the top of the rock to keep a look out. i can see way beyond jarvis pass, and if the indians are following i'll spot them before they get within ten miles of us. see?" quarter of an hour later pike was once more on the top of the rock. first he glanced at his watch. just nine o'clock. then he sprawled at full length upon the blanket he had brought with him, levelled his glasses and, resting his elbows on the rock, gazed long and earnestly over the winding road. presently he sat up, whipped off the red silk handkerchief about his neck, carefully wiped the eye and object glasses of his binocular and his own tired old eyes and, once more prone on his stomach, gazed again; then twisted the screw a trifle as though to get a better focus; gazed still another time; lowered the glass; rose to his knees, his eyes gleaming brilliantly and his teeth setting hard; once more levelled the glass and looked with all his soul in his eyes and then slowly let the faithful binocular fall to the blanket by his side as he spoke aloud: "by jove! they're coming." chapter v. the prisoner. what pike saw, far over on the plateau towards jarvis pass would perhaps have attracted no attention from tourist or casual looker through a field glass, but to him--an old trooper, indian fighter and mountaineer, it conveyed a world of meaning. against the dark background of that distant ridge and upon the dun-colored flat along which the road meandered, the old corporal could just make out a number of dingy white objects--mere specks--bobbing and twinkling in the blazing sunshine. nothing of the kind had been there when he looked before and he knew only too well what it meant. those dirty white specks were the breech-clouts and turbans worn by nearly all the tonto warriors in preference to any other head-gear or clothing,--a cheap cotton cloth being always kept in abundant supply at the agencies solely for their use. some of them, it is true, wore no turban at all, their luxuriant growth of coarse black hair tumbling about their shoulders and trimmed off in a "bang" just level with their fierce, beady eyes, being all the head covering they needed. but the breech-clout was universal and some few even wore loose cotton shirts. these, with the moccasin and leggin invariably worn, the leggin generally in a dozen folds at the ankle, made the war toilet of the intractable tonto. there was none of the finery of the proud warriors of the plains--the sioux, cheyenne or crow--but for all that, when those apaches took to the war-path, the soldiers used to say, "it meant business." "they will be here in three hours at the rate they're coming; three short hours, too, for those beggars can keep up a jog trot all day long. now for it! captain or no captain." with that brief soliloquy pike slid down from his perch, and for the second time that morning made his way down the hillside and back to camp. here he found kate and the children as full of eager and anxious inquiry about papa as before, and could only comfort them by saying that the mules must have run far to the south and were proving more than ordinarily obstinate about coming back. still, he said, papa is sure to be here before noon, and indeed he hoped, and more than half believed, that such would be the case. knowing the danger that menaced his little ones, it could not be that the captain would not use every endeavor to get back to them before the indians could reach the pass. jim had obeyed his instructions to the letter. there were the two big rolls of blankets, securely strapped; there were the supplies; the bacon, bread, _frijoles_, coffee, sugar, canned meats and vegetables. even some jams and jellies for the children, together with the coffee pot, skillets, plates, cups and saucers all stowed away in the big iron kettle that hung under the wagon and in a pail or two, ready to be plumped into the ambulance if a start was to be made for the river, or "toted" up the hill if the order was to take to the cave. and then the irrepressible propensity of the negro had cropped out again. there lay black jim peacefully snoring in the sunshine, oblivious of all danger. "now, kate, as the captain has my horse, i'm going to borrow his awhile," said pike. "i want to ride down the range a little way and see if i can't help him home with the mules. you are perfectly safe here. just as safe, at least, as you would be if i were with you. i wouldn't go and leave you if it were not absolutely necessary, as i believe it to be. you'll take care of her, won't you, ned, my boy?" the little fellow looked up bravely. "nellie and i aren't afraid," he said. "only we do want papa to come and get something to eat. jim told me not to let the fire go out and i put on a little dry wood now and then." but kate sat with her apron to her eyes, rocking to and fro in speechless misery and dread, nellie striving vainly to comfort her. all unconscious of the coming peril, the little ones were fearless and almost content. they had no sympathy for their old nurse's terror. pike stopped and spoke once again to kate before riding away, but in ten minutes, mounted on a fresh and spirited horse, with his rifle athwart the pommel and the field glasses in their case swinging by their strap from his shoulder, he cantered boldly up the pass and was soon well out upon the open plain. his idea was to ride straight out to the west along the road, five or six miles and more if necessary, scour the country southward with the glasses in search of captain gwynne, and if he saw nothing of him to get near enough to the advancing apaches to see about how large a party they were, then to whirl about, put spurs to his horse, ride like the wind for camp, get kate, the children, jim and the blankets and provisions up to the cave and be all ready for the tontos when they came. "gregg" was curveting and prancing even now, eager for a gallop, but pike's practised hand kept him down to a moderate gait and in this way he rode steadily westward towards a distant rise in the midst of the undulating plateau, and there he felt confident he could see all that there was to be seen. it was just ten o'clock when he reined in at the top of a gentle ascent and unslung his glasses. first he looked towards jarvis pass to see how far away were the enemy and how many in number. despite the windings of the road and occasional stunted trees or bushes, the first glance through the binocular placed them at once. yes, there they were in plain view--certainly not more than four miles away. not only could he count the breech-clouts and turbans now, but the swarthy, sinewy bodies could be made out as they came bobbing at their jog trot along the trail. "twenty-five in that party at least," muttered pike, "and coming for all they're worth. but what on earth are they bunched so for? there seems to be half a dozen in a clump, right in the middle of the road." long and earnestly he studied them; a strange, worried expression coming into his face. then, just as he had done at the rock, pike wiped the glasses and his own eyes, and then gazed again. "by heaven!" he muttered at last. "that's a prisoner, sure as fate, that they are lashing and goading along ahead of them. who on earth can it be? oh, god grant it isn't the captain!" rapidly then he swept the plateau southward, searching the foothills of the range south of the pass, his whole heart praying for some glimpse of horse and rider, but it was all unavailing. then, with one more look at the coming foe, poor pike turned, with almost a groan of misery and anxiety, gave "gregg" one touch of the spur and a flip of the reins, and away he flew at full speed back to his duty at the pass. one minute he reined in as he neared the gorge to note the direction taken by manuelito. there were the tracks of the two mules, and running southward out across the open plain, but the captain had turned south almost the instant he had got out from among the foothills. his trail started parallel with the range. surely then he ought to have returned to camp by this time. [illustration: away he flew at full speed.] and now, as once again he neared the little fastness in the rocks, pike drew rein and rode at easy, jaunty lope down the pass. he would not alarm his charges by hoof-beat that indicated the faintest haste. when he and "gregg" came into view no one of the anxious watchers could have dreamed for an instant that he had seen a horde of fierce apaches hastening to overtake them. "just as i thought," he sung out cheerily. "the captain went right down the range to the south and the mules strayed off across the plateau, so they missed each other and he won't come back till he gets them. it's all right, but i expect he's pretty hungry by this time." then, springing from the saddle, he picked little nell up in his arms: "and now, baby, you want to see the beautiful house i found for you, don't you? we'll all go up and take a look at it and have lunch up there--and lots of fun--while we wait for papa." and then with a kiss he set her down and stalked over to where jim was still snoring in the sunshine! "wake up, jim!" he cried, giving him a lively shake or two. "wake up and give me a lift here. nellie wants to see her stone house." it took some hard shaking--it generally does--to rouse the darkey from his slumber, but jim presently sat up, rubbed his eyes, looked around him, and then, as though suddenly recovering his faculties, sprang to his feet. "unsaddle 'gregg' and put the saddle, bridle and blanket with the other stuff, jim," whispered pike. "we must take our horse equipments and harness with us. we've got to move up to the cave. no hurry, mind you. you fetch the blankets first. i'll carry nellie." then calling to ned to bring his ballard--there were lots of squirrels up the hill--a fiction that can hardly have been very heavily charged against him, pike quickly lifted nellie to his shoulders and strode off up the rocks. "you come, too, kate. it's quite a climb but it'll do you good," he shouted, and presently he had his whole procession strung out behind him and clambering from bowlder to bowlder. long before they reached the ledge they had to let poor kate recover breath and, after one or two halts of this kind, pike sent jim ahead with the blankets and bade him come back at once and tow, push or "boost" the stout irishwoman to their destination. at last the rock was reached, ned and nellie shouting with delight over the wonderful cave and speedily making themselves at home in its inmost recesses, kate breathless and exhausted and bemoaning the fates that brought her on such an uncanny trip. the blankets were spread out on the smooth surface of the rock within the great, gloomy hollow. jim was sent down for another load while pike clambered up to his watch-tower and took a long look with his glass. the indians had not yet reached the rise from which he had counted their numbers at ten o'clock. in an hour more all the provisions they could need for several days, more blankets and pillows, all the arms and ammunition, all the harness and horse equipments had been lugged up to and safely stowed in and about the cave. "they'll burn the wagons, blast them!" muttered pike to himself, "but we can leave the horses there. they won't harm them because they will want them to get away with in case they find the cavalry on their trail. the chances are the horses can be recovered, but darn me if i'll let 'em have saddle, bridle or harness to run off anything with." then once more he had climbed to his post and was diligently watching the road, while jim, obedient to orders, was rolling rocks and bowlders around to the opening of the cave. "what's thim for?" demanded kate. "corporal pike's goin' to build a wall here to keep out the bears," said jim, with lowered voice and a significant glance at the children prattling happily together at the back of the cave, and poor kate knew 'twas no use asking questions. and now, through the glasses, pike could see the tontos gathered on the low hillock which had been the western limit of his morning ride. they seemed to have come suddenly upon "gregg's" hoof prints and to have halted for consultation. full half an hour they tarried there and the children began to clamor for the promised luncheon. sauntering down by a roundabout way the veteran picked up an armful of dry twigs, sticks and dead boughs and tossed them down at the mouth of the cave. then, behind the rock, he built a small fire of the dryest twigs he could find, explaining that he didn't want smoke in the dining room, and soon had his skillet heating and his kettle of water at the boil. jim was directed to cook all that was needed for luncheon and to have plenty for the captain, who would be sure to come back mighty hungry in course of the afternoon, and the corporal was speedily at his post again. what could it mean? the tontos were still hanging about that little hill six miles out there on the plain. was it possible they had abandoned the pursuit? noon came; one o'clock, two o'clock. they had all had luncheon, and pike had been scrambling up and down the rock like a monkey, and still there was no forward movement of the foe. every time he looked they were still lounging or squatting, so he judged, about the stunted trees on the knoll, and there was nothing to explain the delay. it must have three o'clock when at last the binocular told him they were again in motion and coming rapidly toward him. he could see the dirty white breech-clouts floating in the breeze and could almost distinguish the forms of the warriors themselves. leaving his glass on the top of the ledge he slid down to the base again, called quietly to jim, and the two men set to work to build their breastwork. bowlders big and little, rocks of every possible shape and size were all around them, and in three-quarters of an hour they had a stout parapet fully four feet high, whose loopholes commanded the approach up the hillside, and yet were secure from fire from above, below or either flank. then back he went to his watch-tower. [illustration: the two men set to work to build their breastwork.] the instant he adjusted the glass and levelled it at the road, pike gave vent to an expletive that need not be recorded here, but that indicated in him a most unusual degree of excitement. no wonder. the tontos were now in plain view--only two miles and a half out there on the plain,--and though they were spread out, as a rule, to the right and left of the road, quite a number of them came jogging along the road itself, and right in the midst of these, led by an indian in front and guarded by two or three in rear--were the missing mules. even at that distance pike could swear to them. on they came, rapidly, relentlessly, well knowing that even if their human prey had escaped them the big wagon must be somewhere about the pass and loaded still with provisions. nearer--nearer jogged the leaders; but now the old trooper was carefully studying a dark object on the back of the foremost mule--a pack of some kind--and marvelling what it could be,--wondering, too, what they had done with their prisoner. he was sure they had one as they came along that morning. at last they were within a mile of the heights and the western entrance to the pass, and now their speed slackened. they began opening out farther and farther to the right and left, and the nearer they came to the foothills the slower and steadier became their advance. the mules and their attendants were kept well in the background and for the life of him pike could not tell what that queer looking "pack" could be. slowly, steadily, the tonto skirmish line came on. every moment brought them nearer to the mouth of the pass. the sun was low down in the west and threw long shadows of the approaching foe before them. little by little, crouching, almost crawling, the more daring spirits among them would give a spring and a rapid run to the front of forty or fifty yards. evidently they expected to be greeted with a sharp fire somewhere about the pass, and did not dare push ahead in their usual order. and now they had reached the entrance to the defile. two or three, as flankers, remained well out to the right and left among the trees; two or three stole cautiously ahead down the road. pike watched their every move, yet found himself every few seconds fixing his gaze on that foremost mule now placidly cropping the scant herbage while the skirmish line pushed ahead. presently a signal of some kind was given and repeated. the indians in charge of the mules hastened with them to the mouth of the pass, and as they did so, that singular pack came closer under pike's powerful glass. "it's their prisoner," he uttered. "they have driven and goaded him until he fainted from exhaustion. then they had to wait for the mules to be brought up to the hillock--then lashed the poor fellow upon the back of one of them and pushed ahead." for some purpose of their own they were keeping him alive, and death by fearful torture was something to be looked forward to in the near future. the corporal continued to gaze as though fascinated until the leading mule got almost under him, and then he gave a groan of helplessness and misery as he exclaimed, "my god! my god! it's manuelito!" chapter vi. manuelito's fate. for ten minutes pike remained at his post of observation on top of the rock, watching the indians as they slowly and cautiously moved down the pass in the direction of the abandoned camp. the children, worn out with their play, and the fatigues of the climb, were sleeping soundly in the little cave on the peak,--nellie, with her fair head pillowed in patient kate's lap. black jim, too, was lying where the sun shone full upon him, and snoring away as placidly as earlier in the morning. kate, far back in the cave, had no idea what was going on in the pass below; but her soul was still filled with dread and anxiety. the old trooper knew well that just as soon as the indians came to the wagons and found them abandoned, their first care would be to secure all the plunder from them possible. then they would probably dispose of manuelito after their own cruel designs; and then, if darkness did not come on in the meantime, they would probably begin their search for the fugitives. there would be no difficulty to indian trailers in following their track up the mountain side; of this pike was well assured. but the wary old trooper had taken the precaution, every time that he and jim had gone to and from the camp, to take a roundabout path, so as to bring their trail around the base of the mountain in front of the cave, and in this way the indians in following would come directly in front of their barricade at the mouth and from sixty to a hundred yards down the hill and within easy range and almost sure shot of the defenders. and now, peering down into the road far below, pike could see that the leading indians had come in sight of the big baggage wagon and that they were signalling to those in the rear, for almost instantly three or four sinewy, athletic young fellows sprang up among the trees and bowlders on the north side of the pass, and crouching like panthers, half crawling, half springing, they went flitting from rock to rock or tree to tree until lost to the view of the lone watcher on the great ledge, but it was evident that their purpose was to reconnoitre the position from that side, as well as to surround the objects of their pursuit should they still be there. almost at the same instant, too, an equal number of the tontos came leaping like goats a short distance up the slope towards pike's unconscious garrison, but speedily turned eastward, and, adopting precisely the same tactics as those of their comrades across the road, rapidly, but with the utmost stealth and noiselessness, bore down on the abandoned nook. "mighty lucky we got out of that and found this," muttered pike. "it won't be five minutes before they satisfy themselves that there is no one left to defend those wagons or the horses--and the moment they realize it there'll be a yell of delight." sure enough! after a brief interval of silence, there came from below a shout of exultation, answered instantly by triumphant yells from the indians in the roadway, and echoed by a wail of mortal terror from poor kate, crouching below in the cave. pike lost no time in sliding down the rocks and striving to comfort her. nellie, clinging to her nurse, was terrified by the sounds. little ned, pale, but with his boyish face set and determined, grasped once more his little ballard rifle, and looked up in the corporal's face as much as to say: count on me for one of your fighting men! trembling, shivering and calling on the blessed saints, poor kate stood there wringing her hands, the very personification of abject fright. jim, coming around to the mouth of the cave, spoke sternly to her; told her she ought to be ashamed of herself for setting so bad an example to little nell. "look at ned," he said, "see how the little man behaves; his father would be proud of him." and then pike spoke up. "don't worry, don't be so afraid, kate; they have got all they want just now. they'll just plunder and gorge themselves with food, and then they will have manuelito to amuse themselves with. it is getting too late in the day for them to attempt to follow us. they have got too much to occupy themselves with anyhow. don't you worry, old girl; if they do come this way, as they may to-morrow morning, we'll give them a dose that will make them wish they had never seen a yankee." [illustration: nellie, clinging to her nurse, was terrified by the sounds.] the indian shouts redoubled; every accent was that of triumph. they were evidently rejoicing over the rich find in the ambulance and the baggage wagon. of course a great deal of property had been left there for which pike's party would have no possible use up here in the cave, and this included plenty of food. the horses, too, delighted the tontos, and, as pike said, they would doubtless be occupied some little time with the division of the spoils, and longer in having a grand feast. looking down the road he could see the two mules browsing peacefully side by side, manuelito still lashed to the back of one of them. two young indians stood guard over him and their four-footed captives; but even these fellows were by no means forgotten, for every now and then pike could see their friends running back to them with something to eat and, after exchanging a word or two, hurrying again to the wagons. after a while poor kate, partially assured by pike's words, but more shamed into silence by the bravery of little ned, subsided into a corner of the cave, and there seated herself, moaning and weeping, but no longer making any outcry. pike decided that it would be necessary for him to go once more to his watch-tower, and as far as he could, watch the programme of the apaches the rest of the day. before starting, however, he called up jim and gave him his instructions: "you see that the sun is almost down. the chances are that they will be so much interested in what they have found that darkness will settle down upon us before they fairly get through with their jubilee. then, again, it may be that the bloody hounds will have some fun of their own with poor manuelito to-night. i've no sympathy for the scoundrel, but i can't bear the idea of one who has served with us so long being tortured before our very eyes. we can't help it, however, there are only two of us here, and our first object is to protect these poor little children, and that wretched old kate of a nurse there. stay here with your rifle behind the barricade. i'll whistle if any indian attempts to follow our trail; then i'll come down here as quickly as possible. but keep a bright lookout yourself. watch those trees down there to the front. note everything occurring along the road as far as you can see. there goes one of the beggars back to that point now. even in the midst of their fun they don't neglect precautions. see! he's going to climb up there on that little hill just where i was watching this morning. yes, there he goes. now you will see him lie down flat when he gets to the top, and peer over the rocks to the west. what he is looking out for, i don't know, but it may be that they expect the cavalry even more than we do. they possibly have had signal fires from the reservation warning them that the cavalry have already left the verde. i hope and pray they have. now, keep up your grit, jim; don't let anything phaze you. if you want help, or see anything, whistle, and i'll come down." already it was growing darker down the gorge. pike could see that the apaches had lighted a fire in the road close to the wagons. evidently they were going to begin some cooking on their own account, and were even now distributing the provisions they had found. two of them had released manuelito from the mule, and the poor devil was now seated, bound and helpless, on a rock by the roadside, looking too faint and terrified to live. the captain's field glass revealed a sorry sight to the old soldier's eyes as he peered down at the little throng of savages about the baggage wagon, now completely gutted of its contents; and though he despised the mexican as a traitor and thief and coward, it was impossible not to feel compassion for him in his present awful plight. there was something most pitiable in the fellow's clasped hands and abject despair. he had lived too long in arizona not to know the fate reserved for prisoners taken by the indians, and he knew, and pike knew, that, their hunger once satisfied, the chances were ten to one they would then turn their attention entirely to their captive, and have a wild and furious revel as they slowly tortured him to death. [illustration: the poor devil was now seated, bound and helpless, on a rock by the roadside.] the sun had gone down behind the range, far over to the west, as pike reached once more the top of his watch-tower, and every moment the darkness deepened down the pass. up here he could not only see the baggage wagon in the road, but the top of the ambulance, and two of the horses were also visible, and occasionally the lithe forms of the tontos scurrying about in the firelight. evidently the old cook fire in the cleft of the rocks had been stirred up and was now being utilized by half the band, while the others toasted the bacon and roasted _frijoles_ down in the road. the yells had long since ceased. many of the warriors were squatting about the baggage wagon gnawing at hard bread or other unaccustomed luxuries, but those at the ambulance were chattering like so many monkeys and keeping up a hammering, the object of which pike could not at first imagine, until he suddenly remembered the locked box under the driver's seat, the key of which was always carried by the captain. then a flash of hope shot over him as he recalled the fact that when they left their station captain gwynne had stowed away in there three or four bottles of whiskey or brandy. it would take them but a little while, he knew, to break into the enclosure, and then there would be a bacchanalian scene. "oh, that it were a barrel instead of a bottle or two," groaned pike. "as it is there's just enough to exhilarate the gang and keep them, singing and dancing all night; but a barrel!--that would stupefy them one after another and jim and i could have gone down and murdered the whole crowd. not one of 'em would ever have known what hurt him." ha! a sound of crashing, splitting wood. a rush, a scuffle--then a yell of triumph and delight. every indian in the roadway sprang to his feet and darted off up the rocks to swell the chorus at the ambulance. even manuelito's guard left his prisoner to take care of himself and ran like a deer to claim his share of the madly craved "fire water." a few years before and most of them hardly knew its taste, but some of their number had more than once made "john barleycorn's" acquaintance and had told wondrous tales of its effects. in less than a minute, with the single exception of their sentry on the hill, every tonto was struggling, shouting, laughing and leaping about the family wagon, and pike knew from the sounds that the captain's little store of liquor was rapidly disappearing. every moment the noise waxed louder and fiercer as the deep potations of the principal indians did their poisonous work. there were shrill altercations, vehement invective and reproach; pike even hoped for a minute that there had been enough after all to start them fighting among themselves, but the hope was delusive. all was gloom and darkness now in the pass except immediately around the two fires. he could no longer see manuelito or the mules, but suddenly he heard a sound of a simultaneous rush and an instant after with hideous shouts and yells the whole band leaped into view and went tearing down into the road and up to the rocks where their helpless prisoner still sat bound and helpless--more dead than alive--and pike heard the shriek of despair with which the poor fellow greeted his now half crazy captors. "my god!" groaned the old soldier, "it is awful to have to lurk here and make no move to help him. he would have cut all our throats without a twinge of conscience, but i can't see him tortured nor can i lift a hand to save him. and here's kate, and those poor little ones. they can't help hearing his cries and shrieks. what an awful night 'twill be for them! no use of my staying up here now. i must go down to them." far back in the black recesses of the cave he found them,--nellie trembling and sobbing with her head pillowed in kate's lap and covered with a shawl so as to shut out, if possible, the awful sounds from below. the irishwoman, too, was striving to stop her ears and was at the same time frantically praying to all the saints in the calendar for help in their woeful peril, and for mercy for that poor wretch whose mad cries and imprecations rang out on the still night air even louder than the yells of his captors. manful little ned sat close by his sister's side, patting her arm from time to time with one hand while he clung to his rifle with the other. the boy did not shed a tear, though his voice trembled and his lips quivered as he answered pike's cheery words. jim knelt at his post at the stone breastwork keeping vigilant watch, though his teeth chattered despite his best efforts, and his eyes were doubtless bulging out of their sockets. "you mustn't be sitting here all in the dark," said pike. "keep up a little fire, ned, my boy. it's so far back and so far up the hill that the indians cannot possibly see the light it may make even were they to come around to the east side of the mountain. they won't to-night, though. they've found papa's stock of whiskey and brandy and are already half drunk. they'll lie around there all night long and never come hunting for us until after sunrise to-morrow, if they do then. we'll just have fun with these fellows until the cavalry come from verde, as come they will, i haven't a doubt, now that papa has found that he was cut off and has ridden back on the trail to meet and hurry the troops. he knows well that you and jim and i could take care of nellie and stand off these beggars until he could reach us. now, light the lantern and stow it in that niche yonder. and you, kate, lie down and cover yourself and the children with blankets. i'm going out where i can watch what they're doing." so saying, pike took his rifle and the field glasses and, after a word with jim, passed around to the east front of the ledge. it was too dark to enable him to venture down the bowlders, or to attempt to climb again to the top of the rock, but he found a spot among the stunted trees from which he could just see the back part of the baggage wagon and the apaches flitting about it in the light of their fire. leveling his glasses he could make out that several of the indians were grouped about some object in the road, and presently one or two came running to the spot with buckets of water which they dashed over a prostrate form. it was manuelito, who had probably fainted dead away. then, as the mexican apparently began to recover his senses, he was lifted roughly from the ground and borne, moaning and feebly struggling, towards the wagon. into this he was tossed head foremost, so that only his feet and legs were visible to the anxious watcher up the hill. securely bound, and already half dead from the tortures inflicted on him, unable to move hand or foot, the poor wretch lay there, alternately praying and weeping. what the next move of the apaches would be was not long a matter of doubt. the whole band, with the exception of their sentinels, were now dancing and leaping about their captive, singing some devil-inspired chant, which occasionally gave place to yells of triumph. presently the younger men began piling up wood under the back of the wagon--under the mexican's manacled feet; and then brands and embers were thrust underneath. pike turned sick with horror and helplessness at the sight, for he knew instantly what it meant. the wagon was to be the wretched manuelito's funeral pyre. they meant to burn him to death by inches. suddenly a bright flame leaped up from the bottom of the stack of fuel; broader, brighter, fiercer it grew until it lapped up over the floor of the wagon. a scream of agony rang through the pass, answered by jeering laughter and fiendish yells. the next minute the whole band were circling round the wagon in a wild war-dance; their yells, their savage song, completely drowned the shrieks of the tortured man. the whole wagon was soon a mass of flames, and more fuel was added. presently the rear axle came down with a crash, sending showers of sparks whirling through the night air, and pike turned away faint and trembling. another instant, however, and every faculty was on the alert, every nerve strung to its highest tension, and the old soldier sprang back to the cave in answer to jim's call. "look!" whispered the negro. "look down there! there's some one moving among those rocks." chapter vii. pike's strange dream. kneeling behind their rocky barrier the two men silently peered into the darkness down the hill. the great ledge of rock under which they were hiding concealed from their view the burning fires of the indians down in the roadway to the east. but the reflection of the fire could be plainly seen on the rocks and trees on the north side of the pass. here and there stray beams of light shot through the firs and cedars and stunted oaks that lay below them among the bowlders; and somewhere down among these little trees, watchful jim declared that he had seen something white moving cautiously and stealthily to and fro. pike closely questioned him, whispering his inquiries so as not to catch the ears of kate or the children, but jim stoutly declared that he could not be mistaken. he had marked it twice, moving from place to place, before he had quit his post and called to the corporal to come and verify for himself what he was sure he had seen. for a few moments pike thought that it might be the apache sentinel who had, possibly, left his position on the little hill across the road, and was seeking on his own account some clue to the whereabouts of the fugitives from the camp. pike had seen one or two indians running up the road to where the sentinel was stationed in order to give him some of the plunder which they had taken from the wagon, and it was now so dark that he could no longer see objects out on the plain, and, as he could hear approaching horsemen just as well on this side of the road as on that, it was quite possible that this indian was the cause of jim's warning. several minutes passed without either of them seeing anything. then suddenly jim's hand was placed on the corporal's arm, and in a low, tremulous voice he whispered: "look! look!" following with his eyes the direction indicated by jim's hand, pike could just see, probably two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards away down the hillside, something dirty white in color, very slowly and very stealthily creeping from one bowlder to another. the tops and crests of the trees and bowlders, as has been said, were tinged by the light of the fires still burning down in the roadway. the indian yells were gradually ceasing as, one after another, seemingly overcome by the liquor that they had been drinking, they subsided into silence. a number of them, however, still kept up their monotonous dance, varied every now and then by a yell of triumph; but the uproar and racket was not to be compared with what had been going on during the torture to which manuelito had been subjected before they had mercifully, though most horribly, put an end to his sufferings. nothing but the embers of the wagon and the unconsumed iron work, of course, now remained in the road. pike judged too that the ambulance had been burned, and that nothing remained of that. but all thought as to what was going on among the indians in the pass was now of little account as compared with the immediate presence of this object below him. could it be one of the apaches? could it be the sentinel from the other side? its stealthy movements and the noiseless way in which it seemed to flit from rock to rock gave color to his supposition, and yet it appeared unnatural to pike that any one of the indians should separate himself from his comrades and go on a still hunt in the dead of the night for traces of their hated foes. "i cannot see it now," whispered jim. "where is he gone?" "behind that big rock that you see touched by the firelight down yonder. our trail is just about half way. look! there it is again! nearer, too, by fifty yards. i wish he'd get on top of one of those bowlders where the light would strike him. then we might make him out. by jove! he's coming up the hill. whatever you do, don't fire. i'll tend to him." with straining eyes they watched the strange, stealthy approach of the mysterious object. every now and then it would totally disappear from sight and then, a moment or two afterwards, could again be dimly seen, crouching along beside some big rock or emerging behind the thick branches of some stunted tree. nearer it came until pike was sure it must have reached the "trail" they had made in their journeys up and down the hill. "i never saw an apache that could move about in the dark as quickly as that fellow. jim, by jimminy, i'll bet it's no indian at all!" "what is it, then?" muttered jim, whose teeth would chatter a little. he had all a darkey's dread of "spooks" and was more afraid of a possible ghost than an actual tonto. "that's a lynx or a wild-cat, man! they have a dingy white coat to their backs, in places at least, and you've only stirred up some mighty small game. see here, jim, you're getting nervous. i'll have to call ned out here with his little ballard to take your place if you are going to--there! what did i tell you?" a heap of fresh fuel--probably dry cedar boughs--had just been thrown on the coals by some of the determined dancers down in the road and a broad glare of firelight illumined the pass. again the rocks and trees down in front of the cave were brilliantly tinged, and, as though determined to have a good look at these strange "goings on," there suddenly leaped from the darkness and appeared in view upon the flat top of one of the biggest bowlders a little four-footed creature gazing with glowing eyes upon the scene below. "there's your indian, james, my boy," softly laughed pike and, turning, he called back into the cave: "ned, are you asleep?" "no," was the prompt answer. "do you want me, pike?" "come here and i'll show you a pretty shot for your ballard." ned was at his side in an instant, bringing his little rifle with him, and the old soldier pointed down the hill. "that's what jim took for an apache," he said. [illustration: "that's what jim took for an apache."] "so did you, pike; you needn't try to make fun of me," was jim's answer, half surly, half glad, because his fears were now removed. "is it a panther?" whispered ned. "oh!--can't i take a pop at him?" "not a shot. it would simply be telling those blackguards where we were hiding and spoil all the fun i expect to have in the morning. that's no panther; they have a tawny hide; but it's the biggest catamount or wild-cat i ever set eyes on. now go back to kate, bundle up in your blankets and keep warm and go to sleep. jim and i stand guard to-night." and, obediently, the boy crept away. pike looked after him with moistening eyes--all his jovial, half-laughing manner changing in an instant. "god bless the little man! he's as brave and plucky as a boy could be, and hasn't so much as whimpered once," muttered the ex-corporal to himself. "what would i not give to know where his father was this night!" then he turned to jim who had somewhat sulkily drawn away to the other end of the little parapet. "come back, jim, my boy. i didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said. "you were perfectly right in keeping such close watch on everything and anything the least suspicious and i was wrong if i ridiculed it. now we've got to divide the night between us. you lie down at once and go to sleep. i'll keep guard till one or half past; then you relieve me until daybreak." and jim, nothing loth, crept back towards the glowing coals and rolled himself in his heavy blanket, leaving the old corporal to his solitary reflections, and these were of a character so gloomy, so full of anxiety and dread, that one only marvels how he was able to keep up, before kate and the children, the appearance of jollity and confidence that had marked throughout this trying day his whole demeanor. "i would give anything to know where the captain is to-night!" again he muttered as his weary eyes gazed over the jagged hillside below him. the indian fires were waning again and the gleams of light on rock and tree were growing fainter and fainter. the sounds of savage revelry, too, were more subdued, though a hoarse, monotonous chant came up from below. as has been said, pike's watch-tower and fortress was fully a quarter of a mile south of the road and about a third of a mile from the abandoned camp, but in the absolute silence that reigned in every other quarter the sounds from the apache war-dance in that clear mountain air were almost distinctly audible. the awful groans and cries of manuelito were still ringing in his ears, and, to himself, the old soldier confessed that his nerve was not a little tried by the fearful sights and sounds of the early evening. it was poor preparation for the fight that he felt morally certain would speedily follow the rising of the morrow's sun, but pike had been through too many an indian war and in too many tight places before to "lose his grip," as he expressed it, now. "if i only had those poor little kids safe with their father nothing would suit me better than to be here with four or five of the old 'troop' and let the whole of the apache nation try to rout me out," he said to himself. "even as it is, i'm bloodthirsty enough now, after what i've seen and heard to-night, to be impatient for their attack. by gad! we've got a surprise in store for them if only jim don't get stampeded." turning to listen for sounds from his little garrison, pike could distinguish two that were audible and that prevailed above all or any others: kate was tearfully moaning and praying aloud; jim placidly snoring. "that nigger could lie down and go to sleep, by thunder, if he knew the world was coming to an end in less than an hour. i'll have to watch here till nearly dawn and have the strongest coffee i can brew all ready for him or he'll be going to sleep on his post and letting those hounds crawl right upon us. coffee's a good idea! i'll have some myself." so saying the veteran stole back into the cave, noiselessly filled the battered coffee-pot and set it on the coals, said a few reassuring words to kate and begged her to remember him in her prayers, laughed at her doleful and despairing reply and returned to his post. all quiet. even the wild-cat had disappeared and there was now no longer light by which he could have detected the creature. pike almost wished he hadn't gone, for, as he grimly said, the fellow might have been good company and kept him from getting sleepy. little by little the indian chant was getting drowsy and the weird dancers, some of the younger braves, tired of the sport when there were neither admiring squaws or approving old chiefs to look on. the chiefs in this case, of course, had consumed the greater portion of the whiskey and were now sleeping off its soporific effects, and the youngsters could only remain where they were, keep watch and ward against surprise, and make no move in any direction until their elders should be themselves again, unless the sudden coming of enemies should compel them to rouse their leaders from their drunken slumbers and skip like so many goats for the highest parts of the mountain. looking at his watch as he sipped his tin of coffee pike noticed that it was now eleven o'clock. "oh, if i only knew that all was well with the captain," he muttered. "and if i only knew where sieber and the cavalry were to-night." not until after two o'clock in the morning did the old soldier decide that it was time to "turn over the command" and seek a little rest himself. he knew that he would not be half fit for the responsibilities of the coming day unless he could get a few hours' sleep, and as jim had now been snoring uninterruptedly for over four hours, pike concluded to call him, give him some strong coffee and some sharp instructions, and put him "on post." it took no little shaking and kicking to rouse the boy, but presently he sat up, just as he had done at the ambulance, with the yawning inquiry, "what's the matter?" "nearly half-past two, jim, and your turn for guard. stir out here, now. douse your head with some of this cold water. it will freshen you up. then i'll give you a good tin of coffee." jim obeyed, and after stumbling stupidly around a moment, and then having a gourd or two of water dashed over his face and neck, he pronounced himself all right and proceeded to enjoy the coffee handed him. "now, jim," said pike, "the wild-cat's gone, and no apaches will be apt to prowl up here to-night, but i want you to keep the sharpest lookout you ever did in all your life--not only over their movements down in the road, but for cavalry coming from the west. there's just no telling how soon those fellows may be out from verde, and when they come we want to know it. the indians have their sentries out, so they evidently expect them. watch them like a hawk, but don't give any false alarm or make any noise. let me sleep until it begins to get light, then call me. now, can you do it?" "of course i can, corporal, but where are you going to sleep?" "right here by you. i'll hand your blankets and mine out by the parapet, so that if you want me, all you have to do is put out your hand. if you are chilly, or get so towards daybreak, throw that saddle blanket over your shoulders." for a long time, despite fatigue and watching, pike could not get to sleep. he lay there looking up at the stars shining in the clear heavens and thinking how peaceful, how far removed from strife or battle, they seemed to be. then he kept an eye on jim, and was glad to note that the darkey seemed alert and aware of his responsibilities, for every few minutes he would creep out and peer around the shoulder of the ledge where he could get a better view of anything going on down in the road, and, after half an hour of this sort of thing, he reported to pike that he "reckoned the whole gang had gone to sleep down there." the old trooper assured him, however, that some must be on the alert and warned him to relax in no way his vigilance, and then at last wearied nature asserted her rights, and the soldier fell asleep. four o'clock came,--five o'clock,--and there had been no sound from below. then, far in the east the skies began to hoist their colors in honor of the coming day god, and rich crimson and purple soon blended with the richer gold, and all around the rocky fastness the pale, wan light of the infant morn stole over rock and tree, and still old pike slept, but not the deep, restful slumber of three hours before. he was dreaming, and his dreams were troubled, for his limbs were twitching; he rolled over and moaned aloud; inarticulate sounds escaped from his lips; but still, as one laboring with nightmare, he could not wake--could not shake off the visions that oppressed him. in his sleep he saw, and saw beyond possibility of doubt, that the apaches were hurriedly rousing their comrades; that they were quickly picking up their rifles and then nimbly speeding up the rocks; that even as they came towards him up the mountain side several of their number went crouching along towards the east and eagerly watching the roadway through the pass, and, following their fierce eyes, he could see, winding up the gorge, coming at a trot, a troop of the longed-for cavalry--coming not from the west, as he had expected, but from the direction of the magnificent sunrise that flashed on their carbines and tinged the campaign hats with crimson. at their head rode two officers, and one, he knew at once, must be his old captain, but why that bandage about his head? why the rude sling in which his arm was carried? plainly visible though they were to him, the apaches were completely hidden from the approaching troops. two minutes' ride brought the leaders to the smouldering ruins of the baggage wagon, at sight of which, and the charred and unrecognizable body in their midst, his captain had groaned aloud, then forced his "broncho" up the rocky path to where they had made their camp, and then, when he saw the ruined ambulance and all the evidences of apache triumph, he reeled in his saddle and would have fallen headlong had not two stout troopers held him while their young lieutenant thrust a flask of brandy between the ashen lips; and then in his wild vision pike saw them ride on and on up the road right beneath them--only a quarter of a mile away--never heeding, never looking for him and his precious charges. he strove to shout: he screamed aloud, yet only a suffocated groan seemed to issue from his lips; he shouted to jim to fire and so attract their attention, but there was no response; and then, in his agony, he started up, wide awake in an instant, and, hurling off his blankets, seized his rifle and sprang to his feet. broad daylight; sunbeams dancing through the trees; and there, doubled up at the back of the parapet, lay that scoundrel jim--asleep on guard. one vehement kick and curse he gave him: then peered over the barrier down the rocky hillside. god of heaven! what a sight met his eyes! the apaches were almost on them. [illustration: one vehement kick and curse he gave him.] chapter viii. the captain's ride. it is high time now that we should hear something of captain gwynne himself, and leave for the time our little garrison in the cave at sunset pass. let us follow the movements of the father for whom the children were so anxiously and tearfully praying. galloping away on pike's horse in close pursuit, as he supposed, of manuelito and the mules, the captain had turned south the moment he cleared the rocky buttresses that formed the western gateway to the pass. he had reasoned that the mexican would not dare go back along the road on which they came, because in so doing he must infallibly run straight into the apaches, who were following in pursuit. knowing, as did pike, that manuelito was well acquainted with the short cut through the mountains down to the valley of the verde, miles to the south of the winding and roundabout way on which they were compelled to come by road; knowing, too, that this trail was far to the south of where they had seen the indians' signal fires,--gwynne's whole idea seemed to be that manuelito would take the shortest line to reach that rough but easily known trail. he did not hesitate, then, a moment in turning short to the south, and riding confidently along to the western foothills, expecting every moment to hear the bray of the mules or the sound of their hoof beats. he knew that the moment these creatures heard the hoof beats of his own horse, they would be almost sure to signal. just what to do with manuelito himself, he had not yet determined; but it was his purpose to force him back to camp at the point of the pistol, if necessary; then to bind him to the wagon; make him drive, at least until they reached fort wingate over in new mexico beyond the navajo reservation, and turn him over there to the military authorities for such disposition as they might choose to make of him. of course, he would have no further employment in arizona, for his character was blasted forever. mile after mile, however, the captain rode without hearing one of the anticipated sounds, and the further he rode the lighter it grew. far down, to the south, now, he could dimly see objects that looked like four-footed creatures, moving rapidly. unluckily, he had with him only a light, short-ranged pair of glasses, and he could not distinctly make out what they were; but believing that they could be nothing but manuelito and the mules, he put spurs to his weary horse, and pushed rapidly in pursuit--wondering, however, how it was that the mexican, with the slow-moving mules, could have got so far to the front. five miles further he rode and by that time the sun was up above the mountains of new mexico, over to the east, and lighting up the whole plateau to his right. by this time, too, the objects, of which he had been in pursuit, had totally disappeared from his sight, and looking around him he could see nowhere sign of hoof or any trail that would indicate that the mules had come that way. however, as he might be anywhere from ten yards to ten miles from the exact line manuelito traveled, this gave him no concern. he decided that he would push on until he came upon the cavalry trail up which he had ridden a year before on an expedition with their good guide sieber to chevelon fork. by this time, too, he knew that he must be twelve miles from camp, and that in all probability the indians had left their position west of snow lake, and were already coming in pursuit. he dreaded to think of the peril in which his children might be; but he had every confidence in pike; he believed in jim's pluck and fighting qualities, and he reasoned that it would be one or two o'clock before the indians could possibly reach the pass, and that he could easily get back long before that time. riding, therefore, still further to the south, he pursued his search for an hour longer, and then came suddenly upon a sight that thrilled his heart with hope and joy. right before him, coming across the southern edge of the plateau, and winding up the mountains to the left, was an unmistakable cavalry trail, not more than a day or two old. evidently some troop was out from verde and had taken the old short cut to chevelon fork, expecting by that route to make the quickest time to the sunset crossing of the colorado river. in all probability this was one of the troops coming out in search of and to succor him and his party. reining his jaded horse to the left, the captain rapidly followed on the trail. he reasoned that the four-footed creatures that he took to be the mules were in all probability a portion of the pack-train of the troop that had so recently passed along, or it might be one or two troopers who had been making scouts to the right or to the left of the trail, and were now following the main body. all thought of pursuing manuelito further was abandoned. his sole object was to overtake, as quickly as possible, the little command of cavalry that he knew to be in his path, and then to guide them by the shortest line back to sunset pass, and to the defence of the dear ones there awaiting him. if he had good luck, he might catch them before they had gone many miles. the trail he knew would speedily lead him over into the valley of chevelon fork, and following this they would emerge on the east side of the mountain. perhaps it might be fortunate that he did not overtake them until they were east of the range; for the apaches would certainly not expect the cavalry to come from the colorado side of the mountain; but would be looking for them from the west, and the chances, therefore, would be all the more in favor of their dealing them a crushing blow, and punishing them as they deserved for their assault on defenseless women and children. on, on he rode, urging his horse as rapidly as it was possible for him to go over the rocky, broken trail. two hours' ride brought him no nearer, apparently, to the comrades he was pursuing. three hours' ride brought him down into the valley of chevelon fork and half way through the range. it was not until one o'clock that he found himself at such a point that he could look forward and see part of the country toward the colorado chiquito; but not a vestige of the cavalry or pack-train was anywhere in sight, and his horse was now so weary that he could only answer with a groan the touch of the spur, and could not by any possibility accelerate his speed. two o'clock came, and the anxious father found himself, he knew not how many miles away from sunset pass,--away from the children so anxiously praying for him, and awaiting his coming. he was growing faint from long fasting, and the horse was so jaded that the captain dismounted and was fairly towing him along behind him with the bridle rein. in this way they had slowly and painfully climbed a steep and rocky ascent where the trail seemed to make a short cut across a deep bend of the stream, and reaching the summit they stopped to rest, panting hard with fatigue. again the captain resorted to his little glasses and looked long and eagerly over the broad stretch of country to the east, but it was all in vain. no living creatures were in sight. directly in front, the trail wound downwards over an incline so steep that it looked as though horses and mules could never have made those hoof tracks, but that only goats could have gone that way. the poor old bay looked piteously at his master as though imploring him not to force him to undertake that steep descent, but gwynne could show no mercy now. he had come too far to turn back. his only hope, if he could not find the scouting party, was to make his way along the east side of the range back to the little camp in sunset pass. he prayed god to watch over and protect his little ones, and then, with almost a sob rising to his throat, he tried to speak cheerfully to poor "mac;" he patted the drooping head of his faithful old servitor and, calling to him to follow, he pressed forward, and half sliding, half stepping, he began the steep descent. the poor horse braced his fore feet and stiffened his knees and came skating over the loose slate after him. all went tolerably well until they were about two hundred feet from the rushing waters of the fork, foaming and swirling over the rocks below, and there, coming upon a sharp point around which they had to make their way, gwynne had taken only three or four steps downward and was about to turn and speak encouragingly again to "mac," when the horse's fore feet seemed to shoot from under him; he rallied, gathered himself, stumbled, and then, plunging heavily forward, crashed down upon his master, rolled completely over him, and then went sliding and pawing desperately to the edge of the rocky precipice, over which he shot, a huge, living bowlder and fell with a thud upon the jagged rocks below. for some minutes gwynne lay where he had been hurled, stunned and senseless; then he slowly revived, found that his left arm was severely wrenched and bruised, and that the blood was streaming from a long gash in his forehead. slowly and painfully he made his way to the foot of the steep, bathed his head in the cool waters and bound it up as well as he could with his big silk handkerchief. he was fainter, weaker now, than he had been before, but never for an instant could he forget the little ones at the pass. "oh, god help me and bring me back to them in time," he prayed; and then, holding his maimed left arm in his right hand, and with one backward look up the caã±on at the now lifeless carcass of poor "mac," he staggered wearily on, following the trail of the cavalry. [illustration: with one backward look he staggered wearily on.] late that evening, just as darkness was settling down over the valley of the colorado chiquito, the soldiers of a little detachment, chatting gleefully around their bivouac fires and sipping their fragrant coffee, were startled by the sudden sight of a man with ghastly, blood-stained features and dress, who reeled blindly into their midst and then fell forward upon his face, to all appearances dead. some of them, believing indians to be upon them, sprang for their arms; others bent to the aid of the stricken man. they turned him over on his back, brought water and bathed the blood from his face, and then a sergeant cried: "my god! what can have happened? it's captain gwynne! here, murphy, call the lieutenant, quick!" [illustration: "my god! what can have happened? it's captain gwynne!"] in an instant the young officer commanding the party came running to the scene and bent breathlessly over the senseless form. "it is captain gwynne," he said; "bring more water. go to my pack, one of you, and get the sponge you'll find there. fetch me my flask, too. which way did he come? did none of you see?" "none, sir. the first we knew he was right over us. he never spoke a word, but fell like a log." and then the rough-looking, bearded, anxious faces hovered about the prostrate man. his heart-beats were so faint that the young officer was terribly alarmed. no surgeon was with the little party and he hardly knew what to do. the whiskey forced down gwynne's throat seemed powerless to revive him. full an hour he lay almost motionless, then little by little the pulse grew firmer and respiration audible. at last there was a long, deep sigh, but still he did not open his eyes. consciousness returned only very slowly, and when mr. hunter had called him by name time and again and begged him to speak, he sighed even more deeply than before, the lids slowly drew back, and the almost sightless eyes looked feebly around. then, with sudden flash of memory, the poor captain strove to rise. "my babies!" he moaned; "my babies!" "where did you leave them, captain? tell us. i'll send for them instantly," said hunter. "sergeant, saddle up right off. this means something." more whiskey, a long draught, and more cold water, presently revived him so that he could speak collectedly. "i left them with pike--in the pass. my mexican ran away with the mules--followed and found your trail--my horse fell on me and then rolled over a precipice--killed. i've come on foot ever since." "thank god, you're here safe anyhow! now lie still. i'll leave a guard with you and we'll go as fast as we can through the darkness and find ned and nellie." "no! no! i must go. i will go, too. see, i can stand. give me a horse." and so, finding him determined and rapidly regaining strength, hunter made the captain eat all he could bear to swallow then, and, stowing more food in their saddle bags, away went the gallant little troop hurrying through the starlit night for sunset pass and rescue. but the way was long; road or trail there was none. over rugged height, through deep ravine, they forced their way, but not until all the sky was blushing in the east did they come to the old wingate road, and the gloomy entrance to the pass. up they rode at a steady trot, gwynne and hunter leading, and, at a sudden turn of the road, far in towards the western side, their horses recoiled, snorting with fear, from a heap of smouldering embers, in the midst of which lay a fearful something,--the charred and hissing body of a human being. gwynne groaned aloud at the sight and then drove his horse up a rocky pathway to the left, the others following. there lay the smoking ruins of an ambulance with scraps of clothing heaped about on every side, and here the stricken father's waning strength left him entirely. with one heartbroken cry, "my babies--my little ones. they are gone! gone!" he was only saved from falling by the prompt action of two stalwart troopers. in ten minutes, supporting the fainting soldier as best they could, the detachment was marching rapidly westward. "sieber with the scouts can't be farther away than jarvis pass. we'll meet him," said hunter to his sergeant, "and trail these scoundrels to their holes." his words were true. before ten o'clock they had met, not only sieber, but turner's troop from verde, coming full tilt, and gwynne was now turned over to the doctor's care. chapter ix. the attack. startled suddenly from his sleep, it was indeed a dreadful sight, and one calculated to shake the nerves of many an old soldier, that greeted pike's eyes as he peered over the rocky parapet in front of him. one glance was sufficient. looking down behind the wall, he seized jim by the throat, shaking him vigorously and at the same time placing his other hand over his mouth so that he might make no outcry. "wake up, jim! wake up! and see what your faithlessness has brought upon us! look down the hill here! look through that loophole and see what you've done!" terrified, with his eyes starting from their sockets, jim obeyed, and his black face showed in an instant the full realization of the scene before him. "now, is your rifle all ready?" whispered pike. "don't rouse those poor little people in there until we have to. they must stay way back in the cave. now, observe strictly what i tell you: i want you to aim at the taller of those two indians who are the leaders. do not fire until i give the word; but be sure you hit. recollect now, you've got to fire down hill, and the bullets fly high. aim below his waistband, then you'll probably strike him either through the heart or the upper chest. now, go to your loophole and stay there. are you ready, jim?" "i'm ready, boss. just wait one minute until i get my rifle through here." kneeling beside his own loophole, pike once more looked down the hill. not over a hundred yards away--crouching along, following step by step the trail that he and jim had made--pointing with their long bony fingers at every mark on the ground or upon the trees--two lean, keen-eyed, sinewy apaches were slowly and silently moving up the mountain side in a direction that would take them diagonally across the front of the hill. behind them, among the trees and bowlders, and spread out to the right and left, came others,--all wary, watchful, silent,--as noiseless and as stealthy in their movements as any panther could possibly be. pike could see that they were armed mostly with rifles. he knew that very few of them had breech-loaders at that time; but still that there were some among them which they had obtained by murdering and robbing helpless settlers, or mail messengers. with abundant ammunition close at hand, with the advantage of position and the fact that he meant to have the first fire, pike calculated that the moral effect would be such that he could drive them back, and that they would not resume the attack until after a consultation among themselves. the two who were so far in front of the others were steadily approaching the little barricade, only the top of which could readily be seen from below and was hardly distinguishable from the general mass of rocks and bowlders by which it was surrounded. he knew it could not be long, however, before the quick eyes of the apaches detected it, and that they would know at once what it meant. "however," thought pike, "before they see it those two villains in front will be near enough for us to have a sure shot, and then, i don't care how soon they know we're here. now, jim," he whispered, "watch your man!--recollect--you aim at that tall fellow on your own side,--i'll take the little, skinny cuss--the one who is just turning towards us now. they are not more than seventy-five yards away. aim low!"--there was a moment of breathless silence. "are you ready, jim?" whispered pike. "yes, all ready, corporal." "all right!--one minute now--get you a good aim!--draw your bead on him!--wedge your rifle in the rock, if necessary! got it?" "i think so, corporal." "all right then! _fire!_" bang! bang! rang out almost simultaneously the reports of two rifles. the smoke floated upward. pike and jim had the good sense not to attempt to lift their heads or peer over the barriers, but to content themselves with looking through the loopholes. one look revealed the scene. "the little, skinny cuss," as pike had called him, clasping his hands to his breast, had fallen head foremost among the rocks up which he was climbing. but the tall indian, giving a spring like that of a cat, had leaped behind a bowlder full ten feet away from him, and the next instant,--bang! went his rifle, and a bullet whizzed overhead and struck, flattening itself upon the rocks. "oh, you've missed him, jim," said pike, reproachfully. "now, look out for the others!" the rest of the apaches, hearing the shots, with the quickness of thought, had sprung for shelter behind the neighboring trees or rocks. not one of their number, by this time, failed to know just where these shots had come from; and in a minute more, from all over the hillside below, thick and fast, the reports of the rifles were ringing on the morning air and the bullets came singing about the stone parapet, some of them chipping off little fragments from the top of the parapet itself, but most of them striking the great mass of rocks overhead and doing no harm whatever, except to spatter little fragments of lead upon the parapet and its gallant defenders. "watch for them! keep your eyes peeled, jim! every time you see a head or an arm or a body coming from behind a rock or tree, let drive at it! it will give the idea that there are more of us up here than we really have, and we've got all the ammunition we can possibly use. don't be afraid! i'll tell you when to save your cartridges. there's one now! watch him!" bang! went pike's rifle. it was a good shot; for they could see that the bullet barked the tree just where the apache was standing; but apparently it did no harm to the indian himself; for the answering shot of his rifle was prompt, and the bullet whizzed dangerously near. "that fellow's a cool hand!" said pike. "watch him, jim, you're a little further that way. he'll be out again in a minute. what's the reason your man hasn't fired?--the man behind the rock that i told you to kill?" "because i'm certain that i hit him," said jim, "and i reckon by this time he isn't doing any more shooting." "watch carefully, anyhow," was the reply. "they'll soon try, when they find there are very few of us, to crawl up the hill upon us. then's the time you've got to note every movement! see! there comes one fellow behind that rock now. he's crawling on all fours. thinks we can't see him. now just hold on until he comes around that little ledge!--i'll take him! i've got him! now!" and again pike's rifle rang out, and to his intense delight the indian sprang to his feet--staggered an instant--and then fell all in a heap, huddled up around the roots of the tree which he was just striving to reach. some one down among the indians gave a yell of dismay. evidently the one who was shot was a man of some prominence among them--possibly a chief. [illustration: evidently the one who was shot was a man of some prominence among them--possibly a chief.] "they'll try and haul his body out of the way, jim. watch for at least one or two of them coming up there! he may be only wounded, and they'll try to get him into safety. if they do--fire at the first man you see!" another minute, and then both the rifles blazed again. two daring young indians had made a rush forward, and had attempted to seize their wounded comrade; but the shots of the rifles whistling close about their ears, caused them to desist, to throw themselves on their faces, and then to roll or crawl away behind the adjacent rocks. evidently they didn't care to expose themselves to the chance of further loss. two indians lying dead, and one over behind a rock possibly wounded, was enough to discourage even an apache. "they'll show again in a minute, though, jim. keep watch! they won't go away and leave those two bodies there if they can possibly help themselves. some of them will stay. of course, they'll have a consultation and then see if they can't get at us from the flank or from the rear. they can't; but they don't know it. that'll be their next game." and so for the next five or ten minutes the siege was carried on, jim and the old corporal watching the hillside, but meantime there was consternation back in the cave. poor old kate mingled moaning with prayers and tears; little nellie, frightened, of course, as any child would be, lay sobbing with her head buried in kate's lap. but ned, brave little man that he was, had grasped his rifle, the ballard, of which so much has already been said, and, crouching eagerly forward, before pike knew it, the boy was close beside him at the stone wall, and had placed his hand upon his arm. "corporal, let me come in here beside you, there's room for another. do let me have one shot at them? papa would if he were here, and i know it!" this was altogether too much for kate to bear. she dare not come forward, but from the dark recess in which she and nellie were hidden, her cries and prayers broke forth again: "for the love of all the saints, corporal, don't let that boy stay out there! bring him back here to me! his father would kill me if anything happened to him! oh, listen to me, pike! send the boy back again! make him come!" but so far from paying any attention to kate's admonition, pike turned with kindling eyes and patted the little fellow on the shoulder: "you're your father's own boy? ned, and you shall stay here with me for the present at least, and if there should be a chance of a shot--one i can give you without exposing you--i'm going to let you have it. kneel low down there, and don't lift your head above the parapet whatever you do! stay just where you are." with that the old trooper, whose rifle was still projecting through the loophole, again turned his attention to the indians lurking among the rocks and bowlders down the hill. the two bodies still lay there--jim's rifle covering them and threatening any indians who might attempt to drag them away. every now and then, a black head would appear from behind some tree, but the instant it did so the darkey's rifle would ring out, the bullet would go whistling close beside it, the head would pop suddenly back, and jim as promptly would re-load his rifle. it was beginning to grow monotonous. the indians--probably because they knew they were only wasting their scanty ammunition--had ceased firing, and were evidently calling to one another and signaling from behind the rocks and trees where they had taken refuge. so long as they remained down there in front pike had no possible concern. his only fear, as has been said, was that they should make a combined rush. if they were to have sense enough to do that, and ignore the probability of losing three or four of their number in the attempt, it would be all over with the little party in the cave. but the corporal had served too long among the apaches to greatly dread any such move. they were already shaken by the severity of their reception and of their losses. he knew that they could not be aware that only two men and a little boy constituted the whole force of the defenders, for they would have come with a rush long before. their plan now would doubtless be to leave a few of their number in front to keep the besieged in check while the greater part of the band surrounded the big ledge and sought a means of getting at the little garrison from flank or rear. what he hoped for was a chance of dealing them one more blow before they could crawl back out of range and presently the opportunity came. two or three of the band who were farthest to the rear had managed to slip back some distance down the hill and occasional glimpses could now be caught of them as they stealthily made their way out towards the western slope. it was not long before their dirty white breech-clouts could be distinguished as they slowly and cautiously came creeping up hill. "by george! jim," muttered the old man with the ejaculation that with him supplied the place of trooper profanity--"i believe you're right about your indian. you probably wounded him and he's lying behind that rock now, and those fellows are coming up to help him. don't fire! they're too far away for a down-hill shot. wait till i tell you. now, ned, my boy, run back and comfort nellie a minute. i don't want you here where a glancing shot might hit you. the moment we get them started on the run, i'll call you." ned looked far from satisfied with the proposition, but the corporal was the commanding officer, and there was nothing to do but obey. he went reluctantly. "mind, corporal, you've promised i should have a shot," he said, and pike nodded assent, although he could not turn from his loophole. another minute and the henry rifle barked its loud challenge down the slope, and the old trooper's keen, set features relaxed in a grin. "now they've got two to lug," he muttered to jim. "lord! see that beggar roll over those rocks!" again there came yells and shots from down the hill but both were harmless. cowed, apparently, by the sharp shooting of the defenders, the apaches who had sought to rescue their wounded mate continued in hiding behind the rocks where they had taken shelter. the others, farther to the east, were slipping back as fast as they could, but studiously keeping out of sight of those death-dealing loopholes. presently it was apparent to the corporal that a number of them had got together far down the hill and were holding excited controversy, probably as to the best means of getting possession of their dead friends and then, their living enemies. pike looked at his watch. it was half after seven and they had been fighting an hour. and now came a lull. once in a long while some one of the besiegers would let drive a bullet at the loopholes, but apache shooting was never of the best and though the lead spattered dangerously near, "the miss," quoth pike, "is as good as any number of miles." on the other hand, whenever or wherever an indian head, leg or arm appeared, it was instantly saluted by one, sometimes two, quick shots, and there could be no doubt whatever that the palefaces, as the tontos supposed them all to be, were fully on the alert. "now, jim, it won't be long before they will be showing around on all sides. pile on a few more stones above that loophole that looks to the west. the next thing you know there'll be a head and a gun poked out from behind that shoulder of rock beyond you. i'll watch my side and keep a look on down the hill, too." and now the hours seemed to drag with leaden weight. all was silence around them, yet pike knew that this made their danger only the more imminent. he could nowhere see a sign of their late assailants except the stiffening bodies down the hill, but he had not a doubt that while some watched the front, most of them, making wide detours, were now lurking on every side, and looking for a possible opening. every now and then he had to give a quick glance over his shoulder to see that jim was alert and watchful. it would not do to have him fall asleep now. and then once in a while he listened, god only knows how wistfully, for the sound of cavalry coming across the westward plain. it surely was time for sieber and the troops to be coming if the former had carried out his intentions. pike could see nothing of the road towards jarvis pass and only a glimpse here and there of the plateau itself. the foliage in the larger trees was too thick. he longed to clamber to his watch-tower but felt well assured that one step outside the parapet would make him a target for the indian rifles. first as an experiment he put his hat on a stick and cautiously raised it above their barricade. two bullets instantly "zipped" over his head and dropped flat as pancakes from the rock overhead. the experiment was conclusive. at last the straining ears of the watchers were attracted by strange sounds. low calls in savage tongue from down the hill were answered on both sides and from above. the indians had evidently thoroughly "reconnoitred" the position, and had found that there was actually no place around the rock from which they could see and open fire on the besieged. the sun was now high overhead. odd sounds as of dragging objects began to be heard from the top of the rock, and this was kept up for fully an hour. neither pike nor jim could imagine what it meant, but neither dared for an instant to leave his post. it must have been eleven o'clock and after, when, all of a sudden, a black shadow rushed through the air, and pike started almost to his feet as a huge log fell from above and bounded from the jagged rocks in front of them. then came another, tumbling one upon the other, wedging and jostling, and speedily rising in a huge pile several feet high. more and more they came; then smaller ones; then loose dry branches and roots in quantities. and then, as the great heap grew and grew, an awful thought occurred to the old trooper. at first it seemed as though the indians meant to try and form a "curtain," sheltered by which they could crawl upon their foes; but when the brushwood came, a fiercer, far more dreadful purpose was revealed. "my god!" he groaned, "they mean to roast us out." [illustration: all of a sudden a black shadow rushed through the air.] chapter x. little ned's shot. from the babel of voices that reached old pike's ears every now and then, and the bustle and noise going on overhead, he judged that there must be twenty or thirty indians busily engaged in the work of heaping up firewood in front of the cave. the mountain side, as he well knew, was thickly strewn with dry branches, dead limbs, uprooted trees and all manner of combustible material, and the very warriors who, when around their own "rancheria," would have disdained doing a stroke of work of any kind, were now laboring like so many beavers to add to the great pile that was already almost on a level with the breastwork and not more than eight feet away. some of the logs first thrown had rolled off and scattered down the slope, but enough had remained to make a sure foundation, and once this was accomplished the rest was easy work. poor jim looked around imploringly at his superior. "ain't dey some way to stop that, corporal?" he asked. "don't you worry, jim," was the prompt reply. "it will take them an hour more at least to get it big enough and then 'twill do no great harm. we can knock down our barricade so that they can't use it and fall back into the cave where it's dark and cool and where the smoke and flame can't reach us. keep your eyes on your corner, man!" but though he spoke reassuringly, the old soldier felt a world of anxiety. under cover of that huge heap of brushwood, growing bigger every minute, it would soon be possible for the indians from below to crawl unseen close upon them, and set fire to the mass. even now he felt certain that there were several of the more daring of the apaches lurking just around the corners which he and jim were so faithfully guarding. the negro seemed so utterly abashed at his having been overcome by sleep during the hour before the dawn, and possibly so refreshed by that deep slumber, that now he was vigilance itself. within the cave old kate had seen, of course, the falling of the logs and brushwood, and though she could not comprehend their object it served to keep in mind that their savage foes were all around her and her little charges, and to add to her alternate prayer and wailing. unable to leave his post, pike could only call sternly to her from time to time to cry shame upon her for frightening nellie so, and to remind her that they had shot five indians without getting a scratch themselves. "we can stand 'em off for hours yet, you old fool," he said, "and the boys from verde are sure to get here to-day." and whether it was "old" or the "fool" in pike's contemptuous remark, that stirred her resentment, it certainly resulted that kate subsided into suffering and indignant protest. then ned's brave, boyish voice was heard. "corporal! can't i come to you now? i'm no good here and i'm sick of the row kate keeps up. you said you'd let me come back." "wait a few minutes, ned. i want to be sure they are not sneaking around these corners," was the reply, followed almost instantly by the bang of pike's carbine. kate gave a suppressed shriek and the corporal a shout of exultation. encouraged by the sound of his voice to suppose that the guard on the east side of the barrier was neglecting his watch, a daring young apache crawled on all fours around the foot of the rock to take an observation. the black head came in view even as pike was speaking and the fierce eyes peered cautiously at the breastwork, but the corporal never moved a muscle, and the savage, believing himself unseen, crawled still further into view, until half his naked body was in sight from the narrow slit through which the old trooper was gazing. the brown muzzle of the cavalry carbine covered the creeping "brave," and the next instant the loud report went echoing over the gorge and the indian, with one convulsive spring, fell back upon the ground writhing in the agonies of death. in striving to drag the body of his comrade back behind the rock another tonto ventured to show head and shoulder, and came within an ace of sharing his fate, for pike's next shot whistled within an inch of the flattened nose, and apache number two dodged back with wonderful quickness, and did not again appear. this would tend to keep them from sneaking around that particular corner, thought pike, and he only wished that jim could have similar luck on his side, but the indians had grown wary. time and again the veteran glanced down the hill to see if there was any sign of their crawling upon him from below, but that threatening pile of brushwood now hid most of the slope from his weary, anxious eyes. the crisis could not be long in coming. "o god!" he prayed, "save these little children. bring us aid." poor old pike! even as the whispered words fell from his lips a low, crackling sound caught his ear. louder it grew, and, looking suddenly to the left, he saw a thin curl of smoke rising through the branches and gaining every instant in volume. louder, louder snapped the blazing twigs. denser, heavier grew the smoke. then tiny darts of flame came shooting upward through the top of the pile and then yells of triumph and exultation rang from the rock above and the hillside below. a minute or two more, and while the indians continued to pour fresh fuel from above, the great heap was a mass of roaring flame and the heat became intolerable. a puff of wind drove a huge volume of smoke and flame directly into jim's nook in the fortification, and with a shout that he could hold on no longer the negro dropped back into the cave, rubbing his blinded eyes. [illustration: "down with these stones, now!"] "come back, jim! quick!" shouted pike. "down with these stones, now! kick them over!--but watch for indians on your side. down with 'em!" and suiting action to the word the old soldier rolled rock after rock down towards the blazing pyre, until his side of the parapet was almost demolished. half blinded by smoke and the scorching heat, he lost sight for a moment of the shoulder of the ledge on the east side. two seconds more and it might have been all over with him, for now, relying on the fierce heat to drive the defenders back, a young apache had stepped cautiously into view, caught sight of the tall old soldier pushing and kicking at the rocks, and, quick as a cat, up leaped the rifle to his shoulder. but quicker than any cat--quick as its own flash--there sounded the sudden crack of a target rifle, the indian's gun flew up and was discharged in mid-air, while the owner, clapping his hand to his face, reeled back out of sight. the bullet of the little ballard had taken him just under the eye, and as pike turned in amazement at the double report, saw the apache fall, and then turned to his left--there knelt little ned, his blue eyes blazing, his boyish form quivering with excitement and triumph. pike seized him in his arms and fairly kissed the glowing face. "god bless you, my boy! but you are a little soldier if there ever was one!" was his cry. "now all three of us must watch the front. keep as far forward as you can, jim. we've got to hold those hounds back--until the boys come!" [illustration: the bullet of the little ballard had taken him just under the eye.] until the boys come! heavens! when would that be? here was the day nearly half spent and no sign of relief for the little party battling so bravely for their lives at sunset pass. where--where can the father be? where is al sieber? where the old comrades from verde? let us see if we cannot find them, and then, with them, hasten to the rescue. far over near jarvis pass poor captain gwynne had been lying on the blankets the men eagerly spread for him, while the surgeon with captain turner's troops listened eagerly to the details of the night's work, and at the same time ministered to his exhausted patient. turner, the other officers, and their favorite scout held brief and hurried consultation. it was decided to push at once for sunset pass; to leave captain gwynne here with most of his nearly worn-out escort; to mount the six hualpai trailers they had with them on the six freshest horses, so as to get them to the scene of the tragedy as soon as possible, and then to start them afoot to follow the apaches. in ten minutes captain turner, with lieutenant wilkins and forty troopers, was trotting off eastward following the lead of sieber with his swarthy allies. ten minutes more and captain gwynne had sufficiently revived to be made fully aware of what was going on, and was on his feet again in an instant. the surgeon vainly strove to detain him, but was almost rudely repulsed. "do you suppose i can rest one conscious minute until i know what has become of my babies?" he said. and climbing painfully into the saddle he clapped spurs to his horse and galloped after turner's troop. finding it useless to argue, the doctor, with his orderly, mounted, too, and followed the procession. it was an hour before they came up with turner's rearmost files and found burly lieutenant wilkins giving the men orders to keep well closed in case they had to increase the gait. the scouts and sieber, far to the front, were galloping. "what is it?" asked the doctor. "smoke," panted wilkins. "the hualpais saw it up the mountain south of the pass." gwynne's haggard face was dreadful to see. the jar of the rough gallop had started afresh the bleeding in his head and the doctor begged him to wait and let him dress it again, but the only answer was a look of fierce determination, and renewed spurring of his wretched horse. he was soon abreast the head of the column, but even then kept on. turner hailed him and urged him to stay with them, but entreaty was useless. "i am going after sieber," was the answer. "did you see the smoke?" "no, gwynne; but sieber and the hualpais are sure a big column went up and that it means the apaches can't be far away. we're bound to get them. don't wear yourself out, old fellow; stay with us!" but gwynne pressed on. far out to the front he could see that one of the indian scouts had halted and was making signs. it took five minutes hard riding to reach him. "what did you see? what has happened?" he gasped. "heap fire!" answered the hualpai. "see?" but gwynne's worn eyes could only make out the great mass of the mountain with its dark covering of stunted trees. he saw, however, that the scout was eagerly watching his comrades now so long a distance ahead. presently the indian shouted in excitement: "fight! fight! heap shoot, there!" and then at last the father's almost breaking heart regained a gleam of hope; a new light flashed in his eyes, new strength seemed to leap through his veins. even his poor horse seemed to know that a supreme effort was needed and gamely answered the spur. waving his hat above his head and shouting back to turner "come on!" the captain dashed away in pursuit of sieber. turner's men could hear no sound, but they saw the excitement in the signal; saw the sudden rush of gwynne's steed, and nothing more was needed. "gallop," rang the trumpet, and with carbines advanced and every eye on the dark gorge, still three miles before them, the riders of the beautiful "chestnut sorrel" troop swept across the plains. meantime the savage fight was going on and the defense was sorely pressed. covered by the smoke caused by fresh armfuls of green wood hurled upon the fiery furnace in front of the cave, the vengeful apaches had crawled to within a few yards of where the little breastwork had stood. obedient to pike's stern orders kate had crept to the remotest corner of the recess and lay there flat upon the rock, holding nellie in her arms. the corporal had bound a handkerchief about his left arm, for some of the besiegers, finding bullets of no avail, were firing tonto arrows so that they fell into the mouth of the cave, and one of these had torn a deep gash midway between the elbow and the shoulder. another had struck him on the thigh. jim, too, had a bloody scratch. it stung and hurt and made him grit his teeth with rage and pain. little ned, sorely against his will, was screened by his father's saddle and some blankets, but he clung to his ballard and the hope of at least one more shot. and still, though sorely pressing the besieged, the indians kept close under cover. the lessons of the morning had taught them that the pale faces could shoot fast and straight. they had lost heavily and could afford no more risks. but every moment their circle seemed closer to the mouth of the cave, and though direct assault could not now be made because of their great bonfire, the dread that weighed on pike was that they should suddenly rush in from east and west. "in that event," said he to jim, "we must sell our lives as dearly as possible. i'll have two at least before they can reach me." hardly had he spoken when bang came a shot from beyond the fire; a bullet zipped past his head and flattened on the rock well back in the cave. where could that have come from? was the question. a little whiff of blue smoke sailing away on the wind from the fork of a tall oak not fifty feet in front told the story. hidden from view of the besieged by the drifting smoke from the fire a young warrior had clambered until he reached the crotch and there had drawn up the rifle and belt tied by his comrades to a "lariat." straddling a convenient branch and lashing himself to the trunk he was now in such a position that he could peer around the tree and aim right into the mouth of the rocky recess, and only one leg was exposed to the fire of the defense. but that was one leg too much. "blaze away at him, jim," was the order. "we'll fire alternately." and jim's bullet knocked a chip of bark into space, but did no further harm. "it's my turn now. watch your side." but before pike could take aim there came a shot from the fork of the tree that well nigh robbed the little garrison of its brave leader. the corporal was just creeping forward to where he could rest his rifle on a little rock, and the indian's bullet struck fairly in the shoulder, tore its way down along the muscles of the back, glanced upward from the shoulder blade, and, flattening on the rock overhead, fell almost before ned's eyes. the shock knocked the old soldier flat on his face, and there came a yell of savage triumph from the tree, answered by yells from below and above. ned, terror stricken, sprang to the old soldier's side, just as he was struggling to rise. "back! boy, back! they'll all be on us now. my god! here they come! now, jim, fight for all you're worth." bang! bang! went the two rifles. bang! bang! bang! came the shots from both sides and from the front, while the dusky forms could be seen creeping up the rocks east and west of the fire, yelling like fiends. crack! went ned's little ballard again, and pike seized the boy and fairly thrust him into the depths of the cave. a lithe, naked form leaped into sight just at the entrance and then went crashing down into the blazing embers below. another indian gone. bang! bang! bang! heavier came the uproar of the shots below. bang! bang! "good god!" groaned pike. "has the whole apache nation come to reinforce them? yell, you hounds--aye--yell! there are only two of us!" shots came ringing thick and fast. yells resounded along the mountain side, but they seemed more of warning than of hatred and defiance. bang! bang! bang! the rifles rattled up the rocky slopes, but where could the bullets go? not one had struck in the cave for fully ten seconds, yet the rattle and roar of musketry seemed redoubled. what can it mean? pike creeps still further forward to get a shot at the first indian that shows himself, but pain and weakness are dimming the sight of his keen, brave eyes; perhaps telling on his hearing. listen, man! listen! those are not indian yells now resounding down the rocks. listen, pike, old friend, old soldier, old hero! too late--too late! just as a ringing trumpet call, "cease firing," comes thrilling up the steep, and little ned once more leaps forward to aid him, the veteran falls upon his face and all is darkness. another moment, and now the very hillside seems to burst into shouts and cheers,--joy, triumph, infinite relief. victory shines on face after face as the bronzed troopers come crowding to the mouth of the cave. tenderly they raise pike from the ground and bear him out into the sunshine. respectfully they make way for captain turner as he springs into their midst and clasps little nellie in his arms; and poor old kate, laughing, weeping and showering blessings on "the boys," is frantically shaking hands with man after man. so, too, is black jim. and then, half carried, half led, by two stalwart soldiers, captain gwynne is borne, trembling like an aspen, into their midst, and, kneeling on the rocky floor, clasps his little ones to his breast, and the strong man sobs aloud his thanks to god for their wonderful preservation. * * * * * "papa--papa, i shot an indian!" how many a time little ned has to shout it, in his eager young voice, before the father can realize what is being said. "it's the truth he's telling, sir," said a big sergeant. "there's wan of 'em lies at the corner there with a hole no bigger than a _pay_ under the right eye," and the captain knows not what to say. the surgeon's stimulants have restored pike to consciousness, and gwynne kneels again to take the old soldier's hands in his. dry eyes are few. hearts are all too full for many words. after infinite peril and suffering, after most gallant defense, after a night of terror and a day of fiercest battle, the little party was rescued, one and all, to life and love and such a welcome when at last they were brought back to verde, where pike was nursed back to strength and health, where nellie was caressed as a heroine, and where little ned was petted and well nigh spoiled as "the boy that shot an indian"--and if he did brag about it occasionally, when he came east to school, who can blame him? but when they came they did not this time try the route of sunset pass. the end. available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 43067-h.htm or 43067-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43067/43067-h/43067-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43067/43067-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/inhandsofcavedwe00hentiala in the hands of the cave-dwellers by g. a. henty author of "with roberts to pretoria" "won by the sword" "to herat and cabul" &c. illustrated by wat. miller blackie and son limited london glasgow and dublin [illustration: "four indians stepped from among the trees"] contents chap. page i. a midnight attack 7 ii. a hearty welcome 23 iii. an ambush 42 iv. a great ranch 61 v. an indian raid 81 vi. hopeful news 101 vii. the pursuit 120 viii. the cave-dwellers 140 ix. rescued 157 in the hands of the cave-dwellers chapter i a midnight attack it was late in the evening at san diego, in the autumn of the year 1832; there was no moon, but the stars shone so brightly in the clear, dry atmosphere that it was easy to distinguish objects at some little distance. a young fellow, in the dress of a sailor, was making his way through the narrow streets that bordered the port, when he heard a sudden shout, followed by fierce exclamations and mexican oaths. without pausing to consider whether it was prudent to interfere, he grasped tightly a cudgel he had that day cut, and ran to the spot where it was evident that a conflict was going on. it was but some forty yards away, and as he approached he made out four figures who were dodging round a doorway and were evidently attacking someone standing there. the inequality of the combat was sufficient to appeal to the sailor's sympathies. the sand that lay thick in the street had deadened his footsteps, and his presence was unmarked till his stick descended with a sharp crack on the up-lifted wrist of one of the assailants, eliciting a yell of pain, while the knife the man held flew across the street. one of the man's companions turned upon the new-comer, but the sailor's arm was already raised, and the cudgel lighted with such force on the man's head that he fell stunned to the ground. this unexpected assault caused the other two fellows to pause and look around, and in an instant the defender of the doorway bounded forward and buried his knife in one of their bodies, while the other at once fled, followed by the man whose wrist had been broken by the sailor's first blow. "carambo, señor!" the mexican said. "you have rendered me a service indeed, and i tender you a thousand thanks. i could not have held out much longer, for i had been more than once wounded before you arrived." "you are heartily welcome, señor. it was but a slight business--two blows with my stick and the matter was done." "you are not a countryman of mine, señor," the other said, for the sailor spoke with a strong accent; "you are a stranger, and, as i can see now, a sailor." "that is so. i am an american." "is that so?" the other said, speaking this time in english. "as you see, i know about as much of your tongue as you do of mine. i thought you must be a stranger even before i observed your dress, for street frays are not uncommon in this town, whereas in other ports there are scores of men ready for any villany, and few of my people would care to interfere in a fray in which they have no interest. but do not let us stay here. it is best to get out of this quarter." "shall we do anything with these fellows? the one i hit can only be stunned, and i should think we ought to give him in charge to the watch." the other laughed. "you might wait some time before we found them, and, besides, it would give us a deal of trouble. no; leave them where they lie. the one i struck at least will never get up again. now, señor, may i ask the name of my preserver? mine is juan sarasta." "mine is william harland," the sailor replied. "we are friends for life, señor harland," the mexican said, as he held out his hand and gripped that of the sailor warmly. "where are you staying?" "i am staying nowhere at present," the sailor laughed. "i deserted from my ship three days ago, bought a supply of food, and have been some miles up the country. i knew that the vessel was to sail to-day, and i came back again and watched her go out just before sunset, and have been sitting on a barrel down at the wharf, wondering what i was going to do, and whether, after all, it would not have been wiser of me to have put up with that brute of a captain until we got down to valparaiso." "we will talk all that matter over later," the mexican said. "i am staying with some friends, who will, i am sure, make you welcome when i tell them that you saved my life." "i thank you very much," the sailor said, "but no doubt i shall be able to find some little inn where i can obtain a night's lodging." "such a thing is not to be thought of, señor harland, and i shall feel very much hurt if you do not accept my offer." they were now in a wider street, and, passing a wine-shop from which the light streamed out, harland saw that the mexican was a young fellow but two or three years older than himself, and his dress showed him to belong to the upper class. the mexican's glance had been as quick as his own, for he said, "why, you are younger than i am!" "i am just eighteen." "and i twenty. were you an officer on your ship?" "no. my father is one of the leading citizens of boston; he absolutely refused to allow me to follow the sea as a profession, although he is a large ship-owner himself; however, my mind was made up, and as i could not go as an officer, i came as a sailor. this is not my first voyage, for two years ago he let me sail in one of his ships as an apprentice, making sure that it would have the effect of disgusting me with the sea. however, the experiment failed, and to his anger i returned even fonder of it than when i started. he wanted me to go into his office, but i positively refused, and we had a serious quarrel, at the end of which i went down to the river and shipped before the mast. i know now that i have behaved like a fool. the captain was a brute of the worst sort, and the first mate was worse, and between them they made the ship unbearable. i stood it as long as i could, but three days before we got to this port one of the young apprentices, whom they had pretty nearly killed, jumped overboard, and then i made up my mind that as soon as we landed i would bolt and take my chance of getting a berth on board some other ship." "but you speak spanish very fairly, señor." "well, the last ship i was in traded along the western coast, putting in at every little port, so i picked up a good deal of the language, for we were out here nearly six months. the ship i have just left did the same, so i have had nearly a year on this coast, and having learned latin at school, of course it helped me very much. and you, señor, how do you come to speak english?" "i have been down for the past six months in valparaiso, staying with a relation who has a house there, and my greatest friends there were some young englishmen of my own age, sons of a merchant. my father had spoken of my paying a visit to your states some day, and therefore i was glad of the opportunity of learning the language. this, señor, is the house of my friends." as harland saw that his companion would take no denial, he followed him into the house. the young mexican led the way to a pretty room with windows to the ground, opening on to a garden. "you are late, señor juan," a gentleman said, rising from his seat; but before the young man could reply, a girl of fifteen or sixteen years old cried out: "madre maria, he is wounded!" "it is nothing serious, and i had almost forgotten it till just now it began to smart. i have two, or, i think, three stabs on my left arm; they are not very deep, as i twisted my cloak round it when i was attacked. but it would have been a very serious business had it not been for this gentleman, whom i wish to introduce to you, don guzman, as the saviour of my life. he is an american gentleman, the son of a wealthy ship-owner of boston, but, owing to some slight disagreement with his father, he has worked his way out here as a sailor. i ventured to promise that you would extend your hospitality to him." "my house is at your service, señor," the mexican said courteously. "one who has rendered so great a service to my friend don juan sarasta, is my friend also. christina, ring the bell and tell the servants to bring hot water and clothes, and then do you go to your room while we attend to don juan's injuries." the wounds proved to be by no means serious; they were all on the forearm, and, having to pierce through six or seven inches of cloth, had not penetrated very far. they had, however, bled freely, and although the young man laughed at them as mere scratches, he looked pale from the loss of blood. "a few bottles of good wine, and i shall be all right again." "i must apologize for not having asked you before," señor guzman said to harland, when the wounds were bandaged, "but have you supped?" "yes, thank you, señor. i bought some food as i came through the town, and ate it as i was waiting at the port." "have you any luggage that i can send for?" "i have a kit-bag, which i will fetch myself in the morning. it is out on the plain. i did not care to bring it from the town until i knew that the vessel i came in had sailed." "i can lend you some things for the night," juan said. "you are a little taller than i am, but they will be near enough." some wine and biscuits were now brought in, and some excellent cigars produced. "were they thieves that attacked you, think you, don juan?" his host asked, after the latter had given a detailed account of his adventure. "i cannot say, but i own i have an idea it was my life that they wanted rather than my valuables. i had a fancy that a man was following me, and i went to see the man i had spoken to about the mules. coming back i heard a whistle behind me, and twenty yards farther three men sprang out, and one ran up from behind, so that i don't think it was a chance encounter." "do you suspect anyone?" the young mexican hesitated a moment before he answered. "no, señor; i have no quarrel with anyone." "i do not see how, indeed, you could have an enemy," don guzman said, "seeing that you have been here only for a fortnight; still, it is curious. however, i have no doubt there are plenty of fellows in the town who would put a knife between any man's shoulders if they thought he was likely to have a few dollars in his pocket. your watch-chain may have attracted the eye of one of these fellows, and he may have thought it, with the watch attached to it, well worth the trouble of getting, and would have considered it an easy matter, with three comrades, to make short work of you, though i own that when you showed fight so determinedly i wonder they did not make off, for, as a rule, these fellows are rank cowards." will harland observed that when the don asked if juan had any suspicions as to the author of the attempt, donna christina, who had returned to the room when his wounds were dressed, glanced towards him, as if anxious to hear his answer. putting that and the young mexican's momentary hesitation together, he at once suspected that both he and the girl had a strong idea as to who was at the bottom of this attempt. the subject was not further alluded to, the conversation turning upon the united states, concerning which the mexican asked harland many questions. "it is a pity so great a distance divides us from them," he said. "it is more effectual than any ocean, and yet perhaps if we were nearer neighbours your people would disturb our quiet life here. they are restless, and forever pushing forward, while we abhor changes, and live as our fathers did three hundred years ago. you see, the mountains act as a barrier to us, and we have never even tried to extend the territory we occupy beyond the strip of land between the coast and the mountains, and, indeed, that is ample for us. our population has decreased rather than increased since mexico declared its independence in 1821, and took what i have always considered the ill-advised step of expelling all the spanish residents about six years ago. "not that we in this province took any very active part in the civil wars that for ten years raged in central mexico; but although the spanish authorities were bad masters, it must be granted that, while they were here, there was more trade and commerce than there has since been, and that the advantages all expected to secure from the revolution have by no means been obtained. it is curious that the same has been the case in the other countries that gained their independence. in central america there are constant troubles, in peru things have gone backward rather than forward, and chile alone shows signs of enterprise and advancement. however, these things do not concern us greatly; we live by the land and not by trade; we have all we want, or can desire, and subsist, like the patriarchs of old, on our flocks and herds. "don juan's father, a man of vigour and courage, has shown more enterprise than any of us, for before the beginning of the troubles he moved far up a valley running into the heart of the mountains, and established himself there. he had large flocks and herds, but his land was insufficient to support them, and, in spite of the warnings of all his friends, he determined to move. so far he has proved himself a wise man. he began by making a sort of treaty with the indians of that part, by which he agreed to give them a considerable amount of blankets and other goods if they would bind themselves not to interfere with him in any way. these people have generally proved themselves faithless in such matters, but this has been an exception to the rule, and i believe that he has not lost a single head of cattle since he went out there, and he is now undoubtedly one of the richest men on this coast. the fact that he should send his son on to chile to enlarge his mind and prepare him for a trip to the united states, and even to europe, shows the energy of the man, and how far removed his ideas are from those of the hacienderos in general. i can assure you that juan's departure caused quite a sensation in this part of the province." "does your father often come down here himself, don juan?" "he generally comes down once a year to arrange for the disposal of the increase of his cattle--that is to say, of the tallow and hides; as to the meat, it is practically of no value. of course the bullocks are killed on the estate; the daily consumption is large, for he has upwards of fifty peons and vaqueros, but this is a comparatively small item, for he generally kills from eighteen thousand to twenty thousand animals; the carcasses are boiled down for the fat, and that and the hides are packed on great rafts and sent down to the coast. his place is only a few miles from the colorado river. when he comes down here, he takes up a ship, which he sends round to loreto, and thence up to the mouth of the colorado." "how far is this place from here?" "about two hundred miles." "i should have thought it would have been better to have them here." "no, there is a range of hills about half-way between his place and the coast, across which it would be difficult to get them. another thing is, that there is scarce any food by the way; rain seldom falls here, and although the land is very rich when irrigated, it affords but a scanty growth in its wild state. a herd of twenty thousand bullocks could scarcely exist on the road, and even if they got here, they would have lost so much fat that they would scarce pay for boiling down." they sat smoking in the veranda until nearly midnight, and don guzman then conducted the young sailor to the chamber that had been prepared for him. chapter ii a hearty welcome early as mexican households are awake, in order to enjoy the comparatively cool hours of the morning, william harland was the first up, and, dressing hastily, he started out to fetch his kit-bag. at the bottom of this he had stowed away, before he went on board, the clothes that he had worn when he left home, and also the contents of a small trunk that he had taken with him, buying an outfit for use on board from a slop-shop. he was back in an hour, for he had hidden the bag in a clump of bushes but two miles from the town. the servants were moving about, but, with the exception of juan, none of the others were yet down. the latter met him as he entered. "i have been to your room, and when i found it empty, guessed the errand on which you were away. why did you not tell me last night? you could have had a negro slave to go with you and carry that sack of yours back." "oh, i am not too proud to carry it myself, don juan, and i was really anxious to get it the first thing this morning, for i certainly should feel very uncomfortable sitting down to breakfast with your friends in this rough sailor suit. luckily, i have some decent clothes in my bag, and half a dozen white jean jackets and trousers, which i bought for wearing ashore when i was on my last voyage; for then, as an apprentice and in a ship chiefly belonging to my father, i had a good many privileges in the way of leave when we were in port." "you look desperately hot, and if you would like a swim, there is a pond in that clump of trees at the end of the garden--i have had a dip there myself this morning." "thank you, i should like it extremely, and i can then finish my toilet there." the pond was an artificial one, the sides and bottom being lined with stone; a thick band of trees and undergrowth surrounded it; it had doubtless been formed for the purpose of a bath, and also, as was shown by two or three seats placed around it, as a shady retreat during the heat of the day. in half an hour will rejoined juan, looking cool and comfortable in his white jacket and trousers, and a white flannel shirt, with turn-down collar and black silk handkerchief around his neck. "that is a good deal better," juan said; "you only want a sombrero to complete your costume. sit down here; i told the servant to bring chocolate for us directly i saw you coming out from the trees. don guzman and christina take their chocolate in their room. i don't suppose that we shall see them till breakfast, which will not be served for an hour and a half yet." "how is your arm, don juan?" "drop the don, please; i was always called simply juan by my english friends at valparaiso. it is much more pleasant than our ceremonious way of addressing each other. so call me juan, please, and i will call you will." "now, juan," harland said, as they sipped their chocolate, "who do you believe set those ruffians on to you? i could see plainly enough that both you and the señorita had suspicions, though you did not choose to mention them to her father." "you are a sharp observer," juan laughed. "well, yes, i will tell you frankly upon whom my suspicions fell. i must tell you first that don guzman is a connection of mine, my father having married a first cousin of his. when my father went out to this new ranch of his, twelve years ago, he left me behind, under my cousin's charge, and i lived here for five years, going to the mission to be educated by the fathers. since then i have generally spent a month or two here, and not unnaturally, as you who have seen her will doubtless admit, i have grown to be very fond of christina. of course till lately she has simply looked upon me as her big cousin, but when i was last here, before going down to valparaiso, she was a little changed; she had grown to be shy with me, which she had never been before, and i hoped that she had begun to return my affection. naturally enough, when i returned the other day, i spoke out to her, and learned, to my delight, that this was so, but of course she could say nothing until our parents had been consulted--an indispensable step, as you of course know, for in mexico, although young people may have some voice in the matter, the parents' consent has to be obtained, and the preliminaries are, in fact, settled by them. in this case, happily, there is no fear of difficulty arising on that score. don guzman and my father are firm friends, and the alliance would be a suitable one in all respects, as, although my father may be more wealthy than don guzman, christina is an only child, while i have a sister who is about her age." "but i still do not see, juan, how this explains anyone having an enmity with you." "no, i am just coming to that. you must know that the military commandant of san diego, colonel pedros melos, has a son enriques, who is a captain in the regiment stationed here. christina told me before i went down to chile that captain melos was a frequent visitor, and that he was very attentive to her father, and frequently brought bouquets of choice flowers. she added that, although he was very civil to her, as far as the customs of the country permit a caballero to be civil to any young lady not related to him, she did not like him. well, it happened the other day, that, just as christina and i were coming to an understanding, exactly where we are sitting now, this captain melos stepped out from the window of the drawing-room. i should imagine that he had no great difficulty in understanding the situation. a young couple who have just declared their love for each other are apt to look a little awkward when suddenly interrupted. "the sound of his foot, as he stepped out on the veranda, caused us to look round sharply. as his eye fell on us he turned as pale as if he had received a blow, and if ever man's face wore for a moment an expression of intense rage his did then. however, he checked himself, murmured a word or two about believing that señor guzman was in the veranda, and then turned on his heel and went back into the room. christina caught my arm. 'beware, juan, that man will be your deadly enemy!' and i felt that she spoke truly. she said that his attentions of late had been very marked, and she had been in constant fear that his father would call on hers to ask for her hand for his son. we agreed that i should, without loss of time, speak to her father on the subject of my suit, and i did so on the same day. "he was good enough to say that when a request from my father reached him to that effect, he should most willingly accede to it. colonel melos did, in fact, call the day before yesterday, and formally proposed the alliance, to which don guzman replied that his daughter's affections were already engaged with his perfect consent and approval. the colonel, of course, had nothing to do but to bow himself out with as good a grace as he could muster. i fancy from what i have heard that he is a good officer and an honest man. he has played a part in all the civil wars that we have had here, but, unlike most others, he always stuck to the same side, which, fortunately for him, turned out in the end to be the successful one. his son bears an altogether different character. here, indeed, there has been nothing much against him; the fact of his father being commandant has no doubt acted as a check upon him, and possibly the hope that he may have entertained of winning christina's hand may have helped to render him discreet, but i have heard that in other places where his regiment has been in garrison, he bore the worst of characters. "thus, you see, as a bitterly-disappointed man and as an unscrupulous one, he might well have been the author of this attack upon me; and, as you noticed, the idea occurred to christina as well as myself, remembering as we did the expression of his face when he saw us together. that the affair was his work, however, we have no shadow of proof, and i should not think of whispering my suspicions to anyone. still, i shall take every precaution for the three or four days that i remain here, and shall not be out in the unfrequented streets after nightfall. and now about yourself; tell me, frankly, what are you thinking of doing? do you intend to continue at sea, or are you thinking of returning to your home, where, no doubt, you would be gladly received by your father?" "i have not thought it fully over yet, but i certainly shall not go back to my father with the tale that i found my life unbearable and deserted my ship. when i go it must be with a better record than that. he may have objected most strongly to my taking to the sea, but i think it would be an even greater annoyance to him to find that having, in defiance of his wishes, done so, i had so soon backed out of it. he himself is a man who carries through anything that he undertakes, no matter if he incurs loss in so doing. i do not say that if i saw some other opening and made a success of it, he would mind; but when i do go back it must not be as a returned prodigal, but as a man who has done something, who has in one line or another achieved a certain amount of success. as far as i have thought it over, my ideas have been to take a passage down to valparaiso, which seems to me the most go-ahead place on this coast, and there look round. i have money enough to last for some little time, for my father, on my return from my last voyage, gave me a cheque for five hundred dollars, and, beyond twenty or thirty dollars expended on my sea-kit, i still have it all in my belt." "but what do you think of doing in valparaiso?" "i would take anything that turned up except a clerkship. then, if in two or three months i could see nothing that seemed likely to lead to a good thing, i would ship again." "well, you will not embark on any such wild-goose chase for some time, for i intend to take you off with me to my father's hacienda for a long visit. you will receive the heartiest of welcomes when i tell them what you have done for me. i can promise you, i think, a pleasant time there, and you will see what will be quite a new side of life to you, and learn something of the ranching business, which, let me tell you, is as good as another, though i admit that a considerable amount of capital is required for making a fair start." "i should like it extremely," harland said, "but--" "there are no buts in it, will," the other broke in. "you don't suppose that after what has happened you are going your way and i am going mine in the course of a few days, as if we were but two passengers who had made a short voyage together. my father would never forgive me if i did not bring you up with me. i expect to-morrow or next day we shall have three or four of the men down with horses, blankets, and other necessities for travel. i sent a messenger off on the day i arrived. there is generally a wagon or two that comes down every month for groceries, wine, and other matters, and as i find that it is fully that time since the last trip, i expect that the carts and men will both arrive to-morrow. travelling comfortably, we shall take the best part of a week to get there; of course, with relays of horses it could be done in less than half that time. the wagons take ten days, and that is good travelling, especially as there are three days' heavy work over the first range of hills. here the mules will have a few days' rest and then start again." "you find mules better than horses for wagons?" "beyond all comparison better; the value of a mule is six times that of a horse, except for exceptionally good and fast animals. feed a mule well, and there is no better beast in the world. of course the mules are big animals, being bred from the finest donkeys that can be imported from spain, and can drag as much as oxen and go half as fast again." acting under his friend's advice, will purchased the necessaries for his journey, the principal item being a mexican poncho; this, in appearance, was like a large blanket made of a long, soft wool that was practically water-proof. a hole edged with braid was cut in the middle. this was slipped on over the head, and a long riding-cloak, reaching to the stirrups, was obtained, while at night it served all the purposes of an ordinary blanket. juan presented him with a rifle, a brace of handsomely mounted double-barrelled pistols, and a sword. "we always ride armed across the hills; we are on good terms with the indians near us, but might fall in with some wandering bands, or possibly a party of white cut-throats, fugitives from justice. besides," he added significantly, "there may possibly be dangers on this side of the first range of hills." "you think--" will began. "yes, i think it possible that the organizer of the first attempt on my life may try again. it is not probable that he likes me any better for the failure he then made." some high riding-boots, a couple of pairs of fringed mexican trousers, and a few other necessaries completed the equipment, most of which was to be sent up in the wagon with the kit-bag. will was in high spirits. nothing could be more pleasant than the trip promised to be, and he looked eagerly forward to the start. the wagons had arrived, and with them four mounted men who had overtaken them on the day before they reached san diego. they brought down with them two riding horses, intended for juan's use. "my father always sends two down," juan said, "so that i can have a change each day, and be beyond the reach of such accidents as a horse straining himself or casting a shoe. besides, on more than one occasion i have brought back a friend with me, as i am going to do now." "i suppose you breed a good many up there?" "we breed enough for the wants of our vaqueros, and a few high-class animals for our own riding. we don't care about having more than is necessary, for a good horse is a temptation that an indian can scarcely withstand. cattle they don't care so much for, for up in the mountains feed would be scarce for them; besides, they have no difficulty in getting meat--game is plentiful enough, deer and bear, while at times they go down into the great plains on the other side of the rockies and kill as many buffalo as they please, jerk the meat, and bring it up to their villages. in point of fact, we never refuse half a dozen or a dozen cattle to any party of indians who come down and ask for them. it keeps us on good terms with them, and practically costs us nothing, for they do not often take the hides, preferring greatly deer-skins for their hunting-shirts and leggings, for which bullock hide is too heavy, while for their lariats and heel ropes, and so on, they use buffalo hide, which is stronger and tougher. so practically, you see, it is only the value of the fat that we lose." three days later juan and will said good-bye to señor guzman and his daughter and set out, the four mounted men riding behind them with two led animals carrying provisions and water-skins. "how far is it before we get beyond the settled country?" "the country is cultivated as far as the chocolate hills, as there are several small rivers, whose water is used for irrigating the fields. beyond these hills there are scattered villages and haciendas, their positions being determined by the existence of streams coming down from a great mountain range, for although rain seldom falls near the coast, there are heavy showers there occasionally. except in the rainy season, the beds of these streams are dry, but wells sunk in them at all times yield a plentiful supply of water. it is drawn up by the labour of bullocks, and the ground irrigated; and they grow oranges, bananas, grapes, melons, and all kinds of fruit, in fact, in abundance. some of these irrigated estates are of considerable size. for the last fifty miles we shall come across no settlements until we reach our own hacienda, for the country is too much open to indian forays. though we do not suffer as much as they do on the other side of the colorado; still the risk is great--too great for men who embark their capital, to say nothing of risking their lives. we are fortunate in the fact that the tribe immediately in our neighbourhood is a small one, and far less warlike than many of their neighbours. the goods they receive from us, and the cattle, make them comparatively rich, and they have never shown any signs whatever of enmity against us. we have promised them that if they are attacked by any of their savage neighbours we will, if they come down to us, assist them, and as the hacienda is strongly built and we have a supply of arms sufficient for all our men, we could resist any attack. i think this understanding has quite as much to do with their friendly feeling towards us as the benefits they receive from us." "it must be a large valley to be capable of sustaining so vast a herd as that of your father?" "yes; the valley is not very wide at the lower end near the river, but the hills open out and form a basin some ten miles wide and twenty miles long. beyond that it extends a considerable distance, but narrows fast; a stream runs down the centre, and during the rainy season and at the time of the melting of the snows there are innumerable rivulets coming down from the hills, and in consequence the grass is sweet and long. our herds amount to about forty thousand head, and we do not let them exceed that number. we do not use the upper part of the valley. by our agreement with the indians that is to remain untouched as a hunting-ground for them." that night they slept at the hacienda of some acquaintances of señor sarasta, where they were most hospitably entertained; the next day they halted for a few hours at san felice, and rode on as soon as the sun had lost its full power. they were now beyond the region of general cultivation; the plain was, however, fairly green, as a short time before the unusual circumstance of a heavy rain had occurred, with the result that in the course of a few days the whole face of the country was changed. as soon as the horses were unsaddled the men scattered to collect dead brushwood, and in a short time a fire was blazing, and a slice from a hindquarter of venison that had been presented to them by their host of the night before was skewered on a ramrod and placed over it. they had made sixty-five miles in two days' journey. they had not been following any beaten track, but the men had all made the journey so often that no path was needed. in the morning they would begin the ascent of the lower slopes of the mountains, whose crest rose some thirty miles ahead of them, although, seen in the clear air, they did not seem to will harland to be more than a fifth of that distance. rather to the surprise of the men, juan ordered that a watch should be kept, a precaution they had never taken before. "i have an idea," he said to will, "that we shall be attacked either to-night or while mounting the hill to-morrow. it is just as well to take the precaution to set a guard to-night, but i do not really think that if a party are out after us they will trouble us to-night. they could not know exactly the road we should take, but will be sure that we shall cross the hills and come down on the north side of the great dry lake, and probably stop at martinez. from there the country is better cultivated, as we go along the chatenezonais valley, in which there are several villages. to-morrow's journey is, therefore, the most lonely and dangerous, and they would have no motive whatever in going farther, so i think that for to-night we can sleep tranquilly. to-morrow we shall have to be on our guard." chapter iii an ambush the night passed quietly. the soil was soft and sandy, and, rolled in his poncho, will slept as comfortably as if in a hammock. they were in the saddle early, for the day's ride would be a very long one, and juan intended to give the horses a day's rest at martinez. "we don't consider sixty miles to be a long journey here," juan said, as they started, "and, indeed, if one starts on fresh horses it is a mere nothing; but when one rides the same, day after day, forty is as much as one has a right to expect from them after one is once fairly on his way. we shall meet with no water to-day, and it is specially for this part of the journey that we brought the water-skins with us." "i noticed that you did not fill them half full at the last stream we crossed." "no, it was not necessary; the horses will have a good drink at a stream we shall cross in a couple of hours, and we shall fill the skins there; beyond that we enter the mountains and travel through an extremely difficult pass, or, rather, i should say, passes, till we come down into the valley. the carts do not come this way; they strike the colorado river many miles down and follow its bank. it is at least a third longer, but if it were three times as long they would have to go that way; the passes are difficult enough for horses, but they would be impossible for wheeled carriages." after riding for thirty miles they halted for half an hour; the horses were watered, and the men ate some of the meat they had cooked overnight and some cold pancakes that had been fried in deer's fat. they were now far up on the hillside and following a regular track. "another hour's sharp climbing and we shall be on the top summit of the pass. see to the priming of your rifles and pistols. if we are not attacked before we reach the top i shall admit that i have been wrong, and that the attack upon me was, after all, the work of street ruffians." the four vaqueros were ordered to look to their pistols before remounting; they did not carry guns. "do you expect an attack, master?" one asked. "i have not heard of there being any bands on the road just lately, but of course there may be some, and this bit of road is their favourite lurking-place, as the traffic between san filepi and the chatenezonais valley all comes this way." "i do not know that i expect to be attacked, lopez, but i have grounds for suspecting that it is possible. if we should be ambushed, dismount at once, and take up your position behind the rocks and fight them in their own way. if the road were good enough i should say gallop on, but it is too steep and too rough for that." will harland soon found that his friend had not exaggerated the difficulty of the pass. on both sides the hills sloped very steeply and were covered by boulders. the track in the middle of the ravine was just wide enough for a cart, but at distances of two hundred or three hundred yards apart the rock had been cut away for some twenty yards, so that two or three carts could draw aside there to allow others coming the other way to pass. as it was inconvenient for two to ride abreast, juan said: "we had better go in single file." "yes, and i will ride first," will replied. "if there should be a fellow hiding among these rocks, it will be you they are after, and, riding first, you would present an easy mark for them; whereas, if i am first, they won't be able to aim at you till you are pretty nearly abreast of them." "i don't like that," juan began, but will pushed his horse forward. both had unslung their rifles from their shoulders, and were carrying them in readiness for instant use. "keep your eyes on the rocks," juan said to the men behind him; "if one of you sees the least movement give a shout, and all throw yourselves at once off your horses." it would, however, have been no easy matter to distinguish a man's head among the masses of rock and boulders through which in many places brushwood and small trees had sprung up, and, although all kept scanning the hillsides minutely, nothing suspicious was heard, until suddenly a shot was fired from a spot some forty feet up the rocks on the left-hand side. will instantly swung himself to the ground, gave a sharp slap on his horse's quarters, and ensconced himself behind a rock, while the animal, relieved from the weight of his rider, made his way rapidly along the path. the first shot had been followed by half a dozen others. these came from both sides of the ravine, and a ball striking the rock close to will's head, showed him that his position was no more safe there than it would have been on horseback. he therefore made a rush upward, and took up a position between two rocks which covered him from either side. then he took advantage of some bushes and crawled some yards farther along, until he came to a spot where he could lie in shelter, and yet obtain a view through the bushes both above and below him. "are you all right, juan?" he shouted. the answer came from rocks on the other side. "yes; the ball aimed at me has killed my horse, but i am unhurt. lopez is killed." for some time shots were fired at intervals. juan shouted to the vaqueros not to use their pistols. "you would have no chance of hitting them," he said, "and they would only pick you off one by one. lie quiet for the present; keep your shots till they come to close quarters. now, will," he said in english, "you watch the rocks above me, and i will watch those above you. mark, if you can, where a shot is fired; lie with your rifle pointed at it until the fellow stands up to fire again, and then let him have it." four shots were fired almost together from will's side, the assailants aiming in the direction from which the voice had come, but will had no doubt that juan had foreseen this and was in shelter when he spoke. presently he saw a puff of smoke shoot out from the side of a large rock. he brought his rifle to bear upon it and watched intently. three minutes later a head appeared cautiously round the rock, then a shoulder appeared, and a rifle was pointed towards the spot behind which he had first sheltered. he fired, there was a sharp scream, and the rifle went clattering down, exploding as it fell. the moment that he had fired, will drew back into the shelter of the stone. two other shots rang out, and the balls cut up and scattered the small pebbles on which he had been lying. he was able to observe, however, the position of one of his assailants. while he was reloading he heard the crack of juan's rifle, followed by an exclamation of satisfaction. "that is two of them, will. they will soon get tired of this game." the distances were so short, in fact, that it was almost impossible for even an indifferent shot to miss his aim when he once caught sight of the head of an enemy. presently another shot struck the rock close to will. it was fired some paces from the stone that he was watching, and showed that the assailants were using the same tactics that he had done, and were shifting their positions after firing. he moved a few yards away, and did not answer to the next two or three shots that were fired. "he is done for," he heard one of the men on the other side of the ravine say. they were but some fifty feet away from him, and it was, therefore, easy to catch their words as they shouted from one to the other. "well, then, go down and attack the man we want," another voice said. "no one but the englishman had a rifle over there, so you are quite safe." "you had better come and show us the way. we did not bargain for this sort of thing. you said we should settle it all in one volley." "so you would have done, you fools, if you could have shot straight. who could have supposed that you were all going to miss at that distance. why, a child of ten years old would have fired straighter. however, i am ready to lead the way. you, over there, make a rush when we do." will marked the exact position of the speaker. it was behind a large boulder some fifteen yards up the hill and as much ahead of him; he saw that to join the men who had been firing he would have to pass an open space between that and some other large masses of rock, and he laid his sights on that spot. the speaker, who was evidently confident that he was killed, and that therefore there was no danger of a shot being fired at him while he moved to join the others, appeared half a minute later. he was stooping, and held a pistol in each hand. the moment his body appeared in the line of fire will pressed the trigger, and the man rolled over like a log. a cry of dismay burst from the hillside above harland, where the men had evidently been watching also for their leader to join his comrades and give the signal for a rush. "i have shot melos, juan!" will shouted. "at least if he is, as you suppose, their leader." "well done, indeed! we shall have no difficulty with the rest of them if their paymaster is dead; they will think of nothing now but saving their own wretched lives." the parties on the opposite sides of the ravine now shouted to each other. two or three of them urged their companions to make a general rush, but the majority were altogether against this. "why should we throw away our lives?" one said. "they have all got pistols, and even if we got the better of them, four or five of us would be likely to go down before we had finished with them. indeed, they would shoot us down directly we showed ourselves, and half of us would never reach the bottom." there was a silence which showed that there was a general feeling that he was right. then the same speaker went on: "caballeros, we have been cruelly misled; we are poor men, and have been led into this. two of us have been killed; we ask your mercy." as he ceased there was a general cry of "mercy! mercy!" "you dogs!" juan shouted back, "if it were not that all of your lives are not worth as much as a drop of the honest blood of those with me, i would not move from here until i had put an end to the last of you. however, you have had a lesson now. come down one at a time into the road. when you get there drop your pistols and knives to the ground, and then go down the hill. when one man has started let the next man come down. how many are there of you?" "there are six of us alive," the man answered. "we were eight besides our leader. my brother was killed by you in san diego the other night, and if it had not been for that i should not have come." "look here," juan said, "i shall see every one of your faces plainly as you come down, and when you have thrown down your arms you will stand and face this rock so that i may have a good look at you. i warn you to leave san diego as soon as you get back, for when i return i will have the town searched for you, and any of you found there will pay for this with your lives. now you come down first." one by one the six men came down, placed their weapons upon the ground, turned to the rock where juan was lying, and then went down the pass without a word being uttered. when the last had gone juan stepped down into the road, and was at once joined by will, who had kept his rifle pointed on each man as he reached the road, in case he should intend treachery against juan. two of the vaqueros also stepped out. "where is pedro?" juan asked. "he is dead, sir. he was shot through the body, but had just strength to throw himself in among the rocks. i heard him groaning just at first, but he was soon silent; i could see him from where i lay, and he has not moved since." "see if he is dead, sancho. this is a bad business." the man returned in a minute. "he is quite dead, señor." "where is the man you shot, will? let us see if my suspicions are correct." will led the way to the spot, followed by the others. juan glanced at the dead man. "it is as i thought," he said. then he turned to the vaqueros. "you may as well search him. it is likely he has money upon him." "he has a bag, and a heavy one, sir," one of them said, as he lifted a canvas bag from the dead man's sash. "let us see what he valued my life at," juan replied. the two vaqueros counted over the gold pieces. "there are eighty of them." "ten apiece," juan remarked. "put aside sixty for the widows of pedro and lopez, and take ten each yourselves." "shall we do anything with the body, señor?" "fetch some big stones and pile them over it. there will be no search for him, for you may be sure he has not mentioned to anyone in the town what he was going to do, or where he was going. he probably asked for a week's leave of absence, and would likely enough say that he was going up to los angeles or santa barbara, and when he does not return it will be supposed that he has been murdered on the way. when you have done with him you had better do the same thing with the bodies of your two comrades. the ground is too rocky to dig graves, and they will sleep as well there as elsewhere. it would be impossible for us to carry them home." an hour's labour and the work was finished. will assisted the men in the work. juan did not offer to do so. "i have a bullet in my shoulder," he said. "another fellow fired the instant that i shot his comrade. he luckily hit my shoulder instead of my head. i will get you to fetch pedro's sash and make a sling for my arm. we can do nothing for it until we go down to monterey." "have the horses gone far, do you think, juan?" "no, we shall probably find them a few hundred yards up the pass. they are trained not to go on without riders, and when their first alarm at the firing has ceased they will halt." when the cairns were finished the vaqueros cut down two saplings and made a couple of rude crosses, which they fixed above their fallen comrades. then they all proceeded up the pass, and soon came upon the horses, and, mounting, continued their way down into monterey, where they arrived just as the sun was setting. here juan's wound was attended to. the injury was to the left arm, which had been thrown forward in the act of firing. the ball struck just above the elbow, and had cut a groove from that point nearly up to the shoulder. "this is evidently my unlucky arm at present, will," he said, with a smile; "after having had three gashes below the elbow a week ago, it now gets ploughed with a rifle-bullet." "i should call it a lucky limb, juan, considering that they are nothing but flesh wounds, and that had not the arm received them, both knife and bullet might have given you a vastly more serious wound elsewhere." "yes, that is true enough. there is one comfort in being wounded in this country. you can't go into the smallest village without finding half a dozen people capable of dressing an injury, more especially a knife wound. in fact, knife fights are so common that very little is thought of them unless really dangerous injury is inflicted." "will not this prevent your riding for a day or two, juan?" "not a bit of it. we had intended to stop here to-morrow to give a rest to the horses, but the next day we will push on. happily, we shall not have to be on our guard against danger, for the risk of falling in with marauding red-skins is too slight to be thought of. our next day's ride will be an easy one, across a cultivated country. then we have a long day and a half of mountain work." the passes which they had to traverse before arriving at señor sagasta's ranch astonished harland, who had no previous experience of such scenery. sometimes they were travelling up ravines so deep and rugged that it was almost twilight below, while at others they wound along on natural ledges on the face of precipices where a stumble of the horse would mean certain death to it and its rider. higher and higher they wound, until, crossing a narrow shoulder of bare rock, they looked down into the broad valley owned by juan's father. "do you see that white speck in front of the dark patch of trees? that is the hacienda. as the crow flies, i do not suppose it is more than seven or eight miles away, but by the way we have to go it is five times that distance, and if we are there by this time to-morrow we shall have every reason to be satisfied." when they started the next morning, juan sent one of the vaqueros on with the news that he would arrive two hours after his messenger. "it is just as well to give them notice," he said to will. "i told him to mention that i have my arm in a sling, but that i have no serious injury. it has been hurting me a good bit for the past two days, and as i have not got much sleep i expect that i am not looking what you call very fit, therefore it is as well that they should not think me in a very bad way when i ride up; besides, i dare say they are getting anxious about me. you see, they will have calculated upon my having ridden a good deal faster than we have done, for with the two horses one can push on rapidly, and, knowing when the horses would have arrived at san diego, they have, i am sure, been on the look-out for me for the past three or four days. of course the wound was nothing in itself, but in such rough riding as we have had one gets sudden jerks that do not improve its condition. you have bathed it for me night and morning, but there is no doubt it has become a good deal inflamed, and i shall have to keep quiet for a few days after we get there." will himself was by no means sorry that the journey was approaching its end. wholly unaccustomed to riding, he had been so stiff at the end of the second day's journey that he could scarcely dismount unassisted from his horse. this had to some extent worn off, but he still felt that every bone in his body ached. the last ten miles were performed at a canter. the horses seemed as glad as their riders at being on level ground again, and were doubtless well aware that they were close to their home once more. they were within three miles of the hacienda, when they saw two mounted figures riding to meet them. "it is my father and sister," juan said. "i thought that they would lose no time in starting after antonio arrived with the news that i was close at hand." chapter iv a great ranch antonio had indeed been charged to make light of the fight in the pass. "my father is almost sure to mount and ride out to meet me," juan said to him before starting. "you can say we had a skirmish with some brigands in the hills, and that i have a slight flesh wound in the shoulder, but don't say more about it until he has started to meet us. then you can go to the huts and break the news of the death of lopez and pedro to their wives, but keep them from going anywhere near the house till i arrive. i don't wish my mother to know anything about it till i see her. if she heard that two of the men had been killed she would at once imagine that i had been badly wounded and that you were concealing the truth from her. of course you will tell them, antonio, that i am bringing a friend with me." señor sarasta and his daughter came up. will harland reined in his horse a little so as to allow his companion to meet his friends alone. juan checked his horse and dismounted as they came up to them, and they, too, leaped from their horses. "welcome home again, juan!" his father said, embracing him in spanish fashion; while the girl kissed him with warm affection. "so i hear from antonio that you have had trouble on the way and have lost some blood." "'tis only a flesh wound, sir, but just at present it is smarting a good deal. riding over those mountains is not the best thing in the world, even for a trifling wound. now i wish to introduce you to my friend, don william harland, an american gentleman, who has done me vital service, as i will presently relate to you." will had also dismounted, and was standing by his horse, some fifteen yards away. juan's father walked across to him, and, lifting his sombrero, said: "as the friend of my son, señor, i welcome you most warmly, the more so since he tells me that you have rendered him a signal service, though of what nature i am not aware, but in any case, as his friend you are mine, and i beg you to consider my house as your own. this is my daughter, donna clara." will removed his sombrero and bowed deeply, while the girl made a ceremonious salute. "now let us mount and ride on," señor sarasta said. "your mother will be anxiously expecting you, juan. we have been looking for you for the past two days. but where are your other two men?" "i am sorry to say, father, that they are both killed," juan replied. "killed!" the haciendero repeated; while the girl uttered an exclamation of horror. "why, antonio only spoke of the attack upon you as a trifle!" "i told him to do so, sir. i did not wish for you or my mother to be alarmed. she might well have imagined that the wound was much more serious than he reported; but it was a serious affair. we were ambushed by a party of nine men in the upper part of the pass in the hills beyond monterey. the two men were killed by their first fire. we took to the rocks. my friend here shot their leader and one of the men. i shot another, but should not have been much further use, for one of them fired almost at the same instant that i did, and his bullet cut my arm from the elbow to the shoulder. it is not at all a serious wound, but it disabled the arm for a time. however, the fall of their leader settled the affair. the other six men, finding that they could not get away without a certainty of being shot, surrendered, coming out one by one and throwing down their weapons in the road and then going down the pass singly. i was obliged to let them go, for they were still superior to us in number, and we could no more show ourselves out of shelter than they could. some at least of us might have fallen had the fight gone on." "well, let us mount," the don said. "you must tell me all about it later on. the first thing to do is to have your wound seen to. padre hidalgo is a famous hand at such matters." "well, señor," he went on to will, as they cantered along, "i can quite understand now that the service that you rendered to my son is a valuable one, for had you not shot the leader of these rascals, to say nothing of some of the others, the fight might have terminated very differently." "that is certainly so," juan said, "but that was not the service to which i alluded. don william and i made our first acquaintance in the streets of san diego after nightfall. i was returning through the quarter by the port when i was attacked suddenly by four cut-throats. i was defending myself as well as i could, but should certainly have been killed had not this gentleman, who was an entire stranger to me, ran up and levelled one of my assailants to the ground with a blow from a stick he carried, and broke the wrist of another. the third, turning to defend himself, i disposed of, and the other ran away." "by the saints! you seem to have had a hot time of it, juan, and, indeed, we have all good reason to be most grateful to your preserver. señor harland, my obligations to you are infinite--such as i can never repay." "really, señor, you are making more of the matter than it is worth," will said earnestly. "i was going quietly along when i heard shouts and exclamations, and felt that someone was being attacked. i ran forward, and, seeing four men attacking one, had no difficulty in deciding who were the aggressors, and without hesitation joined in. as i took them by surprise, and, in fact, disposed of two of them before they could attack me, while almost at the same moment juan killed another, the affair was over almost before it began. it was not a quarter of a minute from the time i came up to that in which the fourth man was running off at the top of his speed. i have already benefited very largely by the affair, having gained thereby the friendship of your son, the hospitality of his friend, señor guzman, and the opportunity of making this journey and paying you a visit. as to the affair in the mountains, i was defending my own life also, and our success was as important to me as to him." "it is well for you to make light of it, sir, but whether the first affair lasted a quarter of a minute or a quarter of an hour, the result was the same. your quickness and courage in thus plunging into a street fray on behalf of a stranger saved my son's life, as doubtless did the shot that killed the leader of the party attacking you. it is strange, indeed, that he should have met with two such adventures in the course of a week. possibly, juan, the one was a sequel to the other, and those engaged in it may have been the comrades of the men who attacked you at san diego, and who thus assaulted you to obtain revenge for their mishap there." "that was so, father. both attacks were the work of one man, who, i am happy to say, will trouble me no more, as he was the leader of the second attack--the man whom señor harland shot." "but who is the man, and what could have been his motive for thus attacking you?" "i only suspected the first time, father, and until i looked at the man harland had shot i was not sure of it. happily none of the men who acted for him are likely to open their lips on the matter, and no one else will have a suspicion. had it been otherwise we might have had a good deal of trouble over it, for the man was captain enriques melos." sarasta looked grave. "as you say, that would lead to serious trouble were it known, although, clearly, you were not to blame in the matter; but what was the reason of his enmity against you?" "he was a suitor for donna christina guzman's hand, father." "ah, ah, that explains it! well, we will think no more of it at present; but what did you do with his body?" "we piled rocks over it; there is no fear of his being discovered, and as he certainly would not have mentioned to anyone his intention of murdering me on my way home, no search is likely to be made in that direction." "that is well. of course i received your letter, juan, and sent off a messenger at once to señor guzman, giving my and your mother's hearty consent to the match, which indeed pleased us much." two or three minutes later they arrived at the hacienda, in front of which a number of servants and peons employed in the gardens and stables had gathered to welcome their young master back after his nine months' absence. as they dismounted, donna sarasta appeared at the door. juan ran up the steps and tenderly embraced her; señor sarasta then led will up. "your first welcome, my dear, should have been given to this gentleman, señor william harland, for had it not been for him you would not have juan by your side now. he has twice saved his life." "twice saved his life!" donna sarasta exclaimed incredulously. "is it possible, philip?" "it is quite true," her husband said gravely. "had it not been for him juan would never have returned to us. do not be alarmed; the danger is over, for the author of these attacks has fallen by don william's rifle." the lady held out both hands to will. the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "señor," she said, "i cannot thank you now. remember that it is our only son's life that you have saved. think of what we should have felt had he not returned, and our men had brought us news of his death. may the blessed virgin reward you and bless you! give me your arm, philip, i am faint." her husband and son supported her into the house and placed her on a couch. "look after your mother, clara," the mexican said, as two female attendants came in. "sancho, go and call father hidalgo down from his study. doubtless he is unaware that my son has returned. tell him that he is to bring bandages and salves, for there is a wound to be dressed. he will find my son in the dining-room. do one of you fetch basins of hot water and sponges there. now, señor harland, i will lead you to your room. doubtless a bath will be agreeable to you after your journey." will was glad to be out of the way during this family meeting, and willingly followed his host, who took him to a large chamber on the first floor. a bath stood ready filled, with towels and all conveniences. "i told them to put a suit of juan's clothes in readiness. i did not know whether they would fit, but i have no doubt they will do so. they will save you the trouble of opening your bag till evening. and now, if you will excuse me, i will go down and look at the boy's wound." "well, luck has favoured me, indeed," will said to himself, as he looked round the room before proceeding to undress. "a fortnight ago there was i, a runaway lad without plans, in a strange country, with nothing but my kit-bag and some ninety pounds to rely upon. now i am in clover, with a good friend, a welcome assured as long as i choose to stay here, and an amount of gratitude that seems to me almost ridiculous, considering that it is all the result of my interfering in a street row, just as i might have done in any other port. at any rate, i shall have some new experiences to tell about when i get home. i shall certainly like the señor; he has been so long out here that he has shaken off the indolent air and the formal constraint that almost all these spanish people have, and is much more like an american than an englishman. the mere fact of his having settled in this out-of-the-way valley is a proof that he has a lot of go and pluck. "of course i can't tell much about his wife yet; she is naturally upset at the thought of juan's danger. as to his sister, she is ever so much prettier than his sweetheart, though certainly christina guzman is pretty, too. she hardly said a word after her first welcome to him--i suppose she was too upset to talk, and will brighten up when she finds that juan's wounds are really trifling. well, i expect i shall have a jolly time of it here, and get some shooting and hunting. it will be great fun among all these herds of wild cattle. the first thing to do will be to learn to ride properly. i should not like to have all these mexican fellows laughing at me. at any rate, i have learned something on our way here. i will get juan to go out alone with me for a bit till i can be sure of sticking on. from what he was saying, some of their horses must be brutes to sit, especially those who jump straight up into the air, and keep on doing it until they get rid of their riders." having taken a bath and dressed very leisurely, he went downstairs again, feeling pleased that juan's clothes fitted him so well, and that it was not necessary for him to get out his own, for, although new, they would certainly not look so well after their journey in the kit-bag as did the spotless white garments that had been provided for him. he found clara alone in the patio. this hacienda, like most of its kind, was a large square building with a courtyard in its centre. in this case the patio had been transformed into a shady little garden, with orange-trees, bananas, and other tropical productions. grape-vines climbed round the light pillars that supported the veranda that surrounded it, and covered its roof with a mass of foliage dotted with great purple bunches of grapes. two or three little fountains were half-hidden among the trees, and the air was heavy with the scent of the orange and citron flowers. "my father and mother will be down directly, señor," she said; "the bell will ring for the mid-day meal in a few minutes." "what a lovely little garden this is!" will said cheerfully, for he saw that the girl was nervous and embarrassed. "you would not see anything like this in the east, even under glass." the girl was silent for a few moments, and then broke out: "i hope you do not think me ungrateful, señor, that i have said nothing to thank you for what you did for my brother, but it was not that. it was because i felt that if i were to say a word i should break out crying. we love each other dearly, juan and i, and it was so awful to think that i might never have seen him alive again;" and she stopped, with her eyes full of tears. "i quite understand, señorita," he said; "and, indeed, i have been very much more than sufficiently thanked by your father and mother. as for my share in the matter, it was really not worth talking about. i am a sailor, you know, and i am sorry to say that sailors when in port are often in the habit of getting into rows, and i have half a dozen times at least, when in foreign ports, taken part in a scrimmage when i saw drunken sailors engaged in a broil with others, and have had to fight very much harder than i did at san diego, where, in point of fact, so far as i was concerned, there was really no fighting at all. i do not say that your brother might not have come off very badly if i had not happened to come along, but there was really no shadow of risk to myself. a couple of blows and it was all over; and i do hope that no one will say any more in the way of thanking me." at this moment señor sarasta, his wife, and juan, all came out together. "well, juan, how do you feel now?" will asked, well pleased at their arrival. "i feel a different man altogether," the young mexican replied. "a warm bath first and then the padre's salves have done wonders for me, and in a week i shall have forgotten all about it." the rest of the day was spent in sauntering or sitting in the gardens round the house. they were of the spanish fashion, containing but few flowers except those borne by the fruit-trees, and resembling shrubberies and orchards rather than gardens, shade being the principal object aimed at. during the afternoon will told his friend of his desire to become a good horseman. "i will put you in charge of antonio; we have no better rider on the ranch. he will put you through a course, beginning with comparatively well-broken bronchos, until you can sit the worst buckers on the plains; but you must not mind a few heavy falls at first." "i shall not mind that a bit, juan. sailors have the knack of falling lightly." "ah, well, he will choose a spot where the grass is long and the ground soft for your lessons, and i can tell you it makes a good deal of difference whether you come off on ground like that or on a spot where there is next to no grass, and the ground is as hard as a brick. i have no doubt that in the course of two or three weeks you will, if you stick to it, be able to ride almost anything." "you need not be afraid of my not sticking to it, juan. i certainly should not like to look like a fool to your vaqueros, still less before your mother and sister." accordingly next morning will's lessons began in a meadow close to the stream, and half a mile away from the house. at first he was thrown an innumerable number of times, for he had told antonio to bring with him some fairly restive horses. "it is of no use my spending my time on quiet animals," he said. "i have just had a week's riding on one of them. i may as well begin with a fairly bad one at once; it only means a few more throws. i have got to learn to hold on, and the sooner i begin that the better." "with beginners we sometimes put a strap for them to hold on by, señor." will shook his head. "i don't want anything of that sort," he said. "i want to be able to stick on by my knees." "it is more by properly balancing yourself than by holding on," the man said. "if you always keep your balance you will come straight down again into the saddle, no matter how high he throws you, and there is no doubt that the tighter you hold on by your knees the more heavy are the throws that you will get." "i can understand that, antonio. now i am ready to begin." will had expected to find it difficult, but he was fairly astounded by the rapidity and variety of the tricks by which he was again and again thrown off. after a time antonio urged him to give it up for the day, but he insisted on continuing until he was so absolutely exhausted that he could do no more. "well, señor," the man said, "you have done wonderfully well for a beginner, and i will guarantee that in another week you will be able to ride any ordinary horse, and in a month you will be able to mount fearlessly any animal that you may come across, except, of course, a few brutes that scarcely a vaquero on the ranch would care to back." antonio's opinion was justified. it was ten days before juan was able to ride again, and by that time william harland was so far accustomed to the saddle that he was able to accompany him and his father on their excursions to visit the herds and see that all was going on well. he did not, however, give up his lessons with antonio, devoting three or four hours a day to the work, and at the end of the month he was able to sit any ordinary bucker without difficulty. after that he practised for an hour a day on vicious animals, and at the end of three months antonio said: "now, señor, i can do no more for you; that brute that you have been riding the last week is the terror of the ranch, and after sitting him as you have done for the last three days, without his being able to get rid of you once, you can ride anything without fear." chapter v an indian raid the time passed very pleasantly; will had become a great favourite with both señor sarasta and his wife, and was treated as one of the family. donna clara often accompanied the party on horseback, and when her first shyness with will had worn off, he found that she was lively and high-spirited. accustomed to horses from her infancy, she was an admirable rider, and, although both juan and will were mounted on some of the best horses on the ranch, she could leave them behind on her favourite mare, a beautiful creature that she herself had broken in. at the end of three months will felt that, much as he was enjoying himself, he must not outstay his welcome; but, upon his broaching the subject of leaving, the whole family protested so indignantly against such an idea, that he felt they really desired him to stay with them. juan spoke to him on the subject as soon as they started on horseback together that afternoon. "the idea of your leaving us is altogether preposterous, will; do you think that we should for a moment let you go? where, indeed, would you go? what ideas have you in your mind? are you not one of us completely?" "you are awfully good to me; i was never so happy in my life," will replied, "but there is reason in all things; i cannot spend my life here. i must be doing something for my living. as i told you, i do not want to return home until i can say to my father, i have been a success, i require no favours, and am in a position to keep myself." "i understand that," juan said, "but how do you propose doing it?" "i should do it somehow. i can at least ride now, and have more ways of making a living open to me than i had before." "my dear will, you are talking nonsense, and if you suppose that we are going to let you go out into the world in that sort of way you are altogether mistaken. at any rate, leave the matter alone for the present; we may see our way more clearly in time;" and had will happened to glance at his companion's face, he would have been puzzled by the slight smile that glanced across it. two months later all hands were busy on the ranch. it was the season at which the herds were weeded out, the old bulls and some of the young ones slaughtered, skinned, and boiled down. will only once accompanied señor sarasta and juan to the scene of operations. he was interested in the indians, who, with their squaws and young ones, had come down and established a camp of their own. they were free to take as much meat as they pleased, not only for eating, but for drying for future consumption; broad, thin slices of flesh were cut up and hung on ropes between poles to dry in the sun. three days sufficed for the operation. the meat, now almost as hard as leather, was pounded by the women between heavy stones, and then mixed with a little salt and packed tightly in bags made of skins. in this state it would keep for an indefinite time. will harland often went there, but could not be induced to approach the spot where the animals were slaughtered. he was much rallied by señor sarasta and juan on what they called his faint-heartedness. "i admit all you say," he replied. "i don't mind going into a fight myself, but i cannot stand seeing those poor brutes killed. i know that it is necessary, and that your vaqueros do it almost instantaneously; at the same time, it is not necessary for me to see it. i would very much rather stay away and watch the natives, with the shrivelled old women, and the funny little papooses." clara nodded approvingly. "you are quite right, don william," for although the others all, like juan, called him simply by his christian name, clara still continued the more formal mode of address. "i never go near the yard myself when it is going on." "ah! it is one thing for a girl not to like it," juan said, "but for will, whom i have seen as cool as possible when his life was in danger, and who fired at a man as steadily as if he had been shooting at a target, it seems odd. however, one does not go to see the animals killed; no one can take pleasure in that. the interest lies in the skill and courage of the vaqueros, who are constantly risking their lives; and, indeed, there is scarcely a season passes in which one or two of them are not killed." the work occupied nearly a month; then juan started with his father for san diego, where the formal betrothal of the former was to take place. at this his father's presence was necessary, and the latter would make his usual arrangements for chartering a ship to go down to receive the hides and skins full of tallow at the mouth of the river. will had again proposed that he should accompany them and say good-bye to them there. as before, his proposal was scoffed at. "it will be time enough to think of that when i go down three months hence to be married," juan said; "and now you must take our places here, and look after my mother and sister. you will have to play the part of my younger brother, and keep things straight. when we come back, we will have a serious talk about the future." will was indeed now quite at home in the work of the ranch, and not infrequently rode in one direction to give orders respecting the herds, while juan rode in the other; and the vaqueros all regarded him as being invested with authority by their master. the report of antonio and sancho of what had taken place at san diego and on the road, had greatly predisposed them in his favour, and the manner in which he had succeeded in sitting a horse that few of them would venture to mount had greatly increased their respect for him. don señor sarasta settled the matter by saying, "if you were to go with juan i could not leave at the same time, will, and i particularly wish to be present at his betrothal. it would be strange and contrary to all custom if one of his family were not there; still, we could hardly be away together unless there were someone here to take our place. you know questions are constantly referred to us. one herd strays into the ground allotted to another, disputes arise between vaqueros, and, in fact, someone in authority must be here." "very well, sir. then, if you think that i can be really useful, i shall be only too glad to stay. you know that my own inclinations are all that way. i have already been here five months, and i feel that this delightful life must come to an end before long. however, since you are good enough to say that i can really be of use in your absence, i will gladly remain here until juan goes down again to fetch his bride." two days later the mexican and his son rode off, accompanied by six well-armed horsemen. will found plenty to do, and was out the greater part of the day. two days after the others had started he saw one of the indians talking to antonio. as soon as the latter saw him he left the indian and came up to him. "this indian, who is one of the chiefs of our tribe, señor, tells me that there is a report that the indians on the other side of the river are preparing for an expedition. it is supposed that it is against another tribe farther east. they have not raided on this side of the river for many years, but he thought that it was as well to let us know that they are at present in an unsettled state. he says that he will have some of his warriors down near the river, and that he will let us know as soon as he has any certain news." "is there anything to be done, do you think, antonio?" "no, señor; wars are frequently going on between the indians to the east, but we have never had any trouble with them since we came here. if our indians thought that there was any danger, they would very soon be flocking down here, for they have always been promised that they should be supplied with firearms were anything of that sort to happen, and they know that, with the aid of our people, they could beat off any number of these red-skins." "i have no doubt that we could defend ourselves, antonio; however, you see that in don sarasta's absence i have a very heavy responsibility, and i think that it would be as well to take some precaution. will you ask the chief to send down a dozen of his warriors? they shall be paid, in powder and in blankets, whatever is the usual sum. i want them to establish themselves round the hacienda, to keep guard at night. i don't mean that they shall stay close to the house, but scout down towards the river, so that in case of alarm there would be time to get you all in from the huts. how many sleep there?" "there are about thirty of us who look after the herds in the lower parts of the valley, and eight or ten peons who work in the garden round the house." "well, that force, with the half-dozen servants in the house, would be able to hold the hacienda against almost any number of indians, and you could all be here in ten minutes from the alarm being given." "very well, señor, i will tell the chief." he talked for a few minutes with the indian. "he will send twelve of his braves down to-morrow," he said, when he rejoined will. "very well, let him do so; i shall certainly feel more comfortable. what tribe do these indians on the other side of the river belong to?" "they are a branch of the tejunas, who are themselves a branch of the apaches. the head-quarters of the tribe lie on the east side of arizona, between the gila river and the little colorado. the tejunas lie between them and the colorado; they are just as bad as the apaches themselves, and both of them are scourges to the northern districts of mexico." "what are our indians?" "they are a branch of the genigueh indians. they live among the hills between iron bluff, sixty miles below us, and those hills you see as many miles up. a good many of them hunt during the season on the other side as far east as aquarius mountains, in what is known as the mohave country, but they never go farther south that side than the river santemaria, for the tejunas would be down upon them if they caught them in what they consider their country." "i wish the señor was back," will said; "though i dare say it is all right, and that, as the indians haven't made a raid across here for many years, they will not do so now. how would they get across the river?" "they would swim across, señor. an indian thinks nothing of swimming a wide river; he simply slips off his horse, and either puts his hands on its back, or more generally holds on by its tail." "have these fellows guns?" "a great many of them have. they capture them from the mexicans, or, in peaceable times, trade skins or their blankets or their indian trumpery for them. it is against the law to sell guns to the indians, but most mexicans will make a bargain if they have the chance, without the slightest regard to any law." "how is it that the mexican government does not try and get rid of these indians? i see by the map that the frontier line is a long way north of the gila." "yes, señor; they may put the line where they like, but there is not a white man for a couple of hundred miles north of the gila, except on the santa fé river, and even there they are never safe from the apaches and the navajoes. why, it would want an army of twenty thousand men to venture among the mountains north of the gila, and they would all die of starvation before they ever caught sight of an apache. no, señor; unless there is an earthquake and the whole region is swallowed up, i don't see any chance of getting the better of the red rascals." after entering the house, will said nothing of the news which he had heard. it seemed that there was no real ground for alarm, and yet he could not but feel very uneasy. the next morning he rode down to the river, where a number of peons were engaged in loading the rafts with hides and tallow. he had told donna sarasta that he should be down there all day, as he wanted to get the work pushed on. he had been there but two hours when antonio rode up at a headlong gallop. "what is it, antonio?" will exclaimed, for it was evident from the man's appearance that his errand was one of extreme importance. "the hacienda has been attacked by indians, señor; i was with the herd two miles this side of it when i heard some shots fired. i galloped to see what was the matter, but when i got within a quarter of a mile i saw that the indians were swarming round it. a dozen started in pursuit of me, but they did not follow me far." will stood as one thunderstruck. "but how can they have got there, antonio?" "they must have come by what is called the little gap. you know it, señor,--that valley that runs off from the other nearly abreast of the hacienda. following that and crossing a shoulder, you cross down on to the river some ten miles higher up. they must have crossed there by swimming in the night." "but the chief said he had scouts there." "they could hardly watch thirty miles of the river, señor; besides, the red-skins would have sent over two or three swimmers to silence anyone they found near the place where they were to cross." by this time a dozen other vaqueros, who had been warned by antonio as he came down, joined them. "we must ride for the hacienda at once," will said, leaping into the saddle. "no use, señor, no use. i should say there must be four hundred or five hundred of the red-skins, and we may be sure that there is not a soul alive now at the hacienda or at the huts. they will be here in a short time, of that there is no doubt; probably half will come down the valley and half will go up. we must ride for it, sir; follow the river down till we are past the hills; there is not a moment to be lost." the peons who had gathered round gave a cry of despair. "you can go if you like, antonio; i see we can do nothing at present, but i will not leave the place." "what will you do then, señor?" "we will take the rafts and pole them across the river; there are no signs of indians there, and it is not likely there will be now." then he turned to the peons. "you have heard what i said. get to the rafts at once, there is not a moment to be lost. look at that herd galloping wildly; you may be sure that the red-skins are after them." "the señor's advice is good," antonio said, "and there is not a moment to be lost. get on board all of you, comrades; tie your bridles to the rafts." all hurried on to the rafts, the ropes that held them to the shore were cut, and the peons, putting out the poles, pushed them into the stream. the rafts were already heavily laden, by far the greater portion of the cargo having been placed on board. most of the vaqueros had their rifles slung across their shoulders, as they had heard from antonio what the indian had said, and had, on starting out, taken their guns with them. "one never can tell what will happen," antonio said; "it is always well to be on the safe side." although the peons exerted themselves to the utmost, the rafts moved but slowly, and they were but seventy or eighty yards from the shore when a large band of indians rode down to the bank and at once opened fire. as they approached, will shouted to all the men to take their places on the other side of the piles of hide, and, using these as a breast-work, those having guns at once returned the indian fire. five or six of the red-skins fell, and the plunging of many horses showed that they were wounded. a chief, who seemed to be in command, waved his hand and shouted to his followers, who were evidently about to urge their horses into the river, when will, who had held his fire, took a steady aim at the chief, and the latter fell dead from his horse. "will they take to the water, antonio?" he asked the vaquero, who had taken his place on the raft with him. "i do not think so, señor; it is not in indian nature to run such a risk as that. we should shoot down numbers of them before they reached us, and they would have a tough job then, for the peons would fight desperately with their long knives, and it is no easy matter to climb out of the water on to a raft with two or three men with long knives waiting for you. this band are apaches, señor; they have evidently joined the tejunas in a big raid." the indians for a few minutes continued their fire, but as those on the rafts only showed their heads when they stood up to fire, and every bullet told in the crowded mass, the indians sullenly rode off. the peons then resumed their poles, and in ten minutes reached the opposite shore. will sat down as soon as he had seen the horses landed, with a feeling of despair in his heart. in the hurried arrangements for the safety of those with him he had scarcely had time to think. now that there was nothing to do, the full horror of the situation was felt, and the thought of donna sarasta and of clara being murdered altogether overpowered him, and his cheeks were moistened with tears. what would the señor and juan say on their return? they had left him in charge, and although he could hardly be said to be to blame, yet he might have taken greater precautions. he should not have relied upon the indian scouts, but have kept at least enough of the men up at the house to offer a serious defence. antonio, who was at the head of one of the parties in charge of a herd, came up to him presently. "well, señor, 'tis no use grieving, and assuredly if anyone is to blame it is i rather than you, for i assured you that there was no danger. i shall tell the señor so when he comes. had he been here he would, i feel sure, have waited for further news before regarding the matter as serious. now, señor, what do you propose to do next? you are our leader." "the first thing to do is to go to the hacienda after dark, and to find out what has happened there. how long do you think that the indians will remain in the valley?" "some days, i should say, señor. they will no doubt kill a number of cattle and jerk the meat. then they will drive off as many as they think they can take with them, and probably slay the rest out of pure wickedness." "the principal point is to find out if all at the hacienda have been killed." "that you may be sure of, señor; but still it is right that we should know. there may be one exception, although i can hardly hope." "how do you mean, antonio?" "i mean, señor, that the señorita may have been spared for a worse fate--i mean, may have been carried off by them. the indians, while sparing no one else, old or young, always carry off the young women." "great heavens!" will exclaimed, stepping back, as if he had been struck. "you do not say so! a thousand times better had she been murdered by her mother's side. it is maddening to sit here and be able to do nothing, not even to be able to find out if this dreadful thing is true. how many men have we with guns?" "thirteen besides myself and you, señor." "those who have no rifles will be useless; they had better go down with the rafts as soon as it becomes dark." "yes, señor, that would be best. the indians are sure to swim across to-night, and the four rafts would do well to push off as soon as they can no longer be seen from the other side. the four head men, who will go down with them, are all here." "call them up." the four white men came to him. "as soon as it is dark," he said, "you must push off; do not make the slightest noise; when you get out in the middle of the stream let the current take you down, only using the poles, when it is absolutely necessary to keep you from approaching either bank. the twelve vaqueros who have not guns had better go with you; that will give three to each raft. we will pick out thirteen of the best horses, the others you must kill this afternoon for food. have you fishing-lines?" "yes, señor, we always carry them with us; and we have spears and can fish by torch-light." "good! then you will manage very well. the vaqueros and what peons you do not require must be landed as soon as you have passed the mountains; they had better strike up to monterey and wait there for orders. i will give money to one of them to buy a horse there and ride with the news to don sarasta at san diego." chapter vi hopeful news when all the arrangements had been made for the departure of the raft, will harland said to antonio: "do you think that it will be absolutely impossible to approach the hacienda by daylight?" "it could not be done, señor, and, indeed, i don't see that any good could come of it, for even if we could get in unobserved, there would be no one of whom we could ask questions or find out anything as to what has taken place. it is just possible that in the confusion of the attack some of the peons employed in the house, the stables, or our huts may have escaped and hidden themselves. the indians are good searchers, but just at first they would be anxious to make their success as complete as possible, and doubtless a large party rode up the valley at once while the others started down it. it was important that they should surprise the men with the various herds before they could gather together, for even if twenty or thirty could have rallied they would have made a hard fight of it before they lost their scalps. therefore, any who escaped in the attack on the house may have hidden themselves from the first search, and we may possibly come across them at night. they would assuredly never leave their hiding-places until darkness had fallen. "i have some hopes of sancho. if anyone has got out safe he has. he had a good deal of experience in indian fighting some fifteen years ago, when he was farther east, and is sure to have his wits about him. he was at our hut when i came along this morning. as you know, he got hurt by a young bull in the yard ten days since. he was nearly well again, but the padre said he had better keep quiet for another day or two. i fancy that he was the only man there except the peons, for it is a busy time. at the first war-whoop he heard he would make for shelter, for he would know that it was no use his trying to fight the whole tribe. there is a thick patch of brush twenty or thirty yards from the huts. i expect that he would make for that straight. there is a tank in the middle that was used at one time, but the water was always muddy, and the master had a fresh one made handy to the huts, and since then the path to the old tank has been overgrown, and no one ever goes there. if francisco is alive, he is lying in that pond under the bushes that droop over it all round." "he would not be able to give us any information as to what was done in the house." "no, señor. but he would be of great assistance to us if we follow the red-skins. he is up to all their ways, and is a good shot with the rifle. at any rate, if we go down to the house i should like to try to find him. we have been comrades a good many years now." "certainly, antonio, you shall see if you can find him. he is a good fellow, and, as you say, would be of great assistance to us. do you think that we could make a circuit and come down on the river again two or three miles higher up, and cross there and get anywhere near the house?" "we might do it, señor, but as we cannot get near enough to do any good, i think we should be wrong to move from here. you may be sure that there are some of the red-skins hiding on the opposite bank, keeping a sharp watch on us. if any of us were to ride away, one of them would carry the news at once, and they would be on the look-out for us. if we all stay here till it is dark, they would suppose that we have all gone down with the rafts. that will be good for the rafts, too, for the indians would be unlikely to attack them, believing that there were some fifteen or twenty men with guns on them; and, in the next place, they will think that they are clear of us altogether and be less cautious than they might be if they were to suppose that we were still in their neighbourhood." "you are right, antonio, and i will try and be patient." as soon as it was dark the little party of fifteen men started, moving as noiselessly as possible. they rode two miles up the river to a point where antonio said they were opposite a path by which they could keep along at the foot of the hills until in a line with the hacienda. "you don't think that there is any fear of there being any red-skins on the farther side?" "not the slightest, señor. long before this they will have their fires lighted and be gorging themselves with meat. they know how small our force is, and will never dream of our venturing back into their midst." as they rode into the river they slipped off their horses as the latter began to swim, holding on with one hand, and with the other keeping their guns, pistols, and ammunition above the water. the river at this point was some two hundred yards wide, and flowing with a quiet current. in a few minutes they were across. antonio soon discovered the path, and, following it, they rode in single file for an hour. then they reached a spot where there was an opening among the trees, and antonio said that they were abreast of the hacienda, which was some four miles away; the building itself was not visible, but the number of fires which blazed round it was a sufficient indication of its position. at various other points up and down the valley fires also blazed, but there was none much nearer their side of the valley than those round the hacienda. "do you mean to go with me, señor?" "certainly i mean to go. how had it best be done?" "i should say that we had better ride to within two miles; it would not be safe to go with so large a party nearer than that; then we will take one of the others with us to hold our horses, and, going at a foot-pace, we might get within half a mile of the house without their hearing us. there will be a good deal of movement in the valley; the cattle will be restless, having been chased all day, and the herds broken up, so i think that we can reckon on getting pretty close. then we will go forward on foot. we had better make for the huts first; you see, the indians are thick round the house; i don't think there is any chance of anyone being saved there, because that would be the first point of attack. if we do not find sancho, possibly we may come upon one or two of the peons, who would be likely enough to make for the same shelter; if not, we can try round the stables. still, i am afraid there is no chance of hearing what has happened at the house--i mean, whether the señorita is killed or a prisoner. if there is no other way we must get hold of an indian and kill him; i will then dress up in his clothes, and see if i can get into the house. as there are two tribes engaged, one would have more chance of passing unsuspected than if they all knew each other personally. at any rate, it must be risked. i know the indian ways pretty well, and might pass muster, but you would have no chance, señor." when they dismounted antonio said: "we had better leave our jackets and sombreros here; their outline would show on the darkest night that we were not indians." before leaving the raft will had obtained from one of the head men a pair of the mexican fringed leggings, as their own white trousers would betray him at once, and now, with a dark blanket thrown over his shoulder, he might at a short distance be easily mistaken for an indian. he had already left his riding-boots behind him, and had obtained a pair of moccasins from one of the peons. "i will lead the way, señor, as i know every foot of the ground," antonio said. moving along noiselessly they came down upon the huts of the white employés of the hacienda. as there were no fires burning here, they had but slight fear of encountering any of the indians. each, however, carried a long knife ready for instant action. they had left their rifles and pistols behind them, for if it was necessary to fight, the combat must be a silent one. they crossed to the clump of bushes of which antonio had spoken. "you stop outside, señor; it is of no use two of us making our way into the tangle." as he parted the bushes before entering, a slight sound was heard. "good! there is someone here," he muttered; and then, making his way a few paces forward, he uttered sancho's name. there was no reply, and he repeated it in a louder tone. at once there was a low reply: "here am i. is it you, tonio?" "yes; i have come to look for you. i thought you would have made a bee-line here as soon as you heard the red-skins." "you were right, and there are two peons here. we were just going to start to make our way down to the river. are you alone?" "i have the young señor with me." "that is good. i was afraid that we had all been wiped out." in a couple of minutes the four men emerged from the bushes. "i am glad to see that you are safe, sancho," will said warmly. "now can you tell me what has happened?" "i know nothing whatever, señor. i was eating my breakfast when i heard a sudden yell, and knew that it was the apache war-whoop, and that there must be a big force of them. there was evidently no fighting to be done, so i caught up my rifle and pistols and made for the bush. these two peons who were outside followed me. i told them to hide as best they could, and i went on into the pool, found a good place under some thick bushes, hid my powder-horn and weapons handy for use close by, and lay down with my head out of water, listening. already they were down at the huts, and i heard the cries of the peons they caught there. luckily i was the only mexican above. a few shots were fired up at the hacienda, and i thought i heard screams, but, owing to the yells of the indians, i could not be sure. presently it all died away. i don't fancy they suspected that anyone had got away, the attack being so sudden; at any rate, they made no search here. i made up my mind to lie down till most of them would be asleep and then to make for the river, and i told the peons that we must each shift for ourselves, as we had more chances of getting away singly than if together." all this was spoken in a low voice. "the principal thing that i wanted to ask you is, do you know whether the señorita was killed, or whether they have kept her to carry off? but, of course, you don't know." "they would not kill her," the man said confidently; "but so far as i know, they have not even caught her. i was at the stables maybe half an hour before the señorita came down and had her horse saddled. she had a basket with her, and told me she was going to ride up the valley to that wigwam that remained when the indians went away, carrying as much meat as their ponies could take. there were an old indian and his wife left there--she had got a fever or something, and was too ill to travel, and the señorita was going to take a basket of food and some medicine that the padre had made up for the old man. i have been thinking of her all day. i should say she was coming back when the red-skins rode up the valley after the cattle. she could hardly have helped seeing them, and i wondered whether she would take to the trees and ride on this way until after they had passed, or whether she had turned and ridden on. if she did the first, she is pretty sure to have been captured when she got down near home; if she went the other way, she gave them a mighty long chase, for there is not a horse on the estate as fast as hers, and as for the indian ponies, she could leave them behind as if they were standing still." "thank god, there is a hope, then!" will exclaimed. "now we must move farther off and chat it over." when they had gone a quarter of a mile from the house they stopped. antonio told the two peons that the rafts had started fully two hours before. "the current is only about a mile and a half an hour, and if you cross the river and keep on, you ought to catch them up before morning, and can then swim off to them. don't keep this side of the river, there are red-skins on the bank; but if you stay on this side of the valley, among the trees, down to the river, you will meet none of them. we have come that way." the peons at once started. "now, señor, will you go on to where the horses are? sancho and i will go back to the house; he understands the apache language. we will crawl up near the fires, and i should think that we are pretty certain to hear if they have caught the señorita or not. however, we may be some time, so do not be anxious, and don't move if you hear a sudden row, for we might miss you in the dark. we shall make straight to this tree, and for a bit my horse must carry double; you had better hand your jacket to señor harland, sancho, and take his blanket." "how far are the horses?" "there are three of them about two hundred yards farther on." "i will go there first, then," the man said. "this is a terrible business, señor." "terrible, indeed. i am afraid there is no doubt that donna sarasta has lost her life." "i reckon," the man said, "that except ourselves and any you may have with you, there ain't a dozen alive in the valley; it is a clean wipe out. i never knew a worse surprise. how about the party by the river?" antonio related what had taken place there. "well, that is something saved," he said, "and with sixteen of us all well armed we can manage to make a decent fight of it. we must get another horse, but that won't be very difficult; most of the others are sure to have their lassos with them, there are a score of horses running loose on the plains, and they cannot have roped them all in yet." when they reached the horses he went on: "you had better stop here, tonio; you are not accustomed, as i am, to them injuns, and as you don't know much of their lingo, you would not understand much of their talk. i would much rather go alone." "all right, old man!" the other said. "now for my toilet," sancho went on; and, going up to one of the horses, he pricked it with his knife. "steady, boy, steady!" he said, as the horse plunged. "it is for your good as well as mine, for you would not find life in an indian village as pleasant as the life you have been used to." he dipped his fingers in the blood, drew a broad line across his forehead and round his eyes, placed a patch on his cheek; then he cut off two handfuls of long hair from the animal's tail, tied these together with string and fastened them in his hair, so that the horse-hair fell down on to his shoulder on each side and partially hid his face. "it is rough," he said, "but it will pass in the darkness. it is lucky you have got a 'pache blanket; that will help me wonderfully." "yes; i bought it from the indians when they traded here a few weeks since. the man i got it of said that he had traded a good pony for it when he was hunting in the spring on the other side of the river." "i will take your rifle, tonio," sancho said. "i must either have that or a bow and arrow. now, good-bye!" without another word he turned and strolled away towards the hacienda. it was nearly two hours before he returned. "the señorita has got away so far," he said. "the red-skins came across her half-way up the valley; she turned and rode straight up; a dozen well-mounted men were sent after her. i heard that they sent so many because they were afraid that they might fall in with a party of the genigueh indians, who would certainly attack them at once." "thank god!" will exclaimed fervently. "there is a chance of saving her, after all, for if they overtake her--and they won't do that for some time--we can attack them as they come back again." "now let us join the others at once, and make up the valley." during the time sancho had been away he had been questioning antonio as to the extent of the valley. "it goes a long way into the heart of the mountains, señor, but none of us know it beyond what we have learned from the indians, for we were strictly forbidden to go beyond the boundary for fear of disturbing the game in the indian country. they say that it runs three hours' fast riding beyond our bounds. after that it becomes a mere ravine, but it can be followed up to the top of the hill, and from there across a wild country, until at last the track comes down on a ford on the colorado. from there there is a track leading west at the foot of the san francisco mountain, and coming down on the little colorado, close to the moquis country." "how far would that be from here?" will asked. "i have never been across there, señor, and i doubt whether any white man has--not on that line. i should think that from what the indians say it must be some fifty miles from the end of our part of the valley to the ford of the colorado, and from there to the little colorado it must be one hundred and fifty miles in a straight line, perhaps two hundred by the way the track goes--that is to say, if there is a track that anyone can follow. these tracks mostly run pretty straight, so that i should say that it would be about as far to the moquis country as it would be to san diego from here; however, we may be sure that we are not going to make such a journey as that; the apaches are not likely to follow her farther than the end of this valley, or at most to the colorado ford." as they rode along will learned from sancho how he had obtained the news. "there was no difficulty about that," the other said carelessly. "i waited till the fires were a bit low, and then sauntered about near those of a party of the tejunas, and heard them talking about it. i learned that they had, as they believed, wiped out all our people except those who crossed the river on rafts, and the señorita, though they allowed that a few of the men with the herds might have got away, and they were going to search the valley thoroughly to-morrow. not a soul in the hacienda escaped. the red-skins were exultant over the amount of booty they had taken, and were glad that the cattle were amply sufficient for both tribes, so that there would be no cause for dispute as to the division; and were specially pleased with the stores of flour and goods of all kinds in the magazines." when they joined the main body sancho was heartily welcomed by his comrades, who were delighted to hear that there was at least a chance of saving the señorita, of whom all hands on the estate were fond. it was arranged at once that sancho should ride by turns behind the others, and then they started at a gallop up the valley, keeping close within the edge of the trees that covered the hillside. chapter vii the pursuit but few words were spoken until the party arrived at a spot where the valley began to narrow in near the boundary of the ranch. they were now considerably beyond the indian fires. "there is no fear of our meeting with any of the red devils now," sancho said. "they know well enough that our indians would not venture to attack them, and that there are no other enemies near. a quarter of a mile and we shall be at the wigwam where the señorita went this morning." "we will stop there for a moment," will said; "it is not likely that we shall find anything that will give us useful information, but at any rate the horses may as well have a short rest there as well as anywhere else." they had come fifteen miles now at a smart pace. the men all dismounted. one of them struck a light with his flint and steel, and then lit the end of a short coil of cord that had been soaked in saltpetre, and waved it round his head till it burst into a flame. as they expected, they found the two indians lying dead; both had been tomahawked and then scalped. on the ground lay a broken medicine bottle and a portion of some soft pudding. "that does not tell us much," will said. sancho made no answer, but looked all round the wigwam. "the basket is not here," he said. "i noticed that it was pretty full." "i suppose the red-skins took it, sancho?" "they would not bother about a basket; it is the last thing they would think of taking. my idea is that the señorita came back here. i expect she came to warn the indians. she would, to begin with, if she rode at full speed, have distanced the 'paches, who would not be able to get through the herd, which must have been between them and her when she first saw them. if she were half-way down the valley she might have been here some minutes before them. of course the two old indians knew that there was no escape for them, and made no effort to avoid their fate. i expect they had only taken that pudding and medicine out of the basket when she got back. now, seeing that the basket and all that was in it are gone, it seems to me possible enough that the señorita may have caught it up and ridden off with it, knowing that she had a long ride before her, and through a country where there are no posadas." "i hope, indeed, that it may be so, sancho, for i have been wondering what she would do if she were lost in these mountains. what would she be likely to put in the basket?" "i handed it up to her, señor, when she had mounted; there were two bottles of milk, a bottle of wine, and a pile of cakes. there were a few other things, but i did not notice what they were." "i only hope that your idea is correct, sancho; it would be a great comfort to know that she had enough provisions to last her for two or three days." "i expect you will find that it is so, señor; the señorita is quick-witted and cool. i saw her once when a dozen bulls stampeded when we were trying to drive them into the yard; she was sitting her horse a short distance from the gate, and was just in their line. she didn't try to dash aside across their path, as many would have done, but turned and started, keeping her horse in at first, and then letting him out gradually and edging off out of their line, and she came cantering back laughing as she joined her father, who was looking pale as death at the danger she had been in. i have very little doubt that it has been as i said; she galloped at first at full speed, then when she got near this hut she saw that she was well ahead of the red-skins. she rode up here, jumped off to warn the indians, and when she found they would not go she took the basket, knowing the things could be of no use to them, and might be worth a hundred times their weight in gold to her. maybe the old indian may have suggested it to her; at any rate, i feel sure she took them." "well, we will ride steadily on. is there any place where she could have left the valley?" "not beyond this, señor; at least, i know of none; but, as i told you, we know very little of the valley beyond this point. certainly she could have known no path; no doubt she went straight on. well mounted as she was, she would feel sure that the red-skins could not overtake her, and i expect she did not press her horse much, but contented herself with keeping out of rifle-shot. i don't know whether she knew of the ford across the river, but she would naturally plunge in at the point where the track comes down on it, and would, no doubt, be surprised at finding that the horse was able to cross without swimming." "she would not be able to turn, after she had crossed, and come down on the opposite bank?" "no, señor; that would not be possible; there are high mountains there, and the river at some places runs through deep gorges." "how far do you think the apaches would follow?" "i think that they would keep on for some distance beyond the river; when they found at last that they had no chance of catching her, they might turn and come back and cross the river, and camp on this side. by that time their horses would be done for; you see, they most likely had a long ride yesterday; maybe they were travelling all night, and, of course, it gave the señorita an immense advantage that her horse was fresh, while theirs had anyhow a great deal taken out of them before they set out in pursuit. i should recommend that we halt, as soon as it becomes light, in some clump of trees and wait for them as they come back. we are pretty well matched in numbers, and with the advantage of a surprise we ought to be able to wipe them out altogether. we might go as far as we can up the valley to the point where it becomes a mere ravine, before daylight breaks, and our horses will be all the better for a rest of a few hours. they will have gone over forty miles since they left the river, and we may probably have a very long journey to do again to-morrow. there is no saying how far the señorita may have gone; she would not know whether the red-skins might not follow all night, and i should think that she would keep on till daybreak, though, of course, she would only go at a walk." "it is difficult to say what she is most likely to do." "it is, indeed, señor; if i myself were in her place i should be puzzled. i should reckon that all in the valley had been wiped out. the red-skins would assuredly first make a rush for the hacienda, because it was most important that they should carry that before the men could rally round and make a defence. i should reckon that the red-skins would remain there for four or five days before they had jerked as much meat as they could carry, and that, when they started, a party would like enough be placed in ambush to catch me as i came back. i should know that it was next to hopeless to try and find my way down across such mountains as there are ahead, through which, so far as i know, there are no tracks, and i am not sure that i should not push on in hopes of reaching the moquis, who are peaceful indians, as i have heard, with their villages perched on the top of hills, and having flocks and herds, and being in all ways different from all the other tribes except the zunis. "the red-skins say that these people were here before them, and that they really belong to the tribes of central mexico, and came from there long before the white man ever set foot in america. from there one could travel north, strike the santa fé trail, and possibly make one's way through safely, though the navajoes are pretty nearly as bad there as the apaches are here. whether the señorita has ever heard of the moquis i cannot say, but if she finds that she is on a trail she will follow it, thinking anything better than going back and falling into the hands of the apaches." "are there any other tribes she would have to pass through on the way?" "i think not. it is a great mountain track, where even red-skins could not pick up a living. as far as i have heard, the track from the ford leads through a series of passes between lofty hills. it is not the course of a river, and, therefore, there are not likely to be any villages. i should say that there would be forest on the lower slopes, and we are sure to meet with enough game to keep us." they now proceeded at a walk, for the trees in most places grew thickly, and the ground here and there was broken by boulders that had rolled down from the hillside. at last they came to a point where the valley was but a hundred yards wide. here they halted, took off the horses' bridles to allow them to pick what grass there was, and threw themselves down, and most of them were asleep in a few minutes. "is it necessary to keep watch?" will said. "no, señor, the 'paches will assuredly not start to come back until morning. the country is as strange to them as it is to us. i should say, from what i have heard, it is about ten miles from the river, and in an hour or an hour and a half after daylight they are likely to be here." will took a seat by the trunk of a tree. he had no inclination for sleep. his thoughts were busy with the girl--alone in these mountains with an unknown country before her and a band of relentless savages who might, for aught she knew, be still pressing after her. it was difficult to conceive a more terrible situation. she might lose the trail, which was sure to be a faintly-marked one, and in some places indistinguishable save to an eye accustomed to tracking. if so, her fate was sealed. she must wander about till she died of hunger and thirst. it was maddening to be waiting there even for an hour or two and to know that she was alone. as soon as daylight broke, sancho sent four of the men back to hunt for game. if they did not come upon something in the course of three-quarters of an hour, they were to return. they had been gone, however, half that time when the crack of a rifle was heard, and ten minutes later they rode back, bringing with them a stag they had shot. already a fire had been lighted one hundred yards behind the camping-ground. antonio had collected some perfectly dry wood for the purpose. "there will be no smoke to speak of," he said to will, "and what little there is will make its way out through the leaves. it is unlikely in the extreme that the indians will notice it, and if they do, they will think that it is a fire made by one of our indians." a couple of the hunters at once set about skinning and cutting up the carcass. they were to go on cooking it until a signal was made to them that the indians were approaching. the horses had now been collected, and the men disposed themselves behind trunks of trees, each with his horse a few yards behind him. all these were well trained to stand still when the reins were thrown over their heads. in front of them was a clear space some thirty yards across. after half an hour's anxious waiting, sancho, who was lying with his ear to the ground, raised his hand as a signal that he could hear the indians coming. the men from the fire ran up and took their places with the rest. the rifles were thrown forward in readiness. all could now hear the dull tread of the horses, with an occasional sharper sound as the hoofs fell upon rock. as the apaches rode out from the wood their leader suddenly checked his horse with a warning cry, but it was too late. sixteen rifles flashed out, half the apaches fell, and before the others could recover from their surprise at this unexpected attack the vaqueros charged down upon them. hopelessly outnumbered as they were, the apaches fought desperately, but the combat was short. the pistols of will and sancho were used with deadly effect, and in a couple of minutes the fight was over and the last indian had fallen. "now, let us waste no time," will said. "ten minutes must do for our breakfast; then we will be off." none of the party was seriously hurt, and the wounds were soon bandaged. the joints hanging above the fire were soon taken down, cut into slices, and grilled. they were being eaten when four indians stepped from among the trees, one of them being evidently a chief. "you are breaking the rules," he said to will, whom he recognized as the leader of the party. "we shall lay a complaint before the great master." will did not answer, but antonio, who spoke their language fairly, replied, "have you not heard the news?" "we have heard no news," the chief said. "we heard a gun fire when we were hunting two miles down the valley. we came to see what it was. then we heard many guns, and, not knowing what it could be, hid our horses and came on." "then do you not know that there are three or four hundred apaches and tejunas in the valley below; that the hacienda has been attacked, all within it killed, and that the herds have been destroyed? so far as we know, we alone have escaped." the indians uttered deep exclamations of surprise. "what was the firing?" the chief asked. "if you go on a hundred yards farther up, you will find the dead bodies of twenty apache braves; they have been riding in pursuit of donna clara, the daughter of the señor, who was fortunately at your end of the valley, having gone there with food and medicine for the old indian of your tribe who was too ill to leave with the rest, a fortnight since." "i saw her often then," the chief said, "and this young brave"--and he motioned to will--"he was often in our camp, and the girl visited our wigwams and gave many little presents to our women. did she escape them?" "she did, but where she is we know not. we are going in search of her. if you and your warriors will go with us, we shall be glad, for your eyes are better than ours, and could follow the footmarks of her horse where we should see nothing." "teczuma, with one of his warriors, will go," the chief said. "the other two must go and carry the news to our people, and, though they are not strong enough to fight so large a force, yet they will not be idle, and many of the apaches and tejunas will lose their scalps before they cross the river again." he spoke a few words to the three men, who at once left, and in ten minutes one returned with two horses. the chief had already eaten two slices of deer's flesh, and he mounted and rode on with the others, while his follower waited for a minute to eat the flesh that had already been cooked for him. sancho had chosen the horse that had been ridden by the apache chief, and, without stopping, they rode on until they were, a few minutes later, joined by the other indian. they now pushed on rapidly, ascending the ravine, and on reaching the top will saw with satisfaction that high hills on both sides bordered what was, in fact, a pass between them, and that clara must therefore have kept on straight. the chief with his follower rode a little ahead of the others, will, with antonio and sancho, following closely behind him. once or twice the chief pointed down to marks on the rocks, with the remark, "a shod horse". "that is all right," antonio said. "the indians do not shoe their horses, so we may be sure it was the señorita." the path soon began to descend again, and in an hour from the time of starting they emerged from the pass within one hundred yards of the river; the ground here being soft, a well-marked track was visible. "made by our people," the chief said, turning round. "they often cross ford to hunt on the other side--large forests there, two hours' ride away--good hunting-ground. apache not come there. hills too big to cross." beyond the river the track was for some time perfectly distinct, but it presently became fainter. however, as the indians rode on rapidly, will had no doubt that, although he could not see the tracks on the ground, they were plain enough to the eyes of the indians. "it is a mighty good job we have the chief with us," antonio said. "the trail is plain enough at present, but it is sure to get fainter when we get into these forests they speak of. probably it goes straight enough there, but once among the trees it will break up, as the indians would scatter to hunt. we should have lost a lot of time following it. now we have got these two red-skin fellows, they will pick it up almost as fast as we can ride." the road, indeed, after passing over a rocky plateau, dipped suddenly down into a deep valley running up from the river, and extending as far as one could see almost due east among the hills. the track they were following turned to the right at the foot of the hill. for miles it was clearly defined, then gradually became fainter, as the indians who had followed it turned off in search of game. the footprints of the shod horse continued straight up the valley, until, ten miles from the point at which they had entered it, they turned to the left. "it has been going at a walk for some miles," the chief said, "and the white girl has been walking beside it. i saw her footprints many times. we shall find that she halted for the night at the little stream in the middle of the valley. it must have been getting dark when she arrived here. she must be a good horsewoman and have a good horse under her, for it is nearly eighty miles from here to the hacienda." by the stream, indeed, they found the place where clara had slept. the indian pointed to spots where the horse had cropped the grass by the edge of the stream, and where it had at last lain down near its mistress, who had, as a few crumbs showed, eaten some of the cakes. "i wonder we don't see one of the bottles," will remarked. antonio translated his remarks to the chief, who said, "girl wise; fill bottle with water; not know how far stream come. we halt here; cannot follow trail farther; soon come dark." this was evident to them all; men and horses alike needed rest. they lit a fire and sat around it for a short time; all were encouraged by the success so far, and even the fact that they were supperless did not affect them. "teczuma and wolf go out and find game in the morning," the chief said confidently. "plenty of game here." long before the others were awake, indeed, the chief and his follower were moving. just as daylight broke, the latter ran into camp. "come," he said, "bring gun; grizzly coming down valley. teczuma watch him." the men were on their feet the instant antonio translated the indian's words, and followed the indian on foot. "was the bear too much for the two indians?" will asked sancho. "if they had been alone they would have fought it, but the chief was right to send for us. it was like enough they might have got badly hurt, and that would have been a bad thing for us." presently the indian stopped. it was still twilight under the trees, but they could make out a great gray form advancing towards them. when within twenty yards it scented danger, and stopped with an angry growl. almost at the same moment a rifle flashed out behind a tree near its flank. with a furious growl it turned, exposing its flank to the watchers. antonio had warned five of these not to fire; the other ten rifles were fired simultaneously, and the bear rolled over and over. it scrambled to its feet again, and stood rocking itself, evidently wounded to death. the other five men ran forward together, and when three yards distant poured in their fire, and the bear fell dead. the vaqueros lost no time in skinning it. a portion of the flesh was carried to the fire, cut up into strips, and at once cooked. as soon as the meal was finished, the rest of the meat was cut off and divided between the party, who then mounted and rode on, the two indians again leading the way. chapter viii the cave-dwellers three days later the party stood on the brow of a steep bluff looking down upon the colorado chiquita river. it had been a weary journey. it was evident that the girl had, after the second day's riding, allowed the horse to go its own way, trusting perhaps to its instinct to make for some habitation, should there be any in the region. there had been no difficulty in following its footsteps until the third day, when they were passing over a stony plateau. here even the keen sight of the indians sometimes failed them, and hours were lost in taking up the trail. there was no water to be met with here, and the indians agreed that the horse was going slowly and weakly, and the girl for the most part walking beside it, as they pointed out by a crushed blade of grass or flattened lichen by the side of the horse's track. later in the day the trail was straighter, and the chief said confidently, "the horse smells water; the river cannot be many miles away." it was an hour after starting, on the third morning, that they reached the bluff opposite to them. for a distance of a couple of miles rose a steep island of basalt, some hundreds of feet above the plain around it, and on the summit a large village could be seen. "moquis," the indian said, pointing to it. "then she must have got there in safety!" will exclaimed in delight. the chief shook his head. "horse not able to swim river, must stop a day to eat grass. there horse!" and he pointed to an animal seven hundred or eight hundred feet below them. "that is its colour, sure enough," antonio exclaimed, "but i don't see the señorita." "she may be asleep," will suggested. "likely enough, señor; we shall soon see." dismounting, they made their way down the steep descent. then all leaped into their saddles and galloped forward to the edge of the stream, a quarter of a mile away. the mare, which evidently scented that the new-comers were not indians, cantered to meet them with a whinny of pleasure. there were no signs of the girl, and all dismounted to search among the low bushes for her, will loudly calling her name. presently the indian, who, with his follower, had moved along the bank, called them. "she slept here yesterday," he said, and the level grass close to a shrub testified to the truth of the exclamation. the two indians looked serious. "what is it, chief?" "indians," he said. "white girl come down to river to drink; then she lay down here; then indians come along; you see footprints on soft earth of bank; they catch her when asleep and carry her off. teczuma and the wolf have looked; no marks of little feet; four feet deeper marks than when they came along; indian carry her off." "perhaps they have taken her along the river to some ford, and carried her up to their village." "soon see;" and he and the wolf moved along the bank, the others following at a short distance, having first taken off their horses' bridles, allowing them to take a good drink, and turned them loose to feed. "small men," the chief said, when will with the two chief vaqueros came up to him. "short steps; got spears and bows." "how on earth does he know that?" will said, when the words were translated to him. sancho pointed to a round mark on the ground. "there is the butt end of a spear, and i dare say the chief has noticed some holes of a different shape made by the ends of bows." half a mile farther the bluffs approached the river and bordered it with a perpendicular cliff, which had doubtless been caused by the face of the hill being eaten away by the river countless ages before. the stream was here some thirty yards from the foot of the cliff. more and more puzzled at the direction in which clara had been carried, the trackers followed. they had gone a hundred yards along the foot of the cliff when a great stone came bounding down from above, striking the ground a few yards in front of the indians, who leaped back. almost instantly a shrill voice shouted from above, and, looking up, they saw a number of natives on a ledge a hundred feet above them, with bows bent threateningly. "back, all of you!" sancho shouted. "their arrows may be poisoned." seeing, however, that the party retreated in haste, the indians did not shoot; when a short distance away a council was held, and all returned to their horses, mounted, and swam the river; then they rode along to view the cliff. three or four openings were seen on the level of the ledge on which the indians were posted, and will was astonished to see that above, the cliff, which was here quite perpendicular, was covered with strange sculptures, some of which still retained the colour with which they had in times long past been painted. "they are the old people, the cave-dwellers," sancho said. "i have heard of them; they were here long before the moquis were here. they were a people dwelling in caves. there are hundreds of these caves in some places. they have always kept themselves apart, and never made friends with the moquis. in the early times with the spaniards there were missionaries among the moquis, but they could never do anything among the cave people, who are, they say, idolaters and offer human sacrifices." "how do the people live?" antonio asked. "they fish, and steal animals from the moquis when they get a chance, and they dwell in such inaccessible caves that, once there, they are safe from pursuit. "if you like, señor, i will go up to the moquis village, and try to find out something about them. i don't know the moquis language, but i understand something of the sign language, which is understood by all indians, and i dare say that i shall be able to learn something about these people." will dismounted as the vaquero rode off, and, bidding antonio do the same, told the man to take their horses a quarter of a mile away, and there to dismount and cook a meal. "now, antonio," he said, "we have to see how this place can be climbed." antonio shook his head. "i should say that it was altogether impossible, señor. you see there is a zigzag path cut in the face of the cliff up to that ledge. in some places the rock is cut away altogether, and then they have got ladders, which they would no doubt draw up at once if they were attacked. you see the lower ones have already been pulled up. like enough sentries are posted at each of those breaks when they are threatened with an attack. besides, the chances are that if they thought there were any risk of our getting up, they would kill the señorita." "i see all that, antonio, and i have no thought of making my way up by the steps; the question is, could it be climbed elsewhere? the other end of the ledge would be the best point to get up at, for any watch that is kept would certainly be where the steps come up." antonio shook his head. "unless one could fly, señor, there would be no way of getting up there." "i don't know that," will said shortly; "wait till i have had a good look at it." lying on the ground, with his chin resting on his hands, he gazed intently at the cliff, observing even the most trifling projections, the tiny ledges that here and there ran along the face. "it would be a difficult job and a dangerous one," he said, "but i am not sure that it cannot be managed. at any rate, i shall try. i am a sailor, you know, antonio, and am accustomed, when we have been sailing in the gale, to hold on with my toes as well as my fingers. now, do you go back to the others. i shall want two poles, say fifteen feet long, and some hooks, which i can make from ramrods. do you see just in the middle of that ledge, where the large square entrance is, the cliff bulges out, and i should say the ledge was twenty feet wide; this is lucky, for if there are sentries on the steps they would not be able to see beyond that point. if they could do so, i should not have much chance of getting up, for it will be a bright moonlight night. when i get to the top--that is, if i do get there--i shall lower down a rope. you can fasten the lariats together. they would hold the weight of a dozen men. the lightest and most active of you must come up first. when two or three are up we can haul the rest up easily enough. now you can go. i shall be here another half-hour at least. i must see exactly the best way to climb, calculate the number of feet along each of those little ledges to a point where i can reach the one above with my hook, and get the whole thing well in my mind." antonio went away shaking his head. to him the feat seemed so impossible that he thought that it was nothing short of madness to attempt it. such was the opinion of the rest of the vaqueros and the two indians when, on arriving at the fire, he told them what will proposed doing. their leader, however, when he joined them, had a look of confidence on his face. "i am more convinced than ever that it can be done," he said. when the meal of bear's flesh had been eaten, he lit his pipe and began to smoke quietly. the chief came up and spoke to him. "what does he say, antonio?" "he says that you are a brave man, señor, but that no man could do what you are talking of, and that you will throw away your life." "tell him i will bet my horse against his that i shall succeed, and you shall be witness to the bet in case i don't come back again." the chief nodded gravely when the offer was made to him. indians of all tribes are given to wagering, and as the horse will was riding was a far better one than his own, he regarded the matter rather as a legacy than a bet. an hour later sancho came down, accompanied by several of the moquis indians, leading four sheep as a present, and followed by women carrying pans of milk, baskets of eggs, and cakes of various descriptions. sancho presented the chief to will. "they are quite friendly, señor; they hate the cave-dwellers, who are constantly robbing them, and who compel them to keep guard over the animals at night. i can understand them pretty well; they bid me tell you that they would gladly assist you against the cave-dwellers, but that it is impossible to reach the caves." will shook hands with the chiefs, and asked sancho to explain by signs that he was much obliged for their presents. "tell them, sancho, that i am going to try to scale the cliff to-night." "you are going to scale the cliff?" the vaquero asked incredulously. "i did not say that i was going to scale it, but that i was going to try; and i may add that i hope that i shall succeed. will you ask if the cave-dwellers poison their arrows?" "i have already asked that, señor, but he said no. the cattle have often been wounded by them, and unless the wound is a mortal one, they recover." "that is very satisfactory," will said, "for i own i have more fear of being hit by a poisoned arrow than i have of scaling the cliff." "the chief says that if you will go up to their village he will place a house at your disposal, señor." "tell him that i am much obliged, and that to-morrow i may accept their invitation. our horses will require three or four days' rest before starting back, and i can hardly hope that the señorita will be fit to travel for a good deal longer than that." although they had but just eaten a meal, the vaqueros were perfectly ready to begin another. a number of eggs were roasted in the ashes, and washed down by long draughts of milk. the chiefs then left them, but a number of the villagers came down and watched the proceedings of the strangers with great interest. will at once proceeded to carry out his plan of bending the ramrods: a hot spot in the fire was selected, and two of the vaqueros increased the intensity of the heat by fanning it with their sombreros. three others went down to the river and brought up a large flat boulder and two or three smaller ones, and, using the large one as an anvil, the ends of the hooks were hammered into sharp, broad, chisel-shaped blades. sancho had explained to the chiefs that two poles, some fifteen feet long, were required, and when these were brought down the ramrods were securely bound to them with strips of wetted hide. other strips were, by will's directions, bound round the pole so as to form projections a foot apart. "that will greatly assist me in climbing it," he said. "i don't say i could not do without it, but it will make it very much easier." in order to lull the cave-dwellers into security, the camp was shifted in the afternoon to the foot of the moquis hill, and there will gave his men instructions as to the operations. "we will cross the river on the horses a mile above the cave," he said; "we must use them, or we could not keep our rifles and pistols dry. you must all remove your boots as soon as you dismount, and we will now tear up two or three blankets, and twist strips round the barrels of the guns, so that, should they strike against the rocks, no sound shall be made. you had better do the same with the barrels of your pistols." then he chose the lightest of the vaqueros to follow him. another light-weight was to be third. antonio was to follow him, and then sancho, and the order in which all the others were to go was arranged. lariats were securely knotted together, and the knots tied with strips of hide, to prevent the possibility of their slipping. the men carried out his orders, but it was evident from their manner that they had not the slightest hope that his attempt would be successful. an hour after sunset they started. it was two days after full moon, and they had, therefore, as many hours to reach the foot of the cliffs before it rose. an hour was sufficient to traverse the distance, and they therefore rested for that time, after darkness set in, before starting, swam the river, and after removing their boots made their way noiselessly along, keeping some distance from the river bank until they reached the spot where the cliff rose perpendicularly; then, keeping close to its foot, they held on until they arrived at the spot will had fixed upon. there all lay down among the boulders close to the rock wall, and remained there until the moon rose. there had been several discussions as to the best way to get the lariat up, as it was agreed that, whether carried in a coil over the shoulder or wound round the body, it would hamper the climber's movements. the question was finally solved by his taking a coil of thin hide, which, while little thicker than string, was amply strong enough to support the weight of the lariat. four or five bullets had been sewn up in a piece of skin and attached to one end. a strap was fastened to each pole so that these could be slung behind him, so permitting him the free use of both hands where it was not needful to use them. "the saints watch over you, señor!" antonio whispered, as will prepared to start, and he and sancho gave him a silent grip of the hand, while the indian chief laid his hand on his shoulder and muttered, "ugh, heap brave!" for a short distance the ascent was comparatively easy. then he arrived at the first of the ledges he had noticed. it was some ten inches wide, and, keeping his face to the wall and using his hands to grip the most trifling irregularity, or to get a hold in small crevices, he made his way along until he arrived at a projection which barred farther progress. slipping one of the slings from his shoulder, he reached up until the hook caught the next ledge, and obtained a good hold there. he then climbed the pole until his fingers got a grip of the ledge, when he hauled himself up to it. it was some fifteen inches wide here, and without difficulty he obtained a footing, again slung the pole on his shoulder and went on. the ledge narrowed rapidly, and he was now at one of the points which appeared to him the most difficult, for from where he had been lying the ledge seemed almost to cease, while the next ledge above it was also so narrow that he knew he could not obtain standing room upon it. as he approached the narrow path he took the poles, one in each hand, and obtained a grip of the upper ledge. he now made his way along on tiptoe, having his weight almost entirely on the poles, shifting them alternately. to a landsman this would have been an extraordinary feat, but, accustomed to hang to the ropes by one hand, it was not so difficult for him, especially as he obtained some slight support from his feet. without the poles it would have been impossible for him to have passed, as the ledge in some places was only three inches wide. at the end of some thirty feet it again widened; the next forty or fifty feet upward were comparatively easy, for the rock sloped to some extent inward, and there were many fissures in which he was enabled to get a firm grip with his fingers. then came several difficult places, but he was confident now in the hold the hooks had on the rocks, and, always working with great caution and using sometimes his hands, sometimes the poles, he reached the top in half an hour after starting. chapter ix rescued he threw himself down on the platform, which was entirely deserted, and lay there for five minutes; then he unwound the coil of leather-thong, and threw the weighted end over. he knew that he had allowed ample length, and drew it in until he felt a slight strain; then came three jerks. the party below had hold of the thong; two more jerks told that they had fastened the end of the lariat to it; in a couple of minutes it was in his hands. there was a parapet some eighteen inches high along the edge of the platform, intended doubtless to prevent the children from falling over. seeing no place to which he could fasten the lariat, he tied it round the middle of the two poles, laid these on the ground close to the parapet, put his feet upon them, and then leaned over. two pulls on the lariat told him that the next man was tied on, and he began at once to haul upon it. he found the weight much less than he had expected. not only was the vaquero short and wiry, but he was using both his hands and feet with such effect that in five minutes he stood beside will. the work went on quickly now. one after another the men were pulled up, and in less than an hour all were assembled on the platform, where, save three engaged in pulling their comrades up, they had laid down as soon as they reached it. will had been glad to relinquish the work to others, for his hands were cut and bleeding. he had crawled along, keeping by the wall of rock until he reached the point where the bulge or bend in the face of the cliff enabled him to see to the other end of the platform. to his surprise not a soul was visible, but, peering over the parapet, he saw four figures standing as sentinels at the points where there were breaks in the path, and the moonlight enabled him to make out that the ladders had been pulled up and laid beside them. he could hear a confused hum of voices from the principal cave, but, though most anxious to know what was going on there, he dared not venture farther until all the men were up, as anyone coming out of the cave would at once see him. he therefore rejoined the others. each man as he came up gave him a silent grip of the hand, and the indian chief muttered something which sancho whispered meant "heap great brave". as soon as the last man was up they moved silently forward. every man knew the part he had to play. sancho and three others crept forward on hands and knees, under shelter of the parapet, to the other end of the platform, where they were to await the signal, the rest halting at the front of the main entrance to the cave. here a sight met their eyes that filled them with horror. the entrance opened into a wide hall, which was lighted by a dozen torches. at the farther end was a hideous idol carved from a solid rock; in front of this was a sort of altar, upon which lay a figure, which they at once recognized as that of donna clara. beside her stood two men, naked to the waist, with their bodies painted with strange figures. they had knives in their hands, and, rocking themselves to and fro, were uttering some sort of prayer or incantation. "you take the fellow to the left, antonio, i will take the other." [illustration: the fight in the cave] the shots rang out together--the distance was but sixteen or seventeen yards--and without a cry the two priests or executioners fell dead. a terrible cry of astonishment and dismay broke from the crowd, and before they could recover from their surprise, the vaqueros and the two indians, headed by will, burst their way through them. will had given strict orders that there was to be no general firing, as men, women, and children were likely to be mixed up together, but as they entered they caught the sound of four rifles outside, and knew that the sentries had been disposed of. will caught up the girl, who was evidently insensible, and threw her over his shoulder, and, surrounded by his men, made his way outside the cave. here he handed her over to antonio, who was a very powerfully built man, and the latter, without a word, started for the steps. "now, my men," will shouted, as with cries of fury the indians followed them, "don't spare one of these bloodthirsty wretches, but don't touch the women." the fight was short, half the indians being shot down as they poured out on to the platform; the others, however, maddened by the loss of their expected victim and the capture of their stronghold, fought desperately to the end, the mexicans using the butt ends of their rifles, while the savages fought with knives. after the fight was over, the cave was thoroughly searched; many of the women had fallen, for they had joined in the fight as fiercely as the men, and in the darkness and confusion it was impossible to distinguish them apart. the rest, with the children, were forced to descend the steps. the ladders had been replaced by sancho and his party, who, having finished their work, had run off at once to bring up the horses. clara was still unconscious when they returned. will mounted, and antonio handed her to him. sancho and two of the men accompanied him, while the rest in charge of the captives followed more slowly. fires were blazing high at the moquis village, and it was evident that the attack had been eagerly watched, and that the firing on the platform had shown that the caves had been taken, for on the still night air came the sound of horses, drums, and loud shouting. will at once urged his horse into the water, his companions swimming by their horses close to him so as to render assistance, if necessary; but the distance was short, and it was not long before the horse felt the bottom again. the sudden chill of the water had roused the girl from her faint. "where am i?" she murmured. "you are safe in my arms," will said. "we have got you safely out of the hands of those wretches. all danger is over." "is it will," she asked, "or am i dreaming?" "it is i, sure enough, clara," he said; "and i am glad that for once you have dropped the don. i followed you with antonio and sancho and thirteen other vaqueros. we were joined by the genigueh chief, teczuma, and one of his tribe, who have been invaluable in following your track." "holy virgin, i thank you!" the girl murmured, and then lay silent for a time. "where are you going now?" she asked presently. "to the moquis village, where you will be most kindly received, and where we shall stay till you have got your strength again." "zona, my gallant zona! is she safe?" "yes. she seemed pretty nearly recovered from her fatigue when we found her this morning, and will be ready to carry you back again." as they approached the hill they saw a number of people coming down the zigzag path, with torches, who welcomed will on his arrival with loud cries of triumph. the horses could go no farther, as the path, like that up to the caverns, was at several points cut away, the breaks being in the daytime filled with long planks. as the girl was altogether unable to walk, some of the boys ran up the hill, and in a quarter of an hour returned with some poles, with which a litter was speedily improvised. in this she was laid, and four moquis carried her up the hill, will walking beside her and holding her hand. the whole of the villagers were assembled on the top of the hill, shouting and dancing with joy at the destruction of their enemies, for sancho had already made the chiefs aware that all the men had been killed, and the women and the children were being brought in as prisoners. the moquis houses surprised will, as they had neither windows nor doors on the ground floor, and entrance was only obtainable by a ladder to the upper story. clara was here handed over to the care of the principal women of the village. half an hour later the rest of the party came up with the prisoners. these were for the time confined in one of the houses, two armed moquis keeping guard over them. the women would, sancho explained to will, be used as servants and to fetch water from the springs at the foot of the hill. the children would probably be adopted into the tribe. it was ten days before clara was strong enough to think of starting. she had for twenty-four hours been in a high fever, but the care lavished upon her, and her fine constitution, speedily brought her through this, and two days later she was able to see will. "tell me all that has happened," she said. "i feel sure that mother has been killed, for the valley was full of indians, and i know that there were but few men at home." "i am afraid that there is no doubt about that," will said gently. "we may be thankful, clara, that your father and juan were both away, or they, too, might have fallen." then he related very briefly how those by the river had been saved, how they had learned from sancho that she had been away at the end of the valley, and how they had started in chase; and then, in a few words, told how he had scaled the face of the cliff, had assisted his followers up, and had arrived just in time. "i will tell you about my journey another time," she said. "i do not like to think of the last part of it; we were both worn out, zona and i, and if we had not come down upon the river we should have both died. i took a long drink, and then fell down and went to sleep. i was awakened by being lifted up, and found that i was being carried by two indians, and that others were all round me. i was too weak even to struggle, but i remember being carried up a very steep path on the face of the cliff. as soon as i was laid down i went to sleep, and i suppose slept all night. in the morning they gave me food and water, but left me alone till it was dark again; then they led me into a large cave lit up by torches, with a horrible idol at the end. they laid me down on a great stone in front of it, and two men with knives came beside me. then i suppose i fainted, and i remember nothing more till i woke up feeling strangely cold as we were swimming across that river." almost the whole of the inhabitants of the village paid a visit to the cave on the morning after the fight, and when shown the ropes, still hanging, by which the party had been drawn up, could at first hardly believe sancho and the two indians who assured them that will had climbed up there unaided. after clara's illness had taken a turn, and there was no longer cause for anxiety about her, will was greatly interested in the moquis village. he was taken into one of the underground rooms that served as temples, and was horrified at finding that hundreds of rattlesnakes and other venomous serpents were kept there, and still more astonished when he saw the priests handle them carelessly and take them in their mouths. he could not believe that they had not been rendered harmless until shown that they still retained their poison-fangs. he was told that once a year there was a great festival in which all the men in the village took part and performed dances, holding the snakes in their mouths. the villagers endeavoured to show their thankfulness at the destruction of their enemies by profuse hospitality to their guests, and the latter thoroughly enjoyed their stay. on starting on the return journey clara rode with will, the two vaqueros, and the indian chief to the foot of the cliff, and was shown the spot where will had climbed up. after looking at it for some time she suddenly burst into tears. "it is dreadful even to think of your going up there, will," she said. "i should never have forgiven myself if you had been killed when risking your life in that way to save me." "you would never have known it," he said. "i should have known it," she said earnestly, "when we met in the hereafter." the journey home was conducted in easy stages. wolf, the indian, and one of the vaqueros had been sent off the day after clara rallied from her attack of fever. if they found the apaches still in the valley, they were to return to warn them; if not, they were to ride on until they met señor sarasta and told him of his daughter's safety. when half-way back they met juan with ten well-armed vaqueros. the meeting was a joyful one, although saddened by the loss, now confirmed, of their mother. "ah! will," juan exclaimed, after his first tender embrace of his sister, "you are tenfold my brother now. you have saved clara's life as well as mine; your messengers have told me how you scaled a cliff that seemed to all of them so impossible that none had the slightest hope that you could succeed." "and how are things in the valley?" "better than might have been hoped. the red-skins only remained three days; some ten thousand of the cattle have been recovered; many were found in the woods in the hillsides, more still had gone right up the valley, and when the red-skins tried to follow them they were assailed with such showers of arrows by the geniguehs that they fell back, having indeed already as many cattle as they could drive away. two of the men from the raft brought us the news to san diego, and the commandant at once told off one hundred cavalry to accompany us, and in future a fort is to be built near the hacienda, and fifty soldiers are to be stationed there. the commandant was rather reluctant to agree to this until he had received orders from government, but on our undertaking to supply the garrison with bread and meat, he consented, seeing that it would be a distinct saving of expense. so we need have no fear of the red-skins meddling with us again. my father has already sent down to monterey to arrange for the purchase of ten thousand head of cattle from the ranches there, so in two or three years we shall be in full working order again. we found twenty of the vaqueros assembled at the hacienda; they had taken to the woods at the first attack, and had remained in hiding until they found that the red-skins had gone." a messenger was at once sent on ahead to inform señor sarasta of the time at which the party would arrive, and he met them at the upper end of the valley. the meeting was an affecting one. after embracing his daughter the mexican threw his arms round will with as much affection as if he had been his father. "i did not think," he said, when the first emotion was over, "when i left you in charge that the duty would be such an onerous one, but you have nobly fulfilled your trust, most nobly, and i thank you from the bottom of my heart." on arriving at the hacienda they found that great efforts had been made to remove all signs of the visit of the apaches. donna sarasta had been buried in the little chapel near the house. the broken and torn-up shrubs had been replaced, and although inside the rooms were bare, for the furniture had been hacked to pieces by the red-skins, everything was spotlessly clean. will did not enter with señor sarasta into the house, but went straight to the stables with the vaqueros and saw his horse and zona cared for. when he went to the house, don sarasta and juan went out to him. "we have been talking together, will," the mexican said, "and the result is this: i do not know what your sentiments may be, but i have ascertained those of my daughter. we have been as one family for seven or eight months. we all wish that we shall continue to be so in reality, and i now offer you formally the hand of my daughter, donna clara sarasta, in marriage. i know that i can intrust her happiness to you, and the match will afford both myself and juan the most lively satisfaction." "it would be altogether beyond my hopes, señor," will said, greatly moved. "i will not deny that i have from the first had a profound admiration for your daughter, but i should never have spoken of it, seeing that i am at present a penniless man, and am, indeed, much below the age at which we think of marriage in the states." the mexican smiled. "according to spanish law, and our own policy, the legal age for marriage is fourteen for the man and twelve for the woman, and although it is not often that marriages take place quite so young as that, they are very frequent when the man is sixteen and the girl fourteen or fifteen; therefore, that is no obstacle whatever." "then, señor, i accept your generous offer most gladly and thankfully, and shall consider myself the most fortunate man alive in winning such a bride as donna clara." "well, you had better go in and tell her so," the señor said. "i think that that will be more in accordance with your american customs than for me to go in and formally hand her over to you." three months later a double marriage took place at san diego. don sarasta settled a large sum of money upon his daughter, and, with juan's cordial assent, arranged that at his death the hacienda and ranch, and, indeed, all of his property, should become the joint property of his son and daughter, with power to make any future division of it that they might think fit. after remaining a week at san diego, will sailed with his wife to panama, crossed the isthmus, and took ship to new york, where he astounded his father and mother by presenting to them his wife, and mentioning casually that she had a fortune of $200,000, and was joint heiress to estates and property worth at least $2,000,000, which caused mr. harland, senior, to acknowledge that will's mania for the sea had not turned out so badly after all. * * * * * historical tales by g. a. henty the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. a knight of the white cross: the siege of rhodes. the lion of st. mark: a story of venice in the 14th century. a march on london: a story of wat tyler. at agincourt: a tale of the white hoods of paris. st bartholomew's eve: a tale of the huguenot wars. by england's aid: or, the freeing of the netherlands. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus. when london burned: a story of the great fire. a jacobite exile: in the service of charles xii. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. at the point of the bayonet: a tale of the mahratta war. with frederick the great: the seven years' war. true to the old flag: the american war of independence. in the reign of terror: the french revolution. a roving commission: a story of the hayti insurrection. at aboukir and acre: napoleon's invasion of egypt. under wellington's command: the peninsular war. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. one of the 28th: a story of waterloo. on the irrawaddy: a story of the first burmese war. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. out with garibaldi: a story of the liberation of italy. the dash for khartoum: a tale of the nile expedition. with roberts to pretoria: a tale of the south african war. london: blackie & son, limited, 50 old bailey, e.c. geronimo's story of his life _taken down and edited by_ s. m. barrett _superintendent of education, lawton, oklahoma_ new york duffield & company 1906 [illustration: geronimo] copyright, 1905, by s. m. barrett copyright, 1906, by duffield & company _published september, 1906_ dedicatory because he has given me permission to tell my story; because he has read that story and knows i try to speak the truth; because i believe that he is fair-minded and will cause my people to receive justice in the future; and because he is chief of a great people, i dedicate this story of my life to theodore roosevelt, president of the united states. geronimo. preface the initial idea of the compilation of this work was to give the reading public an authentic record of the private life of the apache indians, and to extend to geronimo as a prisoner of war the courtesy due any captive, _i. e._, the right to state the causes which impelled him in his opposition to our civilization and laws. if the indians' cause has been properly presented, the captives' defense clearly stated, and the general store of information regarding vanishing types increased, i shall be satisfied. i desire to acknowledge valuable suggestions from maj. charles taylor, fort sill, oklahoma; dr. j. m. greenwood, kansas city, missouri, and president david r. boyd, of the university of oklahoma. i especially desire in this connection to say that without the kindly advice and assistance of president theodore roosevelt this book could not have been written. respectfully, s. m. barrett. lawton, oklahoma. _august 14, 1906_. [illustration: how the book was made] contents chapter page introductory xi part i _the apaches_ i. origin of the apache indians 3 ii. subdivisions of the apache tribe 12 iii. early life 17 iv. tribal amusements, manners, and customs 26 v. the family 35 part ii _the mexicans_ vi. kas-ki-yeh 43 vii. fighting under difficulties 55 viii. raids that were successful 69 ix. varying fortunes 79 x. other raids 86 xi. heavy fighting 98 xii. geronimo's mightiest battle 105 part iii _the white men_ xiii. coming of the white men 113 xiv. greatest of wrongs 116 xv. removals 126 xvi. in prison and on the warpath 131 xvii. the final struggle 139 xviii. surrender of geronimo 148 xix. a prisoner of war 177 part iv _the old and the new_ xx. unwritten laws of the apaches 185 xxi. at the world's fair 197 xxii. religion 207 xxiii. hopes for the future 213 list of illustrations geronimo _frontispiece_ how the book was made _facing page_ vi dressed as in days of old 8 naiche (natches), son of cochise, hereditary chief of the chiricahua apaches. naiche was geronimo's lieutenant during the protracted wars in arizona 14 last of the bedonkohe apache tribe, tuklonnen, nädeste, nah-ta-neal, porico (white horse) 18 work stock in apache corral 22 the conquered weapon 30 apache princess, daughter of naiche, chief of the chiricahua apaches 38 geronimo, chihuahua, nanne, loco, ozone 46 naiche, his mother, his two wives and his children 50 asa deklugie, wife and children 66 apache scouts--naiche, goody, john loco, porico, jasen, asa deklugie, kelburn, sam, hugh, captain seyers 70 three apache chieftains--naiche, son of coche; asa, son of whoa; charley, son of victoria 80 apache camp 86 apache mission--valley of medicine creek, fort sill military reservation 96 asa deklugie (official interpreter for geronimo, son of whoa, chief of the nedni apaches, chief elect to succeed geronimo at the latter's death) 100 geronimo, apache war chief 100 lone wolfe, chief of kiowas geronimo, apache war chief 108 quanna parker, chief of comanche indians 118 gotebo, war chief, kiowa indians 144 kaytah and nahteen, apache scouts who were with general lawton 152 emma tuklonen 162 w. f. melton, at whose camp in skeleton cañon geronimo surrendered 172 chihuahua and family 190 mrs. asa deklugie, niece of geronimo and daughter of chihuahua, a famous apache chieftain 200 eva geronimo, geronimo's youngest daughter, 16 years old 200 ready for church 210 introductory i first met geronimo in the summer of 1904, when i acted for him as interpreter of english into spanish, and vice versa, in selling a war bonnet. after that he always had a pleasant word for me when we met, but never entered into a general conversation with me until he learned that i had once been wounded by a mexican. as soon as he was told of this, he came to see me and expressed freely his opinion of the average mexican, and his aversion to all mexicans in general. i invited him to visit me again, which he did, and upon his invitation, i visited him at his tepee in the fort sill military reservation. in the summer of 1905 dr. j. m. greenwood, superintendent of schools at kansas city, missouri, visited me, and i took him to see the chief. geronimo was quite formal and reserved until dr. greenwood said, "i am a friend of general howard, whom i have heard speak of you." "come," said geronimo, and led the way to a shade, had seats brought for us, put on his war bonnet, and served watermelon _à l'apache_ (cut in big chunks), while he talked freely and cheerfully. when we left he gave us a pressing invitation to visit him again. in a few days the old chief came to see me and asked about "my father." i said "you mean the old gentleman from kansas city--he has returned to his home." "he is you father?" said geronimo. "no," i said, "my father died twenty-five years ago, dr. greenwood is only my friend." after a moment's silence the old indian spoke again, this time in a tone of voice intended to carry conviction, or at least to allow no further discussion. "your natural father is dead, this man has been your friend and adviser from youth. by adoption _he is your father_. tell him he is welcome to come to my home at any time." it was of no use to explain any more, for the old man had determined not to understand my relation to dr. greenwood except in accordance with indian customs, and i let the matter drop. in the latter part of that summer i asked the old chief to allow me to publish some of the things he had told me, but he objected, saying, however, that if i would pay him, and if the officers in charge did not object, he would tell me the whole story of his life. i immediately called at the fort (fort sill) and asked the officer in charge, lieutenant purington, for permission to write the life of geronimo. i was promptly informed that the privilege would not be granted. lieutenant purington explained to me the many depredations committed by geronimo and his warriors, and the enormous cost of subduing the apaches, adding that the old apache deserved to be hanged rather than spoiled by so much attention from civilians. a suggestion from me that our government had paid many soldiers and officers to go to arizona and kill geronimo and the apaches, and that they did not seem to know how to do it, did not prove very gratifying to the pride of the regular army officer, and i decided to seek elsewhere for permission. accordingly i wrote to president roosevelt that here was an old indian who had been held a prisoner of war for twenty years and had never been given a chance to tell his side of the story, and asked that geronimo be granted permission to tell for publication, in his own way, the story of his life, and that he be guaranteed that the publication of his story would not affect unfavorably the apache prisoners of war. by return mail i received word that the authority had been granted. in a few days i received word from fort sill that the president had ordered the officer in charge to grant permission as requested. an interview was requested that i might receive the instructions of the war department. when i went to fort sill the officer in command handed me the following brief, which constituted my instructions: lawton, oklahoma, aug. 12th, 1905. _geronimo,--apache chief--_ s. m. barrett, _supt. schools_. letter to the president stating that above-mentioned desires to tell his life story that it may be published, and requests permission to tell it in his own way, and also desires assurance that what he has to say will in no way work a hardship for the apache tribe. * * * * * _1st endorsement._ war department, the military secretary's office, washington, august 25th, 1905. respectfully referred, by direction of the acting chief of staff, through headquarters, department of texas, to the officer in charge of the apache prisoners of war at fort sill, oklahoma territory, for remark and recommendation. (signed) e. f. ladd, military secretary. * * * * * _2d endorsement._ headquarters department of texas, military secretary's office, san antonio, august 29th, 1905. respectfully transmitted to 1st lieut. george a. purington, 8th cavalry, in charge of apache prisoners. (thro' commanding officer, fort sill, o. t.) by command of brigadier general lee. (signed) c. d. roberts, captain, 7th infantry, acting military secretary. * * * * * _3d endorsement._ fort sill, o. t., aug. 31st, 1905. respectfully referred to 1st lieut. g. a. purington, 8th cavalry, officer in charge of apache prisoners of war, for remark and recommendation. by order of captain dade. (signed) james longstreet, 1st. lieut & sqdn. adjt., 13th cavalry. adjutant. * * * * * _4th endorsement._ fort sill, o. t., sept. 2d, 1905. respectfully returned to the adjutant, fort sill, o. t. i can see no objection to geronimo telling the story of his past life, providing he tells the truth. i would recommend that mr. s. m. barrett be held responsible for what is written and published. (signed) geo. a. purington, 1st. lieut. 8th cavalry, in charge of apache prisoners of war. * * * * * _5th endorsement._ fort sill, o. t., sept. 4th, 1905. respectfully returned to the military secretary, dept. of texas, san antonio, texas, inviting attention to 4th endorsement hereon. it is recommended that the manuscript be submitted before publication to lieut. purington, who can pass upon the truth of the story. (signed) a. l. dade, captain, 13th cavalry, commanding. * * * * * _6th endorsement._ headquarters dept. of texas, san antonio, september 8th, 1905. respectfully returned to the military secretary, war department, washington, d. c., inviting attention to the preceding endorsement hereon, which is concurred in. (signed) j. m. lee, brigadier general, commanding. * * * * * _7th endorsement._ war department, office of the chief of staff, washington, september 13th, 1905. respectfully submitted to the honorable the secretary of war, inviting attention to the foregoing endorsements. (signed) j. c. bates, major general, acting chief of staff. * * * * * _8th endorsement._ war department, september 15th, 1905. respectfully returned to the acting chief of staff to grant the necessary authority in this matter, through official channels, with the express understanding that the manuscript of the book shall be submitted to him before publication. upon receipt of such manuscript the chief of staff will submit it to such person as he may select as competent to make a proper and critical inspection of the proposed publication. (signed) robert shaw oliver, acting secretary of war. * * * * * _9th endorsement._ war department, the military secretary's office, washington, september 18th, 1905. respectfully returned, by direction of the acting chief of staff, to the commanding general, dept. of texas, who will give the necessary instructions for carrying out the directions of the acting secretary of war, contained in the 8th endorsement. it is desired that mr. barrett be advised accordingly. (signed) henry p. mccain, military secretary. * * * * * _10th endorsement._ headquarters dept. of texas, military secretary's office, san antonio, september 23, 1905. respectfully referred to the commanding officer, fort sill, oklahoma territory, who will give the necessary instructions for carrying out the direction of the acting secretary of war contained in the 8th endorsement hereon. this paper will be shown and fully explained to mr. barrett, and then returned to these headquarters. by order of colonel hughes. (signed) geo. van horn moseley, 1st. lieut. 1st cavalry, aide-de-camp, acting military secretary. early in october i secured the services of an educated indian, asa deklugie, son of whoa, chief of the nedni apaches, as interpreter, and the work of compiling the book began. geronimo refused to talk when a stenographer was present, or to wait for corrections or questions when telling the story. each day he had in mind what he would tell and told it in a very clear, brief manner. he might prefer to talk at his own tepee, at asa deklugie's house, in some mountain dell, or as he rode in a swinging gallop across the prairie; wherever his fancy led him, there he told whatever he wished to tell and no more. on the day that he first gave any portion of his autobiography he would not be questioned about any details, nor would he add another word, but simply said, "write what i have spoken," and left us to remember and write the story without one bit of assistance. he would agree, however, to come on another day to my study, or any place designated by me, and listen to the reproduction (in apache) of what had been told, and at such times would answer all questions or add information wherever he could be convinced that it was necessary. he soon became so tired of book making that he would have abandoned the task but for the fact that he had agreed to tell the complete story. when he once gives his word, nothing will turn him from fulfilling his promise. a very striking illustration of this was furnished by him early in january, 1906. he had agreed to come to my study on a certain date, but at the appointed hour the interpreter came alone, and said that geronimo was very sick with cold and fever. he had come to tell me that we must appoint another date, as he feared the old warrior had an attack of pneumonia. it was a cold day and the interpreter drew a chair up to the grate to warm himself after the exposure of the long ride. just as he was seating himself he looked out of the window, then rose quickly, and without speaking pointed to a rapidly moving object coming our way. in a moment i recognized the old chief riding furiously (evidently trying to arrive as soon as the interpreter did), his horse flecked with foam and reeling from exhaustion. dismounting he came in and said in a hoarse whisper, "i promised to come. i am here." i explained to him that i had not expected him to come on such a stormy day, and that in his physical condition he must not try to work. he stood for some time, and then without speaking left the room, remounted his tired pony, and with bowed head faced ten long miles of cold north wind--he had kept his promise. when he had finished his story i submitted the manuscript to major charles w. taylor, eighteenth cavalry, commandant, fort sill, oklahoma, who gave me some valuable suggestions as to additional related information which i asked geronimo to give. in most cases the old chief gave the desired information, but in some instances he refused, stating his reasons for so doing. when the added information had been incorporated i submitted the manuscript to president roosevelt, from whose letter i quote: "this is a very interesting volume which you have in manuscript, but i would advise that you disclaim responsibility in all cases where the reputation of an individual is assailed." in accordance with that suggestion, i have appended notes throughout the book disclaiming responsibility for adverse criticisms of any persons mentioned by geronimo. on june 2d, 1906, i transmitted the complete manuscript to the war department. the following quotation is from the letter of transmission: "in accordance with endorsement number eight of the 'brief' submitted to me by the commanding officer of fort sill, which endorsement constituted the instructions of the department, i submit herewith manuscript of the autobiography of geronimo. "the manuscript has been submitted to the president, and at his suggestion i have disclaimed any responsibility for the criticisms (made by geronimo) of individuals mentioned." six weeks after the manuscript was forwarded, thomas c. barry, brigadier general, assistant to the chief of staff, sent to the president the following: "memorandum for the secretary of war. "subject: manuscript of the autobiography of geronimo. the paper herewith, which was referred to this office on july 6th, with instructions to report as to whether there is anything objectionable in it, is returned. "the manuscript is an interesting autobiography of a notable indian, made by himself. there are a number of passages which, from the departmental point of view, are decidedly objectionable. these are found on pages 73, 74, 90, 91, and 97, and are indicated by marginal lines in red. the entire manuscript appears in a way important as showing the indian side of a prolonged controversy, but it is believed that the document, either in whole or in part, should not receive the approval of the war department." the memorandum is published that the objections of the war department may be made known to the public. the objection is raised to the mention on pages seventy-three and seventy-four of the manuscript of an attack upon indians in a tent at apache pass or bowie, by u. s. soldiers. the statement of geronimo is, however, substantially confirmed by l. c. hughes, editor of _the star_, tucson, arizona. on pages ninety and ninety-one of the manuscript, geronimo criticised general crook. this criticism is simply geronimo's private opinion of general crook. we deem it a personal matter and leave it without comment, as it in no way concerns the history of the apaches. on page ninety-seven of the manuscript geronimo accuses general miles of bad faith. of course, general miles made the treaty with the apaches, but we know very well that he is not responsible for the way the government subsequently treated the prisoners of war. however, geronimo cannot understand this and fixes upon general miles the blame for what he calls unjust treatment. one could not expect the department of war to approve adverse criticisms of its own acts, but it is especially gratifying that such a liberal view has been taken of these criticisms, and also that such a frank statement of the merits of the autobiography is submitted in the memorandum. of course neither the president nor the war department is in any way responsible for what geronimo says; he has simply been granted the opportunity to state his own case as he sees it. the fact that geronimo has told the story in his own way is doubtless the only excuse necessary to offer for the many unconventional features of this work. part i the apaches geronimo chapter i origin of the apache indians in the beginning the world was covered with darkness. there was no sun, no day. the perpetual night had no moon or stars. there were, however, all manner of beasts and birds. among the beasts were many hideous, nameless monsters, as well as dragons, lions, tigers, wolves, foxes, beavers, rabbits, squirrels, rats, mice, and all manner of creeping things such as lizards and serpents. mankind could not prosper under such conditions, for the beasts and serpents destroyed all human offspring. all creatures had the power of speech and were gifted with reason. there were two tribes of creatures: the birds or the feathered tribe and the beasts. the former were organized under their chief, the eagle. these tribes often held councils, and the birds wanted light admitted. this the beasts repeatedly refused to do. finally the birds made war against the beasts. the beasts were armed with clubs, but the eagle had taught his tribe to use bows and arrows. the serpents were so wise that they could not all be killed. one took refuge in a perpendicular cliff of a mountain in arizona, and his eye (changed into a brilliant stone) may be seen in that rock to this day. the bears, when killed, would each be changed into several other bears, so that the more bears the feathered tribe killed, the more there were. the dragon could not be killed, either, for he was covered with four coats of horny scales, and the arrows would not penetrate these. one of the most hideous, vile monsters (nameless) was proof against arrows, so the eagle flew high up in the air with a round, white stone, and let it fall on this monster's head, killing him instantly. this was such a good service that the stone was called sacred. (a symbol of this stone is used in the tribal game of kah.[1]) they fought for many days, but at last the birds won the victory. after this war was over, although some evil beasts remained, the birds were able to control the councils, and light was admitted. then mankind could live and prosper. the eagle was chief in this good fight: therefore, his feathers were worn by man as emblems of wisdom, justice, and power. among the few human beings that were yet alive was a woman who had been blessed with many children, but these had always been destroyed by the beasts. if by any means she succeeded in eluding the others, the dragon, who was very wise and very evil, would come himself and eat her babes. after many years a son of the rainstorm was born to her and she dug for him a deep cave. the entrance to this cave she closed and over the spot built a camp fire. this concealed the babe's hiding place and kept him warm. every day she would remove the fire and descend into the cave, where the child's bed was, to nurse him; then she would return and rebuild the camp fire. frequently the dragon would come and question her, but she would say, "i have no more children; you have eaten all of them." when the child was larger he would not always stay in the cave, for he sometimes wanted to run and play. once the dragon saw his tracks. now this perplexed and enraged the old dragon, for he could not find the hiding place of the boy; but he said that he would destroy the mother if she did not reveal the child's hiding place. the poor mother was very much troubled; she could not give up her child, but she knew the power and cunning of the dragon, therefore she lived in constant fear. soon after this the boy said that he wished to go hunting. the mother would not give her consent. she told him of the dragon, the wolves, and the serpents; but he said, "to-morrow i go." at the boy's request his uncle (who was the only man then living) made a little bow and some arrows for him, and the two went hunting the next day. they trailed the deer far up the mountain and finally the boy killed a buck. his uncle showed him how to dress the deer and broil the meat. they broiled two hind quarters, one for the child and one for his uncle. when the meat was done they placed it on some bushes to cool. just then the huge form of the dragon appeared. the child was not afraid, but his uncle was so dumb with fright that he did not speak or move. the dragon took the boy's parcel of meat and went aside with it. he placed the meat on another bush and seated himself beside it. then he said, "this is the child i have been seeking. boy, you are nice and fat, so when i have eaten this venison i shall eat you." the boy said, "no, you shall not eat me, and you shall not eat that meat." so he walked over to where the dragon sat and took the meat back to his own seat. the dragon said, "i like your courage, but you are foolish; what do you think you could do?" "well," said the boy, "i can do enough to protect myself, as you may find out." then the dragon took the meat again, and then the boy retook it. four times in all the dragon took the meat, and after the fourth time the boy replaced the meat he said, "dragon, will you fight me?" the dragon said, "yes, in whatever way you like." the boy said, "i will stand one hundred paces distant from you and you may have four shots at me with your bow and arrows, provided that you will then exchange places with me and give me four shots." "good," said the dragon. "stand up." [illustration: dressed as in days of old] then the dragon took his bow, which was made of a large pine tree. he took four arrows from his quiver; they were made of young pine tree saplings, and each arrow was twenty feet in length. he took deliberate aim, but just as the arrow left the bow the boy made a peculiar sound and leaped into the air. immediately the arrow was shivered into a thousand splinters, and the boy was seen standing on the top of a bright rainbow over the spot where the dragon's aim had been directed. soon the rainbow was gone and the boy was standing on the ground again. four times this was repeated, then the boy said, "dragon, stand here; it is my time to shoot." the dragon said, "all right; your little arrows cannot pierce my first coat of horn, and i have three other coats--shoot away." the boy shot an arrow, striking the dragon just over the heart, and one coat of the great horny scales fell to the ground. the next shot another coat, and then another, and the dragon's heart was exposed. then the dragon trembled, but could not move. before the fourth arrow was shot the boy said, "uncle, you are dumb with fear; you have not moved; come here or the dragon will fall on you." his uncle ran toward him. then he sped the fourth arrow with true aim, and it pierced the dragon's heart. with a tremendous roar the dragon rolled down the mountain side--down four precipices into a cañon below. immediately storm clouds swept the mountains, lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain poured. when the rainstorm had passed, far down in the cañon below, they could see fragments of the huge body of the dragon lying among the rocks, and the bones of this dragon may still be found there. this boy's name was apache. usen[2] taught him how to prepare herbs for medicine, how to hunt, and how to fight. he was the first chief of the indians and wore the eagle's feathers as the sign of justice, wisdom, and power. to him, and to his people, as they were created, usen gave homes in the land of the west. footnotes: [1] see chapter iv. [2] usen is the apache word for god. it is used here because it implies the attributes of deity that are held in their primitive religion. "apache" means "enemy." chapter ii subdivisions of the apache tribe the apache indians are divided into six sub-tribes. to one of these, the be-don-ko-he, i belong. our tribe inhabited that region of mountainous country which lies west from the east line of arizona, and south from the headwaters of the gila river. east of us lived the chi-hen-ne (ojo caliente), (hot springs) apaches. our tribe never had any difficulty with them. victoria, their chief, was always a friend to me. he always helped our tribe when we asked him for help. he lost his life in the defense of the rights of his people. he was a good man and a brave warrior. his son charlie now lives here in this reservation with us. north of us lived the white mountain apaches. they were not always on the best of terms with our tribe, yet we seldom had any war with them. i knew their chief, hash-ka-ai-la, personally, and i considered him a good warrior. their range was next to that of the navajo indians, who were not of the same blood as the apaches. we held councils with all apache tribes, but never with the navajo indians. however, we traded with them and sometimes visited them. to the west of our country ranged the chi-e-a-hen apaches. they had two chiefs within my time, co-si-to and co-da-hoo-yah. they were friendly, but not intimate with our tribe. south of us lived the cho-kon-en (chiricahua) apaches, whose chief in the old days was co-chise, and later his son, naiche. this tribe was always on the most friendly terms with us. we were often in camp and on the trail together. naiche, who was my companion in arms, is now my companion in bondage. to the south and west of us lived the ned-ni apaches. their chief was whoa, called by the mexicans capitan whoa. they were our firm friends. the land of this tribe lies partly in old mexico and partly in arizona.[3] whoa and i often camped and fought side by side as brothers. my enemies were his enemies, my friends his friends. he is dead now, but his son asa is interpreting this story for me. still the four tribes (bedonkohe, chokonen, chihenne, and nedni), who were fast friends in the days of freedom, cling together as they decrease in number. only the destruction of all our people would dissolve our bonds of friendship. [illustration: naiche (natches), son of cohise. hereditary chief of the chiricahua apaches. naiche was geronimo's lieutenant during the protracted wars in arizona.] we are vanishing from the earth, yet i cannot think we are useless or usen would not have created us. he created all tribes of men and certainly had a righteous purpose in creating each. for each tribe of men usen created he also made a home. in the land created for any particular tribe he placed whatever would be best for the welfare of that tribe. when usen created the apaches he also created their homes in the west. he gave to them such grain, fruits, and game as they needed to eat. to restore their health when disease attacked them he made many different herbs to grow. he taught them where to find these herbs, and how to prepare them for medicine. he gave them a pleasant climate and all they needed for clothing and shelter was at hand. thus it was in the beginning: the apaches and their homes each created for the other by usen himself. when they are taken from these homes they sicken and die. how long[4] will it be until it is said, there are no apaches? footnotes: [3] the boundary lines established at different times between mexico and the united states did not conform to the boundary lines of these apache tribes, of course, and the indians soon saw and took advantage of the international questions arising from the conflicting interests of the two governments. [4] the apache indians held prisoners of war are greatly decreasing in numbers. there seems to be no particular cause, but nevertheless their numbers grow smaller. chapter iii early life i was born in no-doyohn cañon, arizona, june, 1829. in that country which lies around the headwaters of the gila river i was reared. this range was our fatherland; among these mountains our wigwams were hidden; the scattered valleys contained our fields; the boundless prairies, stretching away on every side, were our pastures; the rocky caverns were our burying places. i was fourth[5] in a family of eight children--four boys and four girls. of that family, only myself, my brother, porico (white horse), and my sister, nah-da-ste, are yet alive. we are held as prisoners of war in this military reservation (fort sill). as a babe i rolled on the dirt floor of my father's tepee, hung in my tsoch (apache name for cradle) at my mother's back, or suspended from the bough of a tree. i was warmed by the sun, rocked by the winds, and sheltered by the trees as other indian babes. when a child my mother taught me the legends of our people; taught me of the sun and sky,' the moon and stars, the clouds and storms. she also taught me to kneel and pray to usen for strength, health, wisdom, and protection. we never prayed against any person, but if we had aught against any individual we ourselves took vengeance. we were taught that usen does not care for the petty quarrels of men. [illustration: last of the bedonkohe apache tribe tuklonnen nadeste nah-ta-neal porico (white horse)] my father had often told me of the brave deeds of our warriors, of the pleasures of the chase, and the glories of the warpath. with my brothers and sisters i played about my father's home. sometimes we played at hide-and-seek among the rocks and pines; sometimes we loitered in the shade of the cottonwood trees or sought the shudock (a kind of wild cherry) while our parents worked in the field. sometimes we played that we were warriors. we would practice stealing upon some object that represented an enemy, and in our childish imitation often perform the feats of war. sometimes we would hide away from our mother to see if she could find us, and often when thus concealed go to sleep and perhaps remain hidden for many hours. when we were old enough to be of real service we went to the field with our parents: not to play, but to toil. when the crops were to be planted we broke the ground with wooden hoes. we planted the corn in straight rows, the beans among the corn, and the melons and pumpkins in irregular order over the field. we cultivated these crops as there was need. our field usually contained about two acres of ground. the fields were never fenced. it was common for many families to cultivate land in the same valley and share the burden of protecting the growing crops from destruction by the ponies of the tribe, or by deer and other wild animals. melons were gathered as they were consumed. in the autumn pumpkins and beans were gathered and placed in bags or baskets; ears of corn were tied together by the husks, and then the harvest was carried on the backs of ponies up to our homes. here the corn was shelled, and all the harvest stored away in caves or other secluded places to be used in winter. we never fed corn to our ponies, but if we kept them up in the winter time we gave them fodder to eat. we had no cattle or other domestic animals except our dogs and ponies. we did not cultivate tobacco, but found it growing wild. this we cut and cured in autumn, but if the supply ran out the leaves from the stalks left standing served our purpose. all indians smoked[6]--men and women. no boy was allowed to smoke until he had hunted alone and killed large game--wolves and bears. unmarried women were not prohibited from smoking, but were considered immodest if they did so. nearly all matrons smoked. besides grinding the corn (by hand with stone mortars and pestles) for bread, we sometimes crushed it and soaked it, and after it had fermented made from this juice a "tis-win," which had the power of intoxication, and was very highly prized by the indians. this work was done by the squaws and children. when berries or nuts were to be gathered the small children and the squaws would go in parties to hunt them, and sometimes stay all day. when they went any great distance from camp they took ponies to carry the baskets. i frequently went with these parties, and upon one of these excursions a woman named cho-ko-le got lost from the party and was riding her pony through a thicket in search of her friends. her little dog was following as she slowly made her way through the thick underbrush and pine trees. all at once a grizzly bear rose in her path and attacked the pony. she jumped off and her pony escaped, but the bear attacked her, so she fought him the best she could with her knife. her little dog, by snapping at the bear's heels and detracting his attention from the woman, enabled her for some time to keep pretty well out of his reach. finally the grizzly struck her over the head, tearing off almost her whole scalp. she fell, but did not lose consciousness, and while prostrate struck him four good licks with her knife, and he retreated. after he had gone she replaced her torn scalp and bound it up as best she could, then she turned deathly sick and had to lie down. that night her pony came into camp with his load of nuts and berries, but no rider. the indians hunted for her, but did not find her until the second day. they carried her home, and under the treatment of their medicine men all her wounds were healed. [illustration: work stock in apache corral] the indians knew what herbs to use for medicine, how to prepare them, and how to give the medicine. this they had been taught by usen in the beginning, and each succeeding generation had men who were skilled in the art of healing. in gathering the herbs, in preparing them, and in administering the medicine, as much faith was held in prayer as in the actual effect of the medicine. usually about eight persons worked together in making medicine, and there were forms of prayer and incantations to attend each stage of the process. four attended to the incantations and four to the preparation of the herbs. some of the indians were skilled in cutting out bullets, arrow heads, and other missiles with which warriors were wounded. i myself have done much of this, using a common dirk or butcher knife.[7] small children wore very little clothing in winter and none in the summer. women usually wore a primitive skirt, which consisted of a piece of cotton cloth fastened about the waist, and extending to the knees. men wore breech cloths and moccasins. in winter they had shirts and leggings in addition. frequently when the tribe was in camp a number of boys and girls, by agreement, would steal away and meet at a place several miles distant, where they could play all day free from tasks. they were never punished for these frolics; but if their hiding places were discovered they were ridiculed. footnotes: [5] four is a magic number with the bedonkohe apaches. the dragon had four coats of scales; he took little apache's meat four times; they (the dragon and apache) exchanged four shots--the dragon rolled down four precipices. there are four moccasins used in the tribal game of kah, and only four plays that can be made. a boy must accompany the warriors four times on the warpath before he can be admitted to the council. geronimo is the fourth of a family of four boys and four girls. he has had four wives that were full-blood bedonkohe apaches, and four that were part bedonkohe apache and part other apache blood. four of his children have been killed by mexicans and four have been held in bondage by the u. s. government. he firmly believes in destiny and in the magic of the number four. besides geronimo, only four full-blood bedonkohe apaches are now living. they are porico (white horse), nah-da-ste, moh-ta-neal, and to-klon-nen. [6] the apaches did not smoke the peace pipe, unless it was proposed by some other indians. they had no large pipes; in fact, they usually smoked cigarettes made by rolling the tobacco in wrappers of oak leaves. [7] the only foundation for the statement, frequently made, that geronimo was a medicine man. chapter iv tribal amusements, manners, and customs to celebrate each noted event a feast and dance would be given. perhaps only our own people, perhaps neighboring tribes would be invited. these festivities usually lasted for about four days. by day we feasted, by night under the direction of some chief we danced. the music for our dance was singing led by the warriors, and accompanied by beating the esadadedne (buckskin-on-a-hoop). no words were sung--only the tones. when the feasting and dancing were over we would have horse races, foot races, wrestling, jumping, and all sorts of games (gambling). among these games the most noted was the tribal game of kah (foot). it is played as follows: four moccasins are placed about four feet apart in holes in the ground, dug in a row on one side of the camp, and on the opposite side a similar parallel row. at night a camp fire is started between these two rows of moccasins, and the players are arranged on sides, one or any number on each side. the score is kept by a bundle of sticks, from which each side takes a stick for every point won. first one side takes the bone (a symbol of the white rock used by the eagle in slaying the nameless monster--see chapter i), puts up blankets between the four moccasins and the fire so that the opposing team cannot observe their movements, and then begin to sing the legends of creation. the side having the bone represents the feathered tribe, the opposite side represents the beasts. the players representing the birds do all the singing, and while singing hide the bone in one of the moccasins, then the blankets are thrown down. they continue to sing, but as soon as the blankets are thrown down the chosen player from the opposing team, armed with a war club, comes to their side of the camp fire and with his club strikes the moccasin in which he thinks the bone is hidden. if he strikes the right moccasin, his side gets the bone, and in turn represents the birds, while the opposing team must keep quiet and guess in turn. there are only four plays; three that lose and one that wins. when all the sticks are gone from the bundle the side having the largest number of sticks is counted winner. this game is seldom played except as a gambling game, but for that purpose it is the most popular game known to the tribe. usually the game lasts four or five hours. it is never played in daytime. after the games are all finished the visitors say, "we are satisfied," and the camp is broken up. i was always glad when the dances and feasts were announced. so were all the other young people. our life also had a religious side. we had no churches, no religious organizations, no sabbath day, no holidays, and yet we worshiped. sometimes the whole tribe would assemble to sing and pray; sometimes a smaller number, perhaps only two or three. the songs had a few words, but were not formal. the singer would occasionally put in such words as he wished instead of the usual tone sound. sometimes we prayed in silence; sometimes each one prayed aloud; sometimes an aged person prayed for all of us. at other times one would rise and speak to us of our duties[8] to each other and to usen. our services were short. when disease or pestilence abounded we were assembled and questioned by our leaders to ascertain what evil we had done, and how usen could be satisfied. sometimes sacrifice was deemed necessary. sometimes the offending one was punished. if an apache had allowed his aged parents to suffer for food or shelter, if he had neglected or abused the sick, if he had profaned our religion, or had been unfaithful, he might be banished from the tribe. the apaches had no prisons as white men have. instead of sending their criminals into prison they sent them out of their tribe. these faithless, cruel, lazy, or cowardly members of the tribe were excluded in such a manner that they could not join any other tribe. neither could they have any protection from our unwritten tribal laws. frequently these outlaw indians banded together and committed depredations which were charged against the regular tribe. however, the life of an outlaw indian was a hard lot, and their bands never became very large; besides, these bands frequently provoked the wrath of the tribe and secured their own destruction. [illustration: the conquered weapon] when i was about eight or ten years old i began to follow the chase, and to me this was never work. out on the prairies, which ran up to our mountain homes, wandered herds of deer, antelope, elk, and buffalo, to be slaughtered when we needed them. usually we hunted buffalo on horseback, killing them with arrows and spears. their skins were used to make tepees and bedding; their flesh, to eat. it required more skill to hunt the deer than any other animal. we never tried to approach a deer except against the wind. frequently we would spend hours in stealing upon grazing deer. if they were in the open we would crawl long distances on the ground, keeping a weed or brush before us, so that our approach would not be noticed. often we could kill several out of one herd before the others would run away. their flesh was dried and packed in vessels, and would keep in this condition for many months. the hide of the deer was soaked in water and ashes and the hair removed, and then the process of tanning continued until the buckskin was soft and pliable. perhaps no other animal was more valuable to us than the deer. in the forests and along the streams were many wild turkeys. these we would drive to the plains, then slowly ride up toward them until they were almost tired out. when they began to drop and hide we would ride in upon them and by swinging from the side of our horses, catch them. if one started to fly we would ride swiftly under him and kill him with a short stick, or hunting club. in this way we could usually get as many wild turkeys as we could carry home on a horse. there were many rabbits in our range, and we also hunted them on horseback. our horses were trained to follow the rabbit at full speed, and as they approached them we would swing from one side of the horse and strike the rabbit with our hunting club. if he was too far away we would throw the stick and kill him. this was great sport when we were boys, but as warriors we seldom hunted small game. there were many fish in the streams, but as we did not eat them, we did not try to catch or kill them. small boys sometimes threw stones at them or shot at them for practice with their bows and arrows. usen did not intend snakes, frogs, or fishes to be eaten. i have never eaten of them. there were many eagles in the mountains. these we hunted for their feathers. it required great skill to steal upon an eagle, for besides having sharp eyes, he is wise and never stops at any place where he does not have a good view of the surrounding country. i have killed many bears with a spear, but was never injured in a fight with one. i have killed several mountain lions with arrows, and one with a spear. both bears and mountain lions are good for food and valuable for their skin. when we killed them we carried them home on our horses. we often made quivers for our arrows from the skin of the mountain lion. these were very pretty and very durable. during my minority we had never seen a missionary or a priest. we had never seen a white man. thus quietly lived the be-don-ko-he apaches. footnote: [8] the apaches recognized no duties to any man outside their tribe. it was no sin to kill enemies or to rob them. however, if they accepted any favor from a stranger, or allowed him to share their comforts in any way, he became (by adoption) related to the tribe and they must recognize their duty to him. chapter v the family my grandfather, maco, had been our chief. i never saw him, but my father often told me of the great size, strength, and sagacity of this old warrior. their principal wars had been with the mexicans. they had some wars with other tribes of indians also, but were seldom at peace for any great length of time with the mexican towns. maco died when my father was but a young warrior, and mangus-colorado[9] became chief of the bedonkohe apaches. when i was but a small boy my father died, after having been sick for some time. when he passed away, carefully the watchers closed his eyes, then they arrayed him in his best clothes, painted his face afresh, wrapped a rich blanket around him, saddled his favorite horse, bore his arms in front of him, and led his horse behind, repeating in wailing tones his deeds of valor as they carried his body to a cave in the mountain. then they slew his horses, and we gave away all of his other property,[10] as was customary in our tribe, after which his body was deposited in the cave, his arms beside him. his grave is hidden by piles of stone. wrapped in splendor he lies in seclusion, and the winds in the pines sing a low requiem over the dead warrior. after my father's death i assumed the care of my mother. she never married again, although according to the customs of our tribe she might have done so immediately after his death. usually, however, the widow who has children remains single after her husband's death for two or three years; but the widow without children marries again immediately. after a warrior's death his widow returns to her people and may be given away or sold by her father or brothers. my mother chose to live with me, and she never desired to marry again. we lived near our old home and i supported her. in 1846, being seventeen years of age, i was admitted to the council of the warriors. then i was very happy, for i could go wherever i wanted and do whatever i liked. i had not been under the control of any individual, but the customs of our tribe prohibited me from sharing the glories of the warpath until the council admitted me. when opportunity offered, after this, i could go on the warpath with my tribe. this would be glorious. i hoped soon to serve my people in battle. i had long desired to fight with our warriors. perhaps the greatest joy to me was that now i could marry the fair alope, daughter of no-po-so. she was a slender, delicate girl, but we had been lovers for a long time. so, as soon as the council granted me these privileges i went to see her father concerning our marriage. perhaps our love was of no interest to him; perhaps he wanted to keep alope with him, for she was a dutiful daughter; at any rate he asked many ponies for her. i made no reply, but in a few days appeared before his wigwam with the herd of ponies and took with me alope. this was all the marriage ceremony necessary in our tribe. not far from my mother's tepee i had made for us a new home. the tepee was made of buffalo hides and in it were many bear robes, lion hides, and other trophies of the chase, as well as my spears, bows, and arrows. alope had made many little decorations of beads[11] and drawn work on buckskin, which she placed in our tepee. she also drew many pictures on the walls of our home. she was a good wife, but she was never strong. we followed the traditions of our fathers and were happy. three children came to us--children that played, loitered, and worked as i had done. [illustration: apache princess daughter of naiche, chief of the chiricahua apaches] footnotes: [9] maco was chief of the nedni apaches. his son (geronimo's father) had married a bedonkohe apache (geronimo's mother) and joined her tribe, thereby losing his right to rule by heredity. by this it will be seen geronimo could not become chief by hereditary right, although his grandfather was a chieftain. it is also shown that geronimo's father could not be chief, hence the accession of mangus-colorado. [10] the apaches will not keep any of the property of a deceased relative. their unwritten tribal laws forbid it, because they think that otherwise the children or other relatives of one who had much property might be glad when their father or relatives died. [11] beads were obtained from the mexicans. the apaches also got money from the mexicans, but deemed it of no value, and either gave it to their children to play with or threw it away. part ii the mexicans chapter vi kas-ki-yeh _part i--the massacre_ in the summer of 1858, being at peace with the mexican towns as well as with all the neighboring indian tribes, we went south into old mexico to trade. our whole tribe (bedonkohe apaches) went through sonora toward casa grande, our destination, but just before reaching that place we stopped at another mexican town called by the indians "kas-ki-yeh." here we stayed for several days, camping just outside the city. every day we would go into town to trade, leaving our camp under the protection of a small guard so that our arms, supplies, and women and children would not be disturbed during our absence. late one afternoon when returning from town we were met by a few women and children who told us that mexican troops from some other town had attacked our camp, killed all the warriors of the guard, captured all our ponies, secured our arms, destroyed our supplies, and killed many of our women and children. quickly we separated, concealing ourselves as best we could until nightfall, when we assembled at our appointed place of rendezvous--a thicket by the river. silently we stole in one by one: sentinels were placed, and, when all were counted, i found that my aged mother, my young wife, and my three small children were among the slain. there were no lights in camp, so without being noticed i silently turned away and stood by the river. how long i stood there i do not know, but when i saw the warriors arranging for a council i took my place. that night i did not give my vote for or against any measure; but it was decided that as there were only eighty warriors left, and as we were without arms or supplies, and were furthermore surrounded by the mexicans far inside their own territory, we could not hope to fight successfully. so our chief, mangus-colorado, gave the order to start at once in perfect silence for our homes in arizona, leaving the dead upon the field. i stood until all had passed, hardly knowing what i would do--i had no weapon, nor did i hardly wish to fight, neither did i contemplate recovering the bodies of my loved ones, for that was forbidden. i did not pray, nor did i resolve to do anything in particular, for i had no purpose left. i finally followed the tribe silently, keeping just within hearing distance of the soft noise of the feet of the retreating apaches. the next morning some of the indians killed a small amount of game and we halted long enough for the tribe to cook and eat, when the march was resumed. i had killed no game, and did not eat. during the first march as well as while we were camped at this place i spoke to no one and no one spoke to me--there was nothing to say. for two days and three nights we were on forced marches, stopping only for meals, then we made a camp near the mexican border, where we rested two days. here i took some food and talked with the other indians who had lost in the massacre, but none had lost as i had, for i had lost all. within a few days we arrived at our own settlement. there were the decorations that alope had made--and there were the playthings of our little ones. i burned[12] them all, even our tepee. i also burned my mother's tepee and destroyed all her property. i was never again contented in our quiet home. true, i could visit my father's grave, but i had vowed vengeance upon the mexican troopers who had wronged me, and whenever i came near his grave or saw anything to remind me of former happy days my heart would ache for revenge upon mexico. [illustration: geronimo nanne ozone chihuahua loco] _part ii--revenge_ as soon as we had again collected some arms and supplies mangus-colorado, our chief, called a council and found that all our warriors were willing to take the warpath against mexico. i was appointed to solicit the aid of other tribes in this war. when i went to the chokonen (chiricahua) apaches, cochise, their chief, called a council at early dawn. silently the warriors assembled at an open place in a mountain dell and took their seats on the ground, arranged in rows according to their ranks. silently they sat smoking. at a signal from the chief i arose and presented my cause as follows: "kinsman, you have heard what the mexicans have recently done without cause. you are my relatives--uncles, cousins, brothers. we are men the same as the mexicans are--we can do to them what they have done to us. let us go forward and trail them--i will lead you to their city--we will attack them in their homes. i will fight in the front of the battle--i only ask you to follow me to avenge this wrong done by these mexicans--will you come? it is well--you will all come. "remember the rule in war--men may return or they may be killed. if any of these young men are killed i want no blame from their kinsmen, for they themselves have chosen to go. if i am killed no one need mourn for me. my people have all been killed in that country, and i, too, will die if need be." i returned to my own settlement, reported this success to my chieftain, and immediately departed to the southward into the land of the nedni apaches. their chief, whoa, heard me without comment, but he immediately issued orders for a council, and when all were ready gave a sign that i might speak. i addressed them as i had addressed the chokonen tribe, and they also promised to help us. it was in the summer of 1859, almost a year from the date of the massacre of kaskiyeh, that these three tribes were assembled on the mexican border to go upon the warpath. their faces were painted, the war bands[13] fastened upon their brows, their long scalp-locks[14] ready for the hand and knife of the warrior who could overcome them. their families had been hidden away in a mountain rendezvous near the mexican border. with these families a guard was posted, and a number of places of rendezvous designated in case the camp should be disturbed. when all were ready the chieftains gave command to go forward. none of us were mounted and each warrior wore moccasins and also a cloth wrapped about his loins. this cloth could be spread over him when he slept, and when on the march would be ample protection as clothing. in battle, if the fight was hard, we did not wish much clothing. each warrior carried three days' rations, but as we often killed game while on the march, we seldom were without food. we traveled in three divisions: the bedonkohe apaches led by mangus-colorado, the chokonen apaches by cochise, and the nedni apaches by whoa; however, there was no regular order inside the separate tribes. we usually marched about fourteen hours per day, making three stops for meals and traveling forty to forty-five miles a day. i acted as guide into mexico, and we followed the river courses and mountain ranges because we could better thereby keep our movements concealed. we entered sonora and went southward past quitaco, nacozari, and many smaller settlements. [illustration: naiche, his mother, his two wives and his children] when we were almost at arispe we camped, and eight men rode out from the city to parley with us. these we captured, killed, and scalped. this was to draw the troops from the city, and the next day they came. the skirmishing lasted all day without a general engagement, but just at night we captured their supply train, so we had plenty of provisions and some more guns. that night we posted sentinels and did not move our camp, but rested quietly all night, for we expected heavy work the next day. early the next morning the warriors were assembled to pray--not for help, but that they might have health and avoid ambush or deceptions by the enemy. as we had anticipated, about ten o'clock in the morning the whole mexican force came out. there were two companies of cavalry and two of infantry. i recognized the cavalry as the soldiers who had killed my people at kaskiyeh. this i told to the chieftains, and they said that i might direct the battle. i was no chief and never had been, but because i had been more deeply wronged than others, this honor was conferred upon me, and i resolved to prove worthy of the trust. i arranged the indians in a hollow circle near the river, and the mexicans drew their infantry up in two lines, with the cavalry in reserve. we were in the timber, and they advanced until within about four hundred yards, when they halted and opened fire. soon i led a charge against them, at the same time sending some braves to attack their rear. in all the battle i thought of my murdered mother, wife, and babies--of my father's grave and my vow of vengeance, and i fought with fury. many fell by my hand, and constantly i led the advance. many braves were killed. the battle lasted about two hours. at the last four indians were alone in the center of the field--myself and three other warriors. our arrows were all gone, our spears broken off in the bodies of dead enemies. we had only our hands and knives with which to fight, but all who had stood against us were dead. then two armed soldiers came upon us from another part of the field. they shot down two of our men and we, the remaining two, fled toward our own warriors. my companion was struck down by a saber, but i reached our warriors, seized a spear, and turned. the one who pursued me missed his aim and fell by my spear. with his saber i met the trooper who had killed my companion and we grappled and fell. i killed him with my knife and quickly rose over his body, brandishing his saber, seeking for other troopers to kill. there were none. but the apaches had seen. over the bloody field, covered with the bodies of mexicans, rang the fierce apache war-whoop. still covered with the blood of my enemies, still holding my conquering weapon, still hot with the joy of battle, victory, and vengeance, i was surrounded by the apache braves and made war chief of all the apaches. then i gave orders for scalping the slain.[15] i could not call back my loved ones, i could not bring back the dead apaches, but i could rejoice in this revenge. the apaches had avenged the massacre of "kas-ki-yeh." footnotes: [12] according to custom he should not have kept the property of his deceased relatives, but he was not compelled to destroy his own tepee or the playthings of his children. [13] strips of buckskin about two inches wide fastened around the head. [14] at this time the mexican government offered a reward in gold for apache scalps--one hundred dollars for warrior's scalp, fifty dollars for squaw's scalp, and twenty-five dollars for child's scalp. [15] from the moment the command for war is given with the apaches everything assumes a religious guise. the manner of camping, cooking, etc., are exactly prescribed. every object appertaining to war is called by its sacred name; as if, for instance, in english, one should say not horse, but war-horse or charger; not arrow, but missile of death. the indian is not called by his ordinary name, but by a sacred name to which is subjoined "brave" or "chief" as the case may be. geronimo's indian name was go khlä yeh, but the mexicans at this battle called him geronimo, a name he has borne ever since both among the indians and white men. chapter vii fighting under difficulties all the other apaches were satisfied after the battle of "kaskiyeh," but i still desired more revenge. for several months we were busy with the chase and other peaceful pursuits. finally i succeeded in persuading two others warriors, ah-koch-ne and ko-deh-ne, to go with me to invade the mexican country. we left our[16] families with the tribe and went on the warpath. we were on foot and carried three days' rations. we entered mexico on the north line of sonora and followed the sierra de antunez mountains to the south end of the range. here we decided to attack a small village. (i do not know the name of this village.) at daylight we approached from the mountains. five horses were hitched outside. we advanced cautiously, but just before we reached the horses the mexicans opened fire from the houses. my two companions were killed. mexicans swarmed on every side; some were mounted; some were on foot, and all seemed to be armed. three times that day i was surrounded, but i kept fighting, dodging, and hiding. several times during the day while in concealment i had a chance to take deliberate aim at some mexican, who, gun in hand, was looking for me. i do not think i missed my aim either time. with the gathering darkness i found more time to retreat toward arizona. but the mexicans did not quit the chase. several times the next day mounted mexicans tried to head me off; many times they fired on me, but i had no more arrows; so i depended upon running and hiding, although i was very tired. i had not eaten since the chase began, nor had i dared to stop for rest. the second night i got clear of my pursuers, but i never slackened my pace until i reached our home in arizona. i came into our camp without booty, without my companions, exhausted, but not discouraged. the wives and children of my two dead companions were cared for by their people. some of the apaches blamed me for the evil result of the expedition, but i said nothing. having failed, it was only proper that i should remain silent. but my feelings toward the mexicans did not change--i still hated them and longed for revenge. i never ceased to plan for their punishment, but it was hard to get the other warriors to listen to my proposed raids. in a few months after this last adventure i persuaded two other warriors to join me in raiding the mexican frontier. on our former raid we had gone through the nedni apaches' range into sonora. this time we went through the country of the cho-kon-en and entered the sierra madre mountains. we traveled south, secured more rations, and prepared to begin our raids. we had selected a village near the mountains which we intended to attack at daylight. while asleep that night mexican scouts discovered our camp and fired on us, killing one warrior. in the morning we observed a company of mexican troops coming from the south. they were mounted and carried supplies for a long journey. we followed their trail until we were sure that they were headed for our range in arizona; then we hurried past them and in three days reached our own settlement. we arrived at noon, and that afternoon, about three o'clock, these mexican troops attacked our settlement. their first volley killed three small boys. many of the warriors of our tribe were away from home, but the few of us who were in camp were able to drive the troops out of the mountains before night. we killed eight mexicans and lost five--two warriors and three boys. the mexicans rode due south in full retreat. four warriors were detailed to follow them, and in three days these trailers returned, saying that the mexican cavalry had left arizona, going southward. we were quite sure they would not return soon. soon after this (in the summer of 1860) i was again able to take the warpath against the mexicans, this time with twenty-five warriors. we followed the trail of the mexican troops last mentioned and entered the sierra de sahuaripa mountains. the second day in these mountains our scouts discovered mounted mexican troops. there was only one company of cavalry in this command, and i thought that by properly surprising them we could defeat them. we ambushed the trail over which they were to come. this was at a place where the whole company must pass through a mountain defile. we reserved fire until all of the troops had passed through; then the signal was given. the mexican troopers, seemingly without a word of command, dismounted, and placing their horses on the outside of the company, for breastworks, made a good fight against us. i saw that we could not dislodge them without using all our ammunition, so i led a charge. the warriors suddenly pressed in from all sides and we fought hand to hand. during this encounter i raised my spear to kill a mexican soldier just as he leveled his gun at me; i was advancing rapidly, and my foot slipping in a pool of blood, i fell under the mexican trooper. he struck me over the head with the butt of his gun, knocking me senseless. just at that instant a warrior who followed in my footsteps killed the mexican with a spear. in a few minutes not a mexican soldier was left alive. when the apache war-cry had died away, and their enemies had been scalped, they began to care for their dead and wounded. i was found lying unconscious where i had fallen. they bathed my head in cold water and restored me to consciousness. then they bound up my wound and the next morning, although weak from loss of blood and suffering from a severe headache, i was able to march on the return to arizona. i did not fully recover for months, and i still wear the scar given me by that musketeer. in this fight we had lost so heavily that there really was no glory in our victory, and we returned to arizona. no one seemed to want to go on the warpath again that year. in the summer (1861) with twelve warriors i again went into mexico. we entered chihuahua and followed south on the east side of the sierra madre mountains four days' journey; then crossed over to the sierra de sahuaripa range, not far east of casa grande. here we rested one day, and sent out scouts to reconnoiter. they reported pack trains camped five miles west of us. the next morning just at daybreak, as these drivers were starting with their mule pack train, we attacked them. they rode away for their lives, leaving us the booty. the mules were loaded with provisions, most of which we took home. two mules were loaded with side-meat or bacon;[17] this we threw away. we started to take these pack trains home, going northward through sonora, but when near casita, mexican troops overtook us. it was at daybreak and we were just finishing our breakfast. we had no idea that we had been pursued or that our enemies were near until they opened fire. at the first volley a bullet struck me a glancing lick just at the lower corner of the left eye and i fell unconscious. all the other indians fled to cover. the mexicans, thinking me dead, started in pursuit of the fleeing indians. in a few moments i regained consciousness and had started at full speed for the woods when another company coming up opened fire on me. then the soldiers who had been chasing the other indians turned, and i stood between two hostile companies, but i did not stand long. bullets whistled in every direction and at close range to me. one inflicted a slight flesh wound on my side, but i kept running, dodging, and fighting, until i got clear of my pursuers. i climbed up a steep cañon, where the cavalry could not follow. the troopers saw me, but did not dismount and try to follow. i think they were wise not to come on. it had been understood that in case of surprise with this booty, our place of rendezvous should be the santa bita mountains in arizona. we did not reassemble in mexico, but traveled separately and in three days we were encamped in our place of rendezvous. from this place we returned home empty-handed. we had not even a partial victory to report. i again returned wounded, but i was not yet discouraged. again i was blamed by our people, and again i had no reply. after our return many of the warriors had gone on a hunt and some of them had gone north to trade for blankets from the navajo indians. i remained at home trying to get my wounds healed. one morning just at daybreak, when the squaws were lighting the camp fires to prepare breakfast, three companies of mexican troops who had surrounded our settlement in the night opened fire. there was no time for fighting. men, women, and children fled for their lives. many women and children and a few warriors were killed, and four women were captured. my left eye was still swollen shut, but with the other i saw well enough to hit one of the officers with an arrow, and then make good my escape among the rocks. the troopers burned our tepees and took our arms, provisions, ponies, and blankets. winter was at hand. there were not more than twenty warriors in camp at this time, and only a few of us had secured weapons during the excitement of the attack. a few warriors followed the trail of the troops as they went back to mexico with their booty, but were unable to offer battle. it was a long, long time before we were again able to go on the warpath against the mexicans. the four women who were captured at this time by the mexicans were taken into sonora, mexico, where they were compelled to work for the mexicans. after some years they escaped to the mountains and started to find our tribe. they had knives which they had stolen from the mexicans, but they had no other weapons. they had no blankets; so at night they would make a little tepee by cutting brush with their knives, and setting them up for the walls. the top was covered over with brush. in this temporary tepee they would all sleep. one night when their camp fire was low they heard growling just outside the tepee. francisco, the youngest woman of the party (about seventeen years of age), started to build up the fire, when a mountain lion crashed through the tepee and attacked her. the suddenness of the attack made her drop her knife, but she fought as best she could with her hand. she was no match for the lion, however; her left shoulder was crushed and partly torn away. the lion kept trying to catch her by the throat; this she prevented with her hands for a long time. he dragged her for about 300 yards, then she found her strength was failing her from loss of blood, and she called to the other women for help. the lion had been dragging her by one foot, and she had been catching hold of his legs, and of the rocks and underbrush, to delay him. finally he stopped and stood over her. she again called her companions and they attacked him with their knives and killed him. then they dressed her wounds and nursed her in the mountains for about a month. when she was again able to walk they resumed their journey and reached our tribe in safety. [illustration: asa deklugie, wife and children] this woman (francisco) was held as a prisoner of war with the other apaches and died on the fort sill reservation in 1892. her face was always disfigured with those scars and she never regained perfect use of her hands. the three older women died before we became prisoners of war. many women and children were carried away at different times by mexicans. not many of them ever returned, and those who did underwent many hardships in order to be again united with their people. those who did not escape were slaves to the mexicans, or perhaps even more degraded. when warriors were captured by the mexicans they were kept in chains. four warriors who were captured once at a place north of casa grande, called by the indians "honas," were kept in chains for a year and a half, when they were exchanged for mexicans whom we had captured. we never chained prisoners or kept them in confinement, but they seldom got away. mexican men when captured were compelled to cut wood and herd horses. mexican women and children[18] were treated as our own people. footnotes: [16] geronimo had married again. [17] they had never eaten bacon and did not learn to do so for a long time. even now they will not eat bacon or pork if they can get other meat. geronimo positively refuses to eat bacon or pork. [18] the interpreter, asa, son of whoa, remembers a little captive mexican girl who used to play with the apache children, but was finally exchanged. one of geronimo's wives and her child were killed at this time, and thenceforth until he became a prisoner of war he had two wives. he might have had as many wives as he wished, but he says that he was so busy fighting mexicans that he could not support more than two. chapter viii raids that were successful in the summer of 1862 i took eight men and invaded mexican territory. we went south on the west side of the sierra madre mountains for five days; then in the night crossed over to the southern part of the sierra de sahuaripa range. here we again camped to watch for pack trains. about ten o'clock next morning four drivers, mounted, came past our camp with a pack-mule train. as soon as they saw us they rode for their lives, leaving us the booty. this was a long train, and packed with blankets, calico, saddles, tinware, and loaf sugar. we hurried home as fast as we could with these provisions, and on our return while passing through a cañon in the santa catilina range of mountains in arizona, met a white man driving a mule pack train. when we first saw him he had already seen us, and was riding at full tilt up the cañon. we examined his train and found that his mules were all loaded with cheese. we put them in with the other train and resumed our journey. we did not attempt to trail the driver and i am sure he did not try to follow us. in two days we arrived at home. then mangus-colorado, our chief, assembled the tribe. we gave a feast, divided the spoils, and danced all night. some of the pack mules were killed and eaten. this time after our return we kept out scouts so that we would know if mexican troops should attempt to follow us. on the third day our scouts came into camp and reported mexican cavalry dismounted and approaching our settlement. all our warriors were in camp. mangus-colorado took command of one division and i of the other. we hoped to get possession of their horses, then surround the troops in the mountains, and destroy the whole company. this we were unable to do, for they, too, had scouts. however, within four hours after we started we had killed ten troopers with the loss of only one man, and the mexican cavalry was in full retreat, followed by thirty armed apaches, who gave them no rest until they were far inside the mexican country. no more troops came that winter. [illustration: apache scouts natchie goody john loco porico jasen capt. seyers hugh sam kelburn asa deklugie] for a long time we had plenty of provisions, plenty of blankets, and plenty of clothing. we also had plenty of cheese and sugar. another summer (1863) i selected three warriors and went on a raid into mexico. we went south into sonora, camping in the sierra de sahuaripa mountains. about forty miles west of casa grande is a small village in the mountains, called by the indians "crassanas." we camped near this place and concluded to make an attack. we had noticed that just at midday no one seemed to be stirring; so we planned to make our attack at the noon hour. the next day we stole into the town at noon. we had no guns, but were armed with spears and bows and arrows. when the war-whoop was given to open the attack the mexicans fled in every direction; not one of them made any attempt to fight us. we shot some arrows at the retreating mexicans, but killed only one. soon all was silent in the town and no mexicans could be seen. when we discovered that all the mexicans were gone we looked through their houses and saw many curious things. these mexicans kept many more kinds of property than the apaches did. many of the things we saw in the houses we could not understand, but in the stores we saw much that we wanted; so we drove in a herd of horses and mules, and packed as much provisions and supplies as we could on them. then we formed these animals into a pack train and returned safely to arizona. the mexicans did not even trail us. when we arrived in camp we called the tribe together and feasted all day. we gave presents to everyone. that night the dance began, and it did not cease until noon the next day. this was perhaps the most successful raid ever made by us into mexican territory. i do not know the value of the booty, but it was very great, for we had supplies enough to last our whole tribe for a year or more. in the fall of 1864 twenty warriors were willing to go with me on another raid into mexico. these were all chosen men, well armed and equipped for battle. as usual we provided for the safety of our families before starting on this raid. our whole tribe scattered and then reassembled at a camp about forty miles from the former place. in this way it would be hard for the mexicans to trail them and we would know where to find our families when we returned. moreover, if any hostile indians should see this large number of warriors leaving our range they might attack our camp, but if they found no one at the usual place their raid would fail. we went south through the chokonen apaches' range, entered sonora, mexico, at a point directly south of tombstone, arizona, and went into hiding in the sierra de antunez mountains. we attacked several settlements in the neighborhood and secured plenty of provisions and supplies. after about three days we attacked and captured a mule pack train at a place called by the indians "pontoco." it is situated in the mountains due west, about one day's journey[19] from arispe. there were three drivers with this train. one was killed and two escaped. the train was loaded with mescal,[20] which was contained in bottles held in wicker baskets. as soon as we made camp the indians began to get drunk and fight each other. i, too, drank enough mescal to feel the effect of it, but i was not drunk. i ordered the fighting stopped, but the order was disobeyed. soon almost a general fight was in progress. i tried to place a guard out around our camp, but all were drunk and refused to serve. i expected an attack from mexican troops at any moment, and really it was a serious matter for me, for being in command i would be held responsible for any ill luck attending the expedition. finally the camp became comparatively still, for the indians were too drunk to walk or even to fight. while they were in this stupor i poured out all the mescal, then i put out all the fires and moved the pack mules to a considerable distance from camp. after this i returned to camp to try to do something for the wounded. i found that only two were dangerously wounded. from the leg of one of these i cut an arrow head, and from the shoulder of another i withdrew a spear point. when all the wounds had been cared for, i myself kept guard till morning. the next day we loaded our wounded on the pack mules and started for arizona. the next day we captured come cattle from a herd and drove them home with us. but it was a very difficult matter to drive cattle when we were on foot. caring for the wounded and keeping the cattle from escaping made our journey tedious. but we were not trailed, and arrived safely at home with all the booty. we then gave a feast and dance, and divided the spoils. after the dance we killed all the cattle and dried the meat. we dressed the hides and then the dried meat was packed in between these hides and stored away. all that winter we had plenty of meat. these were the first cattle we ever had. as usual we killed and ate some of the mules. we had little use for mules, and if we could not trade them for something of value, we killed them. in the summer of 1865, with four warriors, i went again into mexico. heretofore we had gone on foot; we were accustomed to fight on foot; besides, we could more easily conceal ourselves when dismounted. but this time we wanted more cattle, and it was hard to drive them when we were on foot. we entered sonora at a point southwest from tombstone, arizona, and followed the sierra de antunez mountains to the southern limit, then crossed the country as far south as the mouth of yaqui river. here we saw a great lake[21] extending beyond the limit of sight. then we turned north, attacked several settlements, and secured plenty of supplies. when we had come back northwest of arispe we secured about sixty head of cattle, and drove them to our homes in arizona. we did not go directly home, but camped in different valleys with our cattle. we were not trailed. when we arrived at our camp the tribe was again assembled for feasting and dancing. presents were given to everybody; then the cattle were killed and the meat dried and packed. footnotes: [19] forty-five miles. [20] mescal is a fiery liquor produced in mexico from several species of agave. [21] gulf of california. chapter ix varying fortunes in the fall of 1865 with nine other warriors i went into mexico on foot. we attacked several settlements south of casa grande, and collected many horses and mules. we made our way northward with these animals through the mountains. when near arispe we made camp one evening, and thinking that we were not being trailed, turned loose the whole herd, even those we had been riding. they were in a valley surrounded by steep mountains, and we were camped at the mouth of this valley so that the animals could not leave without coming through our camp. just as we had begun to eat our supper our scouts came in and announced mexican troops coming toward our camp. we started for the horses, but troops that our scouts had not seen were on the cliffs above us, and opened fire. we scattered in all directions, and the troops recovered all our booty. in three days we reassembled at our appointed place of rendezvous in the sierra madre mountains in northern sonora. mexican troops did not follow us, and we returned to arizona without any more fighting and with no booty. again i had nothing to say, but i was anxious for another raid. early the next summer (1866) i took thirty mounted warriors and invaded mexican territory. we went south through chihuahua as far as santa cruz, sonora, then crossed over the sierra madre mountains, following the river course at the south end of the range. we kept on westward from the sierra madre mountains to the sierra de sahuripa mountains, and followed that range northward. we collected all the horses, mules, and cattle we wanted, and drove them northward through sonora into arizona. mexicans saw us at many times and in many places, but they did not attack us at any time, nor did any troops attempt to follow us. when we arrived at our homes we gave presents to all, and the tribe feasted and danced. during this raid we had killed about fifty mexicans. [illustration: three apache chieftains naiche, son of coche; asa, son of whoa; charley, son of victoria] next year (1867) mangus-colorado led eight warriors on a raid into mexico. i went as a warrior, for i was always glad to fight the mexicans. we rode south from near tombstone, arizona, into sonora, mexico. we attacked some cowboys, and after a fight with them, in which two of their number were killed, we drove all their cattle northward. the second day we were driving the cattle, but had no scouts out. when we were not far from arispe, mexican troops rode upon us. they were well armed and well mounted, and when we first saw them they were not half a mile away from us. we left the cattle and rode as hard as we could toward the mountains, but they gained on us rapidly. soon they opened fire, but were so far away from us that we were unable to reach them with our arrows; finally we reached some timber, and, leaving our ponies, fought from cover. then the mexicans halted, collected our ponies, and rode away across the plains toward arispe, driving the cattle with them. we stood and watched them until they disappeared in the distance, and then took up our march for home. we arrived home in five days with no victory to report, no spoils to divide, and not even the ponies which we had ridden into mexico. this expedition was considered disgraceful. the warriors who had been with mangus-colorado on this last expedition wanted to return to mexico. they were not satisfied, besides they felt keenly the taunts of the other warriors. mangus-colorado would not lead them back, so i took command and we went on foot, directly toward arispe in sonora, and made our camp in the sierra de sahuripa mountains. there were only six of us, but we raided several settlements (at night), captured many horses and mules, and loaded them with provisions, saddles and blankets. then we returned to arizona, traveling only at night. when we arrived at our camp we sent out scouts to prevent any surprise by mexicans, assembled the tribe, feasted, danced, and divided the spoils. mangus-colorado would not receive any of this booty, but we did not care. no mexican troops followed us to arizona. about a year after this (1868) mexican troops rounded up all the horses and mules of the tribe not far from our settlement. no raids had been made into mexico that year, and we were not expecting any attacks. we were all in camp, having just returned from hunting. about two o'clock in the afternoon two mexican scouts were seen near our settlement. we killed these scouts, but the troops got under way with the herd of our horses and mules before we saw them. it was useless to try to overtake them on foot, and our tribe had not a horse left. i took twenty warriors and trailed them. we found the stock at a cattle ranch in sonora, not far from nacozari, and attacked the cowboys who had them in charge. we killed two men and lost none. after the fight we drove off our own stock and all of theirs. we were trailed by nine cowboys. i sent the stock on ahead and with three warriors stayed in the rear to intercept any attacking parties. one night when near the arizona line we discovered these cowboys on our trail and watched them camp for the night and picket their horses. about midnight we stole into their camp and silently led away all their horses, leaving the cowboys asleep. then we rode hard and overtook our companions, who always traveled at night instead of in the daytime. we turned these horses in with the herd and fell back to again intercept anyone who might trail us. what these nine cowboys did next morning i do not know, and i have never heard the mexicans say anything about it; i know they did not follow us, for we were not molested. when we arrived in camp at home there was great rejoicing in the tribe. it was considered a good trick to get the mexicans' horses and leave them asleep in the mountains. it was a long time before we again went into mexico or were disturbed by the mexicans. chapter x other raids when reading the foregoing chapters of apache raids one not acquainted with the lawlessness of the frontier might wonder how this tendency of the apaches was developed to such a marked degree; but one acquainted with the real conditions--the disregard for law by both mexicans and white men along the border line of old mexico and arizona in early days--can readily understand where the apache got his education in the art of conducting lawless raids. in order, therefore, that those who are unacquainted with the conditions as they were in southern arizona during the eighties, may understand the environment of the apaches, this chapter is given. the events herein narrated are taken by the author from many accounts given him by reliable men who lived in this section of country during the period mentioned. [illustration: apache camp] _raid by white men_ in 1882 a company of six mexican traders, who were known as "smugglers" because they evaded duties on goods which they brought into united states and sold in arizona, were camped in skeleton cañon, ten miles north of the north line of old mexico. they were known to carry large sums of money, but as they were always armed and ready to defend their possessions they were not often molested. however, on this occasion, just as they were rising in the morning to prepare their breakfast, five white men opened fire on them from ambush and all save one of the mexicans were killed. this one, though wounded, finally made his escape. a few days after the killing some cowboys on a round-up camped at this place and buried the remains (what the coyotes had left) of these five mexicans. two years later, at the same place, a cowboy found a leather bag containing seventy-two mexican dollars, which small amount of money had been overlooked by the robbers. the men who did this killing lived in arizona for many years afterwards, and although it was known that they had committed the depredation, no arrests followed, and no attempt was made by any of the mexicans to recover the property of their fellow citizens. _mexican raid_ in 1884 a cattleman and four cowboys from his ranch started to drive some fat cattle to market at tombstone, arizona. the route they took led partly through old mexico and partly through arizona. one night they camped in a cañon just south of the mexican border. next morning at daylight, the cowboy who had been on herd duty the last half of the night had just come in and aroused the camp when the mexicans opened fire on them from ambush. the cattleman and one of the cowboys were severely wounded at the first volley and took shelter behind the camp wagon, from which position they fired as long as their ammunition lasted. the other three were only slightly wounded and reached cover, but only one escaped with his life. he remained in hiding for two days before his comrades found him. he saw the mexicans rob the bodies of the dead and lead away their saddle horses, after having cooked breakfast for themselves in the deserted camp. he was severely wounded and all his ammunition was gone, hence he could only wait. on the second day after this raid some of the cattle strayed back to the old ranch, thereby giving notice to the cowboys that there had been foul play. they found their wounded companions lying delirious near the decaying bodies of their comrades. no arrests were ever made in mexico for these murders, and no attempt was made to recover damage or prosecute the robbers. the two instances above narrated will serve to show the reader what kind of an example was set for the apaches by at least a portion of the inhabitants of the two christian nations with whom they came in contact. _apache raids_ it is thought well to give in this chapter some of the depredations of the apaches, not told by geronimo. they are given as told by our own citizens and from the white man's point of view. in 1884 judge mccormick and wife, accompanied by their young son, were driving from silver city to lordsburg, when they were ambushed by apaches. the bodies of the adults were found soon afterward, but the child's body was never recovered. years afterwards, an apache squaw told some of the settlers in arizona that the little boy (about eight years old) cried so much and was so stubborn that they had to kill him, although their original intention was to spare his life. in 1882 a man named hunt was wounded in a row in a saloon in tombstone, arizona. during this row two other men had been killed, and, to avoid arrest, hunt and his brother went into the mountains and camped about ten miles north of willow springs to await the healing of his wounds. a few days after they came there, apache indians attacked them and killed the wounded brother, but the other, by hard riding, made good his escape. in 1883 two eastern boys went into arizona to prospect. their real outing began at willow springs, where they had stayed two days with the cowboys. these cowboys had warned them against the apaches, but the young men seemed entirely fearless, and pushed on into the mountains. on the second morning after they left the settlement, one of the boys was getting breakfast while the other went to bring in the pack horses that had been hobbled and turned loose the night before to graze. just about the time he found his horses, two apache warriors rode out from cover toward him and he made a hasty retreat to camp, jumping off of a bluff and in so doing breaking his leg. a consultation was then held between the two easterners and it was decided that perhaps all the stories they had been told of the apache raids were true, and that it was advisable to surrender. accordingly a white handkerchief was tied to the end of a pole and raised cautiously above the top of the bluff. in about ten minutes the two indians--one a very old warrior and the other a mere boy, evidently his son--rode into camp and dismounted. the old warrior examined the broken limb, then without a word proceeded to take off the shirt of the uninjured youth, with strips of which he carefully bound up the broken leg. after this the two indians ate the prepared breakfast and remounted their ponies. then the old warrior, indicating the direction with his thumb, said "doctor--lordsburg--three days," and silently rode away. the young men rode twenty-five miles to sansimone, where the cowboys fitted them out with a wagon to continue their journey to lordsburg, seventy-five miles further, where a physician's services could be secured. in 1883 two prospectors, alberts and reese by name, were driving a team, consisting of a horse and a mule, through turkey creek bottoms, when they were shot by the indians. the wagon and harness were left in the road, and the mule was found dead in the road two hundred yards from that place. evidently the indians had not much use for him. the guns of the prospectors were found later, but the horse they drove was not recovered. in none of the above-named instances were the bodies of the victims mutilated. however, there are many recorded instances in which the apache indians did mutilate the bodies of their victims, but it is claimed by geronimo that these were outlawed indians, as his regular warriors were instructed to scalp none except those killed in battle, and to torture none except to make them reveal desired information. in 1884 two cowboys in the employment of the sansimone cattle company were camped at willow springs, eighteen miles southwest of skeleton cañon, and not far from old mexico. just at sundown their camp was surrounded by apaches in war paint, who said that they had been at war with the mexicans and wished to return to the united states. there were about seventy-five indians in the whole tribe, the squaws and children coming up later. they had with them about one hundred and fifty mexican horses. the indians took possession of the camp and remained for about ten days, getting their supplies of meat by killing cattle of the company. with this band of indians was a white boy about fourteen years old, who had evidently been with them from infancy, for he could not speak a word of english, and did not understand much spanish, but spoke the apache language readily. they would allow but one of the cowboys to leave camp at a time, keeping the other under guard. they had sentinels with spyglasses on all the hills and peaks surrounding the camp. one evening when one of the cowboys, william berne, had been allowed to pass out of the camp, he noticed an indian dismounted and, as he approached, discovered that the indian had him under range of his rifle. he immediately dismounted, and standing on the opposite side from the redskin, threw his own winchester across his horse's neck, when the indian sprang on his horse and galloped toward him at full speed, making signs to him not to shoot, and when he approached him, dismounted and pointing to the ground, showed berne many fresh deer tracks. then, as an understanding had been established, the cowboy remounted and went on his way, leaving the apache to hunt the deer. one day when this cowboy was about ten miles from camp, he found two splendid horses of the indians. these horses had strayed from the herd. thinking that they would in a way compensate for the cattle the apaches were eating, he drove them on for about five miles into a cañon where there was plenty of grass and water and left them there, intending to come back after the departure of the indians and take possession of them. on the tenth day after the arrival of this band of indians, united states troops, accompanied by two indians who had been sent to make the arrangements, arrived in camp, paid for the cattle the apaches had eaten, took the indians and their stock, and moved on toward fort bowie. the cowboys immediately started for the cañon where the two horses had been left, but had not gone far when they met two indians driving these horses in front of them as they pushed on to overtake the tribe. [illustration: apache mission valley of medicine creek, fort sill military reservation] evidently the shrewdness of the paleface had not outwitted the red man that time. geronimo says he was in no wise connected with the events herein mentioned, but refuses to state whether he knows anything about them. he holds it unmanly to tell of any depredations of red men except those for which he was responsible. such were the events transpiring in "apache land" during the days when geronimo was leading his warriors to avenge the "wrongs" of his people. this chapter will serve to show that the apache had plenty of examples of lawlessness furnished him, and also that he was a very apt scholar in this school of savage lawlessness. chapter xi heavy fighting about 1873 we were again attacked by mexican troops in our settlement, but we defeated them. then we decided to make raids into mexico. we moved our whole camp, packing all our belongings on mules and horses, went into mexico and made camp in the mountains near nacori. in moving our camp in this way we wanted no one to spy on us, and if we passed a mexican's home we usually killed the inmates. however, if they offered to surrender and made no resistance or trouble in any way, we would take them prisoners. frequently we would change our place of rendezvous; then we would take with us our prisoners if they were willing to go, but if they were unruly they might be killed. i remember one mexican in the sierra madre mountains who saw us moving and delayed us for some time. we took the trouble to get him, thinking the plunder of his house would pay us for the delay, but after we had killed him we found nothing in his house worth having. we ranged in these mountains for over a year, raiding the mexican settlements for our supplies, but not having any general engagement with mexican troops; then we returned to our homes in arizona. after remaining in arizona about a year we returned to mexico, and went into hiding in the sierra madre mountains. our camp was near nacori, and we had just organized bands of warriors for raiding the country, when our scouts discovered mexican troops coming toward our camp to attack us. _battle of white hill_ the chief of the nedni apaches, whoa, was with me and commanded one division. the warriors were all marched toward the troops and met them at a place about five miles from our camp. we showed ourselves to the soldiers and they quickly rode to the top of a hill and dismounted, placing their horses on the outside for breastworks. it was a round hill, very steep and rocky, and there was no timber on its sides. there were two companies of mexican cavalry, and we had about sixty warriors. we crept up the hill behind the rocks, and they kept up a constant fire, but i had cautioned our warriors not to expose themselves to the mexicans. i knew that the troopers would waste their ammunition. soon we had killed all their horses, but the soldiers would lie behind these and shoot at us. while we had killed several mexicans, we had not yet lost a man. however, it was impossible to get very close to them in this way, and i deemed it best to lead a charge against them. we had been fighting ever since about one o'clock, and about the middle of the afternoon, seeing that we were making no further progress, i gave the sign for the advance. the war-whoop sounded and we leaped forward from every stone over the mexicans' dead horses, fighting hand to hand. the attack was so sudden that the mexicans, running first this way and then that, became so confused that in a few minutes we had killed them all. then we scalped the slain, carried away our dead, and secured all the arms we needed. that night we moved our camp eastward through the sierra madre mountains into chihuahua. no troops molested us here and after about a year we returned to arizona. [illustration: geronimo apache war chief asa deklugie official interpreter for geronimo. son of whoa, chief of the nedni apaches. chief elect to succeed geronimo at the latter's death] almost every year we would live a part of the time in old mexico. there were at this time many settlements in arizona; game was not plentiful, and besides we liked to go down into old mexico. besides, the lands of the nedni apaches, our friends and kinsmen, extended far into mexico. their chief, whoa, was as a brother to me, and we spent much of our time in his territory. about 1880 we were in camp in the mountains south of casa grande, when a company of mexican troops attacked us. there were twenty-four mexican soldiers and about forty indians. the mexicans surprised us in camp and fired on us, killing two indians the first volley. i do not know how they were able to find our camp unless they had excellent scouts and our guards were careless, but there they were shooting at us before we knew they were near. we were in the timber, and i gave the order to go forward and fight at close range. we kept behind rocks and trees until we came within ten yards of their line, then we stood up and both sides shot until all the mexicans were killed. we lost twelve warriors in this battle. this place was called by the indians "sko-la-ta." when we had buried our dead and secured what supplies the mexicans had, we went northeast. at a place near nacori mexican troops attacked us. at this place, called by the indians "nokode," there were about eighty warriors, bedonkohe and nedni apaches. there were three companies of mexican troops. they attacked us in an open field, and we scattered, firing as we ran. they followed us, but we dispersed, and soon were free from their pursuit; then we reassembled in the sierra madre mountains. here a council was held, and as mexican troops were coming from many quarters, we disbanded. in about four months we reassembled at casa grande to make a treaty of peace. the chiefs of the town of casa grande, and all of the men of casa grande, made a treaty with us. we shook hands and promised to be brothers. then we began to trade, and the mexicans gave us mescal. soon nearly all the indians were drunk. while they were drunk two companies of mexican troops, from another town, attacked us, killed twenty indians, and captured many more.[22] we fled in all directions. footnote: [22] it is impossible to get geronimo to understand that these troops served the general government instead of any particular town. he still thinks each town independent and each city a separate tribe. he cannot understand the relation of cities to the general government. chapter xii geronimo's mightiest battle after the treachery and massacre of casa grande we did not reassemble for a long while, and when we did we returned to arizona. we remained in arizona for some time, living in san carlos reservation, at a place now called geronimo. in 1883 we went into mexico again. we remained in the mountain ranges of mexico for about fourteen months, and during this time we had many skirmishes with mexican troops. in 1884 we returned to arizona to get other apaches to come with us into mexico. the mexicans were gathering troops in the mountains where we had been ranging, and their numbers were so much greater than ours that we could not hope to fight them successfully, and we were tired of being chased about from place to place. in arizona we had trouble with the united states soldiers (explained in next chapter) and returned to mexico. we had lost about fifteen warriors in arizona, and had gained no recruits. with our reduced number we camped in the mountains north of arispe. mexican troops were seen by our scouts in several directions. the united states troops were coming down from the north. we were well armed with guns and supplied with ammunition, but we did not care to be surrounded by the troops of two governments, so we started to move our camp southward. one night we made camp some distance from the mountains by a stream. there was not much water in the stream, but a deep channel was worn through the prairie and small trees were beginning to grow here and there along the bank of this stream. in those days we never camped without placing scouts, for we knew that we were liable to be attacked at any time. the next morning just at daybreak our scouts came in, aroused the camp, and notified us that mexican troops were approaching. within five minutes the mexicans began firing on us. we took to the ditches made by the stream, and had the women and children busy digging these deeper. i gave strict orders to waste no ammunition and keep under cover. we killed many mexicans that day and in turn lost heavily, for the fight lasted all day. frequently troops would charge at one point, be repulsed, then rally and charge at another point. about noon we began to hear them speaking my name with curses. in the afternoon the general came on the field and the fighting became more furious. i gave orders to my warriors to try to kill all the mexican officers. about three o'clock the general called all the officers together at the right side of the field. the place where they assembled was not very far from the main stream, and a little ditch ran out close to where the officers stood. cautiously i crawled out this ditch very close to where the council was being held. the general was an old warrior. the wind was blowing in my direction, so that i could hear all he said, and i[23] understood most of it. this is about what he told them: "officers, yonder in those ditches is the red devil geronimo and his hated band. this must be his last day. ride on him from both sides of the ditches; kill men, women, and children; take no prisoners; dead indians are what we want. do not spare your own men; exterminate this band at any cost; i will post the wounded to shoot all deserters; go back to your companies and advance." just as the command to go forward was given i took deliberate aim at the general and he fell. in an instant the ground around me was riddled with bullets, but i was untouched. the apaches had seen. from all along the ditches arose the fierce war-cry of my people. the columns wavered an instant and then swept on; they did not retreat until our fire had destroyed the front ranks. [illustration: lone wolf chief of kiowas geronimo apache war chief] after this their fighting was not so fierce, yet they continued to rally and readvance until dark. they also continued to speak my name with threats and curses. that night before the firing had ceased a dozen indians had crawled out of the ditches and set fire to the long prairie grass behind the mexican troops. during the confusion that followed we escaped to the mountains. this was the last battle that i ever fought with mexicans. united states troops were trailing us continually from this time until the treaty was made with general miles in skeleton cañon. during my many wars with the mexicans i received eight wounds, as follows: shot in the right leg above the knee, and still carry the bullet; shot through the left forearm; wounded in the right leg below the knee with a saber; wounded on top of the head with the butt of a musket; shot just below the outer corner of the left eye; shot in left side; shot in the back. i have killed many mexicans; i do not know how many, for frequently i did not count them. some of them were not worth counting. it has been a long time since then, but still i have no love for the mexicans. with me they were always treacherous and malicious. i am old now and shall never go on the warpath again, but if i were young, and followed the warpath, it would lead into old mexico. footnote: [23] geronimo has a fair knowledge of the spanish language. part iii the white men chapter xiii coming of the white men about the time of the massacre of "kaskiyeh" (1858) we heard that some white men were measuring land to the south of us. in company with a number of other warriors i went to visit them. we could not understand them very well, for we had no interpreter, but we made a treaty with them by shaking hands and promising to be brothers. then we made our camp near their camp, and they came to trade with us. we gave them buckskin, blankets, and ponies in exchange for shirts and provisions. we also brought them game, for which they gave us some money. we did not know the value of this money, but we kept it and later learned from the navajo indians that it was very valuable. every day they measured land with curious instruments and put down marks which we could not understand. they were good men, and we were sorry when they had gone on into the west. they were not soldiers. these were the first white men i ever saw. about ten years later some more white men came. these were all warriors. they made their camp on the gila river south of hot springs. at first they were friendly and we did not dislike them, but they were not as good as those who came first. after about a year some trouble arose between them and the indians, and i took the warpath as a warrior, not as a chief.[24] i had not been wronged, but some of my people had been, and i fought with my tribe; for the soldiers and not the indians were at fault. not long after this some of the officers of the united states troops invited our leaders to hold a conference at apache pass (fort bowie). just before noon the indians were shown into a tent and told that they would be given something to eat. when in the tent they were[25] attacked by soldiers. our chief, mangus-colorado, and several other warriors, by cutting through the tent, escaped; but most of the warriors were killed or captured. among the bedonkohe apaches killed at this time were sanza, kladetahe, niyokahe, and gopi. after this treachery the indians went back to the mountains and left the fort entirely alone. i do not think that the agent had anything to do with planning this, for he had always treated us well. i believe it was entirely planned by the soldiers. from[26] the very first the soldiers sent out to our western country, and the officers in charge of them, did not hesitate to wrong the indians. they never explained to the government when an indian was wronged, but always reported the misdeeds of the indians. much that was done by mean white men was reported at washington as the deeds of my people. the indians always tried to live peaceably with the white soldiers and settlers. one day during the time that the soldiers were stationed at apache pass i made a treaty with the post. this was done by shaking hands and promising to be brothers. cochise and mangus-colorado did likewise. i do not know the name of the officer in command, but this was the first regiment that ever came to apache pass. this treaty was made about a year before we were attacked in a tent, as above related. in a few days after the attack at apache pass we organized in the mountains and returned to fight the soldiers. there were two tribes--the bedonkohe and the chokonen apaches, both commanded by cochise. after a few days' skirmishing we attacked a freight train that was coming in with supplies for the fort. we killed some of the men and captured the others. these prisoners our chief offered to trade for the indians whom the soldiers had captured at the massacre in the tent. this the officers refused, so we killed our prisoners, disbanded, and went into hiding in the mountains. of those who took part in this affair i am the only one now living. in a few days troops were sent out to search for us, but as we were disbanded, it was, of course, impossible for them to locate any hostile camp. during the time they were searching for us many of our warriors (who were thought by the soldiers to be peaceable indians) talked to the officers and men, advising them where they might find the camp they sought, and while they searched we watched them from our hiding places and laughed at their failures. after this trouble all of the indians agreed not to be friendly with the white men any more. there was no general engagement, but a long struggle followed. sometimes we attacked the white men--sometimes they attacked us. first a few indians would be killed and then a few soldiers. i think the killing was about equal on each side. the number killed in these troubles did not amount to much, but this treachery on the part of the soldiers had angered the indians and revived memories of other wrongs, so that we never again trusted the united states troops. [illustration: quanna parker chief of comanche indians] footnotes: [24] as a tribe they would fight under their tribal chief, mangus-colorado. if several tribes had been called out, the war chief, geronimo, would have commanded. [25] regarding this attack, mr. l. c. hughes, editor of _the star_, tucson, arizona, to whom i was referred by general miles, writes as follows: "it appears that cochise and his tribe had been on the warpath for some time and he with a number of subordinate chiefs was brought into the military camp at bowie under the promise that a treaty of peace was to be held, when they were taken into a large tent where handcuffs were put upon them. cochise, seeing this, cut his way through the tent and fled to the mountains; and in less than six hours had surrounded the camp with from three to five hundred warriors; but the soldiers refused to make fight." [26] this sweeping statement is more general than we are willing to concede, yet it may be more nearly true than our own accounts. chapter xiv greatest of wrongs perhaps the greatest wrong ever done to the indians was the treatment received by our tribe from the united states troops about 1863. the chief of our tribe, mangus-colorado, went to make a treaty of peace for our people with the white settlement at apache tejo, new mexico. it had been reported to us that the white men in this settlement were more friendly and more reliable than those in arizona, that they would live up to their treaties and would not wrong the indians. mangus-colorado, with three other warriors, went to apache tejo and held a council with these citizens and soldiers. they told him that if he would come with his tribe and live near them, they would issue to him, from the government, blankets, flour, provisions, beef, and all manner of supplies. our chief promised to return to apache tejo within two weeks. when he came back to our settlement he assembled the whole tribe in council. i did not believe that the people at apache tejo would do as they said and therefore i opposed the plan, but it was decided that with part of the tribe mangus-colorado should return to apache tejo and receive an issue of rations and supplies. if they were as represented, and if these white men would keep the treaty faithfully, the remainder of the tribe would join him and we would make our permanent home at apache tejo. i was to remain in charge of that portion of the tribe which stayed in arizona. we gave almost all of our arms and ammunition to the party going to apache tejo, so that in case there should be treachery they would be prepared for any surprise. mangus-colorado and about half of our people went to new mexico, happy that now they had found white men who would be kind to them, and with whom they could live in peace and plenty. no word ever came to us from them. from other sources, however, we heard that they had been treacherously[27] captured and slain. in this dilemma we did not know just exactly what to do, but fearing that the troops who had captured them would attack us, we retreated into the mountains near apache pass. during the weeks that followed the departure of our people we had been in suspense, and failing to provide more supplies, had exhausted all of our store of provisions. this was another reason for moving camp. on this retreat, while passing through the mountains, we discovered four men with a herd of cattle. two of the men were in front in a buggy and two were behind on horseback. we killed all four, but did not scalp them; they were not warriors. we drove the cattle back into the mountains, made a camp, and began to kill the cattle and pack the meat. before we had finished this work we were surprised and attacked by united states troops, who killed in all seven indians--one warrior, three women, and three children. the government troops were mounted and so were we, but we were poorly armed, having given most of our weapons to the division of our tribe that had gone to apache tejo, so we fought mainly with spears, bows, and arrows. at first i had a spear, a bow, and a few arrows; but in a short time my spear and all my arrows were gone. once i was surrounded, but by dodging from side to side of my horse as he ran i escaped. it was necessary during this fight for many of the warriors to leave their horses and escape on foot. but my horse was trained to come at call, and as soon as i reached a safe place, if not too closely pursued, i would call him to me.[28] during this fight we scattered in all directions and two days later reassembled at our appointed place of rendezvous, about fifty miles from the scene of this battle. about ten days later the same united states troops attacked our new camp at sunrise. the fight lasted all day, but our arrows and spears were all gone before ten o'clock, and for the remainder of the day we had only rocks and clubs with which to fight. we could do little damage with these weapons, and at night we moved our camp about four miles back into the mountains where it would be hard for the cavalry to follow us. the next day our scouts, who had been left behind to observe the movements of the soldiers, returned, saying that the troops had gone back toward san carlos reservation. a few days after this we were again attacked by another company of united states troops. just before this fight we had been joined by a band of chokonen indians under cochise, who took command of both divisions. we were repulsed, and decided to disband. after we had disbanded our tribe the bedonkohe apaches reassembled near their old camp vainly waiting for the return of mangus-colorado and our kinsmen. no tidings came save that they had all been treacherously slain.[29] then a council was held, and as it was believed that mangus-colorado was dead, i was elected tribal chief. for a long time we had no trouble with anyone. it was more than a year after i had been made tribal chief that united states troops surprised and attacked our camp. they killed seven children, five women, and four warriors, captured all our supplies, blankets, horses, and clothing, and destroyed our tepees. we had nothing left; winter was beginning, and it was the coldest winter i ever knew. after the soldiers withdrew i took three warriors and trailed them. their trail led back toward san carlos. footnotes: [27] general miles telegraphed from whipple barracks, arizona, sept. 24, 1886, relative to the surrender of the apaches. among other things he said: "mangus-colorado had years ago been foully murdered after he had surrendered." [28] geronimo often calls his horses to him in fort sill reservation. he gives only one shrill note and they run to him at full speed. [29] regarding the killing of mangus-colorado, l. c. hughes of the tucson, ariz., _star_, writes as follows: "it was early in the year '63, when general west and his troops were camped near membras, that he sent jack swilling, a scout, to bring in mangus, who had been on the warpath ever since the time of the incident with cochise at bowie. the old chief was always for peace, and gladly accepted the proffer; when he appeared at the camp general west ordered him put into the guardhouse, in which there was only a small opening in the rear and but one small window. as the old chief entered he said: 'this is my end. i shall never again hunt over the mountains and through the valleys of my people.' he felt that he was to be assassinated. the guards were given orders to shoot him if he attempted to escape. he lay down and tried to sleep, but during the night, someone threw a large stone which struck him in the breast. he sprang up and in his delirium the guards thought he was attempting escape and several of them shot him; this was the end of mangus. "his head was severed from his body by a surgeon, and the brain taken out and weighed. the head measured larger than that of daniel webster, and the brain was of corresponding weight. the skull was sent to washington, and is now on exhibition at the smithsonian institution." chapter xv removals while returning from trailing the government troops we saw two men, a mexican and a white man, and shot them off their horses. with these two horses we returned and moved our camp. my people were suffering much and it was deemed advisable to go where we could get more provisions. game was scarce in our range then, and since i had been tribal chief i had not asked for rations from the government, nor did i care to do so, but we did not wish to starve. we had heard that chief victoria of the chihenne (oje caliente) apaches was holding a council with the white men near hot springs in new mexico, and that he had plenty of provisions. we had always been on friendly terms with this tribe, and victoria was especially kind to my people. with the help of the two horses we had captured, to carry our sick with us, we went to hot springs. we easily found victoria and his band, and they gave us supplies for the winter. we stayed with them for about a year, and during this stay we had perfect peace. we had not the least trouble with mexicans, white men, or indians. when we had stayed as long as we should, and had again accumulated some supplies, we decided to leave victoria's band. when i told him that we were going to leave he said that we should have a feast and dance before we separated. the festivities were held about two miles above hot springs, and lasted for four days. there were about four hundred indians at this celebration. i do not think we ever spent a more pleasant time than upon this occasion. no one ever treated our tribe more kindly than victoria and his band. we are still proud to say that he and his people were our friends. when i went to apache pass (fort bowie) i found general howard[30] in command, and made a treaty with him. this treaty lasted until long after general howard had left our country. he always kept his word with us and treated us as brothers. we never had so good a friend among the united states officers as general howard. we could have lived forever at peace with him. if there is any pure, honest white man in the united states army, that man is general howard. all the indians respect him, and even to this day frequently talk of the happy times when general howard was in command of our post. after he went away he placed an agent at apache pass who issued to us from the government clothing, rations, and supplies, as general howard directed. when beef was issued to the indians i got twelve steers for my tribe, and cochise got twelve steers for his tribe. rations were issued about once a month, but if we ran out we only had to ask and we were supplied. now, as prisoners of war in this reservation, we do not get such good rations.[31] out on the prairie away from apache pass a man kept a store and saloon. some time after general howard went away a band of outlawed indians killed this man, and took away many of the supplies from his store. on the very next day after this some indians at the post were drunk on "tiswin," which they had made from corn. they fought among themselves and four of them were killed. there had been quarrels and feuds among them for some time, and after this trouble we deemed it impossible to keep the different bands together in peace. therefore we separated, each leader taking his own band. some of them went to san carlos and some to old mexico, but i took my tribe back to hot springs and rejoined victoria's band. footnotes: [30] general o. o. howard was not in command, but had been sent by president grant, in 1872, to make peace with the apache indians. the general wrote me from burlington, vt., under date of june 12, 1906, that he remembered the treaty, and that he also remembered with much satisfaction subsequently meeting geronimo.--editor. [31] they do not receive full rations now, as they did then. chapter xvi in prison and on the warpath soon after we arrived in new mexico two companies of scouts were sent from san carlos. when they came to hot springs they sent word for me and victoria to come to town. the messengers did not say what they wanted with us, but as they seemed friendly we thought they wanted a council, and rode in to meet the officers. as soon as we arrived in town soldiers met us, disarmed us, and took us both to headquarters, where we were tried by court-martial. they asked us only a few questions and then victoria was released and i was sentenced to the guardhouse. scouts conducted me to the guardhouse and put me in chains. when i asked them why they did this they said it was because i had left apache pass. i do not think that i ever belonged to those soldiers at apache pass, or that i should have asked them where i might go. our bands could no longer live in peace[32] together, and so we had quietly withdrawn, expecting to live with victoria's band, where we thought we would not be molested. they also sentenced seven other apaches to chains in the guardhouse. i do not know why this was done, for these indians had simply followed me from apache pass to hot springs. if it was wrong (and i do not think it was wrong) for us to go to hot springs, i alone was to blame. they asked the soldiers in charge why they were imprisoned and chained, but received no answer. i was kept a prisoner for four months, during which time i was transferred to san carlos. then i think i had another trial, although i was not present. in fact i do not know that i had another trial, but i was told that i had, and at any rate i was released. after this we had no more trouble with the soldiers, but i never felt at ease any longer at the post. we were allowed to live above san carlos at a place now called geronimo. a man whom the indians called "nick golee" was agent at this place. all went well here for a period of two years, but we were not satisfied. in the summer of 1883 a rumor was current that the officers were again planning to imprison our leaders. this rumor served to revive the memory of all our past wrongs--the massacre in the tent at apache pass, the fate of mangus-colorado, and my own unjust imprisonment, which might easily have been death to me. just at this time we were told that the officers wanted us to come up the river above geronimo to a fort (fort thomas) to hold a council with them. we did not believe that any good could come of this conference, or that there was any need of it; so we held a council ourselves, and fearing treachery, decided to leave the reservation. we thought it more manly to die on the warpath than to be killed in prison. there were in all about 250 indians, chiefly the bedonkohe and nedni apaches, led by myself and whoa. we went through apache pass and just west of there had a fight with the united states troops. in this battle we killed three soldiers and lost none. we went on toward old mexico, but on the second day after this united states soldiers overtook us about three o'clock in the afternoon and we fought until dark. the ground where we were attacked was very rough, which was to our advantage, for the troops were compelled to dismount in order to fight us. i do not know how many soldiers we killed, but we lost only one warrior and three children. we had plenty of guns and ammunition at this time. many of the guns and much ammunition we had accumulated while living in the reservation, and the remainder we had obtained from the white mountain apaches when we left the reservation. troops did not follow us any longer, so we went south almost to casa grande and camped in the sierra de sahuaripa mountains. we ranged in the mountains of old mexico for about a year, then returned to san carlos, taking with us a herd of cattle and horses. soon after we arrived at san carlos the officer in charge, general crook, took the horses and cattle away from us. i told him that these were not white men's cattle, but belonged to us, for we had taken them from the mexicans during our wars. i also told him that we did not intend to kill these animals, but that we wished to keep them and raise stock on our range. he would not listen to me, but took the stock. i went up near fort apache and general crook ordered officers, soldiers, and scouts to see that i was arrested; if i offered resistance they were instructed to kill me. this information was brought to me by the indians. when i learned of this proposed action i left for old mexico, and about four hundred indians went with me. they were the bedonkohe, chokonen, and nedni apaches. at this time whoa was dead, and naiche was the only chief with me. we went south into sonora and camped in the mountains. troops followed us, but did not attack us until we were camped in the mountains west of casa grande. here we were attacked by government indian scouts. one boy was killed and nearly all of our women and children were captured.[33] after this battle we went south of casa grande and made a camp, but within a few days this camp was attacked by mexican soldiers. we skirmished with them all day, killing a few mexicans, but sustaining no loss ourselves. that night we went east into the foothills of the sierra madre mountains and made another camp. mexican troops trailed us, and after a few days attacked our camp again. this time the mexicans had a very large army, and we avoided a general engagement. it is senseless to fight when you cannot hope to win. that night we held a council of war; our scouts had reported bands of united states and mexican troops at many points in the mountains. we estimated that about two thousand soldiers were ranging these mountains seeking to capture us. general crook had come down into mexico with the united states troops. they were camped in the sierra de antunez mountains. scouts told me that general crook wished to see me and i went to his camp. when i arrived general crook said to me, "why did you leave the reservation?" i said: "you told me that i might live in the reservation the same as white people lived. one year i raised a crop of corn, and gathered and stored it, and the next year i put in a crop of oats, and when the crop was almost ready to harvest, you told your soldiers to put me in prison, and if i resisted to kill me. if i had been let alone i would now have been in good circumstances, but instead of that you and the mexicans are hunting me with soldiers." he said: "i never gave any such orders; the troops at fort apache, who spread this report, knew that it was untrue." then i agreed to go back with him to san carlos. it was hard for me to believe him at that time. now i know that what he said was untrue,[34] and i firmly believe that he did issue the orders for me to be put in prison, or to be killed in case i offered resistance. footnotes: [32] victoria, chief of the hot spring apaches, met his death in opposing the forcible removal of his band to a reservation, because having previously tried and failed he felt it impossible for separate bands of apaches to live at peace under such arrangement. [33] geronimo's whole family, excepting his eldest son, a warrior, were captured. [34] geronimo's exact words, for which the editor disclaims any responsibility. chapter xvii the final struggle we started with all our tribe to go with general crook back to the united states, but i feared treachery and decided to remain in mexico. we were not under any guard at this time. the united states troops marched in front and the indians followed, and when we became suspicious, we turned back. i do not know how far the united states army went after myself, and some warriors turned back before we were missed, and i do not care. i have suffered much from such unjust orders as those of general crook. such acts have caused much distress to my people. i think that general crook's death[35] was sent by the almighty as a punishment for the many evil deeds he committed. soon general miles was made commander of all the western posts, and troops trailed us continually. they were led by captain lawton, who had good scouts. the mexican[36] soldiers also became more active and more numerous. we had skirmishes almost every day, and so we finally decided to break up into small bands. with six men and four women i made for the range of mountains near hot springs, new mexico. we passed many cattle ranches, but had no trouble with the cowboys. we killed cattle to eat whenever we were in need of food, but we frequently suffered greatly for water. at one time we had no water for two days and nights and our horses almost died from thirst. we ranged in the mountains of new mexico for some time, then thinking that perhaps the troops had left mexico, we returned. on our return through old mexico we attacked every mexican found, even if for no other reason than to kill. we believed they had asked the united states troops to come down to mexico to fight us. south of casa grande, near a place called by the indians gosoda, there was a road leading out from the town. there was much freighting carried on by the mexicans over this road. where the road ran through a mountain pass we stayed in hiding, and whenever mexican freighters passed we killed them, took what supplies we wanted, and destroyed the remainder. we were reckless of our lives, because we felt that every man's hand was against us. if we returned to the reservation we would be put in prison and killed; if we stayed in mexico they would continue to send soldiers to fight us; so we gave no quarter to anyone and asked no favors. after some time we left gosoda and soon were reunited with our tribe in the sierra de antunez mountains. contrary to our expectations the united states soldiers had not left the mountains in mexico, and were soon trailing us and skirmishing with us almost every day. four or five times they surprised our camp. one time they surprised us about nine o'clock in the morning, and captured all our horses[37] (nineteen in number) and secured our store of dried meats. we also lost three indians in this encounter. about the middle of the afternoon of the same day we attacked them from the rear as they were passing through a prairie--killed one soldier, but lost none ourselves. in this skirmish we recovered all our horses except three that belonged to me. the three horses that we did not recover were the best riding horses we had. soon after this we made a treaty with the mexican troops. they told us that the united states troops were the real cause of these wars, and agreed not to fight any more with us provided we would return to the united states. this we agreed to do, and resumed our march, expecting to try to make a treaty with the united states soldiers and return to arizona. there seemed to be no other course to pursue. soon after this scouts from captain lawton's troops told us that he wished to make a treaty with us; but i knew that general miles was the chief of the american troops, and i decided to treat with him. we continued to move our camp northward, and the american troops also moved northward,[38] keeping at no great distance from us, but not attacking us. i sent my brother porico (white horse) with mr. george wratton on to fort bowie to see general miles, and to tell him that we wished to return to arizona; but before these messengers returned i met two indian scouts--kayitah, a chokonen apache, and marteen, a nedni apache. they were serving as scouts for captain lawton's troops. they told me that general miles had come and had sent them to ask me to meet him. so i went to the camp of the united states troops to meet general miles. when i arrived at their camp i went directly to general miles and told him how i had been wronged, and that i wanted to return to the united states with my people, as we wished to see our families, who had been captured[39] and taken away from us. general miles said to me: "the president of the united states has sent me to speak to you. he has heard of your trouble with the white men, and says that if you will agree to a few words of treaty we need have no more trouble. geronimo, if you will agree to a few words of treaty all will be satisfactorily arranged." [illustration: gotebo war chief, kiowa indians] so general miles told me how we could be brothers to each other. we raised our hands to heaven and said that the treaty was not to be broken. we took an oath not to do any wrong to each other or to scheme against each other. then he talked with me for a long time and told me what he would do for me in the future if i would agree to the treaty. i did not greatly believe general miles, but because the president of the united states had sent me word i agreed to make the treaty, and to keep it. then i asked general miles what the treaty would be. general miles said to me:[40] "i will take you under government protection; i will build you a house; i will fence you much land; i will give you cattle, horses, mules, and farming implements. you will be furnished with men to work the farm, for you yourself will not have to work. in the fall i will send you blankets and clothing so that you will not suffer from cold in the winter time. "there is plenty of timber, water, and grass in the land to which i will send you. you will live with your tribe and with your family. if you agree to this treaty you shall see your family within five days." i said to general miles: "all the officers that have been in charge of the indians have talked that way, and it sounds like a story to me; i hardly believe you." he said: "this time it is the truth." i said: "general miles, i do not know the laws of the white man, nor of this new country where you are to send me, and i might break their laws." he said: "while i live you will not be arrested." then i agreed to make the treaty. (since i have been a prisoner of war i have been arrested and placed in the guardhouse twice for drinking whisky.) we stood between his troopers and my warriors. we placed a large stone on the blanket before us. our treaty was made by this stone, and it was to last until the stone should crumble to dust; so we made the treaty, and bound each other with an oath. i do not believe that i have ever violated that treaty; but general miles[41] never fulfilled his promises. when we had made the treaty general miles said to me: "my brother, you have in your mind how you are going to kill men, and other thoughts of war; i want you to put that out of your mind, and change your thoughts to peace." then i agreed and gave up my arms. i said: "i will quit the warpath and live at peace hereafter." then general miles swept a spot of ground clear with his hand, and said: "your past deeds shall be wiped out like this and you will start a new life." footnotes: [35] these are the exact words of geronimo. the editor is not responsible for this criticism of general crook. [36] governor torres of sonora had agreed to coöperate with our troops in exterminating or capturing this tribe. [37] captain lawton reports officially the same engagement, but makes no mention of the recapture (by the apaches) of the horses. [38] see note page 142. [39] see page 136. [40] for terms of treaty see page 154. [41] the criticisms of general miles in the foregoing chapter are from geronimo, not from the editor. chapter xviii surrender of geronimo on february 11, 1887, the senate passed the following resolution: "resolved, that the secretary of war be directed to communicate to the senate all dispatches of general miles referring to the surrender of geronimo, and all instructions given to and correspondence with general miles in reference to the same." these papers are published in the senate executive documents, second session, 49th congress, 1886-7, volume ii, nos. 111 to 125. for an exhaustive account of the conditions of geronimo's surrender the reader is referred to that document, but this chapter is given to show briefly the terms of surrender, and corroborate, at least in part, the statements made by geronimo. upon assuming command of the department of arizona, general nelson a. miles was directed by the war department to use most vigorous operations for the destruction or capture of the hostile apaches. the following extracts are from instructions issued april 20th, 1886, for the information and guidance of troops serving in the southern portion of arizona and new mexico. "the chief object of the troops will be to capture or destroy any band of hostile apache indians found in this section of country, and to this end the most vigorous and persistent efforts will be required of all officers and soldiers until the object is accomplished." * * * * * "a sufficient number of reliable indians will be used as auxiliaries to discover any signs of hostile indians, and as trailers." * * * * * "to avoid any advantage the indians may have by a relay of horses, where a troop or squadron commander is near the hostile indians he will be justified in dismounting one-half of his command and selecting the lightest and best riders to make pursuit by the most vigorous forced marches until the strength of all the animals of his command shall have been exhausted." * * * * * the following telegrams show the efforts of the united states troops and the coöperation of mexican troops under governor torres: "headquarters division of the pacific, presidio of san francisco, cal. july 22, 1886. "adjutant general, washington, d. c.: "the following telegram just received from general miles: "'captain lawton reports, through colonel royall, commanding at fort huachuca, that his camp surprised geronimo's camp on yongi river, about 130 miles south and east of campas, sonora, or nearly 300 miles south of mexican boundary, capturing all the indian property, including hundreds of pounds of dried meat and nineteen riding animals. this is the fifth time within three months in which the indians have been surprised by the troops. while the results have not been decisive, yet it has given encouragement to the troops, and has reduced the numbers and strength of the indians, and given them a feeling of insecurity even in the remote and almost inaccessible mountains of old mexico.' "in absence of division commander. c. mckeever, assistant adjutant general." * * * * * "headquarters division of the pacific, presidio of san francisco, cal. august 19, 1886. "adjutant general, washington, d. c.: "following received from general miles, dated 18th: "'dispatches to-day from governor torres, dated hermosillo, sonora, mexico, from colonels forsyth and beaumont, commanding huachuca and bowie districts, confirms the following: geronimo with forty indians is endeavoring to make terms of peace with mexican authorities of fronteraz district. one of our scouts, in returning to fort huachuca from lawton's command, met him, naiche, and thirteen other indians on their way to fronteraz; had a long conversation with them; they said they wanted to make peace, and looked worn and hungry. geronimo carried his right arm in a sling, bandaged. the splendid work of the troops is evidently having good effect. should hostiles not surrender to the mexican authorities, lawton's command is south of them, and wilder, with g and m troops, fourth cavalry, moved south to fronteraz, and will be there by 20th. lieutenant lockett, with an effective command, will be in good position to-morrow, near guadalupe cañon, in cajon bonito mountains. on the 11th i had a very satisfactory interview with governor torres. the mexican officials are acting in concert with ours.' "o. o. howard, major general." [illustration: kaytah nahteen apache scouts who were with gen. lawton] general o. o. howard telegraphed from presidio, san francisco, california, september 24, 1886, as follows: " ... the 6th of september general miles reports the hostile apaches made overtures of surrender, through lieutenant gatewood, to captain lawton. they desired certain terms and sent two messengers to me (miles). they were informed that they must surrender as prisoners of war to troops in the field. they promised to surrender to me in person, and for eleven days captain lawton's command moved north, geronimo and naiche moving parallel and frequently camping near it.... at skeleton cañon they halted, saying that they desired to see me (miles) before surrendering." after miles's arrival he reports as follows: "geronimo came from his mountain camp amid the rocks and said he was willing to surrender. he was told that they could surrender as prisoners of war; that it was not the way of officers of the army to kill their enemies who laid down their arms." " ... naiche was wild and suspicious and evidently feared treachery. he knew that the once noted leader, mangus-colorado, had, years ago, been foully murdered after he had surrendered, and the last hereditary chief of the hostile apaches hesitated to place himself in the hands of the palefaces...." continuing his report, general howard says: " ... i believed at first from official reports that the surrender was unconditional, except that the troops themselves would not kill the hostiles. now, from general miles's dispatches and from his annual report, forwarded on the 21st instant by mail, the conditions are plain: first, that the lives of all the indians should be spared. second, that they should be sent to fort marion, florida, where their tribe, including their families, had already been ordered...." d. s. stanley, brigadier general, telegraphs from san antonio, texas, october 22, 1886, as follows: " ... geronimo and naiche requested an interview with me when they first ascertained that they were to leave here, and in talking to them, i told them the exact disposition that was to be made of them. they regarded the separation of themselves from their families as a violation of the terms of their treaty of surrender, by which they had been guaranteed, in the most positive manner conceivable to their minds, that they should be united with their families at fort marion. "there were present at the talk they had with me major j. p. wright, surgeon, united states army; captain j. g. ballance, acting judge-advocate, united states army; george wratton,[42] the interpreter; naiche, and geronimo. "the indians were separated from their families at this place; the women, children, and the two scouts were placed in a separate car before they left. "in an interview with me they stated the following incident, which they regard as an essential part of their treaty of surrender, and which took place at skeleton cañon before they had, as a band, made up their minds to surrender, and before any of them, except perhaps geronimo, had given up their arms, and when they were still fully able to escape and defend themselves. "general miles said to them: 'you go with me to fort bowie and at a certain time you will go to see your relatives in florida.' after they went to fort bowie he reassured them that they would see their relatives in florida in four and a half or five days. "while at skeleton cañon general miles said to them: 'i have come to have a talk with you.' the conversation was interpreted from english into spanish and from spanish into apache and _vice versa_. the interpreting from english into spanish was done by a man by the name of nelson. the interpreting from spanish into apache was done by josé maria yaskes. josé maria montoya was also present, but he did not do any of the interpreting. "dr. wood, united states army, and lieutenant clay, tenth infantry, were present. "general miles drew a line on the ground and said, 'this represents the ocean,' and, putting a small rock beside the line, he said, 'this represents the place where chihuahua is with his band.' he then picked up another stone and placed it a short distance from the first, and said, 'this represents you, geronimo.' he then picked up a third stone and placed it a little distance from the others, and said, 'this represents the indians at camp apache. the president wants to take you and put you with chihuahua.' he then picked up the stone which represented geronimo and his band and put it beside the one which represented chihuahua at fort marion. after doing this he picked up the stone which represented the indians at camp apache and placed it beside the other two stones which represented geronimo and chihuahua at fort marion, and said, 'that is what the president wants to do, get all of you together.' "after their arrival at fort bowie general miles said to them, 'from now on we want to begin a new life,' and holding up one of his hands with the palm open and horizontal he marked lines across it with the finger of the other hand and said, pointing to his open palm, 'this represents the past; it is all covered with hollows and ridges,' then, rubbing his other palm over it, he said, 'that represents the wiping out of the past, which will be considered smooth and forgotten.' "the interpreter, wratton, says that he was present and heard this conversation. the indians say that captain thompson, fourth cavalry, was also present. "naiche said that captain thompson, who was the acting assistant adjutant general, department of arizona, told him at his house in fort bowie, 'don't be afraid; no harm shall come to you. you will go to your friends all right.' he also told them 'that fort marion is not a very large place, and is not probably large enough for all, and that probably in six months or so you will be put in a larger place, where you can do better.' he told them the same thing when they took their departure in the cars from fort bowie. "the idea that they had of the treaty of surrender given in this letter is forwarded at their desire, and, while not desiring to comment on the matter, i feel compelled to say that my knowledge of the indian character, and the experience i have had with indians of all kinds, and the corroborating circumstances and facts that have been brought to my notice in this particular case, convince me that the foregoing statement of naiche and geronimo is substantially correct." [illustration: emma tuklonen] extract from the annual report (1886) of the division of the pacific, commanded by major general o. o. howard, u. s. army. "headquarters division of the pacific, presidio of san francisco, cal. september 17, 1886. "adjutant general, u. s. army, washington, d. c.: "general: i have the honor to submit the following report upon military operations and the condition of the division of the pacific for the information of the lieutenant general, and to make some suggestions for his consideration: * * * * * "on the 17th of may, 1885, a party of about fifty of the chiricahua prisoners, headed by geronimo, naiche, and other chiefs, escaped from the white mountain reserve, in arizona, and entered upon a career of murder and robbery unparalleled in the history of indian raids. "since then, and up to the time of my assuming command of this division, they had been pursued by troops with varying success. "after the assassination of captain crawford, on january 11, by the mexicans, the hostiles asked for a 'talk,' and finally had a conference on march 25, 26, and 27, with general crook, in the cañon of los embudos, 25 miles south of san bernardino, mexico, on which latter date it was arranged that they should be conducted by lieutenant manus, with his battalion of scouts, to fort bowie, ariz. "the march commenced on the morning of march 28 and proceeded until the night of the 29th, when, becoming excited with fears of possible punishment, geronimo and naiche, with twenty men, fourteen women, and two boys, stampeded to the hills. lieutenant manus immediately pursued, but without success. * * * * * "simultaneously with my taking command of the division brigadier general crook was relieved by brigadier general miles, who at once set out to complete the task commenced by his predecessor. "geronimo and his band were committing depredations, now in the united states and now in mexico, and, being separated into small parties, easily eluded the troops, and carried on their work of murder and outrage. "early in may general miles organized the hostile field of operations into districts, each with its command of troops, with specific instructions to guard the water holes, to cover the entire ground by scouting parties, and give the hostiles no rest. "an effective command, under captain lawton, fourth cavalry, was organized for a long pursuit. "on may 3 captain lebo, tenth cavalry, had a fight with geronimo's band 12 miles southwest of santa cruz, in mexico, with a loss of one soldier killed and one wounded. after this fight the indians retreated southward followed by three troops of cavalry. "on may 12 a serious fight of mexican troops with the hostiles near planchos, mexico, resulted in a partial defeat of the mexicans. "on may 15 captain hatfield's command engaged geronimo's band in the corrona mountains, suffering a loss of two killed and three wounded, and the loss of several horses and mules, the indians losing several killed. "on may 16 lieutenant brown, fourth cavalry, struck the hostiles near buena vista, mexico, capturing several horses, rifles, and a quantity of ammunition. "the usual series of outrages, with fatiguing chase by troops, continued until june 21, when the mexicans engaged the hostiles about 40 miles southeast of magdalena, mexico, and after a stubborn fight repulsed them.... * * * * * "about the middle of august geronimo and his band were so reduced and harassed by the tireless pursuit of the soldiers that they made offer of surrender to the mexicans, but without coming to terms. "their locality thus being definitely known, disposition of the troops was rapidly made to act in conjunction with the mexicans to intercept geronimo and force his surrender. "on august 25 geronimo, when near fronteraz, mexico, recognizing that he was pretty well surrounded, and being out of ammunition and food, made overtures of capitulation, through lieutenant gatewood, sixth cavalry, to captain lawton. he desired certain terms, but was informed that a surrender as prisoner of war was all that would be accepted. "the indians then proceeded to the vicinity of captain lawton's command, near skeleton cañon, and sent word that they wished to see general miles. "on september 3 general miles arrived at lawton's camp, and on september 4 naiche, the son of cochise, and the hereditary chief of the apaches, with geronimo surrendered all the hostiles, with the understanding, it seems, that they should be sent out of arizona. "i am not informed of the exact nature of this surrender, at first deemed unconditional.... * * * * * "i am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant, "o. o. howard, "major general, united states army." _statement of w. t. melton, anadarko, oklahoma._ from 1882 to 1887 i lived in southern arizona, and was employed by the sansimone cattle company. in 1886 i was stationed in skeleton cañon, about 10 miles north of the boundary line between arizona and old mexico, with j. d. prewitt. it was our duty to ride the lines south of our range and keep the cattle of the company from straying into old mexico. one afternoon, when returning from our ride, we discovered an indian trail leading toward our camp. we rode hurriedly out of the hills into a broad valley so that we could better discover any attacking parties of apaches and if assailed have at least a fighting chance for our lives. we knew the apaches under geronimo were on the warpath, but they were far down in old mexico. however, our knowledge of the indians led us to expect anything at any time--to always be ready for the worst. when we reached the valley we struck a cavalry trail also headed for our camp. this was perplexing, for neither the indians nor the soldiers seemed to have been riding fast, and both trails led toward our camp in skeleton cañon. this cañon was a natural route from old mexico to arizona, and almost all bands of indians, as well as detachments of united states troops, passed and repassed through this valley when going to old mexico or returning therefrom, but never before had two hostile bands passed through here at the same time and traveling in the same direction, except when one fled and the other pursued. what this could mean was a mystery to us. could it be that the troops had not seen the indians? were the redskins trying to head the troops off and attack them in their camp? were the troops hunting for those indians? could this be lawton's command? could that be geronimo's band? no, it was impossible. then who were these troops and what indians were those? cautiously we rode to our camp, and nailed on the door of our cabin was this notice: "be careful, geronimo is near by and has not yet surrendered. "capt. lawton." then we understood. a short distance above our cabin we found the camp of the troops and we had just finished talking with captain lawton, who advised us to remain in his camp rather than risk staying alone in our cabin, when up rode the chief, geronimo. he was mounted on a blaze-faced, white-stockinged dun horse. he came directly to captain lawton and through an interpreter asked who we were and what we wanted. as soon as the explanation was given he nodded his approval and rode away. prewitt and i rode away with him. we were well armed and well mounted and geronimo was well mounted, but so far as we could see unarmed. i tried to talk with the chief (in english), but could not make him understand. prewitt wanted to shoot[43] him and said he could easily kill him the first shot, but i objected and succeeded in restraining him. while we were arguing the chief rode silently between us, evidently feeling perfectly secure. all this time we had been riding in the direction of our horses that were grazing in the valley about a mile distant from our corral. when we came to a place about a half mile from lawton's camp, where a spur of the mountain ran far out into the valley, geronimo turned aside, saluted, said in fairly good spanish, "_adios, señors_," and began to ascend a mountain path. later we learned that he was going directly toward his camp far up among the rocks. we rode on, drove our horses back to the corral and remained in our cabin all night, but were not molested by the indians. the next day we killed three beeves for the indians, and they were paid for by captain lawton. on the second day two mounted mexican scouts came to lawton's camp. as soon as these mexicans came in sight the indians seized their arms and vanished, as it were, among the rocks. captain lawton wrote an account of conditions and delivered it to the mexicans, who withdrew. after they had gone and their mission had been explained to geronimo the indians again returned to their camp and laid down their arms. on the next day word reached camp that general miles was approaching and the indians again armed and disappeared among the rocks. (many of the apache squaws had field glasses[44] and were stationed every day on prominent mountain peaks to keep a lookout. no one could approach their camp or lawton's camp without being discovered by these spies.) soon after general miles joined lawton's command geronimo rode into camp unarmed, and dismounting approached general miles, shook hands with him, and then stood proudly before the officers waiting for general miles to begin conversation with him. the interpreter said to geronimo, "general miles is your friend." geronimo said, "i never saw him, but i have been in need of friends. why has he not been with me?" when this answer was interpreted everybody laughed. after this there was no more formality and without delay the discussion of the treaty was begun. all i remember distinctly of the treaty is that geronimo and his band were not to be killed, but they were to be taken to their families. [illustration: w. f. melton at whose camp in skeleton cañon geronimo surrendered] i remember this more distinctly, because the indians were so much pleased with this particular one of the terms of the treaty. geronimo, naiche, and a few others went on ahead with general miles, but the main band of indians left under the escort of lawton's troops. the night before they left, a young squaw, daughter-in-law of geronimo, gave birth to a child. the next morning the husband, geronimo's son, carried the child, but the mother mounted her pony unaided and rode away unassisted--a prisoner of war under military escort. on the afternoon of the day of the treaty captain lawton built a monument (about ten feet across and six feet high) of rough stones at the spot where the treaty was made. the next year some cowboys on a round-up camped at the place, and tore down the monument to see what was in it. all they found was a bottle containing a piece of paper upon which was written the names of the officers who were with lawton. after the indians left we found one hundred and fifty dollars and twenty-five cents ($150.25) in mexican money hidden in a rat's nest[45] near where the indians had camped. about ten o'clock on the morning after the apaches and soldiers had gone away twenty pimos indians, accompanied by one white man, surrounded our camp and demanded to know of geronimo's whereabouts. we told them of the treaty and they followed the trail on toward fort bowie. that afternoon, thinking all danger from apaches past, my partner, prewitt, went to ride the lines and i was left in camp alone. i was pumping water (by horse-power) at the well, when i saw three indians rounding up our horses about half a mile away. they saw me but did not disturb me, nor did i interfere with them, but as soon as they had driven that bunch of horses northward over the hill out of sight i rode quickly off in another direction and drove another bunch of horses into the corral. the rest of the afternoon i stayed in camp, but saw no more indians. the next day we rode over the hill in the direction these indians had gone and found that they had camped not three miles away. there were evidently several in the party and they had kept scouts concealed near the top of the hill to watch me, and to shoot me from ambush had i followed them. this we knew because we saw behind some rocks at the crest of the hill in the loose soil the imprints left by the bodies of three warriors where they had been lying down in concealment. at their camp we found the head and hoofs of my favorite horse, "digger," a fine little sorrel pony, and knew that he had served them for dinner. we followed their trail far into old mexico, but did not overtake them. we had been accustomed to say "it was geronimo's band," whenever any depredation was committed, but this time we were not so positive. * * * * * we do not wish to express our own opinion, but to ask the reader whether, after having had the testimony of apaches, soldiers, and civilians, who knew the conditions of surrender, and, after having examined carefully the testimony offered, it would be possible to conclude that geronimo made an unconditional surrender? before passing from this subject it would be well also to consider whether our government has treated these prisoners in strict accordance with the terms of the treaty made in skeleton cañon. footnotes: [42] mr. george wratton is now at fort sill, oklahoma, acting as superintendent of apaches. he has been with the apaches as interpreter and superintendent since their surrender. [43] recently mr. melton told geronimo of this conversation. the wily old chief laughed shyly and said, "what if prewitt's pistol had been knocked out of his hand? other men have tried to shoot me and at least some of them failed. but i'm glad he didn't try it." [44] these field glasses were taken from soldiers and officers (mexicans and americans) whom the apaches had killed. [45] this was a stick nest built on top of the ground by a species of woods rat. chapter xix a prisoner of war when i had given up to the government they put me on the southern pacific railroad and took me to san antonio, texas, and held me to be tried by their laws. in forty days they took me from there to fort pickens (pensacola), florida. here they put me to sawing up large logs. there were several other apache warriors with me, and all of us had to work every day. for nearly two years we were kept at hard labor in this place and we did not see our families until may, 1887. this treatment was in direct violation of our treaty made at skeleton cañon. after this we were sent with our families to vermont, alabama, where we stayed five years and worked for the government. we had no property, and i looked in vain for general miles to send me to that land of which he had spoken; i longed in vain for the implements, house, and stock that general miles had promised me. during this time one of my warriors, fun, killed himself and his wife. another one shot his wife and then shot himself. he fell dead, but the woman recovered and is still living. we were not healthy in this place, for the climate disagreed with us. so many of our people died that i consented to let one of my wives go to the mescalero agency in new mexico to live. this separation is according to our custom equivalent to what the white people call divorce, and so she married again soon after she got to mescalero. she also kept our two small children, which she had a right to do. the children, lenna and robbie, are still living at mescalero, new mexico. lenna is married. i kept one wife, but she is dead now and i have only our daughter eva with me. since my separation from lenna's mother i have never had more than one wife at a time. since the death of eva's mother i married another woman (december, 1905) but we could not live happily and separated. she went home to her people--that is an apache divorce. then,[46] as now, mr. george wratton superintended the indians. he has always had trouble with the indians, because he has mistreated them. one day an indian, while drunk, stabbed mr. wratton with a little knife. the officer in charge took the part of mr. wratton and the indian was sent to prison. when[47] we first came to fort sill, captain scott was in charge, and he had houses built for us by the government. we were also given, from the government, cattle, hogs, turkeys and chickens. the indians did not do much good with the hogs, because they did not understand how to care for them, and not many indians even at the present time keep hogs. we did better with the turkeys and chickens, but with these we did not have as good luck as white men do. with the cattle we have done very well, indeed, and we like to raise them. we have a few horses also, and have had no bad luck with them. in the matter of selling[48] our stock and grain there has been much misunderstanding. the indians understood that the cattle were to be sold and the money given to them, but instead part of the money is given to the indians and part of it is placed in what the officers call the "apache fund." we have had five different officers in charge of the indians here and they have all ruled very much alike--not consulting the apaches or even explaining to them. it may be that the government ordered the officers in charge to put this cattle money into an apache fund, for once i complained and told lieutenant purington[49] that i intended to report to the government that he had taken some of my part of the cattle money and put it into the apache fund, he said he did not care if i did tell. several years ago the issue of clothing ceased. this, too, may have been by the order of the government, but the apaches do not understand it. if there is an apache fund, it should some day be turned over to the indians, or at least they should have an account of it, for it is their earnings. when general miles last visited fort sill i asked to be relieved from labor on account of my age. i also remembered what general miles had promised me in the treaty and told him of it. he said i need not work any more except when i wished to, and since that time i have not been detailed to do any work. i have worked a great deal, however, since then, for, although i am old, i like to work[50] and help my people as much as i am able. footnotes: [46] these are not the words of the editor, but of geronimo. [47] they were in alabama from may, 1888, to october, 1894. [48] the indians are not allowed to sell the cattle themselves. when cattle are ready for market they are sold by the officer in charge, part of the money paid to the indians who owned them and part of it placed in a general (apache) fund. the supplies, farming implements, etc., for the apaches are paid for from this fund. [49] the criticism of lieutenant purington is from geronimo. the editor disclaims any responsibility for it, as in all cases where individuals are criticised by the old warrior. [50] geronimo helps make hay and care for the cattle, but does not receive orders from the superintendent of the indians. part iv the old and the new chapter xx unwritten laws of the apaches _trials_ when an indian has been wronged by a member of his tribe he may, if he does not wish to settle the difficulty personally, make complaint to the chieftain. if he is unable to meet the offending parties in a personal encounter, and disdains to make complaint, anyone may in his stead inform the chief of this conduct, and then it becomes necessary to have an investigation or trial. both the accused and the accuser are entitled to witnesses, and their witnesses are not interrupted in any way by questions, but simply say what they wish to say in regard to the matter. the witnesses are not placed under oath, because it is not believed that they will give false testimony in a matter relating to their own people. the chief of the tribe presides during these trials, but if it is a serious offense he asks two or three leaders to sit with him. these simply determine whether or not the man is guilty. if he is not guilty the matter is ended, and the complaining party has forfeited his right to take personal vengeance, for if he wishes to take vengeance himself, he must object to the trial which would prevent it. if the accused is found guilty the injured party fixes the penalty, which is generally confirmed by the chief and his associates. _adoption of children_ if any children are left orphans by the usage of war or otherwise, that is, if both parents are dead, the chief of the tribe may adopt them or give them away as he desires. in the case of outlawed indians, they may, if they wish, take their children with them, but if they leave the children with the tribe, the chief decides what will be done with them, but no disgrace attaches to the children. _"salt lake"_ we obtained our salt from a little lake in the gila mountains. this is a very small lake of clear, shallow water, and in the center a small mound arises above the surface of the water. the water is too salty to drink, and the bottom of the lake is covered with a brown crust. when this crust is broken cakes of salt adhere to it. these cakes of salt may be washed clear in the water of this lake, but if washed in other water will dissolve. when visiting this lake our people were not allowed to even kill game or attack an enemy. all creatures were free to go and come without molestation. _preparation of a warrior_ to be admitted as a warrior a youth must have gone with the warriors of his tribe four separate times on the warpath. on the first trip he will be given only very inferior food. with this he must be contented without murmuring. on none of the four trips is he allowed to select his food as the warriors do, but must eat such food as he is permitted to have. on each of these expeditions he acts as servant, cares for the horses, cooks the food, and does whatever duties he should do without being told. he knows what things are to be done, and without waiting to be told is to do them. he is not allowed to speak to any warrior except in answer to questions or when told to speak. during these four wars he is expected to learn the sacred names of everything used in war, for after the tribe enters upon the warpath no common names are used in referring to anything appertaining to war in any way. war is a solemn religious matter. if, after four expeditions, all the warriors are satisfied that the youth has been industrious, has not spoken out of order, has been discreet in all things, has shown courage in battle, has borne all hardships uncomplainingly, and has exhibited no color of cowardice, or weakness of any kind, he may by vote of the council be admitted as a warrior; but if any warrior objects to him upon any account he will be subjected to further tests, and if he meets these courageously, his name may again be proposed. when he has proven beyond question that he can bear hardships without complaint, and that he is a stranger to fear, he is admitted to the council of the warriors in the lowest rank. after this there is no formal test for promotions, but by common consent he assumes a station on the battlefield, and if that position is maintained with honor, he is allowed to keep it, and may be asked, or may volunteer, to take a higher station, but no warrior would presume to take a higher station unless he had assurance from the leaders of the tribe that his conduct in the first position was worthy of commendation. from this point upward the only election by the council in formal assembly is the election of the chief. old men are not allowed to lead in battle, but their advice is always respected. old age means loss of physical power and is fatal to active leadership. _dances_ all dances are considered religious ceremonies and are presided over by a chief and medicine men. they are of a social or military nature, but never without some sacred characteristic. _a dance of thanksgiving_ every summer we would gather the fruit of the yucca, grind and pulverize it and mold it into cakes; then the tribe would be assembled to feast, to sing, and to give praises to usen. prayers of thanksgiving were said by all. when the dance began the leaders bore these cakes and added words of praise occasionally to the usual tone sounds of the music. [illustration: chihuahua and family] _the war dance_ after a council of the warriors had deliberated, and had prepared for the warpath, the dance would be started. in this dance there is the usual singing led by the warriors and accompanied with the beating of the "esadadene," but the dancing is more violent, and yells and war whoops sometimes almost drown the music. only warriors participated in this dance. _scalp dance_ after a war party has returned, a modification of the war dance is held. the warriors who have brought scalps from the battles exhibit them to the tribe, and when the dance begins these scalps, elevated on poles or spears, are carried around the camp fires while the dance is in progress. during this dance there is still some of the solemnity of the war dance. there are yells and war whoops, frequently accompanied by discharge of firearms, but there is always more levity than would be permitted at a war dance. after the scalp dance is over the scalps are thrown away. no apache would keep them, for they are considered defiling. _a social dance_ in the early part of september, 1905, i announced among the apaches that my daughter, eva, having attained womanhood, should now put away childish things and assume her station as a young lady. at a dance of the tribe she would make her début, and then, or thereafter, it would be proper for a warrior to seek her hand in marriage. accordingly, invitations were issued to all apaches, and many comanches and kiowas, to assemble for a grand dance on the green by the south bank of medicine creek, near the village of naiche, former chief of the chokonen apaches, on the first night of full moon in september. the festivities were to continue for two days and nights. nothing was omitted in the preparation that would contribute to the enjoyment of the guests or the perfection of the observance of the religious rite. to make ready for the dancing the grass on a large circular space was closely mowed. the singing was led by chief naiche, and i, assisted by our medicine men, directed the dance. first eva advanced from among the women and danced once around the camp fire; then, accompanied by another young woman, she again advanced and both danced twice around the camp fire; then she and two other young ladies advanced and danced three times around the camp fire; the next time she and three other young ladies advanced and danced four times around the camp fire; this ceremony lasted about one hour. next the medicine men entered, stripped to the waist, their bodies painted fantastically, and danced the sacred dances. they were followed by clown dancers, who amused the audience greatly. then the members of the tribe joined hands and danced in a circle around the camp fire for a long time. all the friends of the tribe were asked to take part in this dance, and when it was ended many of the old people retired, and the "lovers' dance" began. the warriors stood in the middle of the circle and the ladies, two-and-two, danced forward and designated some warrior to dance with them. the dancing was back and forth on a line from the center to the outer edge of the circle. the warrior faced the two ladies, and when they danced forward to the center he danced backward: then they danced backward to the outer edge and he followed facing them. this lasted two or three hours and then the music changed. immediately the warriors assembled again in the center of the circle, and this time each lady selected a warrior as a partner. the manner of dancing was as before, only two instead of three danced together. during this dance, which continued until daylight, the warrior (if dancing with a maiden) could propose[51] marriage, and if the maiden agreed, he would consult her father soon afterward and make a bargain for her. upon all such occasions as this, when the dance is finished, each warrior gives a present to the lady who selected him for a partner and danced with him. if she is satisfied with the present he says good-by, if not, the matter is referred to someone in authority (medicine man or chief), who determines the question of what is a proper gift. for a married lady the value of the present should be two or three dollars; for a maiden the present should have a value of not less than five dollars. often, however, the maiden receives a very valuable present. during the "lovers' dance" the medicine men mingle with the dancers to keep out evil spirits. perhaps i shall never again have cause to assemble our people to dance, but these social dances in the moonlight have been a large part of our enjoyment in the past, and i think they will not soon be discontinued, at least i hope not. footnote: [51] apache warriors do not go "courting" as our youths do. the associations in the villages afford ample opportunity for acquaintance, and the arranging for marriages is considered a business transaction, but the courtesy of consulting the maiden, although not essential, is considered very polite. chapter xxi at the world's fair when i was at first asked to attend the st. louis world's fair i did not wish to go. later, when i was told that i would receive good attention and protection, and that the president of the united states said that it would be all right, i consented. i was kept by parties in charge of the indian department, who had obtained permission from the president. i stayed in this place for six months. i sold my photographs for twenty-five cents, and was allowed to keep ten cents of this for myself. i also wrote my name for ten, fifteen, or twenty-five cents, as the case might be, and kept all of that money. i often made as much as two dollars a day, and when i returned i had plenty of money--more than i had ever owned before. many people in st. louis invited me to come to their homes, but my keeper always refused. every sunday the president of the fair sent for me to go to a wild west show. i took part in the roping contests before the audience. there were many other indian tribes there, and strange people of whom i had never heard. when people first came to the world's fair they did nothing but parade up and down the streets. when they got tired of this they would visit the shows. there were many strange things in these shows. the government sent guards with me when i went, and i was not allowed to go anywhere without them. in one of the shows some strange men[52] with red caps had some peculiar swords, and they seemed to want to fight. finally their manager told them they might fight each other. they tried to hit each other over the head with these swords, and i expected both to be wounded or perhaps killed, but neither one was harmed. they would be hard people to kill in a hand-to-hand fight. in another show there was a strange-looking negro. the manager tied his hands fast, then tied him to a chair. he was securely tied, for i looked myself, and i did not think it was possible for him to get away. then the manager told him to get loose. he twisted in his chair for a moment, and then stood up; the ropes were still tied, but he was free. i do not understand how this was done. it was certainly a miraculous power, because no man could have released himself by his own efforts. in another place a man was on a platform speaking to the audience; they set a basket by the side of the platform and covered it with red calico; then a woman came and got into the basket, and a man covered the basket again with the calico; then the man who was speaking to the audience took a long sword and ran it through the basket, each way, and then down through the cloth cover. i heard the sword cut through the woman's body, and the manager himself said she was dead; but when the cloth was lifted from the basket she stepped out, smiled, and walked off the stage. i would like to know how she was so quickly healed, and why the wounds did not kill her. i have never considered bears very intelligent, except in their wild habits, but i had never before seen a white bear. in one of the shows a man had a white bear that was as intelligent as a man. he would do whatever he was told--carry a log on his shoulder, just as a man would; then, when he was told, would put it down again. he did many other things, and seemed to know exactly what his keeper said to him. i am sure that no grizzly bear could be trained to do these things. [illustration: mrs. asa deklugie niece of geronimo and daughter of chihuahua, a famous apache chieftain eva geronimo geronimo's youngest daughter, 16 years old] one time the guards took me into a little house[53] that had four windows. when we were seated the little house started to move along the ground. then the guards called my attention to some curious things they had in their pockets. finally they told me to look out, and when i did so i was scared, for our little house had gone high up in the air, and the people down in the fair grounds looked no larger than ants. the men laughed at me for being scared; then they gave me a glass to look through (i often had such glasses which i took from dead officers after battles in mexico and elsewhere), and i could see rivers, lakes and mountains. but i had never been so high in the air, and i tried to look into the sky. there were no stars, and i could not look at the sun through this glass because the brightness hurt my eyes. finally i put the glass down, and as they were all laughing at me, i too, began to laugh. then they said, "get out!" and when i looked we were on the street again. after we were safe on the land i watched many of these little houses going up and coming down, but i cannot understand how they travel. they are very curious little houses. one day we went into another show, and as soon as we were in, it changed into night. it was real night, for i could feel the damp air; soon it began to thunder, and the lightnings flashed; it was real lightning, too, for it struck just above our heads. i dodged and wanted to run away, but i could not tell which way to go in order to get out. the guards motioned me to keep still, and so i stayed. in front of us were some strange little people who came out on the platform; then i looked up again and the clouds were all gone, and i could see the stars shining. the little people on the platform did not seem in earnest about anything they did; so i only laughed at them. all the people around where we sat seemed to be laughing at me. we went into another place and the manager took us into a little room that was made like a cage; then everything around us seemed to be moving; soon the air looked blue, then there were black clouds moving with the wind. pretty soon it was clear outside; then we saw a few thin white clouds; then the clouds grew thicker, and it rained and hailed with thunder and lightning. then the thunder retreated and a rainbow appeared in the distance; then it became dark, the moon rose and thousands of stars came out. soon the sun came up, and we got out of the little room. this was a good show, but it was so strange and unnatural that i was glad to be on the streets again. we went into one place where they made glassware. i had always thought that these things were made by hand, but they are not. the man had a curious little instrument, and whenever he would blow through this into a little blaze the glass would take any shape he wanted it to. i am not sure, but i think that if i had this kind of an instrument i could make whatever i wished. there seems to be a charm about it. but i suppose it is very difficult to get these little instruments, or other people would have them. the people in this show were so anxious to buy the things the man made that they kept him so busy he could not sit down all day long. i bought many curious things in there and brought them home with me. at the end of one of the streets some people were getting into a clumsy canoe, upon a kind of shelf, and sliding down into the water.[54] they seemed to enjoy it, but it looked too fierce for me. if one of these canoes had gone out of its path the people would have been sure to get hurt or killed. there were some little brown people[55] at the fair that united states troops captured recently on some islands far away from here. they did not wear much clothing, and i think that they should not have been allowed to come to the fair. but they themselves did not seem to know any better. they had some little brass plates, and they tried to play music with these, but i did not think it was music--it was only a rattle. however, they danced to this noise and seemed to think they were giving a fine show. i do not know how true the report was, but i heard that the president sent them to the fair so that they could learn some manners, and when they went home teach their people how to dress and how to behave. i am glad i went to the fair. i saw many interesting things and learned much of the white people. they are a very kind and peaceful people. during all the time i was at the fair no one tried to harm me in any way. had this been among the mexicans i am sure i should have been compelled to defend myself often. i wish all my people could have attended the fair.[56] footnotes: [52] turks. [53] ferris wheel. [54] shooting the chute. [55] iggorrotes from the philippines. [56] geronimo was also taken to both the omaha and the buffalo expositions, but during that period of his life he was sullen and took no interest in things. the st. louis exposition was held after he had adopted the christian religion and had begun to try to understand our civilization. chapter xxii religion in our primitive worship only our relations to usen and the members of our tribe were considered as appertaining to our religious responsibilities. as to the future state, the teachings of our tribe were not specific, that is, we had no definite idea of our relations and surroundings in after life. we believed that there is a life after this one, but no one ever told me as to what part of man lived after death. i have seen many men die; i have seen many human bodies decayed, but i have never seen that part which is called the spirit; i do not know what it is; nor have i yet been able to understand that part of the christian religion. we held that the discharge of one's duty would make his future life more pleasant, but whether that future life was worse than this life or better, we did not know, and no one was able to tell us. we hoped that in the future life family and tribal relations would be resumed. in a way we believed this, but we did not know it. once when living in san carlos reservation an indian told me that while lying unconscious on the battlefield he had actually been dead, and had passed into the spirit land. first he came to a mulberry tree growing out from a cave in the ground. before this cave a guard was stationed, but when he approached without fear the guard let him pass. he descended into the cave, and a little way back the path widened and terminated in a perpendicular rock many hundreds of feet wide and equal in height. there was not much light, but by peering directly beneath him he discovered a pile of sand reaching from the depths below to within twenty feet of the top of the rock where he stood. holding to a bush, he swung off from the edge of the rock and dropped onto the sand, sliding rapidly down its steep side into the darkness. he landed in a narrow passage running due westward through a cañon which gradually grew lighter and lighter until he could see as well as if it had been daylight; but there was no sun. finally he came to a section of this passage that was wider for a short distance, and then closing abruptly continued in a narrow path; just where this section narrowed two huge serpents were coiled, and rearing their heads, hissed at him as he approached, but he showed no fear, and as soon as he came close to them they withdrew quietly and let him pass. at the next place, where the passage opened into a wider section, were two grizzly bears prepared to attack him, but when he approached and spoke to them they stood aside and he passed unharmed. he continued to follow the narrow passage, and the third time it widened and two mountain lions crouched in the way, but when he had approached them without fear and had spoken to them they also withdrew. he again entered the narrow passage. for some time he followed this, emerging into a fourth section beyond which he could see nothing: the further walls of this section were clashing together at regular intervals with tremendous sounds, but when he approached them they stood apart until he had passed. after this he seemed to be in a forest, and following the natural draws, which led westward, soon came into a green valley where there were many indians camped and plenty of game. he said that he saw and recognized many whom he had known in this life, and that he was sorry when he was brought back to consciousness. i told him if i knew this to be true i would not want to live another day, but by some means, if by my own hands, i would die in order to enjoy these pleasures. i myself have lain unconscious on the battlefield, and while in that condition have had some strange thoughts or experiences; but they are very dim and i cannot recall them well enough to relate them. many indians believed this warrior, and i cannot say that he did not tell the truth. i wish i knew that what he said is beyond question true. but perhaps it is as well that we are not certain. [illustration: ready for church] since my life as a prisoner has begun i have heard the teachings of the white man's religion, and in many respects believe it to be better than the religion of my fathers. however, i have always prayed, and i believe that the almighty has always protected me. believing that in a wise way it is good to go to church, and that associating with christians would improve my character, i have adopted the christian religion.[57] i believe that the church has helped me much during the short time i have been a member. i am not ashamed to be a christian, and i am glad to know that the president of the united states is a christian, for without the help of the almighty i do not think he could rightly judge in ruling so many people. i have advised all of my people who are not christians, to study that religion, because it seems to me the best religion in enabling one to live right. footnote: [57] geronimo joined the dutch reformed church and was baptized in the summer of 1903. he attends the services regularly at the apache mission, ft. sill military reservation. chapter xxiii hopes for the future i am thankful that the president of the united states has given me permission to tell my story. i hope that he and those in authority under him will read my story and judge whether my people have been rightly treated. there is a great question between the apaches and the government. for twenty years we have been held prisoners of war under a treaty which was made with general miles, on the part of the united states government, and myself as the representative of the apaches. that treaty has not at all times been properly observed by the government, although at the present time it is being more nearly fulfilled on their part than heretofore. in the treaty with general miles we agreed to go to a place outside of arizona and learn to live as the white people do. i think that my people are now capable of living in accordance with the laws of the united states, and we would, of course, like to have the liberty to return to that land which is ours by divine right. we are reduced in numbers, and having learned how to cultivate the soil would not require so much ground as was formerly necessary. we do not ask all of the land which the almighty gave us in the beginning, but that we may have sufficient lands there to cultivate. what we do not need we are glad for the white men to cultivate. we are now held on comanche and kiowa lands, which are not suited to our needs--these lands and this climate are suited to the indians who originally inhabited this country, of course, but our people are decreasing in numbers here, and will continue to decrease unless they are allowed to return to their native land. such a result is inevitable. there is no climate or soil which, to my mind, is equal to that of arizona. we could have plenty of good cultivating land, plenty of grass, plenty of timber and plenty of minerals in that land which the almighty created for the apaches. it is my land, my home, my fathers' land, to which i now ask to be allowed to return. i want to spend my last days there, and be buried among those mountains. if this could be i might die in peace, feeling that my people, placed in their native homes, would increase in numbers, rather than diminish as at present, and that our name would not become extinct. i know that if my people were placed in that mountainous region lying around the headwaters of the gila river they would live in peace and act according to the will of the president. they would be prosperous and happy in tilling the soil and learning the civilization of the white men, whom they now respect. could i but see this accomplished, i think i could forget all the wrongs that i have ever received, and die a contented and happy old man. but we can do nothing in this matter ourselves--we must wait until those in authority choose to act. if this cannot be done during my lifetime--if i must die in bondage--i hope that the remnant of the apache tribe may, when i am gone, be granted the one privilege which they request--to return to arizona. through apache land by lieut. r. h. jayne author of "lost in the wilderness," "in the pecos country," "the cave in the mountain," etc. new york the mershon company publishers copyrighted, 1893, by the price-mcgill co. [illustration: the warrior had not time to recover * * * when tom grasped him by the throat.] contents. i--moonlight on the rio gila ii--tom hardynge's ruse iii--pursued by the apaches iv--outwitted v--an alarming message vi--the two scouts vii--the cavalry escort viii--in devil's pass ix--among the apaches x--lone wolf xi--surrounded by danger xii--"the hour has come" xiii--the flight xiv--pursued xv--in the solitude xvi--among the mountains xvii--a mysterious camp fire xviii--the indian fight xix--a terrible meeting xx--white vs. red xxi--friends together xxii--anxious waiting xxiii--the death shot xxiv--the buffaloes xxv--alone again xxvi--capturing a mustang xxvii--a run for life xxviii--a great misfortune xxix--the lone camp fire xxx--fighting a grizzly xxxi--sleep xxxii--reunited xxxiii--closing in xxxiv--hurricane hill xxxv--the sentinel xxxvi--a desperate scheme xxxvii--the two defenders xxxviii--hand to hand xxxix--conclusion through apache land. chapter i. moonlight on the rio gila. along the eastern bank a small indian canoe, containing a single individual, was stealing its way--"hugging" the shore so as to take advantage of the narrow band of shadow that followed the winding of the stream. there were no trees on either side of the river, but this portion was walled in by bluffs, rising from three or four to fully twenty feet in height. the current was sluggish and not a breath of air wrinkled the surface on this mild summer night. it was in the wildest part of the indian country, and tom hardynge, the hunter, runner and bearer of all dispatches between the frontier posts in the extreme southwest, knew very well that for three days past it had been his proverbial good fortune, or rather a special providence, that had kept his scalp from ornamenting the lodge of some marauding comanche or apache. tom was one of the bravest and most skillful of borderers in those days, and had been up in the indian country to learn the truth of numerous rumors which had come to the stations, reports of a general uprising among the redskins, with whom the peace commissioners had succeeded in negotiating treaties after months of diplomacy. after spending more than a week in dodging back and forth, in the disguise of an indian he had learned enough to feel that there was good foundation for these rumors, and that the exposed stations and settlements were in imminent peril. as soon as he was assured of this fact he started on his return to fort havens, which still lay a good three days' travel to the southwest. it was tom's purpose to continue his descent until the following night, when, if nothing unexpected should intervene, he hoped to reach the point where he had left his mustang, and thence it would be plain sailing for the rest of the way. he knew the country thoroughly, and was confident that it was safer to perform a part of the journey by water than by land, which explains how it was that he was still in the paint and garb of an indian, and still stealing his way down toward the gulf of california. "them apaches are a cute set," he muttered, as he glided along through the bank of shadow; "i believe they've larned i've been up among them lookin' around. i can't tell 'zactly how they larned it. i've played injun so often that i know i can do it purty well; but they know there's somethin' in the air, and them signs i spied yesterday showed plain 'nough that they was lookin' for me. they'd give a dozen of their best warriors, with a chief throwed in to make good weight, to keep me from reachin' fort havens with the news that the apaches are makin' ready to raise old ned along the border. fact is, i do carry big news, that's sartin. hello!" this exclamation was caused by the appearance of a bright point of light on the edge of the bluff, several hundred yards down the river, and upon the opposite side. at first glance it resembled some star of the first magnitude, which a sudden depression of the bluff had made visible. the scout ceased paddling, and, suffering the canoe to drift slowly with the tide, fixed his keen gray eyes upon the fiery point. "that ain't any more of a star than i am," he added, a second later. "there she goes again!" the torch, for such it was, remained stationary for scarcely a minute, when it began revolving swiftly from right to left, the gyration being of such a nature as to prove that it was swung by the hand of some person. three revolutions, and then it suddenly reversed and made three in the opposite direction, then two back, then two forward, then one back and forth, and then it vanished in the gloom of the night. tom scarcely breathed while viewing this pantomime, and when it ended he still held the paddle motionless while he chuckled to himself, for he knew what it all meant. he had seen indian telegraphy before, and had learned to comprehend a great deal of those mysterious signs and signals by which news is carried across mountain and prairie with incredible speed. he had ridden his fleet mustang to death to head off some of these telegrams, and yet in every case the indians, by some trickery unexplained to him, had outsped him. "yes, i can read that," tom growled, still drifting with the current. "that ere redskin is signalin' to some other scamp, and it's all about _me_. it says that i'm on the river somewhere, and a lookout must be kept for me." such was the fact. the indian who swayed the torch meant thereby to appraise some confederate that the scout who had dared to penetrate such a distance into their country, and to unearth their most important secrets, was seeking to make his way down the rio gila and out of their country again. this much said the torch in language that could not be mistaken. although it added no more, yet the sequence was inevitable, and tom needed no one to apprise him that the river both above and below him was closely watched, and that he was in the greatest peril of his life. being entirely shrouded in shadow, he could not see the moon, which rode high in the sky, scarcely touched by a floating cloud. "i wish the moon would go out of sight altogether," he said to himself, as he viewed the clear sky. "i'd like to see it as black as a wolf's mouth, and then i'd teach these scamps somethin'; but there's too much confounded moonlight layin' loose for a chap to show any scientific tricks." the fact that a redskin had indulged in signaling suggested that there must be some one to whom he had signaled, and the hunter devoted himself to learning where the second apache was located. "as near as i kin calc'late, the chap must be on this side of the stream, and purty close to where i'm rockin' in the cradle of the deep this very minute." he now moved his paddle slightly--just enough to hold the boat motionless while he looked and listened. the stillness was profound; not even the soft sighing of the wind reaching his ears. he had peered around in the gloom only a few minutes when he discerned the reply to the signal already described, and so close that he was startled. scarcely fifty feet below him, and on the edge of the bluff, several yards in height, a light flashed into view. a second glance showed him that it was a flaming torch held in the hand of an indian, who began whirling it around his head with a swiftness that made it seem like a revolving wheel of fire. the rapid motion of the torch, as the reader may infer, caused an equally rapid increase of the flame upon it, so that it revealed the indian himself; and the hunter, as he looked toward it, saw the figure of the warrior standing like some pyrotechnist in the center of his own display. a better target could not have been asked, and tom, quick as thought, raised his rifle and sighted it; but with his finger upon the trigger, he refrained, lowered the piece and shook his head, muttering as he did so: "he deserves it, and i'd like to give it to him, but it won't do. they'd know what the rifle-crack meant, and i'd have a hornet's nest about my head quick as lightnin'." tom was not certain of the meaning of the exhibition he had just seen, but believed that it was intended as a mere reply to the other--the same as if the apache had shouted "all right!" in response to the notification. the indian must have circled the torch in this manner for more than a score of times, when he threw it from his hand into the river, where it fell with a hiss, and was instantly extinguished. the scout was in a quandary. if he continued down stream he must pass directly beneath the spot where his foe was standing, and the shadow was by no means dense enough to make it possible for him to escape observation. he was confident, however, that if he could change places with the warrior, he could discern the canoe without any closer approach. he was at a disadvantage, for the bluff was perfectly perpendicular and so high that he could not reach the ground above without retreating up the river for at least a quarter of a mile, where the bluff was depressed enough to permit him to draw himself upward upon it. had the bank been low and wooded, it would have been the easiest matter in the world to have shoved the canoe into the shelter, or to have circumvented the indian by lifting it bodily from the water and going around him, and striking the river again below. but tom hesitated only a few minutes. he was anxious to get forward, for delay was dangerous and he felt annoyed at the manner in which he was dogged. "here goes," he exclaimed, starting the canoe forward again. "if that apache is anxious for a scrimmage, he can have one." chapter ii. tom hardynge's ruse. hardynge was too skillful a hunter to place himself directly in the way of the apache whom he knew to be the most treacherous kind of an enemy. his purpose was to indulge in a little strategy and to seek to outwit the redskin, as he had done on many an occasion before. it required but a second for him to slide his rifle over upon his back, the stock being hastily wrapped with a leathern sheath, which he always carried for such an emergency, when he gently let himself over the stern of the canoe, taking care to make no splash or noise in doing so. he then permitted his body with the exception of his head to sink entirely beneath the surface, while he floated with the boat, lying in such a position that he made it effectually screen him from the view of any one who might be upon the bank above. it was hardly to be expected, however, that if the indian saw the boat, he would permit it to pass unquestioned. tom did not anticipate it, and he was prepared for that which followed. for several minutes the most perfect silence prevailed. at the end of that time, the scout knew that he was exactly beneath the spot whereon he had seen the answering signal, and scarcely stirred a muscle, keeping his head as close as possible to the boat, and so nearly submerged, that he could scarcely breathe. "hooh! hooh!" the apache had noted the empty canoe drifting below him in the shadow, and surveyed it with something of the feeling of the detective who suddenly stumbles upon a clue, the precise meaning of which is at first a mystery to him. it is hardly to be supposed that he intended this outcry as a hail to the boat, which he must have seen contained no one. its appearance would naturally suggest to one in his situation that the occupant had been alarmed by the signs of danger and had taken to the land. this supposition was so natural that hardynge would probably have got safely by the dangerous point but for a totally unlooked-for mishap. the water, which up to this time had been fully six feet in depth, suddenly shallowed to less than a quarter of that, so that he struck his knees against the bottom. the shock was very slight, and scarcely caused a ripple; but it takes only the slightest noise to alarm an indian, especially when he is on the watch. that faint plash caused by the jar of the body caught the ear of the listening, peering redskin, who instantly slid his body over the bluff, and balancing himself for an instant, dropped with such precision that he struck the canoe in the very center, and preserved its gravity so well that it tipped neither to the right nor left. at the very moment the apache dropped, the hunter rose to his feet, knife in hand. the water rose scarcely to his knees, and the bottom was hard, so that it was almost the same as if he stood upon dry land. the warrior had not time to recover from the slight shock of his leap, when tom grasped him by the throat and used his weapon with such effect that it was all over in a few seconds. "there! i reckon you won't go into the telegraph business again very soon!" he growled, as the inanimate body disappeared down the stream, and he coolly re-entered the canoe, which had floated but a short distance away. he had scarcely done this when a new idea struck him, and, hastening after the receding body, he carefully drew it into the boat again. here it was the work of but a few minutes to place it in a sitting position in the stern in the most natural posture imaginable, so that any one looking upon the figure would not have suspected for an instant that it was anything but an animate being. making sure that its pose could not be improved, the scout then turned the boat directly away from the bank, never changing its course until the very middle of the gila was reached, when he began paddling in as leisurely a manner as if no danger threatened. it was a daring stratagem, but it is only by such means that men are enabled to escape from peril, and although fully aware of the danger he was incurring, he kept on his way with that coolness that years of experience had given him. as he approached a point opposite that where he had seen the first signal he did not turn his head, but he looked sideways and scanned the bank with the most searching scrutiny. sure enough, at this moment he plainly discerned the figures of fully a half-dozen indians standing upon the bluff and apparently watching the canoe with a curiosity that was natural. "all right," thought the hunter; "so long as you let me alone i won't hurt you." had there been but the single occupant of the canoe the apaches would not have stood debating in this fashion as to what they should do, if, indeed, they should do anything at all. unity in the question would have shown that it was the identical individual for whom they were searching, for they knew that he was alone; but the fact that there were two, and both in the guise of indians, could be explained upon no other hypothesis than that they were really what they seemed to be. "hooh! hooh!" it was precisely the same exclamation which had been uttered by the warrior who sat so cold and inanimate in the stern of the canoe, and tom, without the least hesitancy, ceased paddling for the instant, straightened up, and responded in the same gutteral fashion, resuming the use of the oar at the same time, as if he meant that that should be the end of it. but the apaches immediately followed up their ejaculations with some other sounds, which were doubtless intended as a summons for the craft to heave to and "show her papers." tom did not understand the apache tongue well enough to comprehend the precise meaning of these words, although he was pretty well convinced of what the others were driving at. he did not dare to attempt to reply, nor did he dare to move faster; so he did the only dignified thing possible under the circumstances. he continued that automatic paddling, and, assisted by the current, was rapidly leaving his enemies in the rear when they called to him again, moving at the same time down the bank in a fashion which showed that they meant business. the hunter, not yet ready to make the desperate dash which he had reserved for the last final effort, if he should be driven to the wall, ceased work again and called out: "hooh!" he said it as impatiently as he could in the hope of "cutting off further debate," and resumed paddling, knowing that a comparatively short distance down the river the banks were so depressed that he could readily make his way from the boat to the land, so that after getting fairly below the apaches his chances of ultimate escape were greatly increased. the indians must have been exasperated at the refusal, for tom had taken scarcely a dozen strokes when he saw the flash of several guns upon the bank, and the whizzing of the bullets around his head left no doubt of the target at which they aimed. "i can do somethin' of that myself," growled the hunter, as he laid down his paddle and took up his gun. without the least hesitation, he fired directly into the group, and the wild cry that instantly followed told with what a fatal result also. all diplomacy was ended by this act, and without pausing to reload his piece, he dropped his gun and bent to the task. the long ashen paddle was dipped deep into the water, and the light vessel shot like an arrow down stream. it seemed, indeed, to be imbued with life, and fairly skimmed over the surface. the unexpected and defiant response to the summons of the apaches threw them into temporary bewilderment, and the minutes thus lost to them were golden ones gained to the fugitive, who shot the canoe as close to the opposite shore as was prudent, and wielded the paddle with the skill of a veteran. having now no need of the dummy that had stood him so well for the time, tom did not hesitate to throw him overboard as a useless incumbrance, and, thus relieved of the dead weight, he sped forward with wonderful speed. in a short time after that the redskins had vanished from view, and almost any one would have supposed that the danger was passed; but tom was well aware that it was only a temporary lull in the storm. the apaches were like bloodhounds, who, having once taken the trail of their prey, would relax no effort so long as there was a chance of capturing him, and so he abated not a jot of his tremendous exertions. chapter iii. pursued by the apaches. as stealthily as a phantom did the canoe bearing the scout skim along the shore of the gila, hugging the banks as closely as possible, so as to take advantage of the ribbon of shadow which followed the winding of the stream. the moon was creeping higher up the sky, and this advantage would soon be denied the fugitive altogether, so every minute was improved to the utmost. now and then tom ceased paddling, and as the boat shot forward with undiminished speed, bent his head and listened. this was continued until he had passed fully a quarter of a mile, when he rested for a longer time than usual. "i guess they'll have to give it up," he said to himself, with a peculiar chuckle. "they ketched me in a bad box, that's sartin, where i couldn't climb out on either side. but things are a little better here," he added, as he looked from side to side at the bluffs, which were so low that the tops could be easily reached from his boat. "i don't much want to tramp over-land, but if it is necessary i've got somethin' of a chance, which isn't what i had before." he might well prefer the water to the land; for on the former, whether he went fast or slow, there was no trail left for the keenest bloodhound to follow; on the latter it was impossible to conceal his most cautious footsteps from the eyes of the redskins. the surface of this portion of arizona was of such a nature that everything was against the hunter. there was no wood nor tributary streams for miles. if he left the gila, and struck across the country, it would be over an open plain, where he could be seen for miles. he would be on foot, while his enemies would all be mounted on their fleet mustangs. how, then, could he elude them by leaving his boat? his only hope was in traveling at night, but night must always be followed by day. "i wonder what ideas will creep into their skulls," he muttered, reflecting upon the view the apaches had gained of him a short time before from the bank. "a dead injun is a good deal better than a live one, as that 'ere critter proved to me. if i hadn't fired back agin, they might have thought i was one of their own warriors--mebbe they'll think so now. great scott!" the scout was paddling along in his leisurely manner, when his eyes, by the merest accident, happened to rest upon the other shore, at a point a short distance below him. while thus looking, he saw distinctly a point of light appear and vanish three times! it performed no such gyration as those which he had first seen, but simply came forward and receded until it was gone altogether, leaving the same misty darkness as before. more by instinct than from any other cause, tom turned his eyes to the point opposite where he had seen this exhibition. he had scarcely done so when precisely the same thing was seen! "jest what i expected," he said as he checked the downward progress of his boat. "the varmints have 'spicioned that one of the chaps in that 'ere canoe which passed before 'em is myself, and they're goin' for me like lightnin'. they've mounted their horses, and kept it up till they knowed they'd struck a p'int below me, and there they've signaled to each other that i'm still above 'em on the river, and still to be ketched." the scout was certain that his theory was correct, and that, distasteful and dangerous as it might be, the time had come for him to leave the river. to continue further would be to precipitate a collision in which there was no possibility of the good fortune that had followed him in the first place. besides this the night was so far advanced and the moon so high up in the sky, that the shadow had narrowed to a band which was practically useless. "no use makin' faces when you've got a dose of medicine to take," he added, as he ran the canoe close to the shore. there he found that by standing upon his feet he could easily reach the edge of the bluff above and thus draw himself up when he chose. this he proceeded to do, but he was too skillful a hunter to leave behind him such tell-tale evidence as the canoe itself would have proven. were he to leave that as it was, it would be sure to catch the eye of the apaches within a quarter of an hour and tell them precisely what had been done. and so, as the hunter hung thus by his hands, with his long rifle secured at his back, he caught the toe of his moccasin in the craft in such a way that it dipped and took water. he held it thus until it could contain no more; but its composition was such that even then it would not sink. there were loose boulders in the bank, and the hunter proceeded to drop these carefully into the boat below. it required several for ballast, when it quietly went to the bottom, where it was certain to stay. this done he addressed himself to the task before him. as he straightened up and looked off in the moonlight, a very discouraging, although familiar sight, met his eye. the moonlight was quite strong, and he was enabled to see objects indistinctly for a considerable distance. it was everywhere the same. a level, treeless prairie, where for miles there was not a drop of water to be obtained, and over which, as has been already shown, in case he attempted to make his way, he would be placed at the greatest disadvantage possible, especially as his own mustang was still a good hundred miles to the southwest, if he had succeeded in avoiding capture up to that time. but the life of a frontiersman, besides being perilous at all times, is hardly ever anything but disagreeable, despite the curious fascination which it holds for those who follow it. tom did not hesitate a moment longer than was necessary, now that a disagreeable expedient was forced upon him. his first precaution was to make sure that none of the apaches were in sight. the point at which he had seen the answering signal was so far below that he was certain it would be beyond his vision, and, this much determined, gave him just the "leverage" needed to work upon. it needed but a few seconds to assure himself upon this point, and then he struck off to the southwest. this course, while it took him away from the gila, would eventually bring him back to it, the winding of the stream being such as to make this junction certain, if continued. the great thing now required was haste; for a great deal depended upon the ground that could be passed over during these favoring hours of darkness. he had taken scarcely a dozen steps when he struck into a long, loping trot, not particularly rapid in itself, but of such a character that it could be kept for hours at a stretch. it was the genuine indian dog trot, which is so effective in long distances. as the runner went along in this fashion, his thoughts were busy, and all his senses on the alert. he concluded that it was nearly midnight, and that he had, consequently, a number of hours at his command; so he aimed to get as far below the intercepting apaches as possible, with the intention of returning to the river, before daylight, where he was hopeful of discovering some canoe, or at least of hitting upon some feasible method of hiding his trail from his lynx-eyed pursuers. this loping trot was kept up for fully two hours, at the end of which time tom was certain that he was approaching the river again. he still pressed forward for another hour, when he came to a halt. although he had continued this great exertion for so long a time, yet so good was his wind that when he paused there was no perceptible quickening of the respiration. years of training had made him capable of standing far more trying tests of his strength than this. the scout carefully turned his head from side to side, looking and listening. all was still, and his ear caught no ominous sound. then he moistened his finger and held it over his head. yes, there was the least possible breath of air stirring, as was told him by the fact that one side of the moistened finger was slightly chilled. everywhere, right, left, in front or rear, so far as the bright moonlight permitted his vision to extend, was the same dead level of treeless plain. kneeling down he applied his ear to the ground. could it be? there _was_ a sound thus carried to his ears--the very sound which above all others he dreaded to hear. it was a faint, almost inaudible, tapping upon the earth. far away it was, but drawing nearer every minute. the scout knew what it meant. it was the sound of horse's hoofs! chapter iv. outwitted. "i'll match them apaches agin the world for shrewd deviltry," exclaimed hardynge, unable to suppress his admiration even in the moment which told him of his own increased personal danger. "by some hook or crook, the old boy only knows what, they've found out my game, and are after me. ah! if i only had my mustang, thundergust, with me!" tom now changed his direction more to the north, his intention being to strike the river much sooner than was his original purpose. it was the only thing he could do to escape the redskins, who showed such a wonderful skill in following him up. as near as he could judge, something like ten miles still intervened between him and the friendly stream--a distance which he was confident of passing before daylight, if he did not find his pursuers in his path. the greatest care was necessary to keep out of the way of these creatures, and the fugitive had run but a short distance when he paused and applied his ear to the ground again. only for an instant, however, when he bounded up and was off like a shot. the alarming sounds came to his ear with such distinctness as to prove that the apaches were close at hand. guided by some strange fatality, they were bearing directly down upon him at full speed. more than all, those pattering footfalls were such as to indicate that the swarthy horsemen were not approaching in a compact group. they had separated so as to cover a wide area of ground, and were advancing in such an array that the difficulty of escape was increased tenfold. everything conspired against poor tom. the bright moonlight, the broad level stretch of plain, the fact that he was on foot, and his pursuers, besides being well mounted, were among the most skillful riders of the southwest, made his situation about as desperate as it is possible to imagine. a few minutes later the fugitive paused again, but this time it was not necessary that he should apply his ear to the ground. the sounds of the mustangs' hoofs came to him very plainly through the midnight air, and as he looked around he half expected to see the shadowy figures of the horsemen plunging forward in the gloom toward him! nothing was to be seen, however, of them, and, feeling that the situation was becoming desperate, he changed his course again, his purpose being simply to get by the approaching marauders without caring in what direction he went. had he been five minutes earlier he might have succeeded, but he was just that much too late. he was stealing forward in his cautious manner, with the sound of the horses' hoofs growing more distinct every second, when, sure enough, the figure of an indian horseman suddenly came in sight, bearing down upon him as straight as an arrow. the very instant tom saw it he sank down upon his face, scarcely daring to hope that his pursuer would pass him, and prepared for whatever he chose to do. the scout turned his head so that he could watch every movement and guard against it, his hand being extended beneath his body in the most natural position possible, but grasping his loaded revolver. it may have been that the apache would have gone by but for the action of his mustang. these intelligent animals seem to know, in many cases, far more than their masters, and the one in question was yet some yards distant from the prostrate form, when he halted with a snort. this opened the ball, and the scout anxiously awaited the fight which seemed inevitable. fortunately, the indian party had separated to such an extent that no others were in sight of the fugitive, who thus had but a single man to contend against, although there was no question but what any number of others could be summoned to the spot in a twinkling. the foeman understood the situation at a glance; that is, he knew that the man for whom he was seeking was prostrate upon the ground before him, but he had no means of judging whether he was dead, asleep, or feigning. under these circumstances he advanced very cautiously, his mustang betraying considerable reluctance at walking up to a man stretched out at full length. this was precisely what hardynge desired, as every minute that matters remained in _statu quo_ placed the friends of his adversary further away and simplified the encounter, which he considered as certain to take place. something like ten minutes were occupied in this stealthy advance of the horse, at the end of which time he stood so that his head was directly over the shoulders of the prostrate man, who still lay as motionless as a statue. "hooh!" exclaimed the rider, holding himself ready for any demonstration upon the part of the suspected white man. but the latter never stirred, although he shivered a little at the fear that the mustang might place his hoof upon him. tom's peculiar peril will be understood when it is stated that the apache was master of the situation from the instant they came in sight of each other. had the fugitive fired at him the moment he caught sight of his horse, he might have tumbled him to the ground, but it would have brought the rest of the party around him in an instant. as matters now stood, the apache would have fired at the first movement he made, no matter how dexterous, to draw his hand from beneath his body, and so tom bided his time. "hooh!" this was repeated several times, when the warrior tried to force his mustang to step upon him; but the animal was too timid to be forced into doing such a repugnant thing, and, when angrily urged thereto, leaped clear of the body with a sniff of terror, and galloped several rods before he could be brought round and compelled to face the unknown again. this seemed to convince the apache that the man was dead, and without any further hesitation he slid down from the back of his horse, and advanced to the figure for the purpose of scalping him. he had just stooped down, knife in hand, when the form turned like a flash. there came a blinding flash, then a report and a cry, almost together, and tom hardynge seemed to leap up from the ground as if a bomb had exploded beneath him, and, dashing toward the mustang, seized his rein and vaulted upon his back before the animal really knew what had taken place. it was a daring deed, but it succeeded to perfection. the scout had not only extinguished his foe, but had captured his horse as well. the sound of the pistol might reach the ears of other apaches, but he cared nothing for that. he was as well mounted as they, and, with the start which he had gained, they were welcome to do all they could. in view of this, it was impossible for him to restrain his exultation, and the moment he realized that he was fairly astride of the mustang he let out a shout that might have been heard a mile away. the steed which bore him was an excellent one, and he had no fear of being overtaken by any of them. he knew in what direction to take his flight, and away he sped with his horse upon a dead run. he scarcely drew rein until daylight broke over the prairie, when he found himself pursuing a direction parallel with the river, and making good headway toward the point where he hoped his own matchless thundergust was awaiting him. hardynge scarcely halted during the greater portion of the next day, except when his mustang required it, and shortly after the sun crossed the meridian he was gratified at catching sight of the rolling prairie and wooded hills where he had turned his horse loose nearly a week before. while at a distance he gave utterance to several sharp whistles, which produced the response he desired, the beautiful glossy mustang galloping forth to meet him with every appearance of delight. the creature had taken good care of himself during his absence, having feasted upon the rich, succulent grass, and was in the best possible condition. turning the indian horse loose tom bestowed no further attention upon him, but leaped upon his favorite animal and galloped away to the rocks where he had carefully concealed his saddle and riding gear and where they had lain untouched while he was gone. just as he dismounted, his eye rested upon a piece of dried buffalo-skin which was pinned against a tree, the inner side turned outward. the first glance told him there was something unusual, and his curiosity led him to approach and scan it closely. there was some writing scrawled upon it, which he read with little difficulty. the words were startling enough, and as the hunter finished them he exclaimed, in a frightened undertone: "thunderation! can it be possible?" chapter v. an alarming message. as the scout rode his mustang up to the tree whereon the buffalo skin was fastened, he read the following words: "to tom hardynge:--the stage which left santa fe on the 10th inst., is due at fort havens between the 20th and 25th, _but it will never reach there_. it has an escort of a dozen mounted soldiers, but they can't save it. the apaches have arranged to attack it near devil's pass, which you know is about a hundred miles northeast from this point, among the mountains. you can't do anything to help it; but ned chadmund is with it, and his father, the colonel, offers you and me a thousand dollars apiece to save _him_. i leave to day--thursday--for the pass, and you must follow the minute your eyes see this. i will be on the lookout for you. remember there isn't an hour to spare. "dick morris." colonel chadmund was the commandant at fort havens, whither he was hastening with his news from the indian country. his family dwelt in santa fe, and his only child, a bright boy, about a dozen years of age, had been permitted to start to join his father in accordance with a promise made him a long time before. the escort with which he had been provided would have been ample under ordinary circumstances, and in fact, was larger than was generally customary; but it was not sufficient. dick morris held a position then known as "hunter to the fort" at the post under the command of colonel chadmund. it was similar to that which the renowned kit carson filled for a number of years in the old days at bent's fort. the man was selected on account of his skill in the use of the rifle, and his knowledge of the habits of the game, his duty being simply to supply the command with all the fresh food possible--a position which, it will at once be understood, was no sinecure, involving constant activity and many long, rapid journeys. dick was as skillful and shrewd a man as could be found in the whole southwest. tom hardynge, his friend and companion in many a perilous adventure, understood what it all meant the instant he had finished reading the writing upon the buffalo skin. by some means--probably through the indian runners encountered while hunting his game--he had learned the particulars of the expedition that had been arranged to attack and massacre the escort. very probably these swarthy wretches were mainly incited to the deed by the knowledge that the son of colonel chadmund was to be with the party. it was under the direction of this vigilant officer that the marauding indians of the border had received such a number of severe blows. they were excited to the highest point of exasperation, and would seize upon any means of revenge at their command. alarmed by the danger which threatened his beloved child, the colonel had sent dick morris to the rescue at once. he would have sent a hundred men from his fort, had he believed it possible that they could do any good, but it was clearly out of the question for them to reach devil's pass until nearly twenty-four hours after the stage was due there. it was one of those cases wherein all depended upon shrewdness and strategy, and where nothing was to be gained by mere force of arms. the expectation was that the apaches would hold the boy at an enormous ransom, or probably as a hostage for the safety of such of their blood-stained chiefs as were in the hands of the americans. this will explain the haste of the hunter, and his anxiety to have the companionship of tom, who had tramped so many hundred miles through the indian country. ten minutes after reading the dispatch tom had fastened on the accoutrements of his mustang and was galloping away to the northeast on the trail of his friend. he did not pause even to hunt a little game, after having been so long without food. he was accustomed to privation and hardship, and, if it were required, was good for twenty-four hours longer without permitting a particle of food to pass his lips. he was leaving the treacherous gila far to the south. it may be said that his course along this stream, on his return from the apache country, was like the base of a triangle, while he was now following the hypothenuse. this latter route was preferable in every sense to that which he had been using for the last few days. the country itself was more varied, better watered and abounded with vegetation, its only drawback being the ever-present danger from the marauding redskins. another advantage that belonged to the traveler over this path was that it was really a path--so clearly defined that a stranger could follow it without trouble. it was, in fact, the trail between fort havens and santa fe, over which, at certain intervals, messengers were regularly dispatched back and forth. the money with which the soldiers at fort havens and several other posts were paid came down by express from sante fe over this road, in charge of a proper escort, and the coach which started from that city with little ned chadmund carried also one hundred thousand dollars in crisp, crackling greenbacks stowed away in the bottom of the vehicle. consequently it will be seen that the apaches, who understood very well the value of these printed slips, had every inciting cause to organize an overwhelming expedition against the coach and its escort. the day is waning, but his steed was fresh and fleet, and had enjoyed such a long rest, that it would be a mercy to him to put him through his best paces. tom did not hesitate to do it. the glossy black animal gave a neigh of delight as he felt the familiar hand of his master upon the bridle, and he stretched away like one of the arabian coursers of the desert, fleet as the wind and capable of keeping up the tremendous rate of speed for hours at a time. the greater portion of this journey led through the wildest mountain scenery, and the afternoon was scarcely half gone when a striking change in the surface was observable. instead of that long, dreary expanse of endless prairie, the hunter was forced to make long detours to escape the obstructions constantly interposing in the way. now it was around some pile of rocks, then winding among a mass of hills, then over a level plain for some distance, but with the scenery steadily increasing in ruggedness at every mile traversed. far ahead could be discerned the chain of mountains, their peaks looking blue and misty in the distance. it was among these that the trail wound its way--one portion, in the very heart of the mountains, being known as devil's pass, from its wild and dangerous character; and, as the scout strained his eye in the direction and contemplated the blue waving line against the sky, he almost fancied he could see the smoke from the rifles of the vengeful apaches. "shouldn't wonder if they are at it this very minute," he muttered, as he glanced down at the ground in front of him. all the afternoon, as he sped along, he saw constantly in front of him the footprints of another mustang, such as are made by an animal when under full speed. so they were, as he knew very well. dick morris had been over the same trail a few hours before, at scarcely less speed than his own. every time tom came in sight of an elevation he looked hastily at it in the hope of catching sight of some signal from his friend. in such a desperate enterprise as this he felt the need of companionship, especially of such a tried and daring man as dick morris. but the sun gradually went down in the western sky without bringing him the coveted sight, and he began to believe that he would not be overtaken before reaching devil's pass, which he hoped to reach on the morrow. then, as the sun disappeared and darkness crept over mountain and prairie, tom turned the head of his animal in the direction of a clump of trees where he knew there was an abundance of grass and water, and where, in all probability, something in the way of food could be had for himself. the mustang needed rest and refreshment, and the rider required them scarcely less. chapter vi. the two scouts. the hunter was within a hundred yards or so of the clump of trees, when he suddenly checked his mustang, or rather the mustang checked himself, at the light of a camp fire, which all at once flashed out from among them. "that's either dick or a lot of varmints," he muttered. "i think it's varmints, for i don't b'lieve he meant to wait there." however, it was a question easily settled. he slid from his horse, and, rifle in hand, stole forward in the direction of the grove, moving as silently and stealthily as a shadow, while his beast stood as if he were an equestrian statue awaiting the placing of some metallic hero upon his back. a phantom itself could not have glided forward with less noise than did he, and yet he was fully twenty yards away from his destination, with his eyes fixed upon the point of light, when he was discovered by some horse that belonged to the stranger, or strangers, which gave out a loud neigh, as a signal to his friends of the approach of danger. at that moment, tom dropped flat upon his face, as he had done before at the approach of the apaches, and the luxuriant grass gathered about his form in such a way that he could not be seen by anyone at a moderate distance. but close upon the heels of the neigh came a low, tremulous whistle, scarcely uttered when tom replied in a precisely similar way, leaped to his feet and trotted toward the grove. "that's dick!" he exclaimed to himself, the signals which they had used being the same that they had adopted years before, when approaching each other in a dangerous neighborhood. the next minute the two met and shook hands. there were many points of resemblance and difference between the two comrades. each was in middle life, embrowned, hardened, and toughened by years of exposure and the wild life of the border; but tom hardynge was taller, more sinewy and active than dick morris, who was below the medium stature, with a stunted appearance; but he was a powerful man, wonderfully skillful in the use of the rifle, and the two friends together made the strongest possible kind of a team. "ah! that's the talk," exclaimed tom, as he snuffed the odor of the cooking meat by the camp fire. "i'm hungry enough to chaw up my moccasins. what have you there--buffalo, mule or grizzly bar?" "neither one," replied the other. "i fetched down an antelope a couple of hours ago, and as i was expectin' you, i cooked enough of it for both." "you had to cook his hoofs and all to do that; but why don't you spread the dining table?" little ceremony was indulged in at such a time. the toasting meat, brown, crisp and juicy, was served in two equal portions, each of immense size, and then, with no culinary articles but their keen hunting knives, and their incisors, almost as keen, they went at the business with the gusto of famishing wolves. meanwhile the two mustangs were feasting upon the rich grass which grew abundantly about them, and so all members of the party were enjoying themselves to the fullest extent. the two hunters scarcely spoke while this piece of mastication was going on. they understood each other so well that there was no necessity of any hurry in the way of inquiry or conversation. when at last they had filled themselves to repletion, they drew their fingers through their bushy hair, using the latter by way of napkins, and then, after a good long draught from the brook running near at hand, lit their pipes and leaned back in the very acme of bliss. "how soon shall we start?" asked tom. "in a couple of hours," was the reply. "think the apaches are through by this time?" "no doubt of it." if the hunters seemed to exhibit indifference in referring to the terrible occurrence, it was not because they felt thus; but the lives which they led had accustomed them to such frightful experiences. "s'pose they've spared the younker?" "guess they have." the conclusion to which both came was that the apaches were incited to this attack more by the desire to get possession of the lad than by anything else, in view of the intense hatred with which colonel chadmund was viewed by the hostile indians of the southwest. he had been stationed over two years at fort havens, during which his administration had been marked by extreme vigor, and he had retaliated upon the apaches especially in the severest way for many outrages committed by them. "yas, they've gone for that little younker," added dick morris, after the discussion had been continued for some time. "of course they haven't killed him; for that would have sp'iled their game. the colonel, finding what they'd done, would come down on 'em harder than ever, and you kin make up your mind they'd get the worst of the bargain before he was through with 'em; but as long as they hold the boy, you see, they've got the hands of the old fellow tied, for he thinks a heap of his boy, and he'll do anything to save him." "and that's why he sends us arter him," said tom. "he knows that if he let a lot of the men go, they might get all chawed up, and it wouldn't help the boy any, so he thinks we kin get him out of their hands by some hocus pocus or other." "and what do _you_ think, tom?" asked his companion, in a confidential voice. "is there much show for ever saving the skulp of little ned?" his brother hunter looked into the fire for several minutes, with a very serious expression upon his countenance. he was thinking intently upon the situation, and trying to extract some comfort from the prospect. "wal, dick, you know as well as me that it's mighty hard to tell in such a case. we've both got the best of hosses, that kin hold thar own agin anythin' the reds can scare up; but if they go to such pains to get the chap into thar hands, they'll take the same pains to keep him thar." "exactly; but they won't be expectin' any such move as we're at so early in the day, don't you see? and there's where we gain the advantage by hurryin' on, afore they kin get off in the mountains with him." there seemed to be reason in this conclusion, and both agreed upon it. at the end of a couple of hours their horses had rested sufficiently, and they were mounted again. they had trusted to the mustangs to act as sentinels while they spent their time in eating and talking, and, no alarm having been given, they were satisfied that there was no one in the vicinity, and they rode off toward the northeast, without any concern of present danger threatening them. by this time the moon was in the sky; but a few clouds were occasionally scudding before his face, so that the prairie was not illuminated with as much clearness as upon the preceding night. the two hunters galloped along at a swinging gallop, a rate of speed which their mustangs were capable of continuing for hours and which it was the purpose of the riders to keep up until their destination was reached. now and then, through the stillness of the night, the cries of wild animals came to their ears, and once or twice these sounded very much like signals from parties of indians. tom and dick never once relaxed their vigilance, but, as far as the gloom would permit, scanned the country about them in every direction. besides, they occasionally caught the glimmer of camp fires, but they were all at such a distance that they paid no attention to them, but continued on the even tenor of their way. just as day was breaking, they found themselves fairly among the mountains. the wildest crags and peaks were all about them, and they were compelled to keep close to the pass they were following. this wound in and out among the fastnesses, not more than a hundred feet in width in some places, while in others it was fully a quarter of a mile broad. here they were in constant apprehension of meeting with their old enemies; but there was an air of solitude and desertion about them that was impressive in the extreme. they halted but a short time to let their animals "blow," while they themselves made an observation. still nothing new or alarming was discovered, and they hurried forward as before. just as the sun reached meridian, the two hunters came upon that place known as devil's pass, which they were certain had witnessed a fearful tragedy during the previous twenty-four hours. chapter vii. the cavalry escort. the stage which left santa fe on that beautiful spring morning, bound for fort havens on the journey heretofore referred to, carried two passengers. one was corporal hugg, a soldier who had been engaged a dozen years upon the plains--a rough, good-natured, chivalrous fellow, who, having lost a leg in the service of his country, enjoyed a pension, and had become a sort of family servant in the employ of colonel chadmund. he was devotedly attached to little ned and his greatest delight was in watching or joining him at play, exercising a surveillance over him something like that which a great, shaggy newfoundland holds over a pet child. the corporal was able to stump about upon his cork leg, and when the time came for the lad to make the journey through the mountains to fort havens--a journey which he had been looking impatiently forward to for fully a year--it followed as a natural sequence that the corporal should bear him company. ned bade his mother an affectionate good-bye, and she pressed him to her breast again and again, the tears filling her eyes, and a sad misgiving chilling her heart. the reports at the time were that the indians to the southwest were unusually quiet, no word having yet reached the capital of new mexico of the formidable raids that were being organized in the apache country. besides this, the stage, which was properly an ambulance, drawn by a single powerful horse, was escorted by twelve indian fighters armed to the teeth, every one of whom had performed similar duty before, and so, according to all human probabilities, there seemed to be less cause than usual for fear. yet the mother felt a woeful sinking of the heart, natural, perhaps, under the circumstances; but she could not break the promise of herself and husband to the boy, who was overflowing with joy at the prospect of that long journey through the mountains, and a several months' sojourn at the fort in the far southwest. finally, the cavalcade lost sight of santa fe, and the first night they encamped a good distance away from that historic, then primitive, town. the lieutenant who had charge of the escort was more concerned about the treasure in their possession than he was about the indians. so far as possible, the fact that he was carrying a large sum of money to one of the frontier posts had been kept a secret from the general public; but he was apprehensive that they might be followed by some of the desperate characters which infested santa fe at that time. but nothing of danger or lawlessness was seen during their first day and night, and when they resumed their journey on the morrow, they began to dismiss all thoughts of danger from that direction. as they progressed toward arizona, the country gradually grew wilder and more rugged, but the trail was followed without trouble, and when they encamped the second night, they had the satisfaction of reflecting that they had progressed much further than they had counted upon at first. those were days of delight and happiness to young ned chadmund. the weather was not oppressively warm, and the ever-changing scenery was like the most entrancing panorama passing before his eyes. sometimes he rode upon one of the horses with the lieutenant or one of the soldiers. then again he ran along-side the ambulance until he was tired, when he climbed within, and seated himself beside corporal hugg, and listened to his tales of battle and adventures. on the second day the indians began to show themselves. a party of horsemen would be seen upon the top of some hill or bluff, apparently contemplating the little cavalcade, or they would circle around at a distance upon the prairie, whooping and indulging in all sorts of tantalizing gestures, in the hope of drawing out a portion of the party in pursuit. their hearts' delight would have been to get them into some exposed position, where they could be cut off to a man--and had the cavalry been unaccustomed to border life, the artifice would have succeeded; but they were not to be seduced to their ruin by any such transparent stratagem. now and then these redskins, a number of comanches, sent in a rifle ball or two by way of reminding the cavalry that they were accustomed to that business. the lieutenant commanding permitted his men to reply occasionally, but no thought of pursuit was entertained. none of the soldiers were injured by these shots, although a number passed uncomfortably close, and the ambulance was pierced several times. at one time corporal hugg checked his horse, and pointing his gun out of the stage, took deliberate aim at the nearest redskin, who was displaying his horsemanship by shooting from beneath the neck and belly of his mustang, and then, as the latter wheeled, flopping upon the other side of the animal, and firing as before. the corporal held his fire until he attempted one of these turn-overs, when he pulled the trigger and "took him on the wing." the result was a whoop, a beating of the air with a pair of moccasined feet, and the mustang galloped away without a rider. this skillful shot was a good thing for the party, as it taught the comanches the very lesson they needed. they instantly retreated to a further point upon the prairie, and finally vanished from view altogether. the company had been on the road for nearly a week. six of them, including the lieutenant, were riding at the head, and the remainder were in the rear of the ambulance. corporal hugg was holding the reins of his horse, who was stepping along with his heavy, ponderous tread, while the driver was drowsy and indolent from the long, monotonous ride in which he had been engaged for so many days, and for so many hours during this last day. it was near the middle of the afternoon, and ned chadmund was the only one of the company that seemed to be full of life and spirits. he had run along by the side of the vehicle, until he was pretty well jaded; he had crawled in again, and was chatting away to the corporal in a fashion that left no room for his giving way to drowsiness. the men sat like statues upon their horses, indifferent and silent, and wishing, in a general way, that the day were over and the time had come for going into camp, where they might stretch out their legs and smoke their pipes to their hearts' content. "yes, that 'ere is the place they call devil's pass," said the corporal in reply to a question from the boy. "you see that it was so wide back there at the beginning that you couldn't see how wide it was, and it keeps geting narrower and narrower till it reminds me of the canyon of the upper yellowstone." "how is that?" was the question that came when he paused to take breath. "so narrow that you could toss a ball from one side to the other, and a thousand feet from the top to bottom, clean and square, and there are some places where it is all of a half mile." "but this don't seem as narrow as that." "i don't s'pose it is; but don't you notice ahead, yonder, that it ain't more than a hundred yards broad? well, it keeps it up for all of two miles just like that." "why do they call it devil's pass, corporal?" "i suppose because, if the old boy wanted to gobble up a lot of folks, that is just the place. the walls on each side are straight up and down, and several hundred feet high, so that a man can't dodge to the right or left, unless he has a pair of wings to help him. the only thing he can do is to go forward and backward, and if he happens to have injuns in front and rear, you can understand what a purty muss he would be in. that, i s'pose, is the reason why it's called the devil's pass." "do you think they will attack _us_?" asked ned, in a scared voice. "i can't say," replied the corporal, striving to banish the expression of alarm from his face. "if they've got any idea of disturbing us, just here is where they'll do it. it's the worst place on the route, and if we can get through to the other side all right, i'll feel as safe as if we was inside the stockades of your father's fort." "have you ever been through here before?" "yes; all of half a dozen times." "did you ever get into trouble?" "i never traveled through in all my life without having a scrimmage with some of the redskins. if you'll take a look round as we drive along, you'll see the bones of men scattered all along. some belong to white, and some to redskins; but they all fell fighting." "how far ahead is the worst part of the route?" "we're close upon it now, and i may as well tell you, ned, that i think we're going to have a fight." chapter viii. in devil's pass. by this time ned chadmund was pretty well frightened. corporal hugg had said enough to convince him that they were in the greatest danger of the whole journey. the lieutenant drew his men close together, and two of the most experienced scouts rode a short distance in advance of the others, glancing from side to side, and on the watch for the first signs of the approach of indians. the sides of the pass as already shown, were high and precipitous, so that there was no possibility of escape except by going backward or forward. furthermore, the canyon, as it must have been at some distant day, wound in and out in such a fashion that there were many places where it was impossible to see more than a hundred yards in front or rear. there was no conversation between the soldiers, and even the corporal spoke in a lower tone to his young friend. "if anything _does_ happen," he said, looking down in the handsome upturned face, "i want you to behave yourself, ned." "don't i always do it?" "i should say not!" was the emphatic response. "haven't i ordered you to stay in the wagon, and then looked round to see you slipping out while i was talking to you? but things are different now. if you see anything unusual, or hear rifle balls whizzing about you, don't go to poking your head out to see what the matter is." "what shall i do, then?" asked the boy, who was really desirous of following the directions of his friend. "just lie down in the bottom of the ambulance and wait till i tell you to get up again. the sides are bullet-proof, and there ain't any danger of your getting hurt there." the afternoon was drawing to a close, and the high walls, rising up on each side, so shut out the rays of the sun, that a somber twilight gloom filled devil's pass; a deep, oppressive heaviness was in the atmosphere, that seemed in keeping with the place which had been the scene of so many tragedies, which was now entered with more or less misgiving upon the part of the entire company. "i'd make a journey of two hundred miles extra if there was any way of gitting around this infernal place," said the lieutenant; "but as there isn't, all we can do is to push ahead." it was about half an hour after the warning words of the corporal to the lad, and the eyes of the entire company were fixed upon the lieutenant and his comrade, who were riding a short distance in advance. all at once they were seen to rein up their horses simultaneously, as if something in front had caught their attention. as by a common impulse, the others did the same, and breathlessly awaited the next signal. it came in a dozen seconds. while the hunter and his mustang remained motionless, the lieutenant wheeled his horse about, and rode back and the others noticed that his face was pale and expressive of great alarm. "i knew we shouldn't get through here without a fight. there's a whole pack of indians ahead of us. jake, take a turn back a short distance and see whether they have fixed it so as to shut us in." the man addressed turned to do as ordered, while the others anxiously awaited his report. he was another indian fighter, who knew precisely what to do, and he was gone but a short time when he came thundering back, calling out the instant he came in view around a curve in the pass: "we're in for the biggest scrimmage of our lives! there's five hundred apaches coming up the pass, and they'll be here inside of ten minutes." the man who made this terrifying announcement was not one given to exaggeration, and, although he might have overestimated the number in this case, every one of his hearers knew that an overwhelming force was in their rear, and, whatever they did to save themselves, the last thing to be thought of was to turn back. scarcely had the news been announced when the scout from the other direction galloped back. "well, what is it?" asked the lieutenant. "some of the redskins are ahead of us, that's certain." "what tribe?" "the jiccarilla apaches, i think; the worst set of scamps this side of the llano estacado." "how many?" "i can't make out more than a dozen, and there may be less." a hasty consultation was held, and all agreed that the appearance of these few indians in front was for the purpose of turning the party back upon the main force in the rear. consequently, the proper course was to charge ahead, fighting their way, if necessary, through those before them, and keeping all the distance possible between themselves and the war party coming down from the opposite direction. only a few seconds were necessary to form this decision, and the cavalry started at a gallop down the pass, corporal hugg lashing his powerful steed into a much more rapid pace than he was accustomed to, or was agreeable to him. "now, ned, keep your head down," said the wooden-legged soldier to the boy. "the bullets will soon be buzzing all around us." as he spoke he stretched out on the flat bottom of the ambulance, allowing his head to be elevated just enough to permit him to peer over the foreboard and guide the horse, which was now forced into a furious gallop. earnest in his desire to obey, ned chadmund did the same, awaiting the result of this desperate attempt to escape from a most perilous position. the bottom of the pass was quite level and hard, but the ambulance bounded and leaped from side to side in a way that threatened to overturn it, and made anything like connected conversation impossible. the speed of the party was about the same, the horsemen retaining their position a short distance in advance of the vehicle and all nerved to the fiery charge they believed to be inevitable. the lad, still lying flat on his face in the bottom of the ambulance, raised his head just enough to peer over the shoulder of the corporal at the galloping horse and the figures of the cavalry beyond. suddenly the reports of a score of rifles sounded in the pass, and the horrified lad saw fully one half of the soldiers topple out of their saddles, riddled by the balls that had been fired from a skillfully arranged ambush. at the same time several horses reared, plunged and fell, fatally wounded by others of the missiles. "down!" shouted the corporal to ned, who, in the excitement of the moment, had placed his hands upon the shoulders of his friend and risen to his knees. "down, i say! don't you see that they are firing at us?" the rattling sound of the returning fire of the cavalry was heard, each man being armed with a rifle, and the corporal rose to his knees and lashed the galloping horse to a still greater speed. instead of a dozen apaches, fully a hundred came swarming toward the little band of soldiers, the painted warriors seeming to spring, like the dragon's teeth of old, from the very ground. hemmed in on every hand, the cavalry, throwing away their rifles, which were useless in such an emergency, and drawing their revolvers, charged straight through the yelling horde closing in around them. fascinated by the terrible scene and scarcely conscious of what he was doing, ned crawled forward again and stared out from the front of the ambulance, while the corporal added his voice to the terrible din by shouting to his horse, which was plunging forward at a rate that threatened to overturn completely the bounding vehicle. the horsemen that were left were comparatively few and they fought like spartans; but ned saw them drop one by one from their animals, until there was only the lieutenant left, and he, poor fellow, was lying upon his steed, both badly wounded, as they strove with the madness of desperation to escape. but it was useless. the apaches were all around them, pouring in their shots with such precision that a moment later the dying horse sank heavily to the ground and the wretches that dashed forward to slay his rider found that he was already dead. corporal hugg saw all this as a huge warrior dashed forward and seized the rein of his own horse; but the next instant he dropped to the earth, was trampled upon by the iron hoofs and run over in a twinkling. still the indians swarmed in around and ahead of the team, against which all the avenues of escape seemed hopelessly closed. chapter ix. among the apaches. having run down one apache warrior, corporal hugg, unmindful of his own personal danger, leaned forward out of the ambulance and shouted and lashed the furious horse, which was already on a dead run. "go it, good fellow," he yelled, his voice rising above the horrid din of cracking fire arms and whooping assailants. "keep it up a little longer, and we shall be clear of the whole crew." they were the last words the brave soldier uttered. ned chadmund, who had again crouched back in the swaying vehicle, was horrified to see his friend pitch forward upon the foreboard, and then, as the carriage gave one unusually violent plunge, he went out head foremost, and vanished from sight. he had been pierced by a dozen balls, and was dead before he reached the ground. the horse, like his human assailants, was frantic, and abated not a jot of his tremendous speed, though the reins fell slack and dangled around his feet, and the familiar voice was heard no more. he, too, was wounded by more than one cruel rifle ball, but he seemed capable of undergoing far more than his comrades that had fallen at the first fire. the situation of the lad was fearful, and he was in imminent danger from more than one form of death. he was cowering in the bottom of the ambulance, too much terrified to speak or to attempt to help himself in any way. bruised and stunned by the terrific bounds of the vehicle, he was dazed, bewildered and only dimly conscious of the awful pandemonium reigning around him. suddenly he felt himself lifted in the air; then there was a crushing and grinding, as if he was being ground to atoms between two millstones, then another terrible crash and his senses forsook him. the ambulance had overturned and smashed. it was dragged a short distance, when the infuriated steed broke loose, tore a short distance further down the pass and fell dead. when the boy recovered his senses, his eyes opened upon a very different scene. the sounds of strife had ceased, and the struggle was ended, for the reason that there were no men left to resist the victorious apaches. it was night, and a company of something like fifty were encamped in a gorge in the mountains. the attacking party, which, including those who had followed the escort into the pass, but were not in time to participate in the engagement, numbered several hundred, and had, after the contest was over, separated and vanished, leaving the chief, mountain wolf, with half a hundred of his best warriors gathered about him. after securing the treasure in the ambulance, and taking three horses of the company, which had escaped harm during the massacre, the apaches moved on in a westerly direction through the pass for half a mile, and turned to the left in a sort of ravine or gorge. several hundred yards up this the gorge widened into a valley, wherein were a number of trees and a small stream of water. there they went into camp. an immense fire was kindled, and as it roared and crackled in the night, it threw out a glare that made it like midday for many feet away. ned chadmund had been picked up, limp and apparently lifeless, by the chief, mountain wolf, and carried to this spot with as much care and tenderness as if he were a pet child of his own. the boy still showed a certain stupor upon reaching the camp, but after he had lain a short time upon a buffalo robe he revived, and, with wondering eyes, looked around upon the strange and weird scene. the indians were passing to and fro, as if making preparations for some sort of festivity. there was little noise, but a great amount of activity. close by the fire were a half dozen warriors, engaged in cooking several carcasses, and had the persons concerned been civilized instead of savage, the scene would have suggested an old-fashioned barbecue. when the lad arose to a sitting position upon the buffalo hide, he became sensible of a sharp, stinging sensation in the head, and a sore, bruised feeling along his side, both caused by the shock received at the overturning of the ambulance. his action was observed by a number of the apaches, but none approached, nor did they pay the least attention to him; so he had every opportunity for a careful observation of what was going on around him. after recovering from the first sensation of terror and amazement, his thoughts naturally reverted to the tragedy that had been enacted a short time before in devil's pass. it was a fearful scene for a lad like him to look upon, and he was sure it must remain vividly impressed upon his memory so long as he lived. "i'm the only one alive," he repeated to himself, with a shudder. "poor corporal hugg was the last man left, and i saw him killed. i wonder why they spared me?" he had no suspicion of the intention of the apaches in preserving his life, and which has already been hinted at in another place; so it was very natural that he should feel puzzled to understand why it was that he had been selected from such a party to escape the hatred which these wild jiccarillo apaches had shown toward the whites ever since the latter encroached upon their domains. "i guess they're going to make an indian of me," was his conclusion. "i wonder what father will think when he hears of it? poor mother! i know how she was worried when she bid me good-bye. i hope she won't hear anything till i carry her the news myself." fortunately for his peace of mind it never occurred to ned that he might have been spared for the purpose of torture and indignity. there was no fear of present danger, as he sat upon the buffalo skin, viewing the strange scene about him. something like fifteen minutes had passed while thus engaged, when the figure of a tall, athletic indian strode slowly toward him, apparently attracted by the interest which the boy showed in the proceedings. this warrior was fully six feet in height, magnificently formed, with long horse-hair like shreds hanging from his crown, which, like his face, was daubed with startling colors, giving him the appearance of a variegated zebra of the hues of the rainbow. it was lone wolf, one of the most famous leaders of the jiccarilla apaches. but the most noticeable feature about this warrior was his dress. he was enveloped from head to foot in a sort of cloak, of a greenish tinge, which rattled and crackled as he walked, as if made of paper. and so it was; for, as he approached, ned saw that his outer garment was composed entirely of greenbacks, carefully stitched together in such a way that they made a blanket of half a dozen feet square. no redskin probably ever paraded so costly a blanket as this, which included several hundred new and crisp bank notes, varying in value from twenty to a hundred dollars each. they had been united in such a careful manner that he was able to handle it with as much ease and facility as if composed of a single sheet of paper of the tough texture of which our national issues are made. he seemed quite proud of his novel garment, so unique of its kind, and strode forward with the pompous tread of an indian chief until he was within a few feet of where ned sat, when he paused a few moments to give the latter full opportunity to admire his envelope. "that must have taken a good deal of the money that belonged to the soldiers," was his reflection, "but the country can lose it better than it can the soldiers themselves." lone wolf was one of the most dreaded, because he was one of the most skillful and treacherous, of the apache chiefs. he went to washington twice during his life with a delegation from his tribe, visited the principal cities in the north, was treated in the most hospitable manner, and professed the most unbounded love for his white brothers. he announced his deliberate intention of making all haste back to his tribe, and henceforth devoting his life to peace. he would summon his brother chiefs about him, he said then, and make known to them the goodness and love of the whites for the red men. he would explain to them their invincible power, and make very clear the folly of attempting to resist their wishes in any way. furthermore he agreed to show the numerous gifts that had been showered upon him, and he would explain that if they conducted themselves aright a similar future was before them as well. all this lone wolf promised; but he had no sooner got among his own people again than he chose to forget his promises and went upon the warpath. chapter x. lone wolf. lone wolf spoke english like a native; and, having waited until the admiration of ned chadmund had been given time to expend itself, he spoke in a deep, guttural voice: "does the child of my white brother mourn for those who have fallen?" the lad was so surprised at hearing himself addressed in this manner, that he stared wonderingly at him for a moment without making reply. then he rose to his feet, and, looking up in the painted face, replied: "i am all alone, and long to go to my father." "what is the name of your father?" asked the chief, in the same excellent english. "colonel edward chadmund." "is he at the fort, yonder?" continued lone wolf, stretching out his hand so as to point toward the southwest. "yes; he is the commandant there, and has a large number of brave soldiers, and will send them out to take me to him." had ned been a few years older, he would not have made this reply. it was not politic to threaten the chief; and he had no suspicion that the confession of the identity of his father only intensified the hatred of these redskins before him. but perhaps, after all, it was as well; for lone wolf was sagacious enough to recollect that he was talking to a child, from whom he was more likely to hear truth than from an older person. "he has sent some brave soldiers to take you to him," said the chief, with a wolf-like grin, displaying his long, yellow teeth. "but they have left you on the way; they have given you to lone wolf, and they will not go back to the fort, nor to santa fe. if he sends more, they will do the same." "there were only a dozen of them, while you had hundreds. if they had had anything like an equal chance, not one of the apaches would have been left alive! we would have killed them all!" this was a brave answer, in a certain sense, but it was not a very prudent one; for lone wolf was known to be the possessor of a fearful temper, easily excited into a tempest of passion; and the words of the boy were not calculated to be very soothing to him. there was too much paint upon the face of the chieftain for the boy to observe the flush which overspread it at hearing himself addressed in this manner, but he could understand the lowering of that gruff voice and the quickening of the utterance. "lone wolf and his brave apaches care nothing for the soldiers of the father at washington. his agents deceive us; they make treaties and do not keep them; they lie to us, and then we turn upon and rend them. do you see that?" as he uttered this inquiry in the fiercest kind of language, he whipped out from beneath his blanket the reeking scalp of one of the soldiers that had fallen in the gorge a short time before, and shook it in the face of the terrified lad. the latter could not fail to see what it was, and drew back in horror and disgust, realizing what a bloodthirsty monster stood before him. he saw that it would never do to excite the other's anger, and he endeavored to turn the conversation into another channel. "do you and your brave warriors mean to stay here till morning?" "it is as lone wolf wills," was the instant answer, in a voice not quite so severe, indicating a subsidence of the troubled waters. "and what are you going to do with me?" was the next question, which no one besides a lad of ned's age would have dared to put, when placed in a similar position. "that, too, is as lone wolf wills," was the rather non-committal answer. "and that is the reason why i asked you. how soon can i return to my father? when i reach him i will tell him that it was lone wolf that sent me back and he will be friendly toward him." "lone wolf asks not his friendship," said the chieftain, with something of the old fire gleaming in his eye. "he has killed our bravest and best warriors. he has followed them to the mountains and slain them by their camp fires, when they dreamed not that the white man was near. he has murdered their squaws; and lone wolf shall not die until he tears his scalp from his head." the poor boy was horrified. he was too young to understand fully the causes of such deep enmity upon the part of the chieftain, but he was not too young to understand that his own life had been spared through no sentiment of mercy. the leader had some other cause, but ned did not see much hope of making a favorable impression upon this intractable chief, and he would have been very much relieved had he taken himself off and left him alone. some fifteen minutes had passed since the lad had opened his eyes upon the strange scene by which he was surrounded, and the preparations which seemed to be going on were completed. the entire apache troop suddenly broke out in a series of whoops and yells that would have appalled a hundred famishing wolves. at the same instant they began dancing--not a motion of the feet, such as we are accustomed to see in civilized regions, but a series of demoniac gymnastics, risking the dislocation of all the bones in their bodies. they leaped up and down, swung their arms, threw out their legs, and circled around each other--the whole forming a wild and appalling revelry more like that of wild beasts than of human beings. boy-like, ned chadmund forgot everything else for the time but the scene which was passing directly before his eyes. there was a weird attraction in watching the flitting, fantastic figures, whose hands were yet reeking with the blood of innocent men and whose greatest delight would have been to scalp every man, woman and child in the territory. this hullaballoo lasted all of half an hour, when it died out as suddenly as it began. it was not from exhaustion, for indians have been known to keep up such a performance through the entire night; but it was in obedience to a signal from lone wolf, whose imperious will no one dared defy. he had simply raised his arm, and, giving utterance to a single whoop that rose above the horrid din, silence "fell like a blessing." this lasted but a few minutes, when the bustle began in a lesser degree, and the apaches fell to eating the meat which had been abundantly prepared for them by several of their number. they continued to act like wolves as they did so, using hands and knives, but more frequently tearing the meat to shreds without the aid of any implements except such as nature had furnished them in the shape of teeth. the terrific strain, mental and physical, which ned had undergone during the last few hours, was succeeded by a reaction which made him feel weak and faint. he was conscious of the need of food, and was feverish and thirsty. "i don't see as i'm likely to get anything to eat," he muttered, as he sat down on the blanket, and looked upon the glittering scene. "i ain't so very hungry, but i would like a good drink of water." the firelight shone upon the small stream which ran through the middle of the valley; and, as it was so near at hand, he thought there would be no harm in walking to it, and helping himself to a refreshing draught. he had walked but a few steps, however, when he became aware that some one was following him. a careless glance over his shoulder showed that it was lone wolf. the lad concluded at once that he suspected an attempt at escape, and he thought he might do himself some good by a faithful return to his former position after he had helped himself to a drink, without appearing to notice that he was watched. this was the more easy of accomplishment, as the apache moved off to one side, as if his desire was to conceal his real purpose. accordingly, ned walked quietly forward until he reached the stream, where he knelt down and took one long, refreshing drink, which seemed to give him new life and strength. then, rising to his feet, he started back to the camp fire. as he did so, he found himself face to face with lone wolf. "what do you mean?" demanded the latter, gruffly. "i was thirsty and went to get a drink. i thought i would not bother you." "when you try to run away, then you will die!" "what's the use of trying to run off, when there isn't any show?" asked the young prisoner, with a laugh, an assumption of jollity which was far from genuine. chapter xi. surrounded by danger. lone wolf no doubt meant to warn ned against any attempt at escape; for, where the surveillance was relaxed, as it would probably be now and then in his case, he was certain to see many occasions when he would be tempted to give them the slip. on the way to this place, corporal hugg had given the lad an insight into the ways of the redmen, and the boy began to use his knowledge. the perilous position in which he was placed helped to sharpen his wits, for he began to see things in their true light. the chief had expressed his hatred of colonel chadmund in too vigorous language to be mistaken; and ned now believed that in sparing his life the indian had been actuated by some other motive than mercy because of his age. "he means to strike father through me," he concluded, as he sat upon the blanket in deep thought. "he will kill me in some way more horrible than the rest, and he is waiting until he has a good chance to do it, so that father will be sure and know it. he thinks he has scared me out of trying to get away, but the next chance i get i'll do it. i believe i can dodge him. but i'll have to shut his eye up, so as to have the better show." at this juncture lone wolf came toward him, bearing in his hand a large bone, rather bountifully covered with meat, which he was gnawing as he walked, grasping either end of it with his hand, and fixing his black eyes upon the lad as he advanced. "do you want something to eat?" "i should think i did," replied ned, with a laugh which he forced so well that no one would have suspected its sincerity. "i'm about half starved to death, and was afraid i was not going to get any supper at all!" "take that, and go to sleep." the large bone was given a flirt by the huge warrior, and fell directly into his lap. it was not very pleasant to take it second-hand, but a boy in his situation could not be very fastidious, and, thanking the chief for his princely liberality, ned fell to and gnawed away like a famished dog. it struck him as curious that none of the warriors appeared to note his presence, but he knew better than to believe that such apparent blindness was real. he was as securely within their power as if bound hand and foot. "he told me to go to sleep," he said, as he stretched out upon his blanket; "i guess i'll try and do it. i don't see any use of sitting up and watching such a set of wretches as they are. i'd rather have a pack of wolves about me than such as they." the night was too mild to require the blanket wrapped over him; besides which the warmth from the camp fire was very perceptible; so he lay upon his back looking up at the stars and endeavoring to shut out from his thoughts the hateful beings gathered around, and whose grunting voices and loud exclamations were never quiet, but continued so long that they acquired a certain monotony, like the rattle and hum of the mill, which lulls the miller to sleep. "it's strange," he murmured, as his imaginings became as wayward as a boy's will. "father is off yonder, i don't know how many hundred miles, and mother is just the opposite way in santa fe, and here i am about half way between them. we were never so scattered in all the world before. i wonder what father will do when he finds out about lone wolf? the chief has put his blanket of greenbacks away somewhere, and i guess he knows how to take care of them. i declare, but that was a big haul--one hundred thousand dollars at a lick! i should think lone wolf might afford to retire now on what he has made. but the poor men," added ned, with that sudden throb of the heart which always came when lie recalled the fearful attack and massacre in devil's pass. "not one of them left alive! oh, i wish i could forget it all! but i never, never can. the indians have done such things many a time before, but i never saw them. it'll kill me if i don't keep it out of my thoughts." there seemed to be less moon that night than on the previous evening, and as the boy lay looking upward, he could see a number of stars twinkling in the sky. he reflected that beyond them was one who could not forget his pitiful condition, who could bring him out of all his troubles, and who was the only being unto whom he could go in this dark hour. ned prayed to him, as he had been taught to pray at his mother's knee, and, recalling the words which he had so often heard from her dear lips, he believed that god could not forsake him, but that all would come out right. he had lain thus perhaps an hour, when he turned upon his side for the greater comfort of position. as he did so, he was reminded of devil's pass by a sharp twinge in his side. it was sharp enough to make him gasp with pain; also to put an idea into his head. having fully made up his mind to attempt to get away from the apaches at the very first opportunity which he could seize, it struck him that he might help himself by engaging in a piece of deception, justifiable under the circumstances. the bruise which he had received was not severe enough to interfere with his walking, but lone wolf might as well believe that it did. if he thought his prisoner was too lame to do much in the way of locomotion, his watchfulness would be certain to become quite lax, all of which would be a great point in favor of the one mainly concerned. "at any rate, i'll try it on," he said, as he shut his eyes. the excessive fatigue of the lad caused him to drop off into a sound slumber--a slumber filled with sweet dreams of home, father and mother and all that was pleasant. but it was interrupted in the rudest possible way. the night was nearly gone, when a terrific uproar aroused him as suddenly as if a cup of cold water had been dashed in his face. looking around, he saw two warriors, within six feet of him, engaged in a savage dispute. from some source, a number of the apaches had obtained a supply of fire-water, and several desperate fights had already taken place. a swarthy redskin, daubed with paint and intoxicated to that degree which brought to the surface all the deviltry in his nature, was striving, with knife in hand, to get at the sleeping boy, while another, in about the same condition, was disputing his right to do this, and claiming that it was peculiarly his own province to slay the young prisoner. both agreed that death should be awarded, and each claimed that justice demanded that he alone should do the righteous deed. this difference of opinion had already produced high words, the warriors pulling and shoving each other, and threatening each instant to go at each other with their knives. ned could not understand the words spoken, but the actions of the redskins needed no interpretation. the affrighted boy sprang to his feet, and, forgetful of the lameness which he had arranged, ran back several yards to a group of redskins who were squatted upon the ground, smoking. at this instant, the two disputants, wearied with hurling words at each other, went in with their knives, and the conflict became of the most desperate and sanguinary nature. "where is lone wolf?" was the question he asked, as he paused by the group of smokers and looked inquiringly at them. but if any of them understood the words uttered, they did not choose to give the information sought, and smoked away as placidly as if seated around their own firesides at home. just beyond were two other warriors engaged in conversation, and ned was sure he had heard one of them speak in broken english during the earlier part of the evening. hoping to gain the knowledge he desired, he went to him. "where is lone wolf, the chief?" "he go way--much time ago--off in the mountains." "when will he come back?" the redskin shook his head to signify that he did not know; but added, the next minute: "be back to-morrer--mebbe--don't know--can't say." this rather indefinite information was all that could be obtained by the lad, who was in a shiver of terror; for he believed now that his life was not safe for a single moment. chapter xii. "the hour has come." ned chadmund was too terrified to think of further sleep, nor did he dare to return to where he had been lying upon the blanket when aroused in such a startling manner. as he turned his horrified gaze in that direction, he saw the two combatants clutching and striking each other upon the ground, their blows growing feebler as their strength rapidly departed. the most alarming thing about this revolting contest was the fact that it did not attract the interest of a single spectator beyond the little fellow. there were plenty of indians around, some of whom were within a dozen feet, and yet they paid no more attention to it than if the two were quietly smoking their pipes. this showed, as a matter of course, the indifference of the others as to what befell the defenseless prisoner. the next indian who advanced upon him with drawn knife would not be so likely to find himself disputed by another, anxious to perform the same job. it seemed certain that no one would interfere in the interests of the prisoner himself. the latter stood debating what he should do, if, indeed, he could do anything at all. he turned his head and looked back in the gloom, which appeared so inviting that he was tempted to turn and make a dash for freedom. if he could only secure a start of a hundred yards, it seemed to him that he might escape. that would give him a chance to steal away and hide until he could renew his flight, with a prospect of eluding them altogether. he glanced at the darkness and then again at the apaches. not a single one of them, so far as he could see, showed any consciousness of his presence, and none were between him and the gloom in which he meant to take shelter. his heart throbbed with excitement as he stood debating the question, and he hurriedly concluded to make the attempt. but on the eve of starting, his straining vision detected the faintest shadowy outline of a figure, which silently receded in the gloom as he looked toward it. ned understood on the instant what this meant. it was lone wolf who was waiting to receive him, whenever he should choose to make his attempt to get away. the whole trick flashed upon him at once. lone wolf, with a view of thoroughly testing the lad, had purposely thrown this opportunity in his way, and was waiting beyond in the gloom to receive him with open arms. poor ned's heart sank as he realized more vividly than ever that he was as much a prisoner as if immured within the walls of sing sing. still, he affected not to notice the presence of the sentinel, but walked back toward the camp with that affectation of indifference which he had used on more than one occasion before. he recollected this time to put on the limp--his lameness being of such a decided character that there could be no mistaking it by any one who happened to look in that direction. "never mind, i'll get the chance yet," he muttered, putting himself upon his mettle. "i'll play lame till they think there is no need of watching me at all, and then, before they know it, i'll be off." the knowledge that lone wolf was so near at hand gave him enough courage to go back to where the blanket lay, and seat himself upon it. he had sat thus but a few minutes, when he noticed that it was growing light in the east. the night was gone and day was breaking. "i'm glad of it, for i'm tired of this place," he exclaimed. "i'll never get any chance to do anything for myself here." before it was fairly light, the apaches began their preparations for leaving the scene of their encampment. their mustangs were picketed at some distance up the stream, under charge of a couple of sentinels, where they had not been disturbed during the entire night. "i wonder if they'll give me a horse?" was the next thought of ned, as he watched these preparations. in a few minutes all were mounted upon their animals, which seemed in a splendid condition. among them were three that had belonged to the cavalry, and which were easily identified by means of the saddles, bridles and accoutrements. ned hoped that one of these would be placed at his disposal, and he looked around for the chief only to find him at his elbow. "you walk or ride?" he asked, his painted countenance as cold and hard as steel. "that depends upon you," replied ned, "but i do hope you will let me ride upon somebody's horse for this is mighty rough, i can tell you," and he emphasized his complaint by limping, apparently with great pain, for a few steps. the chief looked at him very sharply for a few seconds, and then showed that he believed him, if indeed, he held any doubt at all. he motioned to one of the warriors who was leading a captive horse, which was brought immediately to the spot. the stirrups were shortened, so as to be in place for the boy's feet when he was helped into the saddle. "oh! my leg! my leg!" he screamed, with an expression of intense agony, when, actually, he felt not a particle of pain; "it seems to me, you would rather hurt a chap than not." no attention was paid to his complaint, and a minute later the whole cavalcade was in motion. the boy was a skillful horseman, having been taught to ride from the time he could walk, and he found himself astride of one of the best steeds that had belonged to the cavalry, although he could not identify it. as he looked about him and examined the saddle, he caught sight of the handle of a revolver in the holster, jammed down in such a way that it had escaped the notice of their captors. "that's to be mine," he whispered to himself, not a little pleased at the discovery he had made. he knew if this caught the eye of lone wolf or any of his warriors they would not permit him to retain it, and he was so fearful that they would see it that he began maneuvering with a view of getting it into his possession. no one is more skillful at this sort of business than a boy about his age. ned groaned, and twisted forward and backward, as if to seek relief, and when he finally secured a little more comfort and resumed his upright position the revolver was safely hid beneath his waistcoat, he having placed it there without attracting the eye of any one. the little fellow felt braver on the instant. he suspected that if he encountered lone wolf alone, and the chieftain dared to bar his passage, he could use the revolver upon him with the same coolness that corporal hugg would have done had he been alive. "none of them suspect that i've got such a thing about me, and that gives me the better chance," was his very sensible conclusion, as he endeavored to put on an expression of blissful serenity. when the sun was fairly up, the fifty apache warriors were galloping in a direct line toward the south, lone wolf at their head, and ned chadmund riding at his side. the lad had made several inquiries of his leader, but the latter repelled him so savagely that he wisely held his peace. he supposed the indians were going southward toward their village. he remembered hearing his father speak of lone wolf as dwelling pretty well to the southward, and that he had pronounced him to be one of the most dangerous leaders among the fierce tribes of the southwest. the apaches were now in a mountainous region, following a sort of trail that was generally wide enough to permit a dozen to ride abreast if they wished to do so. occasionally it was rough and precipitous, winding in and out, and now and then difficult to travel; but the wiry little mustangs went along as unhesitatingly as mountain goats. although they were among the mountains, at times the air was oppressively hot, not a particle of breeze reaching them. it was little past noon when the party drew rein in a place very similar to that wherein they encamped the night before. as the mustangs came to a halt, their riders leaped to the ground, and, turning them over to the care of a half dozen of their number, they refreshed themselves at a stream running near at hand, the water of which was clear and cold, and equally inviting to man and beast. ned climbed down from his horse, apparently with great difficulty and pain. "may i go and get a drink?" he asked of lone wolf. "go," was the savage reply; "am i a dog to help you?" "no; you're a dog without helping me," muttered the lad as he limped away toward the wood, seeking a point a short distance below where the others were helping themselves. it took but a minute to reach a spot where for the time he was beyond observation. "the hour has come to make a stroke for freedom!" he exclaimed, suiting the action to the word. chapter xiii. the flight. ned had enough sense not to undertake to run away from the apaches until there was a reasonably good chance of succeeding. he had played the game of lameness so well that he had secured considerable liberty thereby; and when, therefore, he went limping beyond the further limit of the indians, no one supposed he had any other purpose in view than to obtain a better place in which to help himself to water. the trees among which he entered were almost without undergrowth, and, fortunately, were in exactly the opposite direction from where the mustangs were grazing. this left the way entirely open for him to do his utmost in the way of his dash for freedom. it may seem to have been unfortunate in the one thing, that it caused the lad to go away without his horse; but he would have left the latter had he been given his chance, for he believed that while the trail of the animal could be followed without trouble, and might secure his being run to the ground in the end, yet he could readily find the means of hiding his own footsteps from the most skillful of the apaches. it is hardly necessary to say that the instant he found himself beyond the immediate sight of his captors, his lameness disappeared as if by magic, and he dashed down the stream with all the speed at his command. after running nearly two hundred yards he suddenly paused and listened. nothing could be heard but his own hurried breathing and throbbing heart. "they haven't found out anything about me yet," was his hurried exclamation, as he started off again, continually ejaculating a prayer that he might succeed, for he needed no one to tell him that it was really a matter of life and death; for, if lone wolf should place hands upon him again, he would never forgive the attempt. a hundred yards further in this headlong fashion, and all at once he found himself at the termination of the wood, which had been such an advantage to him thus far. on the right and left, over the high, precipitous mountains back of him, was the small wood, on the other border of which was the apache camp. the gorge or valley, in the center of which he found himself standing, wound in and out among the mountains before him,--a devil's pass on a smaller scale,--so sinuous in its course that he could trace it only a short distance ahead with the eye. directly at his side flowed a mountain stream, varying from a dozen to twenty feet in width, so clear that in every place he could see distinctly the bottom. the current was quite swift, and in some places it dashed and foamed over the rocks almost like a cascade. ned dared not hesitate, but, pausing only an instant to catch breath, he dashed away again until he reached the curve in the ravine, beyond which he would be hid from view of the encampment. the moment this was reached he paused long enough to cast back a searching glance. but all looked as calm and peaceful as if no human being had ever entered the ravine. "they haven't found it out yet! they haven't found it out yet!" he exclaimed, his heart rising with hope. "that was a pretty smart thing in me to pretend to be lame, and if it hadn't been for that i wouldn't have got half the start." passing the turn in the ravine, he felt that it would not do to wait any longer without some effort to hide his trail. there was but one feasible way of accomplishing this, and that was by entering the stream and keeping along it far enough to throw the wolves off the scent. it was not a very pleasant task to enter the water and move along, where, at any moment, he was liable to drop down over his head; but he did not dare to stand upon trifles, and in he went. by keeping close to the shore, he managed to avoid any such unpleasant ducking, while at the same time he effectually hid his footsteps from the eyes of the keenest-sighted indian. a short distance ahead he found the trees were growing fully as thickly as in the grove which he had left but a short time before, and he made all haste thither, continually glancing back, dreading least he should catch sight of some of the apaches on the hunt for him. imagine his consternation, when, on the very margin of the wood, he looked back and saw the forms of two indians only a short distance away! they were mounted upon their mustangs and riding at a walk almost in a direct line toward him, and, as he stared at them he was sure that their slow pace was due to their careful scrutiny of the trail which he was satisfied he must have left. "they have found me out," he gasped, as he turned and hurried down stream again. ned was too frightened to reflect that their actions were such as to indicate that they were hunters, who were out merely for game, and there is no telling how far he would have kept up his flight in the stream, had he not been checked by what he believed to be a providential interference in his behalf. the water was broad, moderately deep, and quite clear; but the overhanging trees threw out so much shade that the bottom was invisible, so that, scrutinize as much as they chose, the redskins could not detect the slightest trace of his footprints upon the bed of the stream. the only difficulty that remained was to leave the water in such a way that his pursuers should be baffled in any attempt to discover the point. this was an exceedingly difficult question to solve, and while he was searching for some suitable place, and growing terribly frightened lest his two foes should pounce down upon him, he noticed a large tree that projected over the water. the foliage was dense and the tree seemed to be hollow. besides this, one of the limbs hung so low that, by making an upward spring, he was able to catch it with both hands. he then drew himself upward, and carefully crawled along until he reached the trunk. to his surprise and delight, he found it the very concealment he needed above all others. the trunk was large and hollow, and on the upper side was an aperture, probably caused by the rotting away of a limb, large enough to permit the passage of his body. after peering for a few seconds into the impenetrable darkness, ned shoved his feet through, and carefully followed with his body. he cautiously shoved himself along, until his head was below the level of the opening, when he paused, believing that he was concealed in the best manner possible. the lad had absolutely left no trace behind him; the searching apaches were without any means of discovering what he had done, and all he had to do was to remain where he was until the hunt was over. the tree, slanting out over the water, made his posture a half reclining one, and as comfortable as it is possible to imagine. his limbs were somewhat chilled by the wetting they had received, but that troubled him very little, his whole thoughts, naturally, being centered upon the one of getting away from the apaches. it seemed to him that his senses were preternaturally sharpened, and the rustling of a fallen leaf startled him into the belief that one of the redskins was crawling out upon the trunk; but a full half hour passed without presenting anything of a tangible nature, and hope became very strong in his breast again. "i wonder whether those horsemen were hunting for me?" he muttered, as he became more deliberate in his speculations. "i was sure a little while ago that they were, but it may be that i was mistaken. i don't think they would come on their mustangs if they wanted to find me, for they couldn't make much use of them in following me to a place like this." whether or not these two men were his pursuers mattered very little; for there could be no doubt that his absence had been noticed or that the most skillful trailers were in pursuit. they could not fail to learn that he had taken to the stream and would naturally hunt along the shore to discover where he had left it. this would be likely to bring them very close to where he was hidden, and he trembled as he reflected upon the possible, if not probable, result. the sun was going down in the west; the shadows in the wood gradually deepened; in his reclining position, ned chadmund found a heavy drowsiness stealing over him. the afternoon was no more than half gone when his eyes closed in a refreshing sleep, which continued several hours, and might have lasted still longer had it not been broken. it was far into the night when the sleeping lad suddenly opened his eyes without understanding the cause of his doing so. something had aroused him, but he could not divine what it was. his posture had become somewhat cramped from his long continuance in it and he shifted about so as to rest upon the other side. as he did so, he became aware that some one or something else was near him. the slightest possible rustling at the base of the trunk directed his attention there, but there was too much intervening shrubbery for him to detect anything at all. everything in that direction was shrouded in the densest gloom. the moon was directly overhead, and shining so that he was able to see for some little distance when he turned his glance from the trunk. remembering his revolver, the boy reached down and drew it from within his waistcoat, where he had concealed it. "if anybody wants to run against that, let him do so," he said to himself. "it has five good charges which i will use up before they shall lay hands upon me or lone wolf shall call me his prisoner again." it seemed to him that, in case of discovery, his position might place him at a great disadvantage, so he carefully drew his head and shoulders out of the trunk, so as to leave his arms free to use. this was scarcely done when he caught the same sound below him, repeated so distinctly that he knew on the instant what it meant. it was a scratching, rattling of bark, such as would be made by the claws of an animal in picking its way along, and as he strained his eyes through the gloom, he saw very faintly the outlines of some wild animal approaching him, a low, threatening growl at the same time establishing the identity of the bear beyond question. ned was about to give him the contents of one barrel, when he was restrained by the recollection that his ammunition was exceedingly precious and that the report of the pistol was likely to bring some one whom he dreaded more than the fiercest wild beasts of the forest. so he decided to try milder means at first. accordingly, the endangered lad tried to see whether the animal could not be frightened away without really hurting him. breaking off a piece of bark, he flung it in his face, giving utterance, at the same time, to a growl as savage as that of the beast himself. the latter instantly paused, as if puzzled to understand what it meant, but he did not retreat. he merely stood his ground and growled back again. encouraged even by this dubious success, ned threw more bark, made more noise, and flung his arms so wildly that he came very near throwing his revolver out of his grasp into the creek. but it would not work. the bear was not born in the woods to be frightened by any such trifles, and, halting for scarcely twenty seconds, he advanced with the calm deliberation of a brute bent upon clearing up the mystery without any unnecessary delay. instead of giving him the contents of one of the chambers of the revolver, the young hunter drew back within the hollow of the tree, as a turtle is seen to retreat within his shell when affrighted at the approach of some enemy. it was a tight squeeze, but he insinuated himself along the open space until quite sure that he was beyond the reach of the monster. there he found he had barely room to use his arms, but, pointing his weapon toward the opening, he awaited the action of bruin. there was sufficient moonlight to perceive the opening, but he had scarcely time to glance at it when it was darkened by the bear, which thrust its head in with a thunderous growl that made the lad shiver from head to foot. certain that it would not do to wait any longer, and believing that he meant to force his entire body through, the sorely frightened ned discharged one barrel squarely in the face of the bear. this settled matters. the latter had his snout and enough of his head shoved into the opening to receive a bad wound from the weapon, discharged within a foot or two of his face. he gave a sort of snarling howl, and jerked out his feet so suddenly that he must have injured himself still more by doing so, and, with a relief that can hardly be understood, ned heard him clawing hastily along the trunk until he reached the land, when he scampered away into the woods, and nothing more was seen of him. "if i had plenty of ammunition, i would not begrudge that shot," muttered ned, as he carefully worked his way along the hollow again. "but that leaves me only four shots, and there's no telling how soon i'll have to use the rest." he found, upon reaching the opening again, that the night was past and the day was breaking. he had obtained a good night's rest, but he was anxious to get ahead. "i wonder where lone wolf is?" he thought, hesitating whether he had better descend from his hiding place or not. "it is all of twelve hours since i ran away and they must have done a good deal of hunting. some of them have passed close to where i am, and they must be lurking about this very minute." it was this uncertainty which caused the lad to wait some little time longer before venturing forth. he had been so fortunate up to this time that he could not afford to throw the chances away. when he found that the sun was far above the treetops, however, he began to grow impatient, and finally came to the conclusion that he was losing valuable time. so he began crawling carefully out, with the idea of resuming his flight homeward. ned was not yet fairly out from the tree, when he paused, for his ear detected something alarming. it was the soft splash of water, such as is made by a person who is carefully wading along, and it sounded fearfully near to where he was. he assumed at once, because of the peculiar sound, that it must be caused by some one who was hunting for him, and no one could be hunting for him except some of the apaches from whom he fled. if any doubt remained in his mind, it was removed a moment later, when he heard a whistle from the same quarter whence came the sound of the wading. the signal was instantly responded to in the same manner by some one upon shore. "they're indians," he said. "they know that i must be somewhere in this neighborhood and they've made up their minds to search until they find me." for two or three minutes all was as still as the tomb. it seemed as if the redskins were listening, in the hope of learning something of the fugitive through their sense of hearing when their eyes had failed them so long. if such were the case, they were disappointed, for the boy crouching in the gnarled tree would have suspended his very breathing, had it been in his power to do so, lest he should betray himself. when the splashing noise was heard again, it sounded almost beneath him, and, yielding to a most dangerous curiosity, which, however, he could not restrain, he reached one hand into the foliage, drew it aside and looked down. not more than twenty feet distant he saw the figure of lone wolf, the apache chief! he stood in the water up to his knees, and, at the moment the fugitive looked, had passed a short distance beyond the tree, so that his back only was visible. had it been a few minutes sooner, the warrior would have assuredly seen the white, scared face that peered upon him from among the leaves. but, as it was, he was all unconscious of the fact that he was so near the prize for which he and several of his best warriors had been searching for hours. two of them had paused beneath the tree and carefully examined the branches without discerning the hiding place, and they were now moving forward again, carefully examining everything on each side of the stream where it seemed possible for a cat, even, to conceal itself. lone wolf would have given his right arm, almost, rather than have his prisoner elude him. he had been completely deceived by that little artifice of lameness, and it was not until a full half hour after ned's disappearance that he began to suspect that something was amiss. the trail was taken up at once and followed without trouble to where it entered the water. here the real task began, for the hardness of the bed of the creek prevented them from tracing the footsteps where the clearness of the current would have enabled them to do so, had the circumstances been otherwise. consequently, the only thing possible for them to do was to find the place where he had taken to the land again. for this they hunted until dark and renewed the work again in the morning. but as ned had not yet placed his foot upon dry land, the enterprise up to that moment was not a success. chapter xiv. pursued. ned chadmund's only fear was that the chief would hear the throbbing of his heart. he dared not draw his head into the tree, fearing that the action would attract the notice of the apache; so he remained as motionless as the trunk of the tree itself, waiting for the danger to pass. finally, the indian was heard moving forward again, and the cramped and aching fugitive began to breathe more freely. he could detect that soft rippling through the water, such as is made by an angler who is hunting some choice place in the brook, and who examines every foot of the water which he passes. at last it was beyond hearing, and all was still again; but our young hero, impatient and anxious as he was to get forward, dared not leave his concealment while so many of his enemies were in the immediate neighborhood. he was confident that if he attempted flight and escaped running against some of these dusky wretches, they would speedily detect his trail and run him to the ground. he concluded to remain where he was until dark, when he would make another start, confident that by traveling all night, and taking advantage of all the means that came in his way, he could place a goodly distance between himself and the perilous neighborhood. nothing more was seen or heard of the apaches during these long waiting hours, unless the distant report of a gun could be construed as their work, and the summer day gradually wore away. by this time the condition of the boy was truly pitiable. he was thirsty and nearly famished, feverish from his long abstinence. yet with water within a few feet of him he refrained, for the reason that he was fearful of imperiling his safety. "i'll wait till it is nearly dark," he said, as he looked down at the cool water flowing beneath; "for this is the only chance i shall ever have of giving them the slip." the time he had fixed upon to venture forth had not yet arrived when he observed a large tree floating along below him. it had probably become displaced at some point up the stream, and would drift along until it should again catch some obstruction, and remain moored for an indefinite time. yielding to a sudden inspiration, ned crept hastily out of his concealment, and dropped lightly upon the trunk, which was heavy and buoyant enough to bear his weight without sinking below the surface. the course of the stream was such that this proceeding carried him back directly over the ground that he had passed, and, in case the apaches were in camp, would take him near it. but there was real woodcraft in this act, imprudent as it seemed; for nothing could be conceived, which, if successful, would more effectually throw the indians off his trail. knowing that he had gone northward, what inducement could there be for looking toward the south for him? the next thing after getting upon his raft was to stoop over and get a drink from the stream, which, having its source up among the mountains, was cold, clear, and pure. oh! the refreshing draught! none but those whose frames have been consumed with flaming fever can appreciate the delicious nectar, the invigorating, permeating life that lay in that wonderful fluid, which is without smell, taste or color, and to which no other liquid can be compared. "oh dear!" groaned the lad, as he raised his head. "another drink like that and there'll be nothing left in the creek." but thirst satisfied left him with such a tormenting sense of hunger that the question of something to eat speedily became paramount to all others. he almost ceased to think of apaches in his wild desire for something with which to satisfy the cravings within. the heavy trunk, covered with a few knotty protuberances, kept very nearly in the center of the stream and shifted on below the wood, across the open space and around the curve which has been already referred to, by which time it was fairly dark. beyond this he could discern the outlines of the grove in the encampment of the day before, and where his own rush for liberty had been made. were the apaches still there, awaiting the conclusion of the hunt for him? this was the question, and, in his desire to answer it, he carefully steadied himself until he stood upright upon the log, so as to look across the intervening space to the wood beyond. "if they're there, they'd be sure to have a camp fire," was the truthful conclusion; "but i can't catch sight of anything." had a point of light twinkled through the foliage, it is doubtful whether he could have had the courage to continue on down the stream to the point where it passed so close to the camp. no doubt he would have dodged it. but all continued dark and silent, and he was quite confident that they had gone. he crouched upon the raft again, and drifted with the current. as he neared the rapids and narrow places where the water dashed over its rocky bed, it looked as if he would be unable to keep his seat upon the raft; but as this was the very section, where, above all others, he wished to keep his feet off the ground, he grasped the limbs and held on. he went safely on, although considerable water was splashed over him, and in a few minutes was in the broad, smooth current below, and so close to the grove that he trembled with fear. in the dim moonlight he easily recognized the place, and for a few seconds he believed he had committed a fatal error in retracing his route in this fashion; but the silence remained unbroken, and he began breathing more freely, when all at once one end of the trunk struck the shore; the other end swung round, but it remained fast, and his journey for a time was at an end. ned was dismayed and at a loss what to do, for the only way of breaking loose that he could see was to step ashore and shove off. he remained quiescent a moment or two, in the hope that the raft would loosen itself; but, as it did not, he sprang ashore for that purpose. as he did so, he looked around for some sign of his enemies, but there was none, and the fact gave him assurance that they had really gone. "they must have had dinner there," was his conclusion, "and maybe they have left something that i can make use of." encouraged by this hope, he moved over the intervening space, and speedily reached the spot where lone wolf and his band had encamped twenty hours before. as he had taken his departure from the savages before dinner, he was not really certain that that important meal had taken place; but he made diligent search, resolved that he would find out beyond all peradventure. the very best good fortune attended him. he had hunted but a few minutes, when he trod among the ashes where the camp fire had been burning. this proved that a meal had been partaken of, and in this country, so prodigal in the different species of game, the indians were not economical in the use of food. groping around in the dark, his hands soon came upon a goodly-sized bone, plentifully covered with meat, which had not been cooked so that it could be called overdone. a starving wolf could not have devoured this with greater gusto than did he, nor could a dozen starving wolves have enjoyed it more than did the poor fellow who had been so long without any nourishment. when it was gnawed clean he hunted around for more. there was no lack of the material, and ned was thankful beyond expression for this wonderful piece of good fortune, by which he had escaped from lone wolf and his warriors, and then, when starving, had obtained the food he needed from them. he ate and ate, and then rested and ate again, until he had gormandized himself to his utmost capacity, when with a sigh of happiness, he rose to his feet, and stole back toward the stream where he had left his craft. it was found there as if waiting expressly for his return, and, shoving it loose, he made his way to near the middle, where he crouched down and looked around with a feeling of misgiving and fear. "i wonder if it can hold me after such a supper? it is a little lower in the water, but i guess it can stand it." whither the stream was tending was a question for the wanderer to consider; but as he was without any possible means of determining, he did not devote much time to the consideration thereof. his purpose was to get ahead without leaving a trail behind, and that was what he was doing. chapter xv. in the solitude. ned designed to drift down stream for a mile or so, by which time he expected to be at such a distance that there was no further possible danger of pursuit. it would then be necessary for him to get forward as fast as he could, taking care to avoid the redskins who were in front, rather than those in the rear. he was a little alarmed to find, after going scarcely half that distance, that the stream was broadening very rapidly. the current as a consequence, became slower, and when he descried seemingly a large forest looming up before him, he concluded that the time had about come for him to disembark, and use his heels. but, prompted somewhat by curiosity, he remained a while longer, until, before he was aware, he discovered that the stream had debouched into a lake, nearly circular in shape, and fully a couple of hundred yards in diameter. the impetus of the current kept the tree moving slowly and still more slowly, until it had reached a point near the middle, when it gradually settled down to a complete standstill. "that's odd!" exclaimed the lad, looking about him, and seeing the broad sweep of water on every hand. "if i knew this i think i should have got off." it only remained for him to work his way to land, and this he began doing by using his hands as paddles. it was slow progress; and he was of the opinion that he had made a rather foolish blunder in permitting himself to be "carried out to sea" in this fashion. he was disturbed still further by the appearance of the sky. dark, threatening clouds were gathering and sweeping across it, frequently shutting out the light of the moon and causing the most grotesque shadows to whisk over the surface of the lake. the indications were that a violent storm was close at hand, and he used both hands with all the vigor at his command, and saw himself gradually nearing land--the rate being so moderate that it could not keep pace with his impatience. he was tempted more than once to leap into the water and swim or wade ashore, but he restrained himself. on one of these occasions, just as a heavy cloud approached the moon, and while his raft was a dozen yards or so from shore, he was alarmed at sight of something approaching him through the water. what it was he could not conjecture, as it was low down, and very indistinct on account of the gathering gloom. as the cloud touched the moon and obscured the light, this suspicious object disappeared, and he awaited with no little alarm the outcome of the mystery. he was sitting motionless, looking and listening, when the end of the tree was suddenly elevated a full foot, while the other correspondingly descended. with a gasp of terror, ned clutched the limb near him and held on, not knowing whither he was about to be flung. a muttering growl at the same instant explained what it all meant, and he hastily retreated still further upon the tree, expecting every moment to feel the claws of the wild animal fastened upon him. "it seems to me that these beasts are after me more than the indians," was his thought, as he drew out his revolver, and awaited the necessity of using it. further than placing his paws upon one end of the trunk, and giving out a threatening growl, the animal did nothing for a few minutes, while the boy, fully sensible of the value of his ammunition, was equally lacking in offensive proceedings. thus matters stood, while the great heavy cloud floated slowly by the moon, and the head of the unwelcome stranger gradually came to view. it was some wild beast, beyond question, but it wasn't a bear. its eyes, shining with a phosphorescent glow, and the cavernous growling that issued from the red jaws, made it seem the most frightful kind of a monster. hoping that it was not particularly hungry, ned tried the scare game again, flinging up his arms and shouting, and making noises horrible enough to frighten any one to whom they remained unexplained. in this case it succeeded admirably. the creature, whatever it was, must have concluded that it was something besides a boy with which it had taken passage, and, after indulging in one prolonged stare, dropped back into the water and paddled straight for shore. [illustration: ned tried the scare game again, flinging up his arms and shouting] "i don't think lone wolf can follow me all along this route," concluded the boy, as he resumed his paddling toward shore, and reached it in the course of the next ten minutes. he had been cramped up in one position so long that he felt the need of exercise, and started off at a rapid pace, with no more idea of the precise direction he was following than if he were blind. the clouds sweeping across the sky grew heavier and darker, and the wind, strong and chilling, soughed through the trees of the forest with a dismal, wailing sound that would have frightened one of more years than young chadmund. even he would have shrunk from the task of going through the wood had the circumstances been different, but he was so actuated by the one all-controlling desire of escape that he forgot the real danger which encompassed him. besides the risk of encountering the apaches, there was the ever-present peril from wild beasts and venomous serpents. none of the latter as yet had disturbed him, but he was likely to step upon some coiling reptile, unseen in the dark, whose sting was certain death. it soon became apparent that a storm of a most violent character was about to burst forth. the wind grew stronger and colder, lightning flashed athwart the darkening sky, and the thunder boomed with an increasing power peculiar to warm countries. the wanderer had been fortunate thus far in preserving himself from a ducking, and he was still desirous of doing so. there was nothing to be gained by pressing forward, and he began groping around for some kind of a shelter. this was difficult to find, as the gloom was so dense that eyesight was useless, and he could only use his hands. "i guess i'll have to climb a tree," he thought, running his hand along the bark of one. but at this juncture he ran against a rock, striking with such violence that he saw stars. as soon as he recovered he began an examination, and was not a little pleased to find that under one portion of it there was a hollow big enough for him to crawl in and protect himself from the tempest. he had scarcely done so when the storm burst forth. first a few large drops pattered upon the leaves, and then it seemed as if the windows of heaven had been opened. the rain descended in torrents, the firmament flamed with a blinding intensity--and the earth trembled with the reverberating thunder. the vivid sheets of electric fire made the darkness and gloom deeper by contrast. the trees, with their swaying branches, and the spear-like columns of rain, stood out and vanished again so rapidly that the vision of the appalled lad was dazzled and bewildered. the terrific shocks coming simultaneously with the lightning, proved that the thunderbolts were falling all around him, and again and again he thanked that providence which had dissuaded him from taking refuge in some of the trees. _crash!_ directly in front of him, an immense giant of the forest was smitten from top to base, the limbs, leaves, and splinters hurled in every direction, as if a thousand pounds of powder had been exploded within. the air was so surcharged with electricity that ned felt the effect. a prickling sensation down one entire side of his body was followed by a partial numbness and paralysis that alarmed him. with his other hand he hastily rubbed his limbs, and turned and twisted, fearing that he was becoming helpless. in a few minutes he regained the strength which had temporarily departed, and then noticed that the storm was subsiding as rapidly as it had arisen. the thunder died out in sullen mutterings; the lightning flashed fitfully, often without any perceptible report following, and the deluge diminished to a few drops. "the storm is over, thank heaven!" he exclaimed. "as i have such a good bed, i may as well stay here till morning." but at this instant his blood almost froze at the sudden discovery of a new and deadly peril. chapter xvi. among the mountains. young chadmund heard the unmistakable warning of a rattlesnake that was somewhere near him, and on the very point of striking. precisely where it was, it was impossible to determine with any certainty; but there was no time to consider the matter. it seemed to him in that brief second he devoted to thought that the venomous reptile lay a little to the left, and he scrambled out of his place with all the celerity at his command. the wonderful quickness of this usually sluggish snake, when about to deal its deadly blow is well known, and, had the boy moved with twice the rapidity that he did, ned could not have escaped that lightning-like dart of the snake, which was aimed straight at his foot, that being the part of the body which was nearest his coil. the fangs struck the side of his shoe, which happened to move at the very instant the blow was made, and, piercing the leather, held the reptile fast,--"hoist by his own petard," as it were,--so that, when ned scrambled out from his shelter, he felt the horrid thing dangling at his heels. with presence of mind hardly to be expected at such a time, he arose to his feet, and holding the attached foot motionless, with the other he hastily stamped all the life from the writhing rattlesnake. this done he freed the shoe by a jerk, although it tore the fangs of the reptile from its jaws. "i think i'd better dust out of here," said the lad, breathlessly. "i remember that corporal hugg told me that where you found one of those things you are pretty sure of running against another close by, and i don't care about seeing any, especially when it's so dark you can't see at all." he stepped carefully forth in the darkness, and, moving a few feet, paused to listen. the rain had ceased falling entirely, and only the faintest mutter of the distant thunder reached his ears. the darkness was absolutely impenetrable, and the wind, as it soughed through the wet branches, made the most dreary and dismal wailing--enough to strike despair to the bravest heart. the boy had listened but a moment when a slight rustling among the leaves at his feet filled him with a sudden conviction that a second rattlesnake was after him. he left the spot expeditiously, not halting until he was sure that he was beyond reach of the unwelcome visitant, which, it is well known, is not much given to pursuing its prey. "hang it!" he exclaimed, "there ain't much fun in this. i wish daylight would come, so that i could see what to do." his situation was exceedingly uncomfortable. everything was soaked with water, and he could not walk without shaking down the moisture from the laden branches and undergrowth. he knew of but one place wherein he could secure protection and that was beneath the rock where he had so narrowly escaped the rattlesnake, but he was not very anxious to make his way back there. while he stood debating what to do, he noticed that the sky was rapidly clearing, the black, tumultuous clouds rolling away from the face of the moon, which soon shone out with all its wonted power. this was a vast help, for, despite the dense shadows made by the heavy branches overhead, he was able to see enough to pick his way and noticed that the forest directly in front was quite open, indicating that he was close to the termination. thus encouraged, he pressed ahead and soon had the satisfaction of finding that he was through the woods and on the border of an open, rocky ravine, through which he could hear a stream rushing with great violence, and which he took to be the outlet of the little lake that had been overcharged by the recent severe storm. so far as he could see by the moonlight, great masses of rock, boulders and broken prairie stretched out before him, and he asked himself how he was to make his way. he concluded not to make the attempt just then, but, hunting out a place among the rocks, he crawled into it, first making sure, by a careful reconnaissance that no rattlesnakes had crept in ahead of him. he was permitted to remain undisturbed through the night, and when he opened his eyes the sun was shining directly in upon him. the boy then hastily sprang up, his heart full of gratitude to god for the wondrous manner in which his life had been preserved, and the remarkable success which had followed his attempt at escape from the apaches. with the coming of the glorious sunlight, ned naturally felt buoyant and hopeful. he was not without considerable appetite, but he had eaten so heartily, on the previous evening, that he felt that he could afford to wait until night again; and he still had that impatient, almost unreasoning desire to get forward, which made him feel like breaking into a run, and keeping it up until he was out of breath. but, young as was the little fellow, he was old enough to feel that the time had come when he must use all the brains in his command. up to that hour, as will be understood, he had been journeying entirely at random, his sole purpose being to get beyond reach of lone wolf and his band. he had accomplished this, and a radical change of tactics must be made. if ned chadmund had been a half dozen years older, he would have recoiled at the prospect before him; but he was so young and full of animal spirits that he did not really comprehend the difficulty and danger. he had traveled very little more than half the distance between santa fe and fort havens, and his purpose was to press ahead until the latter was reached. to do this, it was necessary that he should make his way through the mountains in which he now found himself, and then to journey a couple of hundred miles through or over prairie, and across streams, before he could reach the frontier post, where his father was so anxiously awaiting his coming. the project seemed nothing short of madness; but its justification lay in the fact that the wanderer had the choice of attempting that or lying down and dying where he was. he could do nothing but choose the former. ned climbed up to an elevated position and took an observation--his purpose, after learning whether any present danger threatened, being to learn the direction it was necessary to follow in order to reach fort havens. "corporal hugg told me that after we reached devil's pass, it was in a straight line west. the trail winds in and out, as it has to do, but all one had to do was to dig ahead, and he would be sure to come out right in the end--that is, if the indians and wild animals would only let him. well, right yonder rose the sun," he continued, very carefully continuing his observation. "that must be the east, and all i have to do is to keep that at my back until it gets over my head and wears round to the front. so off we go." there was one favorable accompaniment of this first thoughtful effort to reach home. the valley-like depression that had caught his eye upon rising ran precisely in the direction to be desired--due east and west--so that he had the best facility in the world for getting through the mountains. still another favorable augury was that the general direction pursued by the apaches was the same, and the fact was, there was very little still intervening between him and the open prairie beyond. should his progress remain uninterrupted through the day, by nightfall he would be close to the prairie, which stretched away so many miles in the direction of the frontier post. "i don't think it's as much as two hundred miles," he said, as he started off at a rapid walk. "i can make thirty miles a day, so that i will be there at the end of a week, if nothing unexpected gets in the way. won't father be surprised when he sees me walk up, and won't i be surprised if i manage to do it, also!" chapter xvii. a mysterious camp fire. for a couple of hours young chadmund had difficulty in traveling. despite the fact that he was in a sort of valley, with towering peaks and bluffs upon either hand, a great many boulders and obstructions obtruded themselves in his path, and he did some climbing, clambering, and jumping that would have reflected no discredit upon a mountain goat. the forenoon was about half gone, and he was felicitating himself upon the excellent progress he was making, when he was brought up all standing by finding himself upon the bank of a mountain stream, which crossed his route exactly at right angles, issuing from the mountains on the left with a rush and roar and pouring tumultuously forward with irresistible power and velocity. "i can't wade that," said the lad, scratching his head in perplexity, "and it won't do to try and swim it. if i once got in there it would be the last of me." there could be no doubt of that, for the stream was fully twenty feet in width, very deep, and sped forward like the volume of a river when suddenly compressed into a mountain canyon. it was walled in on either side by solid rock, the surface of the water being a couple of yards below the level where he stood. "i wonder whether i can't go round it?" he said, after spending some time in mental debate. "it can't run all the way through the mountain, but must start somewhere not very far away." this was not a very plausible theory; but as nothing was to be gained by standing still, he started out upon his tour of exploration. better success followed than he expected. he had started toward the head of the stream and had clambered along less than a hundred yards, when he reached a place where it was so narrow that he was confident of his ability to leap across. "yes, i can do that," he said, approaching close to the edge and looking over the boiling abyss to the solid rock upon the other side. "but suppose i should miss my footing, wouldn't i catch it!" it was a pretty good leap, but ned was active, strong and swift, and he had made many a longer leap than the one before him. for a minute longer he stood, measuring the distance with his eye. then going backward a few steps, he suddenly ran forward with all the speed at his command, and, concentrating all his strength, made such a leap that he cleared the chasm by a couple of feet. "there!" he exclaimed, with some satisfaction, "if none of the streams are broader than that, i'll jump them all." still full of hope and in the best of spirits he pressed forward until the sun was at the meridian and the heat became so oppressive that he concluded to rest awhile. he was in a section of country where, at certain seasons, the heat is like that of the desert of sahara. there are portions of arizona and lower california where the fervor of the sun's rays at noonday smite the earth with the withering power of the sirocco. at times, when ned was down in the lowest portions of the valley, the heat was almost intolerable; and then, again, when he clambered to the top of some elevation, and the cool breezes from the upper regions fanned his cheeks, it was like a draught of water to the fever-parched patient. he had lain on the ground under the protecting shadow of a rock but a short time when his eye rested upon something which convinced him that he was not the only one in the valley. looking dreamily off toward the west, up the valley, with the mountains sloping down on the right and left, he noticed what at first seemed a thin bluish cloud, resting against the sky. then he observed that its form was a little out of the usual order, it being column-shaped, tall, and like a shaft of almost invisible vapor, thrown against the white background beyond. "that ain't a cloud," he suddenly exclaimed, starting to his feet and scrutinizing it more closely. "it's the smoke from a camp fire and i've got to go right by it." there could be no doubt of the truth of what he said, and he became deeply interested. "i wonder whether they're indians or white men? i suppose it's most likely they are apaches, and they may be lone wolf and his companions. i've got to keep a sharp lookout and keep from running into them. if they are white hunters, that i've heard are sometimes in these mountains, it will be a lucky thing for me." somehow or other he became impressed with the idea that the camp fire ahead of him was that of friends instead of enemies--that the assistance which he so sorely needed was thus placed within his reach. he had learned, long before, that one is apt to miscalculate the distance when placed as he was; but, making allowance for all that, he was confident that the camp fire was not more than a mile away. yielding to a natural curiosity to learn its meaning, he shortened the hour which he had intended to devote to rest, and started ahead again. once or twice it seemed to him that he had dropped into some sort of trail, which he was following. here and there were traces showing that the route had been traveled before. it seemed to be one of those natural roads or passes which are found at intervals in all great mountain chains, and without which, many of of them for vast distances would be literally impassable for man or animal. the conviction that he was not the pioneer over that section caused the young wanderer some misgivings and suggested several discomforting questions. if apaches had used the trail already, might not some of them be upon it? if some of them were coming from the opposite direction, how was he to avoid running into their arms? these queries were not of the most cheerful character and they served to tone down the enthusiasm which had marked his start in the morning. they also caused him to examine, more times than was really necessary, the revolver which had already done him such good service, and he went through a preliminary drill, consisting of placing it inside his waistcoat, a couple of buttons being left carelessly unfastened; next thrusting his hand within, in an indifferent manner, then instantly jerking out and pointing the weapon at an imaginary foe in front of him. this maneuver he repeated scores of times, narrowly escaping the firing of the weapon, until he satisfied himself that he could do it to perfection. "now, if lone wolf comes at me alone, i think i can manage him. he won't suspect that i've any weapon, and so won't be prepared for it; but i hope he won't show himself," he added the next minute. "if there's any way of avoiding him, i'll do it." however, he was bent upon solving the mystery of the distant camp fire, which he still hoped might belong to some party of white hunters, who would take him under their protection and conduct him safely over the wide and dangerous stretch of territory which still intervened between him and his destination. in spite of the careful calculation he had made, he soon learned that he had committed an error. although the tell-tale smoke at first seemed scarcely a mile away, it was more than three times that distance. the way being more obstructed by rocks and the sinuous winding of the trail, he saw the sun sinking low in the west and found that he had still no little traveling to do. "it can't be that they are shifting that camp fire all the time," he growled, as he clambered upon an elevation, and was again disappointed to find it so far away. "blamed if it don't look as if somebody was playing a trick on me. i've heard of a jack-o'-lantern bobbing around in that style, but nothing else." he finally concluded that the laws of nature were not violated in this case, and with renewed courage pressed ahead again. the sky was clear and cloudless, the weather remained oppressively warm, and poor ned was so jaded that he felt scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, but he was stout-hearted, and, just as the sun dipped out of sight behind the mountains, he found himself within a hundred yards of the mysterious camp. chapter xviii. the indian fight. in spite of his great anxiety to learn all there was to be known about the camp fire, ned remained where he was for half an hour, until he had rested somewhat from his severe labor. the place in which the fire was kindled was elevated, rocky, uneven, and inclosed by a few stunted trees and undergrowth, so that while the young scout could catch a glimmer, now and then, of the fire, he could see nothing more. the only way in which he could perfect his information was to crawl up still nearer. this he proceeded to do, using all the care and caution possible, until, after the lapse of nearly an hour, he reached a point where his view was unobstructed and perfect. a severe disappointment awaited him. he saw four indian warriors grouped around the fire, their dress, and the peculiar manner in which they were painted, proving that they belonged to some tribe other than the apaches. three of them were occupied in cutting up and preparing the carcass of some animal, which they had shot, while the fourth was on his knees in front of the fire, carefully doctoring it for culinary purposes. succeeding ned's first feeling of disappointment was an undercurrent of hope that he was in a fair way to obtain another good meal. "it isn't likely they'll eat up all they've got," he reflected, "and i don't suppose they're going to settle down there for life. all i've got to do, then, is to hang round until they go away, and then, if i can get the chance, i'll stuff enough to last a week." having made his reconnaissance he withdrew to a more secret place, where he would not be seen in case some of the warriors should take a look around before retiring for the night. it was fortunate that he did so, for he had scarcely crawled away beneath a dense mass of undergrowth when he made the discovery that he had placed himself in a curious and singularly dangerous position. twice he fancied he heard a faint rustling in the rear of where he was crouching, and he was puzzled to know what it meant. he was sharp enough to protect himself from observation from this direction as well as from the front, and was no more than fairly secure when he caught the slight sound again, and the next moment detected the figure of an indian stealing along, with his gaze fixed upon the camp fire and the forms around it. the lad was naturally puzzled to understand the meaning of this. there was just enough fire light penetrating to where he was to show him that this redskin belonged to a different tribe from those in camp. only a few minutes passed when he caught the glimpse of another warrior on the left, crouching along in the same manner as the other. then followed the softest possible hiss, such as is made by the disturbed serpent, and, at that moment, the truth of the whole matter suddenly broke upon ned chadmund. the strange indians were quietly preparing their supper, unaware of the fact that, while they were thus employed, a party of apaches, their deadly enemies, were closing in upon them. thus, it was, too, that, without the knowledge of either side, the lad was directly between them, where it would seem impossible that he should escape being involved in the conflict that was rapidly drawing to a head. there was no hope of withdrawing, for the slightest movement would be sure to make known his position, and he could only wait, therefore, the issue of the encounter with an intensity of interest which it is impossible to imagine. what could be more painfully interesting, for instance, than to watch the movements of the strange indians as they engaged themselves in preparing their supper, conversing with each other in their grunting fashion, and to note their unconsciousness that a circle of death was slowly but surely closing in around them; to know, which they did not suspect, that the most deadly kind of encounter was close at hand? the endangered party certainly showed a lack of precaution which belongs to their people in the most ordinary cases when they went into camp in this fashion, and left the way open for such a deadly and fatal assault to be made upon them. it must have been that while engaged in the chase during the day they had made their observations, and satisfied themselves that none of their enemies were in dangerous proximity. the odor of the cooking meat crept through the bushes to the nostrils of the hungry lad, who was almost maddened into charging upon the party himself in quest of some of the brown, crisp, roasting meat; but he restrained himself, in the hope that the issue of the unpleasantness would furnish him an opportunity to procure something for the inner man. an indian upon the warpath is as patient as the esquimau who watches for a dozen hours beside the airhole, waiting for the seal to come to the surface. according to all human reasoning, there was no earthly necessity for any delay upon the part of the attacking apaches, and yet, for full an hour longer, they maneuvered and reconnoitered, without striking a blow. despite the tense condition of the lad's nerves, he began to grow drowsy and weary at the prolonged delay, and had the attack been deferred a short time longer, he would have dropped into a sound slumber. the four strange indians were permitted to finish their supper, and to engage in a comfortable smoke. this, however, was never completed. they were stretched out upon the ground in the most indolent manner imaginable, when several rifles suddenly broke the stillness, the apache war whoop rang out with startling power, and a number of figures charged through the bushes like a horde of demons, all converging upon the group around the camp fire. two of the latter had been instantly killed by the first volley poured in upon them. the others were wounded, but they were on their feet in an instant, fighting with the fury of tigers. the battle was of the hurricane order, the third defender going down within a minute after the assaulting party closed in about them. the fourth, who was only slightly hurt seemed to have been caught at less disadvantage. he was a warrior of wonderful activity and strength, and used his hunting knife with good effect upon his first and second assailants with lightening-like quickness. then as they began to crowd in upon him faster than he could provide against he circled his weapon around his head several times, so as to clear a brief open space, when, with a yell of defiance, he bounded high in the air, and vanished in the forest, his speed so amazing that it was vain for any one to think of pursuing him. the battle ended as abruptly as it began. it was over in an instant, and the petrified spectator could scarcely realize what had taken place directly under his own eyes. he lay motionless, peering through the leaves that shut him in, scarcely daring to breathe as he watched the movements of the victors. he could scarcely suppress an exclamation of terror when he recognized among them his old captor and enemy, lone wolf. "just think of it," whispered chadmund. "i have spent hours and hours, and have traveled night and day to get away from him, and here he is, within fifty feet of me again. how can i keep him from seeing my trail again in the morning? it does beat everything how this thing is getting mixed." he took heart again, however, when he came to reflect that the greater part of the night was still before him, that lone wolf had undoubtedly given up all expectation of finding him, and, by using ordinary caution, he could still keep clear of him. the apaches did not remain long upon the scene of the encampment. the two of their own number that had been killed were lifted up, and then lone wolf and his few intrepid warriors took their departure. thus it happened that within fifteen minutes after the first gun had been fired, and the first yell uttered, the boy found himself alone upon the scene of the terrible fight. dreadful as were the place and the associations, he could not forget that he was nearly famished, and stealing his way to the fire, he hunted around until he found enough to satisfy the cravings within. this done, he made up his mind that it was best for him to do some traveling during the darkness, without waiting for the rising of the morrow's sun. chapter xix. a terrible meeting. as he moved along, weary and worn, the memory of the horrid fight he had seen by the camp fire, and especially the picture of those three stark, bloody forms that lay stretched upon the earth, seemingly watching every movement he made, followed and weighed him down like some smothering incubus. then he saw, more vividly than ever before, the mountainous task ahead. with no horse, and the hundreds of miles of mountain and prairie, with the dangers besetting him on every hand, what possible hope had he for believing he was ever to reach his destination? the gloom of the night, the shadow of what he had so recently witnessed, and his own exhausted condition, no doubt had much to do with the distress; for his prospects were certainly as good as at morning, when he was so full of enthusiasm. "i can't travel any further," he finally exclaimed, "and what's the use? it won't do any good." when he paused in his wearisome tramp, he happened to be close to a tree, quite lofty, with numerous limbs, some of which were quite near the ground. it struck him at once that it would be a good plan to climb into this, and ensconce himself among the branches. at any rate, he was certain to be out of the way of the crawling snakes, and no wild animal could steal upon him while he was unconscious. without pausing more than a moment to consider, he ascended the tree, and, a short distance from the ground secured the very position he wanted. here the limbs crossed and recrossed, and gnarled themselves in such a way, that the most pleasant kind of bed imaginable was found, and he stretched out his weary limbs upon it, thanking heaven that had guided him to such a favorable place. "i hope lone wolf won't be able to follow me here," was the wish he expressed, as he resigned himself to slumber. but gentle sleep had not yet closed his eyelids when he was alarmed by hearing something beneath him. his first supposition was that it was lone wolf, for the sound resembled the stealthy tread of some person upon the soft earth; but after listening a few minutes he became satisfied that it was some animal instead. "it's a wolf or panther that has scented my trail," was his conclusion, as he leaned over and peered cautiously down among the branches. the moon shone more brightly than upon any night since he had started, but the shadow of the trees themselves obscured his view so much that his vision was of little use to him. it seemed to him, however, when he looked downward in this fashion, that once or twice he caught sight of a shadowy creature, whisking back and forth, leaping about like a dog, and apparently ready to make a bound upward among the branches. but he could not make certain of what he saw, although there could be no doubt but that he heard something, and that some kind of a dangerous creature was close at hand. "i guess he isn't going to hurt me," was his conclusion, after watching and listening a half hour, and after finding a heavy drowsiness was stealing over him. in this comfortable state of mind, he soon closed his eyes, and relapsed into a deep, refreshing sleep, which lasted an hour or more, when it ended in a peculiar manner. very few boys are apt to lie quiet in their beds, and ned chadmund, in turning over upon his side, turned completely out of bed, and dropped through the branches to the ground. the fall was so slight that it did not hurt him, except in the disagreeable shock that was inevitable. it flashed on him on the instant, and, recalling those stealthy footsteps that had so frightened him, he instantly sprang for the trunk, and began climbing with all the haste at his command. he was almost within reach of the limbs, when he heard a growl, and some denizen of the forest came plunging toward him. with a thrill of terror, the lad made a tremendous effort, caught the limb with one hand, swung his leg over and drew himself up. as he did so, he felt distinctly the wind made by the body of the beast, as it leaped upward, and snapped with his huge jaws at his legs, which were withdrawn from its fangs just as they closed together. the creature, whatever it was, made a running leap, that carried him some distance beyond, when he struck the ground and ran a few leaps before turning about and retracing his steps. without waiting to gain a more distinct view, the lad crept back to his perch, where he tremblingly awaited the moment when it was to bound up among the limbs and attack him. after gaining his former position, he sat for a few minutes shivering like one with the ague, forgetting even to think of the revolver with which to defend himself in case the brute assaulted him. but it may have been that the dumb creature believed that he was already frightened to death, and there was no occasion for attempting anything further. at any rate nothing more was seen or heard of him. ned had been too thoroughly shaken up to gain any more sleep. he sat through the remaining hours of the night without closing his eyes a moment in slumber. they were the longest and the dreariest that he ever spent, but when the welcome light of morning came his foe had departed. the wanderer waited a half hour or more, and carefully reconnoitered the grounds before descending; but, assured that the coast was clear, he came down to _terra firma_ again and took up his line of march. his fear now was that his presence in the neighborhood might be discovered by lone wolf or some of his band, and, scarcely pausing long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of water from a stream near at hand, he hastened forward, with his face toward the west. it became evident, after journeying a short distance, that he was again following a distinctly-marked trail, one that was originally made by animals, most probably buffaloes, in their migrations from one section to another, and had been taken advantage of by men whose business or inclinations called them in the same direction. here and there he saw marks that had been made by the hoofs of horses, and more than once he was certain he observed the trail of moccasins. the path was more direct and less laborious to travel, and he began to believe that, if he were left alone, he might succeed in reaching safety at some time or other. for some two hours he tramped along through a section that gradually lost its mountainous character as he neared the rolling prairie beyond. he kept continually looking back and around him, on the alert for indians; but not a sign was discovered, until he approached an exceptionally rocky place, where the trail wound round the masses of stone at such a sharp angle that the view was less than a dozen feet. with no thought of danger, ned walked around this corner, and on the instant found himself face to face with a swarthy indian warrior who must have seen him approaching, and, dismounting from his horse, stood back and awaited his approach. that astounded look revealed not only this, but that the indian was lone wolf. fate had brought the two together again, at the very time the heart of the weary fugitive was beating high with hope. there was no chance for retreat or hope of avoiding him. the eyes of the painted apache glowed with a demoniac light, and his fingers twitched as he placed his right hand upon the buckhorn handle of a knife at his girdle. "you run away--you see well--you lie--now i will cut out your eyes, and you will not see to run away again!" there was no doubt that such was the purpose of the warrior, as he advanced upon the lad, who suddenly thrust his hand into his waistcoat for his revolver. it was gone! during the night it had dropped out without being noticed, and he was absolutely defenseless. he was breathless, paralyzed with terror. "yes, i will cut out your eyes, and then you will not see to run away," added the chief, striding toward him. "hold on thar, my copper-colored friend! this 'ere is a little row you kin settle with me, instead of that boy thar. try that knife on my eyes, and while you're doing it, i'll try mine on yourn." [illustration: "this 'ere is a little row you kin settle with me, instead of that boy thar."] it was tom hardynge, the scout, who spoke thus opportunely. chapter xx. white vs. red. the hunter seemed to step forth from some crevice in the rocks, wherein he had been concealed, and strode forward in such a manner that lone wolf saw him at the very instant the first word was uttered. the latter withdrew his gaze from the boy and turned with lightning-like swiftness upon his adversary, while the latter, as cool and self-possessed as if he were about to slice up an antelope or buffalo, continued approaching with his hunting knife firmly clasped in his right hand. the indian, perceiving the character of the fight, flung his rifle several yards from him, where it was beyond the reach of both, and recoiling a single step, put himself in form to receive the charge of his assailant. "ned, my boy," said the latter, without looking at him, "get back. there's no telling what may happen." this was no more than a prudent caution. the fight was over the boy, and if lone wolf should find the battle going against him, he would resort to any treacherous trick by which to destroy the prize,--such, for instance, as a sudden dart upon the unsuspecting spectator and the plunging of his knife to his heart before the active hunter could thwart him. ned obeyed his rescuer, whom he had never seen before, and stepped back full a dozen yards from the combatants, but with his eyes intently fixed upon them. tom was not the man to advance blindly to the assault, for none knew better than he did the character of the foe he was about to assail. when, therefore, he was just within striking distance, he paused, and, with his grey eyes centered upon the black, snake-like orbs of the chief, began circling around him in a stealthy cat-like movement, on the lookout for some opening of which he might take advantage. "lone wolf is a coward and a dog," he growled between his set teeth. "he fights with pappooses, but he is afraid of men." this was said with the sole purpose of exasperating the warrior, who would thus have been placed at a slight disadvantage; but he was already like a concentrated volcano--calm outwardly, but surcharged with fire and death within. the taunt did not move his nerves an iota, and he replied in words which were scarcely less irritating. "it is the boasting dog which never hurts. if lone wolf is a dog, why are you so afraid to come within his reach?" the words were yet in his mouth when the scout dashed forward like a catapult and struck a tremendous blow, driven with such directness and swiftness that it could not have been parried. at the very instant hardynge made the charge, lone wolf did the same, and the two similar blows, aimed at the same moment, encountered half way with such terrible violence that both knives were hurled twenty feet beyond over the cliff at their side, and irrevocably beyond their reach. this left them with no weapons except such as nature had provided them with, and, now that their blood was up and each was smarting under the pain of the first collision, they immediately closed in and grappled each other like a couple of infuriated gladiators. hardynge was a marvel of strength and activity, and so was the apache. the two were nearly evenly matched, a slight superiority in wrestling attaching to the white man, who, after a furious struggle of a minute or so, flung his antagonist as flat as could be, upon his back. he struck like an india-rubber ball, and, before tom could fasten him down, so as to hold him, bounded up again and renewed his fight without a second's hesitation. "the devil take you!" growled the maddened hunter, as he let drive a sledgehammer-like blow straight from the shoulder. it encountered the chief fairly upon the forehead, with a force apparently sufficient to crush his skull, but it only sent him reeling back several paces, when his sinewy activity saved him from falling. with the same unhesitating promptness he charged as before. "if that skull ain't more than six inches thick, it'll go this time," muttered tom, as he gathered all his strength and sent out his fist like the thrust of a piston rod. but lone wolf was expecting it and a quick flirt of the head to one side let the mallet go harmlessly by, while the impetus of his own blow threw hardynge forward several steps, and narrowly escaped carrying him off his feet altogether. with an exasperating taunt the chief landed a blow upon the face of his antagonist as he shot by, and, catching him about the shoulder before he could recover, flung him to the ground with great violence, falling heavily upon him. had the knife of the apache been in his hand at this juncture he would have ended the struggle in short order; but he was without the means of improving his advantage, and before he knew it he was turned from the chest of the prostrate man. and this critical moment, when the issue of the contest was very doubtful, a second figure came out from the rocks, and approached the combatants. it was that of dick morris, who coolly asked: "sha'n't i knock him on the head, tom, and end this little row?" "no," fairly shouted the enraged hunter, as they hammered away at each other. "if you do it, i'll knock you on the head. this is a fair and square fight in which the best man wins. if i can't knock thunder and lightning out of this redskin, let him knock it out of me. stand back!" "all right," replied dick, very contentedly, walking to where the enthralled ned chadmund stood and asking him whether he wished to stake a little wager on the result. the appearance of this third party ended the contest in a manner neither of the whites anticipated. the words of tom hardynge, declining the assistance of his friend, were understood by lone wolf; but, treacherous and faithless himself, he regarded them as only a part of a trap in which he was to be caught, and his whole purpose was to get out of the dilemma as quickly as possible. however hopeful he might be in a single hand-to-hand encounter with one of the men, he was not vain enough to think that he could master both. in their struggling they had approached quite close to the cliff, and lone wolf made a determined attempt to throw tom over. by a little feinting and dodging, he managed to get him between himself and the edge and then began pressing him furiously. "that's your game, is it?" exclaimed the scout. "if it is, sail in, and may the best man win." both were striking very wildly, when, hastily parrying several blows, hardynge made a sudden rush, closed in, grasping the chief around the waist, and, lifting him clear of the ground, ran to the edge of the cliff and flung him over! but hardynge was outwitted. this was the very thing for which lone wolf had maneuvered so slyly. the cliff was not more than twenty feet in height, and when the hunter peered over the margin, expecting to see his enemy dashed to pieces at a great depth below, he saw him land as lightly as a panther upon his feet and then whisk out of sight among the rocks. "thunder and blazes!" he exclaimed, when he comprehended the little trick that had been played upon him. jerking off his hat, he slammed it impatiently to the ground, and turning to his comrade, said: "did you ever see a bigger fool than me?" "don't think i ever did," was the serious reply. "never thought what the injun was after till it was too late to hinder him." "i knowed it all the time. this ere little chap could have seed as much himself," was the tantalizing reply. "why didn't you sing out, then, when you seed me pick him up and start to throw him over?" "'cause i thought you was only fooling. do you know there's a reward of five hundred dollars offered for lone wolf, dead or alive? see what you have lost?" "who offered it?" demanded tom. "colonel chadmund told me that old captain alvarez, that owns a big ranch near santa fe, lost a thousand cattle by a stampede that he had got up, and he's the man that has promised a hundred times to give that reward to whoever wipes out the chief." "anything else to tell?" said hardynge, disgustedly. "yes. when colonel chadmund told me that, he punched me slyly in the side, and says, 'and yes, dick, i'll put another five hundred on top of it.'" "hain't you got a little more such news?" asked poor tom, who was wondering whether it was possible to feel any more angered or disgusted with himself than he now felt. "no--that'll do just now. i think you've had enough." chapter xxi. friends together. up to this stage the two hunters had found no opportunity to pay much heed to ned, who had been rescued so narrowly from horrible cruelty. tom hardynge now advanced to where he stood, and thrust out his hand, his face one broad grin. "how are ye, my lad? we've had a long tramp for ye, and come mighty nigh bein' too late." "have _you_ been looking for me?" asked the boy, in amazement. "yes, sir, we've been on the hunt for some days." "how is that?" dick morris briefly explained how colonel chadmund had received warning through a friendly indian runner of the projected massacre of the cavalry escort. knowing that it was impossible to forward reinforcements to them in time, and that lone wolf was aiming specially to get his hands upon his little boy, he had sent dick post-haste with orders to intercept tom, if possible, and both had been instructed to secure possession of the lad by any possible means in their power. after a cautious investigation at the outset, when they arrived at devil's pass, they found that the massacre had taken place almost twenty-four hours before. the sight was a terrible one, such as made even them shudder. the horses and soldiers lay scattered here and there, just as they fell. the beasts of the forest had offered them no disturbance, probably because there were more inviting feasts elsewhere. but in the warm summer air the bloody, hacked faces were discolored and swollen beyond recognition. the hunters rode carefully along, and counted the whole thirteen, and when they found the overturned and wrecked ambulance and the dead horse a short distance beyond they were able to hit the right theory. it was in this carriage that young chadmund had been riding when he was captured, and the scouts set out at once upon the trail of the apache war-party. it was all easy enough to follow the warriors, but tom and dick were hopelessly puzzled when they came up with the redskins, saw lone wolf and his brother warriors, and made the discovery that the boy was not with them. it was a most trying problem to them--the only solution being that they had grown impatient with the boy and put him to death; and yet, as the trail had been followed and narrowly watched, it seemed impossible that such a thing should have taken place without the pursuers finding it out before this. dick morris suggested that the captive, by some providential interference, had managed to give them the slip, but tom could not believe it among the possibilities. if such were the case, there were no means of learning when or where it had been done, and the scouts were as completely cut off from pursuit of the boy as were the apaches themselves. in this dilemma there was little to do except to make a general hunt for him, keeping all the time within striking distance of the apaches, as they did not think that the fugitive could have gotten very far from them. the hunters carefully secreted their animals, and tramped over the mountains and through ravines, gorges, and woods, until, on this eventful forenoon they discovered lone wolf ahead of them, acting as though he had detected something particularly gratifying. the shrewd scouts suspected the truth on the instant. the apache was also searching for the lad, and, guided by a greater knowledge, had discovered him. and so he crouched down in the rocks, not knowing that two other figures shortly after crouched behind him. then, after the story had been told, as the three moved off together, dick morris having picked up the rifle which lone wolf cast from him as the contest was about to open, ned chadmund gave him his version of that terrible attack and slaughter in devil's pass, and of what had followed since. when he came to explain the clever manner in which he dodged the apaches, his listeners were delighted. dick slapped him upon the back, and tom insisted upon shaking hands again. it was a favorite way the old fellow had of expressing his overwhelming delight at anything he saw or heard. "if you'll put yourself under our trainin'," he added, "we'll make a hunter of ye in the course of a dozen or fifteen years, more or less." but ned had no interest in hunting matters just then. he wanted to get out of that dangerous neighborhood, and to reach fort havens with as little delay as possible. "how far is it?" he asked, as the trio moved along the trail. "we can make it in two or three days, i think," said tom. "some parts of the way, though, is rather rough, and it may take us longer." "you don't expect to walk it, do you?" they assured him that they had no intention of doing any such thing. their horses were secreted in a gorge about three miles distant, and as soon as they could be reached they would mount them and speed away for fort havens. "and we'll do it, too, at a gait that'll beat any mustang that lone wolf has ever straddled," added dick, exultingly. "when a chap goes into the injun country, he must fetch the best hoss flesh he can steal." "but i haven't any horse," said ned, with a laugh. "what's to become of me when you're riding?" tom explained that there could be no difficulty about that. such a trifling additional weight would not be suspected by either of the animals. "where do you suppose lone wolf is?" asked the boy, looking furtively around, unable to free himself of the belief that they were not through with him yet. "he's gone back to his party; they've split since you left 'em. about thirty started yesterday forenoon for the apache villages to the south'ard, and the tother twenty are in camp off here a mile or so." as tom spoke, he pointed to the west, in among the mountains, and in a direction at right angles to what he was pursuing himself. "our road twists round a little," he added, "and when we get to where we left the animals, we'll be 'bout as far away from the apaches as we are now. what's better, there's some mighty rough travelin' between us and them, such as no hosses can git over." "but indians can, can't they?" "i rather guess so. what's the matter, my boy?" asked tom, looking down upon him as they picked along. "you're talkin' as if you was thinkin' 'bout injuns all the time." "that's what i've had to do for the last three or four days. lone wolf managed to get away from you, and where do you think he is? what do you think he means to do?" as the boy asked this question, he glanced around in such a timid, apprehensive way, that his companions laughed. it was natural that the lad should have these misgivings, especially as it seemed to him that his friends were using no precautions at all to prevent a treacherous surprise upon the part of the apaches. to relieve his fears, they convinced him that they were on the alert, and did not fail to note everything. they expected, in the natural course of events, that lone wolf would make all haste back to camp, and take every means of revenging himself and securing possession of the boy again. indeed, this was all he could do. he had no rifle with which to fire a stealthy shot at them, and it was necessary that he should first return to his warriors before striking a blow. to do all this required time sufficient to permit the three to reach the gorge, mount their animals, and get fairly under way before he and his warriors could possibly put in an appearance. tom and dick, therefore, could not be accused of undue recklessness in taking matters in such a leisurely fashion. they assured their young friend still further that they were on the eastern margin of the prairie, and, after starting with their mustangs, had a clear, open course before them. it was somewhat past noon when they entered the ravine, which had already been described to ned, and, while the latter remained to talk with morris, tom moved on further and down in a more secluded place, in quest of their mustangs, which had been left grazing upon the rich, succulent grass, beside a running stream of mountain water. all were in high spirits, and our hero was as buoyant and cheerful as the others, when they saw their friend returning empty-handed. "what's up?" asked dick. "the injuns have stole our mustangs!" "sure?" "yes--plenty of moccasin tracks--but not cussed sign of a single hoss," was the sour reply. chapter xxii. anxious waiting. this was astounding news, indeed, and for a few minutes the two veteran hunters were completely taken back. they had considered the place where their animals were picketed as being so secure that the contingency of losing them was not thought of until it came upon them with the suddenness mentioned. "they didn't find them themselves," growled tom, as if determined on finding consolation in that fact; "they've stumbled onto 'em accidental-like, and then rid off, as though they were smart enough to be reg'lar hoss-thieves." "have you seen the trail?" asked dick. "yes." "whereaway does it lead?" the hunter replied by pointing toward the northwest, among the hills and mountains in the wildest portion of the country. a hurried consultation now took place between them, and it was resolved to recover the two mustangs. they counted it easy to secure a couple of the indian ponies; but among them all were none which, in their own estimation, could compare with their own, and they were determined not to leave the country until they were regained. the most skillful apache may succeed in hiding his own trail at times, but he cannot cover that of his horse so that the trained scout will fail to find it. it was found that the mustangs had been ridden away without being accompanied by other animals. the number of moccasin tracks at a certain point showed that a party of warriors had accidentally detected the animals, each of which was mounted by a single indian and ridden away, the warriors taking altogether a different direction. this simplified matters, and was not displeasing to dick and tom, for two of these active redskins could, as a matter of course, be circumvented with much more ease than could ten times that number. accompanied by ned, the hunters led the way up out of the hollow, crossed as it was by the stream of icy cold and clear water and covered with the richest grass, and entered a more rocky section, where the horses must have experienced considerable difficulty in traveling, as numerous places showed where their hoofs had slipped upon the stones. "we can beat them on that," said dick, when they had trailed them for a short distance. "they can't be many hours ahead of us, and when we do catch up with 'em, tom, we'll warm 'em; what do you say?" tom nodded his head to signify that he agreed with these sentiments exactly, and the trio pressed forward harder than ever. there were many places in which the thieves had progressed with no little trouble, and their pursuers, unimpeded by the mustangs, were gaining rapidly upon them; but this by no means insured success. a hundred difficulties remained in the way, and the most that the two hunters could hope was that the two apaches had no suspicion of being followed. if they believed themselves secure, it followed as a matter of course that they would take no precautions against any surprise from the rear. the hunters went forward at a rate which was exceedingly trying to ned, but he bravely held up until something like a mile was passed, when tom, who acted as a leader, suddenly paused. "we must wait here till we make an observation," said he, in a low tone. "i take it that we aren't very far from the scamps, and we must look out and not spile the whole thing when we've got it all in shape." for the entire distance they had been steadily advancing upon higher ground, and having now reached the culminating point, it was necessary to look ahead and learn whither they were going before making any rash venture into an entirely different section. while dick and ned, therefore, remained where they were, tom stole cautiously forward for some distance further, until he reached a high, flat rock, the edge of which he approached on his hands and knees, and stealthily peered over. only a few seconds did he spend thus when he began retrograding, like a crab. "i think i've hit the spot," he said in an undertone, as he rejoined his friends. "there's a sort of path which leads down into the lower country, and as that's the only way the hosses can travel, it follers that they must have gone that way. that 'ere place that i was speakin' of goes down into a spot a good deal like the one where we expected to find the animiles and didn't, and there's where i think we'll find 'em awaitin' for us." "do you see any sign?" inquired dick. "not yet; they wouldn't be likely to kindle a camp fire at this time of day, and afore they jined the others. come ahead, we must be mighty keerful now, when we're gettin' so close." as before, tom took the lead, and they advanced with the greatest caution. if the apaches had any fear of being followed, they were very likely to detect the men stealing down upon them; but much reliance was placed upon the likelihood of their holding no such suspicion. the afternoon was half gone when the locality pointed out by hardynge was reached, and the three halted again. as soon as they had concealed themselves tom continued his reconnaissance, making it with such care that he consumed fully a half hour before concluding it. when he reappeared, with the silence of a shadow, he whispered: "they're there--both of 'em." he explained that he had approached close enough to recognize his own animal as well as dick's. he saw nothing more, not even an indian, but it followed, of course, that they were near at hand. from this point forward, therefore, the presence of the lad could be nothing but an incumbrance, and it was agreed that he should stay where he was until the animals were recaptured, when he could ride away with one of them. "remember, the varmints are close onto you," said tom, by way of caution; "and you must keep mighty shady. don't go to crawling about, and trying to peep into what's none of your business." the boy promised obedience, and the two left him. as near as he could judge he was within a hundred yards of the camp of the horse thieves, and there was no certainty that, if they discovered the approach of the hunters, they might take a course which would bring them back over the same path. so, to avoid any unpleasant discovery, he crept in beneath some dense shrubbery, where he felt secure against observation, and anxiously awaited the result. ned had not been in this place of concealment five minutes, when he was startled by a slight noise behind him, such as would be made by the cautious approach of some person or creature. he turned his head, but his view was too much obstructed by the vegetation around him. the slight disturbance continued until ned's curiosity got the better of his judgment, and he stealthily parted the leaves with one hand sufficiently to permit him to see out. as he dreaded, he detected an indian warrior, whose actions indicated that he knew what was going on. he was stepping along as if fearful that the slight rustling would catch the ears of parties who were far beyond the range of hearing. fortunately for ned, at the moment he looked forth in this stealthy manner the apache afforded only what may be termed a three-quarter view, having passed slightly beyond where he was hidden; and, as he continued to move in the same direction, nothing but his back was visible a few minutes afterward. but the lad saw enough to render him uneasy. at first glimpse he took the indian to be lone wolf, but he caught sight of enough of his visage to make certain that it was another warrior altogether; but he was large, powerful, and very formidable looking, and ned dreaded an encounter between him and one of the hunters. curiously enough, he carried no gun with him, and, as the boy still retained possession of lone wolf's, it seemed to young chadmund that he could want no better opportunity of wiping out one of those pestilent redskins. with this purpose in view he cautiously shoved the end of the weapon through the bushes and aimed at the back of the warrior, who, at that moment, could not have been more than a dozen yards from him. there could be no mistaking a target so conspicuous and so close at hand; but when the aim was sure and ned's finger was pressing the trigger, he restrained himself by the self-imposed question whether it was right to pick off a foe, savage though he was, in that fashion. he was well aware that no mercy would have been shown him had the position been reversed; still, he could not justify in his own mind an act that looked so much like murder. "no," said he, when this inward conflict had continued a minute or so. "i s'pose tom and dick would laugh at me if they knew how i acted: but i don't believe father would like to have me fight that way. anyhow, my conscience don't, so i won't." chapter xxiii. the death shot. it took ned about a minute to reach his merciful conclusion and to lower the hammer of his gun. this done, he looked out to see how the indian was getting along. to his amazement nothing was seen of him. he had vanished as suddenly as if the ground had opened and swallowed him up. wondering what it all could mean, the boy rose to his feet, and peered out, parting the bushes still more and advancing a little from his concealment. the ground was quite level, covered here and there with boulders and a scrubby undergrowth, but there was nothing to be seen of the warrior. during the second or two occupied in lowering the hammer of his rifle, the apache had disappeared, flashing out, so to speak, into nothingness. "that's mighty queer," reflected ned, as he resumed his seat under the bushes. "i know those redskins are pretty lively, but i didn't think they could get up and leave as fast as that." there was something in the manner of this thing which alarmed him. the apache, when last seen, was advancing carefully in the direction taken by the scouts. why this sudden diversion? what did it mean but that the redskin had made an important discovery, and what could that discovery be but that he was threatened by danger from the rear? such being the case, it followed that the peril had been transferred from one to the other. instead of the lad threatening the indian it was _vice versa_. "i bet he'll be back here," was the conclusion of our hero, as he once more raised the hammer of his gun. "he must have heard me when i moved the bushes, and he'll be trying some of his tricks upon me." he concluded that if the indian made him a visit it would be from another direction, and so he shifted his position somewhat, managing to face the other way, while he kept all his senses on the _qui vive_ for the hostile visit which he was confident would not be long delayed. at the same time he had a strong hope that the scouts would return in time to prevent any such encounter as he pictured in his own mind, and which he thoroughly dreaded. in his excited mental condition it was impossible to judge accurately of the passage of time, but it seemed to him that he had been in waiting fully fifteen minutes, yet not the slightest sound reached him from that direction. the lad remained in a state of suspense which was intensified by his fears of a flank movement upon the part of the apache whom he had seen but a short time before. "it must take them a long time to make a reconnaissance--" he suddenly ceased, for his ear, more than usually alert, caught a slight but suspicious sound, and quick as a flash he turned his head. he was not an instant too soon, for there was the crouching figure of the apache warrior, no more than a dozen feet distant, his gleaming knife clutched in his right hand, and his eyes fairly aflame with passion. he was not moving along inch by inch, but with that soft gliding motion, which was more like the approach of a serpent than of a person. ned still held his rifle with the hammer raised, and ready for just such an emergency. partly expecting the visit, he was fully prepared. when he turned his head and encountered the gaze of the indian, the latter gave utterance to a low gutteral exclamation, and started more rapidly toward him. "if you must have it, there it is." the flash from the muzzle of the rifle was almost in the face of the apache, who, with a death-shriek horrible to hear, threw both arms above his head, and, with a spasmodic twitching of the limbs, breathed his last in a single breath. ned was scarcely less terrified than the redskin must have been at the first flash of the gun; and, forgetful of the warning of the scouts, he leaped out from beneath the bushes, and dashed away in the direction taken by his friends. he had run but a rod or two when he suddenly found himself face to face with tom hardynge, who demanded, in a hurried undertone: "what's up, now?" "i've just shot an indian." "did you wipe him out?" "oh, yes; oh, yes." "then what are you running away from him for? if you've wiped him out, he can't hurt you." "but i don't want to stay near him," added the lad, who was in a distressing state of anxiety; "take me away." "that's just what i'm going to do," replied the hunter, turning about and hurrying off. "keep close to me and i will take care of you." instead of retracing their steps, they kept ahead, and a short distance further on made an abrupt turn and suddenly came upon dick morris, seated upon the back of his mustang, with thundergust, as tom called him, standing near, and a third one visible in the background. "whose is that?" asked the astonished boy. "we fetched him for you. come, bounce upon his back and let's be off." the animal alluded to was a handsome black pony, spirited and fleet, with a valuable blanket strapped to its back, and a leathern bridle-rein. he showed some opposition to ned's mounting him, but with the assistance of tom he quieted down and showed as much docility as the others. the hunters, in approaching the camp, used as much care and deliberation as if they were certain that there were a hundred of the fiercest warriors there. they speedily learned, however, that there were but the two indian horse thieves, who, in bringing the plunder to that place, had returned to the spot where their own animals had been left previous to their starting out upon the raid. the apaches were entirely unsuspicious of any pursuit, and they were lolling upon the ground at such a distance from the mustangs, that the three were secured without much trouble. dick morris insisted upon sailing in and clearing out the two marauders; but tom was equally strenuous in demanding that they should not be disturbed. he was certain there were other warriors near by, and any such attempt would complicate matters. accordingly they stole away with their recaptured animals and the one which was not exactly recaptured, and as soon as a convenient spot was selected hardynge turned back for the boy, encountering him on the way. since all three were mounted upon good beasts they made all haste possible to leave the section, which beyond all question was a most dangerous one in every sense. the trio had several important advantages on their side. although the apaches were on every hand, and doubtless would make an attempt to revenge themselves upon the hunters, yet it was already growing dark, and between now and morning the caucasians could accomplish a great deal. furthermore, they were close to the prairie, reaching which, they had all the opportunity they could desire to leave their enemies behind. in a fair trial of speed, neither of the hunters had any misgivings as to the fleetness of their animals, even if it should become necessary to place the additional weight of the lad upon one. still, the route was difficult, and in many places it seemed almost impossible to make their way along, the horses stumbling, and on one or two occasions the party came to a dead halt. but tom hardynge had been there before, and insisted each time there was some way out of the difficulty without turning back. dismounting from his animal he groped around for a few minutes in the dark, and on every occasion called out in an undertone that he had found the path. in this manner they kept it up for a couple of hours, when the route became much more easy to travel. occasionally they paused and listened and looked, but nothing threatening was discovered. quite a distance on the left, the twinkle of a camp fire was discerned, but it was so distant that it gave no concern. all remained quiet in the rear, though pursuit from that quarter was to be expected. the three rode along in silence for something like half an hour longer, when hardynge, who was slightly in advance, abruptly reined up his steed and said: "we're through the mountains. there's the prairie afore us." chapter xxiv. the buffaloes. the moon was now well up in the sky, and the members of the party were enabled to discern objects at a greater distance than at any time since starting. when tom hardynge announced that they had passed through this spur of mountains, the three instinctively turned their eyes to the westward, where the prairie stretched away until it vanished in the gloom. "there's a clean hundred miles or more of level plain," added the hunter. "i've traveled it many a time and i ought to know." "you're right," said dick. "that's a good sweep of prairie, and we ought to make good time over it, for our horses have had a long rest." "there's only one thing that troubles me," ventured ned chadmund, when the heads of all their animals were turned westward; "i'm so hungry and faint that i can hardly sit on my horse." "that's bad," said tom, feelingly. "i never thought of that when we had a good chance among the mountains to fetch down some game. we ain't apt to run agin anythin' in the hash line while riding along on the prairie; but we'll try it, and if we don't we'll turn off to a little spot where i know we shall hit it." ned expressed his willingness to do this, and the company started. instead of going in indian file, as they had done while among the mountains, they rode side by side at an easy swinging gallop, the prairie lightening up as they advanced, and the surface continuing of the same impact character, which rendered it the most favorable possible for horseback riding. to one who, like the boy, had tramped and trudged along until scarcely able to stand, this change was of the most pleasing character. he felt comfortable and anxious to ride ahead for hours, the only drawback being that gnawing hunger, that weary faintness, which could only be dissipated by food. occasionally, while riding along in this manner, the three would halt and listen, and then, when certain that they heard nothing, move on again. this was repeated several times, until the two hunters remained motionless longer than usual. when ned asked the cause of this, tom replied by asking him whether he heard anything. he answered that he did not. "i hear it," added the scout, as he dismounted and applied his ear to the ground. "what do you make it?" inquired dick. "can't tell." hardynge remained standing beside his steed for several minutes, looking off to the southward, and then he knelt down and bent his ear to the ground again. "it is off yonder," he added, pointing to the southward, and leaping at the same time upon the back of his mustang. ned listened to catch some explanation; but at this interesting juncture, for some reason only known to themselves, the two men began talking in the indian tongue. it was interesting to hear their gutteral exclamations, but it would have been much more interesting could he have understood what they were saying, and to know why it was, when talking, that they laughed and looked meaningly toward him. the lad affected not to notice all this, although it piqued his curiosity not a little. a half mile more was ridden at a leisurely gait, when all three drew up their mustangs, and dick morris looked meaningly at their young comrade. "do you hear anything _now_?" yes, there could be no mistaking it, faint though it was. all three sat motionless and listened. at first, it might have been taken for the far-off rumble of thunder--a fluttering, distant rattle, such as is occasionally heard during the hot summer months. it was not exactly of that character, either, being more like a continuous rattle, coming from some point many miles away. "what do you suppose it is?" asked tom, of the lad. "i never heard anything like it before. what is it?" "does it sound like the tramp of animals?" "not much, it seems to me. it can't be that." "that's just what it is." ned started. "so it is--so it is. i can notice it now. i hear the sound of horses hoofs on the prairie. the sound is growing more distinct, too, and they must be coming this way, tom. is that so?" "that's just what's the matter. we'll see 'em all inside of half an hour, unless we turn tail and run." "let's do it, then, for there can't be much time to spare." the hunters showed no disposition to flee from the danger approaching, and ned began to grow alarmed. "why do you stay here?" he asked. "if your horses are so fleet that no one can catch them, what is the use of letting them do it?" "don't get scart, my boy," returned tom hardynge. "we'll take care of you." he much preferred that they should all take care of themselves by giving their animals the rein and permitting the apaches to make no nearer approach. but the scouts were obstinate and remained as motionless as statues. the tramping of myriad feet came nearer and nearer, until the sound partook of one general, thunderous undertone of the most trying character to the lad. it seemed to him so much like suicide--this waiting for a terrible danger as it steadily approached--that he was strongly tempted to start his horse away on his own account. "look!" called out morris, pointing toward the southwest. following the direction indicated, the lad saw what appeared to be a heavy cloud lying low down in the horizon, but creeping slowly upward, like the sulphurous vapor that sometimes hovers over a battle field. "what is it?" he asked, terrified, knowing that it was not the presage of a storm such as sometimes sweeps over the prairies. there was something strange and unnatural in its appearance, accompanied, as it was, by the tremulous, thunderous rumbling. by and by, as this uproar came nearer and nearer, a still more curious sight presented itself. the prairie seemed agitated, trembling and quivering with a peculiar, wave-like motion, such as the ocean shows when it is subsiding after a severe storm. there was a sea, a living sea, spreading tumultuously over the plain. dark, heaving masses were constantly verging nearer, as they moved rapidly toward the northeast. suddenly light broke in upon the mind of ned chadmund. "i know what it is!" he exclaimed. "they are buffaloes." "correct," assented tom, with a laugh. "they are passing pretty close, but we're out of their way." the buffaloes surged so near to where the three horsemen stood that more than once ned started with a fear that they would be overwhelmed; but the hunters showed such calmness and self-possession that he was reassured. all at once a furious trampling was heard, and two of the animals that had become separated from the others in some way, dashed directly by the horsemen and out upon the prairie. "now, ned," called out tom; "there's your chance! take that head one! he will make you a good supper if you can fetch him down!" the lad and his animal were seized with a sudden inspiration seemingly at the same time. just as the heart of the young hunter swelled with a wild desire to bring down the noble game, the mustang bounded away in pursuit of the very buffalo which had been indicated by the trapper. as the rider saw himself drawing rapidly near the huge body, lumbering awkwardly but rapidly along, he was seized with a fluttering which, perhaps was natural, but which, unless overcome, was fatal to any hopes of procuring any supper. the mustang drew steadily nearer, ned's agitation increasing every minute, until pursuer and pursued were running side by side. this was the critical moment when the rider should have fired, and when the horse had been taught to expect him to do so; but when our hero raised the heavy indian gun to his shoulder, his trembling, together with the jolting of his mustang, now upon a dead run, told him that it would be useless to fire, when the only chance of hitting his prey was by the merest accident. accordingly, he lowered his gun, in the hopes of quieting his nerves, so as to bring himself up to the self-appointed task. as he did so, his horse began shying off from the buffalo. he was afraid of the horns of the enraged creature, and having given him all the opportunity he could expect, he was not willing to keep him company any longer. the paths continued to diverge until they were twenty yards apart, when the mustang appeared to think all danger was passed. by this time ned chadmund felt that he was master of himself, and he turned the head of his horse toward the immense fugitive, still gliding forward at the same terrific rate. "i'll fetch him this time," he muttered, with a determined air. chapter xxv. alone again. the mustang, trained as he was to this sort of hunting, steadily drew up again to the buffalo, which was plunging forward with unabated speed, while ned held his rifle ready to fire whenever the critical moment should come. he concluded that the proper place at which to aim was the head, and, drawing his gun to his shoulder, he did not hesitate, although he knew the aim was anything but a good one. it struck the bison beyond all question, but did no more than irritate him; for, without any other warning than a sudden lowering of the head, he wheeled, and turned directly upon the horse, with the evident purpose of disemboweling him. but the latter had seen this sort of business before, and was prepared for it. without attempting to turn to the one side or the other, or to check his speed in the least, he made a terrific flying leap upward, going clear over the head of the buffalo, landing upon the other side, and continuing his flight at his leisure, as it may be said. this was a clever trick of the mustang, but it proved the undoing of his rider, who had no other saddle than the indian blanket strapped to the horse's back. this was good enough, except in such a sudden emergency as the present, when ned was entirely unprepared for it. it was done in a twinkling, the end of it being that he found himself lying upon the green sward of the prairie, considerably bruised, and with horse and buffalo rapidly speeding from view. "this is a go," said the lad, rising to his feet and looking about him. "i don't see where the fun of buffalo hunting comes in." during the minutes of excitement when the mustang was coursing with such speed over the prairie, the rider had no idea of the direction taken, nor could he conjecture how far he had gone; but the result was that he was separated by a much greater distance than he supposed from his friends. ned stood and gazed carefully about him. off to the west were the dust, and thousands upon thousands of buffaloes. the latter were too far removed to be distinguished, but that tramping and the heavy cloud indicated where the mass of life was plunging tumultuously forward toward some destination unknown even to themselves. nothing was to be seen of the hunters. they had sent the lad off on this hunt on purpose to give him a taste of buffalo hunting, not supposing, of course, that any accident would result. "what shall i do?" was the question the boy asked himself, as he stood, rifle in hand, and looked around him. "if there was some way in which i could get a good supper, i wouldn't mind this camping out, for tom and dick will be sure to find me in the morning." looking toward the north, he fancied that he dimly discerned the dark outline of something which resembled a grove of trees, and he turned his footsteps in that direction. "if they are trees," he reflected, as he trudged along, "it's more than likely there's water there, and now that i've got a gun, i've some chance of shooting something; and that reminds me of poor corporal hugg's warning, always to reload my gun the first thing after firing it." he had enough sense to carry out this resolution on the spot, and then he resumed his journey in the direction of the object that had attracted his attention. a short distance further he was pleased to find his first impression correct. he was approaching a clump of trees where he could rest with a much greater sense of security than upon the open prairie. thoroughly weary and worn out, faint with hunger, he felt like throwing himself upon the ground and sleeping for a week. but, continuing, he entered a grove of trees something like a hundred yards in extent, through which, in the stillness of the night, he caught distinctly the ripple of flowing water. it required but a moment to discover this and he lay down upon the margin, quaffed his full and flung himself upon the grass to sleep until morning. five minutes after his eyes were shut he was wrapped in a sound slumber which remained undisturbed until morning when, as he opened his eyes, he found the sun shining through the branches upon him. "gracious!" he exclaimed, starting up. "where am i?" it took several minutes before he could collect his senses and tell where he was; and then as he recalled the separation from his friends, he hurried out to the edge of the wood in the hope of discovering them somewhere near at hand; but, look in whatsoever direction he chose, nothing was to be seen but the broad sweeping prairie, stretching away until sky and earth joined in the distance. far off, low down in the horizon, the blue wavy outline of a mountain spur was to be seen. miles and miles away, it would probably require days of traveling before it could be reached. "that's strange!" murmured ned, as a feeling of alarm began stealing over him. "where can tom and dick be? they must be somewhere in this neighborhood, and yet i cannot see any signs of them." he moved around the grove, carefully gazing in every direction; but after making the complete circuit he came back without having detected anything that told him what had become of his friends. the grove in which he had taken shelter abounded with undergrowth, so dense in many places, that he made his way with considerable difficulty. he had no thought of any one else being in the same place, but, while moving along in his careless manner, he was aroused to a sense of imprudence by the sound of something on his right. turning his head, his surprise may be imagined when he saw a solitary buffalo standing scarcely a dozen feet distant, and staring straight at him. ned was so astonished that for the moment he forgot that he carried a loaded gun, and stared at the creature in turn, the two forming as striking a tableau as it is possible to imagine. the buffalo may have known the capacity of the weapon which the boy carried in his hand, for, with a sniff of alarm, he wheeled and started away on a run. as quick as thought the lad seemed to awake to a sense of his situation, and, raising his gun, he blazed away. the shot, fired at random, could not have been better aimed by the most veteran of hunters. the ball entered directly behind the fore-leg just as it was thrown forward in the act of running, and, penetrating to the heart, the result was that the animal never made another bound. his own momentum carried him a few feet forward, when he tumbled and rolled over in a heap. "now i'll have a meal!" exclaimed the delighted lad, as he ran forward to claim his prize. "i feel as if i could eat the whole buffalo." there seemed to be no reason why he should not provide himself with the most substantial kind of dinner. he knew very little about a buffalo, but it was no difficult task to cut off a good sized piece, which he placed upon some green leaves, while he looked about for some means of starting a fire. "well, there!" he exclaimed in delighted amazement, "if that isn't the most wonderful thing yet!" this exclamation was caused by the sight of a smoking wad lying at his very feet, just as if providence had sent it that he might be provided with the indispensable fire. picking it up and blowing it, he saw that it was in a vigorous state, and could be utilized without trouble. a few leaves were hurriedly gathered together, dried twigs placed upon these, and then the tiny blaze that required considerable blowing to produce, was carefully nursed into a larger one until a good roaring, crackling fire was the result. leaving this to burn by itself, ned took the meat to the side of the stream, where he carefully washed and dressed it, ready for cooking. when this was completed, he skewered it upon some green twigs, and began toasting it. the process was rather tardy, but as soon as a bite of the meat had spluttered and crisped for a moment, ned bit it off, and went to masticating it. the cooking continued rapidly enough to keep his jaws going, and was a good arrangement, for it prevented his eating too fast, and gave him the fullest enjoyment imaginable of the meal. all of an hour was occupied in this way, during which ned was in as happy a frame of mind as can be conceived. for the first half of the time he seemed to be growing more hungry with each mouthful he swallowed. then came a standstill, and soon he began to gain upon it, the end being that he thoroughly satisfied that appetite which at one time had seemed unappeasable. with no further necessity of thinking of the wants of the inner man, the lad began to debate as to what he should do to get out of the rather unpleasant position in which he was placed. there he was, his horse gone, his two friends missing, and himself still a long distance from home. he knew not in what direction to turn to reach fort havens, and, even if he did, he had little assurance of ever reaching it. indeed, with the exception of the rather important fact that he had secured possession of a rifle and some ammunition, it may be said that his position was very similar to what it was before he came across dick morris and tom hardynge. chapter xxvi. capturing a mustang. it struck ned that there was something very strange in the continued absence of the two hunters. in thinking over the particulars of that rather curious buffalo hunt, he could not believe it possible that he was more than two miles from where he had made his start after the creature, and where he separated from them. all three were upon the easterly side of the herd, so that the trail made by his own animal could not have been obliterated by the hoofs of the buffaloes, and nothing could be easier than to follow it. where, then, were they? what was the cause of their absence? these were questions which he asked himself again and again, and which he was unable to answer in any manner satisfactory to himself. suddenly it occurred to him that by climbing one of the trees near at hand, he might extend his view, and perhaps gain a portion of the knowledge he was so desirous of obtaining. he acted upon the thought at once, and, selecting the tallest, first concealed his rifle, and then climbed to the very topmost branches. there he was rewarded by a magnificent view, and one which promised him some of the results he was seeking. with this extension of his field of vision he discovered more than one evidence that he was not in a solitude. in the first place, by looking to the southward, a mass of dust and vapor was visible, indicating the presence and progress of some sort of herd, perhaps a drove of sheep from new mexico, under the convoy of indians who had shot the rightful owners and stampeded their property. looking westward, another clump of trees was discerned, from the center of which came just enough smoke to show that there must be a camp fire beneath. "i'll bet they are there!" exclaimed ned, to himself, "and it may be they have started the fire on purpose to guide me to them." the point to which his attention was thus directed was no more than a mile distant, and he wondered that he had not noted it before. it resembled in many respects the one in which he passed the night, and he saw from the course of the stream which ran through the latter, that it most probably watered the former where he believed the hunters were in camp. turning his eyes in another direction, the young wanderer was greeted by a sight which agitated him scarcely less. there, no more than a quarter of a mile distant, quietly grazing beside the winding stream which flowed at the base of the tree, was the very mustang which had been captured by the hunters and from whose back he had been thrown when in pursuit of the buffalo. he instantly lost all interest in the smoke of the camp fire in the greater interest he felt in the question of securing possession of the steed. could he but remount him he would not care particularly whether he met the hunters or not, for, once upon the back of such a steed, he would consider himself competent to make the rest of the journey alone. "what's to hinder?" he asked himself, as he fixed his eyes longingly upon the steed. "dick says none of the apaches have any animal that can overtake him, and all i have to do is to keep his head turned toward the southwest. there is a trail through the mountains yonder, and corporal hugg told me that there is a trail all the way. but can i catch him?" he enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure he would feel when, possessing rifle, ammunition and horse he should resume his journey westward and the delight and joy of his father when he should clasp him in his arms again. he could have spent several hours building his air-castles in this manner, had he not checked himself and resolutely faced the difficulty before him. looking again at the mustang, he was to be seen with his beautiful indian blanket somewhat soiled from contact with the dirt, but cropping the grass with the air of an equine which expected to spend the day at it. ned decided to try and steal upon him from the rear, thinking, possibly, that he might get so close that when the frightened animal discovered him, he could step forward and grasp the bridle before the mustang could gallop away. accordingly, he circled out upon the prairie until he got directly behind the animal, when he began his approach. the horse continued quietly eating until he was within a hundred feet, when he shifted his position so that his side was exposed. startled lest he should be seen, ned dropped down upon the grass and waited for him to resume his first attitude. after crouching in this manner for something like ten minutes, without any change taking place, he decided that as "the mountain would not come to mohammed then mohammed should go to the mountain," and he began crawling through the grass, with his eye upon his prize. to accomplish this without attracting notice was a delicate task, but he succeeded perfectly. getting the mustang in exact range, he resumed his advance upon him, advancing until he was within twenty feet. this was more favorable than he dared hope, and his heart beat high with expectation. he almost felt the warm body of the noble steed beneath him. and now, inch by inch, he stole forward, like an indian scout moving upon a sleeping enemy until he could reach a point where he could bury his tomahawk in his skull. "i wonder whether he will use those heels upon me?" reflected the lad, when he had reduced the intervening distance to a dozen feet. "if he were only blind in one eye, and i could get upon that side; but then he isn't." it seemed to him that the greatest danger was the mustang hearing the throbbing of his heart, which was now beating like a trip-hammer; but the horse was as unconscious as if he were made of stone. still nearer, until it appeared as if he had to make but a single leap forward, and he could grasp the long, flowing tail, and he felt that the moment had come when he must make the attempt. crouching with one hand thrust out, he lifted one foot and advanced a few inches. another step, and he could lay his hand upon him. at this exciting juncture, the horse abruptly ceased eating and raised his head. ned saw it, and paused in an agony of suspense. [illustration: still nearer, until it appeared as if he had to make but a single leap forward.] looking straight off upon the prairie, the mustang gave a faint whinney, as if he scented danger from a point directly opposite to where the figure of the boy was stealing upon him. for a minute the two held these stationary positions; and then, as the lad moved a few inches again, the keen ears of the mustang told him the truth. pricking his ears forward, he turned his head half way round, so that he saw the crouching figure directly at his heels. then he turned his head still further, and gathered himself for a leap. but ned was expecting this; and, as quick as a flash, he leaped forward and caught the tuft of hair hanging over his forehead, dropping his gun and seizing at the same moment, with the other hand, the bridle-rein. the mustang made his leap, but the lad held on, and, by a quick, powerful effort threw one leg over his shoulders and slid upon his back in a twinkling. the horse was outwitted, defeated, and the boy was his conqueror. "hurrah!" shouted the latter, overflowing with exultation. "thank the lord! i've had better fortune than i expected." the mustang was not an ugly-tempered creature, but would have given the lad the slip, could he have done so. it may have been that because he was nothing but a boy, he underestimated his capacity too much; but he had been fairly outgeneraled, and he submitted with a grace which cannot be too highly commended. he instantly became docile, and turned in ready obedience to the rein, and trotted back to where the gun lay upon the ground. here ned was obliged to descend again, but he kept a tight grasp upon the strap, and scrambled back again as soon as he had recovered it. it seemed to him, as he did so, that there was something like a mischievous twinkle in the eye of the pony. he appeared to say: "it don't do to trust my species too far, my lad; for we prefer to be free rather than slave. however, you are a brave little fellow, and have done so well that i think i must stand by you hereafter." now that ned was himself again, he turned the head of his animal toward the grove, where the thin smoke could still be seen creeping up through the tree tops. "i will have quite a story to tell dick and tom," he reflected, as he rode along at an easy gallop. "i killed my buffalo, lost my horse, and caught him again. i don't believe that they themselves could have done much better." chapter xxvii. a run for life. a few minutes' ride at a swinging, easy, gallop brought ned to the edge of the grove where the camp fire had first arrested his attention. as he reached the margin he threw himself from the back of the mustang, fastened the bridle-rein securely to a limb, and, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, strode forward toward the center. he was not yet in sight of the fire when it suddenly occurred to him that possibly he was mistaken. he checked himself and began moving very much as he did when approaching his mustang, and it was fortunate that he did so, for the next moment he discovered that he had committed a most serious mistake indeed. instead of seeing the well-known figures of the hunters sitting by the camp fire and quietly smoking their pipes, he caught a glimpse of half a dozen warriors very similarly engaged. ned shuddered as he reflected how narrowly he escaped running into destruction, and then he crept forward until he could get a little better view. there they were, six apache indians lolling and lounging upon the grass. they had evidently returned from a long and wearisome ride, and were devoting the early portion of the day to rest, both for themselves and animals, which were picketed near at hand. the lad naturally wondered whether any of them belonged to lone wolf's band, and he crept nearer than was prudent in order to make certain. "it may be that lone wolf himself is there," he reflected, drawn on by that strange fascination which often seizes a person at the proximity of some dreaded danger. "it would be queer if the chief had crossed my path again." by and by, after moving along for some distance upon his hands and knees, he secured a favorable point, where, by waiting a few minutes, he was able to gain a view of all the faces. they were all strangers. he had never seen any of them before. "that's good," he said to himself, as he began retrograding, "they won't be expecting me--" at this juncture, one of the indian horses, a short distance away, raised his head and whinnied. it was instantly responded to by the mustang which ned had ridden to the place. the apaches very naturally noticed this significant fact, and started to their feet to learn what it meant. terribly alarmed at the unexpected mishap, ned sprang up, not daring to trust the tardy, crab-like gait he was following, and, regardless of discovery, dashed away as hard as he could run in the direction of his steed. he could not mistake the true course, for the animal seemingly aware that something was wrong, kept up a continual whinnying, that guided him as unerringly as it did the apaches who were hurrying after him. a few seconds and the boy stood beside the creature, which showed, by its excited manner, that he was as desirous as his master to leave the spot. he was tugging at the rein so lustily that it threatened to break every instant, and ned trembled at the fear that he would be left alone. the impatient, eager haste with which the rein was unfastened, the seemingly impossibility of getting the loosely fastened knot untied, the little obstructions that constantly obtruded themselves--these cannot be described nor imagined. it would have been unnatural in the highest degree had ned not found himself "nervous." he was ready to yield to despair more than once, and what were really seconds were as many minutes to him. the indians could be heard moving through the undergrowth, their progress cautious as it always is when they have reason to fear that enemies are close at hand. it was this deliberation which gave ned his only chance. the rein was unfastened at last, and, with a desperate effort he mounted the mustang, which came very near bounding from beneath him while in the act of springing upward, and, turning his head toward the southwest, the very direction he wished to follow, chadmund struck his sides with his heels, gave a regular indian shout and was off. the steed scarcely needed all this to incite him to his highest efforts. stretching out his neck, he sped away like an arrow, while the young rider constantly urged him to still greater effort. but no urging was required. the fleet-footed courser was already going with the speed of the wind. scarcely had he gotten under way, however, when the crack! crack! of rifles was heard, and the singing of bullets around his ears told the fugitive at whom they were aimed. he instantly threw himself forward upon the neck of the mustang, and shouted again, in a voice that must have been heard by the redskins themselves: "go it, my horse! don't let them catch us! we mustn't lose now!" one or two more shots were heard, and then all was quiet again. "we've got beyond their range," concluded the boy, "and there's no need of wasting their powder on us." still he remained with his head bent on the neck of his animal, the latter upon a dead run, until they had gone a considerable distance further. then believing all peril past, he drew him down somewhat, for the gait was more trying to him than to the steed himself, and it was simply prudent to husband his strength, when there was no necessity of putting it forth. for the first time since starting, ned turned and surveyed the ground over which he had passed. the view was not a reassuring one by any means. instead of seeing the apaches standing in mute despair upon the margin of the grove, and staring in wonder at his flight, he saw instead the whole party mounted and in full pursuit. they were adopting what seemed to him a strange course. instead of charging along in a body, they were separating and spreading out like a fan. "i wonder what it is for," said the fugitive to himself, as he urged his horse to a renewal of the arrowy speed he had shown at the beginning. when he came to reflect upon it more fully, he divined the cause. the apaches had recognized in him a prize worth striving for, and had set about it in their usual cunning fashion. by separating in this manner, they could close in again whenever they chose, and at a time, too, when it might be out of the power of the fugitive to escape by means of the superior speed of his horse. if he should turn to the right or left, or to the rear, he would come in collision with some of them, whereas, if they remained in a compact body, and he should find his way shut in front, he might elude them by turning to either side. such was young chadmund's solution of their actions, and such, undoubtedly, was the true one. he looked ahead; but all remained open and clear. only far away in the very horizon could be seen that blue, misty outline of some mountain chain, seemingly hundreds of miles in advance. "it can't be that _that_ is the place," he mused, as he looked ahead; "that is too far to be reached before to-morrow, and between now and then i shall have plenty of chances to give them the slip." but the mountains were to be crossed at some time or other, and those apaches were likely to follow him with the persistency of bloodhounds. the mere fact that he had distanced them at the beginning, and obtained such a favorable start, was no evidence that he was to be relieved from further danger, even after the night should have come and gone. but ned enjoyed to the full the thrilling pleasure of observing that he was steadily and rapidly drawing away from his pursuers. every few minutes, when he looked back, he could see they were dropping further and further behind. his gain in this respect was clearly perceptible to himself, and when, at the end of an hour or more, he observed that the apaches had ceased the effort to overhaul him, he could scarcely repress his exultation. "they made a good selection!" he exclaimed, alluding to the steed which the hunters had taken from the indians in the mountains. "they could not have done better." drawing his mustang down to a dead halt, he carefully scanned the prairie behind him. only three of his pursuers were visible, and, if his eyes did not deceive him, they were turning back. a few minutes careful scrutiny assured him of the fact. he had outwitted the redskins again. "now, you may rest yourself, my pet," he said to his horse, fondly patting the neck of his steed. "you have done nobly, and i feel like trusting you alone to graze." as near as he could judge it was close upon noon, and his animal was in need of rest, although capable of continuing his arrowy flight until the sun should sink in the west. it was wise to indulge him all he could, and for the next two hours he was permitted to walk at a moderate gait. at the end of that time he headed toward a ravine, in which a few stunted trees were growing, and where he hoped to find grass and water. he did not forget the lesson he had learned, and before trusting himself in the inviting shade and coolness, he carefully circled about the place until assured that no peril lurked there, when he rode forward at the same leisurely pace. he was yet a hundred yards distant, when his mustang abruptly paused of his own accord, pricking up his ears as if he scented danger. ned urged him, and he advanced a few steps, and then halted again, raising high his head and snuffing the air, accompanied at the same time by a peculiar stamp of the foot. "there must be something wrong," thought the boy in alarm. chapter xxviii. a great misfortune. ned chadmund was too wise to go contrary to the instincts of the mustang, which, at such a time knew more than did he of the dangers of the country. the boy, however, supposed that it was some wild animal, probably a grizzly bear, which alarmed the steed. he wondered however, that if such were the fact, why the brute did not give some more tangible evidence of his presence. he sat for a moment debating whether he should make an attempt to enter the wooded ravine from another direction. he had fixed upon this place as the one in which to spend a couple of hours or more, and as no similar resting-place was in sight, he was reluctant to start ahead again. but something whispered to him that the best thing he could do would be to leave without an instant's delay. that strange stillness resting upon those stunted trees and undergrowth had a meaning more significant than anything in the shape of a grizzly bear. "come, pet, we're off again." the mustang wheeled to one side, and bounded away with the old speed, which was more enjoyable to him than a moderate pace. at the very instant of doing so, a mounted apache shot out from the far end of the ravine, and his horse bounded directly across the path of the young fugitive. the steed of the latter saw the game so well that he needed no direction, and he turned with such suddenness that ned narrowly escaped being thrown off his back. quick as he was he had scarcely time to change the direction he was pursuing, when the rider, to his dismay, observed a second apache issue from the other end of the ravine, and thus, in a twinkling, as it may be said, he was placed between two fires. it all took place with such marvelous suddenness that the lad was completely baffled and bewildered, and, not knowing what to do, wisely left the course of action to the mustang. at the same moment, he comprehended how it was that, while he assured himself that he had outwitted the apaches, they had completely checkmated him. their falling back and giving up the chase was simply a ruse to throw him off his guard. it had succeeded to perfection. while he was plodding along over the prairie, the apaches had circled around, gone ahead of him, and, ensconcing themselves in the woods, had patiently waited for him to ride into their arms. the sagacious mustang made another quick whirl, and shot to the right, aiming to pass directly between the two horsemen. seeing this, they both did their best to head him off. at the best it was to be a narrow chance, and ned again threw himself forward and clasped his arms about the neck of the faithful pony. he could not shut out the sight of his ferocious pursuers, and as the three neared each other with the speed of the whirlwind, he observed that each was loosely swinging several coils of rope about his head. he knew what that meant. determined upon capturing him, they were about to call the lasso into requisition. but they could not "noose" him when his head was thrown forward in this fashion, and resting closely against the soft mane of the mustang. he was certain of that, for there was nothing for the spinning coil to seize. and yet he saw distinctly the warrior who was nearest him whirling the thong in swifter and swifter circles above his head in a way that showed that he meant to fling it at something. what could the target be? whiz--whiz! out shot the loop like the dart of a rattlesnake, not at the head of the frightened lad, but at that of the mustang! ah! but the animal was intelligent and equal to the occasion. that round, clear eye saw what was coming, and he was ready. the loop, guided with unerring precision, and thrown with great power, was scarcely over the ears of the creature, when he dropped his head like a flash. the coil, instead of passing over his nose, dropped like a tossed wreath upon the top of his head, slid along his neck, and over the crown and back of ned chadmund, who shivered as if he felt the squirming of a cobra along his spine. the mustang burst into a tremendous gait at this moment, and was drawing away from his pursuers so rapidly that the lasso dropped off his haunches and the flying pony was almost instantly beyond its reach. but the second apache was near at hand and threw his thong from a closer point, and with a venomous spitefulness that would not be evaded. he evidently knew the horse, and was determined upon securing him. the wonderful mustang, however, was equal to the occasion, and, with the same flash-like motion, his beautiful head dropped still lower than before, and the same useless sliding along his back was repeated. his speed was now tremendous, and he drew away so rapidly from both horsemen that neither of them gained a second opportunity to try the lasso upon him. ned did not seek to control the motions or direction of the noble steed. it knew better than did he what to do, and the boy only clung to him the tighter, and prayed to heaven to guard them both from harm. it was not to be expected that the apaches would submit quietly to be baffled in this manner. unable to capture either horse or rider, they still had their rifles, and did not hesitate to call them into requisition the moment it became apparent that no other recourse was at their command. at the moment of firing perhaps fifty yards separated pursuer and pursued. the two guns were discharged so nearly simultaneously, that they might have well been mistaken for one. the escape of ned was a narrow one. he felt one of the bullets pierce his clothing, and a sting in the hand told him that he had been slightly wounded. at the same moment he felt a peculiar twitch or quiver of the steed, which indicated that he also had been hit. it was like the jar of the smoothly-moving machinery when some slight obstruction gets into the works. still there was no abatement of the tremendous speed of the magnificent little animal, and ned concluded that the hurt was not a serious one. a minute later two more reports were heard, but they were faint and far away, and the bullets sped wide of the mark. all danger was passed from that quarter, and once more ned straightened up, and, looking about him, felt that the indian mustang he bestrode had been the means of saving his life. but for him he would have been in the hands of the apaches long since. "i wonder whether there are indians in every bush?" he said, as his eyes roamed over the prairie in search of some place of shelter. "they seem to be watching for me from every tree in the country. well, my good horse, we shall have to keep on the go till dark comes, when we'll get some chance to creep off and hide." looking to the southward, a wooded section was to be seen, but ned concluded to give all such places a wide berth for the present. he had missed recapture by too narrow a chance to risk it blindly again. a long distance to the northwest he discerned a range of hills of moderate elevation, and it occurred to him that there was a suitable place in which to spend the coming night. by journeying forward at this easy, swinging pace, he calculated upon reaching them about nightfall, and in the shelter which they offered he was confident of being able to hide away beyond the vision of the most vigilant apache or comanche. "what has become of those fellows?" he abruptly asked himself, as his eye glanced hastily around in search of the hunters from whom he had now been separated the better portion of twenty-four hours. "i can't understand how we got so far apart. if they meant the whole thing as a joke, i think it is played out by this time." he was a little nettled when he came to reflect that the parting was probably arranged by dick and tom for the purpose of giving him a lesson in prairie traveling and prairie life. perhaps they believed that some amusement might be obtained in this way. "if they think i can't get along without 'em, i'll show them their mistake," he said to himself. "there can't be many days' travel between me and fort havens, and so long as i've got such a horse--he knows better than they can how to keep me out of such scrapes--" at this juncture he was startled by the action of the mustang. he was walking along, when he began staggering from side to side. then he paused, as if to steady himself. a groan followed and he sank heavily to the ground, rolling upon his side so quickly that his rider narrowly escaped being crushed beneath him. and then, as the dismayed ned sprang to his feet, he saw that his loved mustang was dead! chapter xxix. the lone camp fire. when the pursuing apaches first fired their two shots, one of them slightly wounded the hand of young chadmund, while the other, unsuspected by the lad, buried itself in the body of the mustang and inflicted a fatal wound. it was characteristic of the noble creature that his indomitable courage should remain to the last. he kept up his astonishing speed until his rider voluntarily checked him, and then his gait remained his natural one until nature succumbed and he dropped dead. it would be hard to say which emotion was the most poignant in the breast of the young wanderer. he had learned to love the noble mustang during their brief companionship, and he had discovered, too, how impossible it was for him to make any substantial progress without a good horse to ride. he had lost the best steed he had ever bestrode, and was again thrown upon his own resources. it was natural and creditable to the lad that, as he looked at the fallen steed, and reflected how faithfully he had served him, his hands should seek his eyes. so they did, and he spent full ten minutes in a regular old-fashioned cry, such as he had not enjoyed since receiving a good trouncing at the hands of his parent. when his grief had subsided somewhat, he bade the unconscious form good-bye, and with his rifle over his shoulder started ahead again. he could not bear even to remove the blanket which was strapped around the body of the mustang, and which was likely to be of great service to him in his wanderings. it was already growing dark, when he aimed for the hills, and, as his eye swept over the the prairie, he saw no indian or sign of danger. he was hopeful that for the time being, at least, he was free from molestation. his greatest trouble was, that he was ravenously hungry again, and he counted upon considerable difficulty in securing the wherewithal with which to satisfy his cravings. true, he had gun and ammunition, but the game which he wished to meet seemed to be, as a rule, reluctant to put itself within his reach. after reaching the hills, the lad's next proceeding was to hunt up some suitable spot in which to pass the night. the air was so warm and sultry that he could have made no use of the blanket, had he possessed it. the place was full of stunted trees and undergrowth, with jagged, irregular masses of stone lying here and there, and constantly obtruding themselves in such a way that he received a number of severe bruises. after tramping about for a short time he discovered that the hills were mainly in the form of a ridge, passing over the crest of which he went down the opposite slope and found himself among a mass of larger rocks, and in a still wilder section. there, while searching, it occurred to him that he might find a suitable retreat among the rocks. the sound of trickling water directed his steps a little to the left, where a tiny rivulet was found dripping down from the dark stones. after quenching his thirst he renewed his hunt. although he continued for some time, he was not as successful as he desired. nothing in the shape of a regular cavern presented itself, and he finally nestled down beside one of the largest rocks which could be discovered, with the intention of sleeping until morning. ned thought it strange that he should feel so frightened. with the gathering of darkness he grew so nervous that all possibility of sleep was driven away. he examined his rifle several times--a curious mistrust taking possession of him--and then arose to his feet and listened. all seemed as quiet as at creation's morn. there was a soothing influence in the faint sound of the dripping water, and an almost inaudible roar seemed to steal forth from the great prairie, such as is sometimes noted when in the vicinity of the becalmed ocean. without any thought he thrust his hand into an inner pocket, when he felt a small package wrapped up in paper. wondering what it could be, he drew it forth. it was a box of matches! suddenly he remembered how they came there. on the day before leaving santa fe it occurred to him that he would be likely to need such a convenience, and he had carefully wrapped up a box and placed it in this out-of-the-way corner, where it had lain forgotten. "that's lucky!" exclaimed the delighted lad, as he drew them out, recognizing them more by the touch than by sight. "now i'll build a big fire, and fix things splendidly." a fire was his great desideratum, and, had he believed it possible without great trouble and work, he would have kindled one before that. the capture of a new horse could have pleased him scarcely more than the discovery of the matches, and he set about reaping the advantage at once. in such a place there was little difficulty in procuring fuel, and it took ned but a short time to gather all he could possibly need; but, to guard against all contingencies, he continued collecting until he had a huge pile, made up of dead limbs, branches, and a number of green sticks thrown in. in a few minutes the flames were under way. he had kindled them against the face of a rock, and they burned with a cheery heartiness that did much to dispel the gloom which had begun settling over him. he seated himself as near the fire as he could without being made uncomfortable by the reflected heat, and then he assumed as easy a position as was possible in such a place. "i wonder if anybody will see that?" he asked himself in a whisper, after it had continued burning some time. rising and reconnoitering the ground, he was gratified to learn that the light was better screened than he had reason to expect, considering the carelessness with which he had kindled it. the rock at the rear shut off all view from that direction, while the undergrowth was so matted and dense in front, that it seemed impossible for any one to see it from the prairie. having made this survey, he returned to his position, feeling much easier in mind than before. "strange what has become of dick and tom," he muttered, following up this train of thought, as usual whenever he was left undisturbed for a few minutes. "can it be that they have been killed by the apaches? it might be, and yet i don't know how it could happen, either." he was still meditating upon this ever-interesting query, when he was roused to a sense of his situation by the sound of something trampling through the bushes behind him. "indians!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet, rifle in hand, and casting his terrified glance in the direction from whence came the sound. the words were yet in his mouth, when he felt that he had committed a blunder. no indian would approach in that manner. "it must be some animal," was his conclusion, as he stepped back, so as to bring himself as close to the fire as possible. the next moment, a huge, dark, unwieldy body advanced from the gloom with a growl, and he saw an immense grizzly bear lumbering toward him. as quick as thought his rifle was at his shoulder, and he fired full at him, the distance being so short that he could not fail to hit the mark; but the wound, however severe it might have been, was not fatal, and did not deter bruin's advance in the least. knowing that it would be sure death if he were once seized by the powerful monster, and aware of the dread which all animals have of fire, he dropped his gun and caught up a blazing brand, which he flung in the very face of the brute. this was more than a bear, as courageous as was this giant grizzly, could stand, and he retreated with an awkward haste which was ridiculous. for the instant he was panic stricken, and continued falling back until he was invisible in the gloom. but he was not disposed to give up the contest by any means. ned knew he would be back again, and fortified himself as well as possible by hugging his own camp fire, stooping down and holding himself ready to hurl another torch in the brute's face if he should persevere in his attack. for several minutes all was quiet, and he began to hope that his fright was such that he would keep at a respectful distance. such was not the case, however. a growl from another direction warned him that the brute was about to advance from that quarter. the lad peered out into the gloom, wondering whether the creature would eventually overcome his dread to such an extent as to press him to the wall. at any rate, he was not disposed to wait and hastily ran around to the other side of the blaze, by which maneuver it was interposed directly between him and his enemy. "i wonder what he will do now?" chapter xxx. fighting a grizzly. the grizzly could not fail to detect the ruse of the boy, and he countered by moving around to the other side of the fire, so that he regained his former advantage. the nocturnal visitor had evidently set his mind upon making his supper upon the little chap, whose plump, robust appearance must have been a very tempting bait to him. the latter was reluctant to repeat his maneuver, as, by doing so, he would be forced to pass so near his foe that a big paw might reach out and grasp him while on the way. "i'll have to fight you with fire," he said, as he seized a large stick, one end of which was blazing. in the hope that he might give him a greater scare than before, the lad swung it rapidly around his head until it was fanned into a roaring flame. while this was going on, he was surrounded, as it appeared, by a fiery circle, his appearance being such that the bravest quadruped living could not have been induced to approach within his reach. not content with this, ned assumed the aggressive. stooping low, he emitted a wild yell, and repeating this, pointed the torch forward and toward him, moving it more rapidly and in a smaller circle, while at the same time he kept slowly advancing upon him. no bear could be expected to withstand such a demonstration. the figure of the yelling urchin, with his head surrounded by a blazing serpent, must have struck terror to his very inmost being. without pausing to do more than to utter a short growl, he wheeled around and went crashing through the undergrowth as if under the belief that a battery had been suddenly unmasked and was about to open upon him. when he had retreated a few rods he paused to see how matters appeared, when he again beheld the horrid figure closer than ever and drawing nearer every moment. it was appalling, and he plunged away at a greater speed than ever. ned pursued him until he was fearful of getting so far away from the camp fire that he would lose it altogether. when he paused he could hear the bear still tramping off, as if he already felt the torch blistering his nose. turning again, the lad ran with all speed to his "headquarters," where he flung down his torch and caught up his gun. "now i think i've got time to load it," he said, as he began the operation at once, a little alarmed, however, to discover that the supply of ammunition furnished him by tom hardynge was growing alarmingly small. he succeeded in ramming the charge home, and then as he placed the cap upon the tube, he felt something of the old confidence that was his when astride the mustang and coursing over the prairie at a speed which no horse could equal. when first charged upon by the monster he had fired with such haste that he had no time to make any aim; now fortified by his camp fire, he meant to improve upon that. everything being ready, he looked off into the gloom, but nothing was to be seen of the creature, nor did the slightest sound betray his whereabouts. "he'll be sneaking back pretty soon," said the lad to himself, who was resolved to remain on the watch. he was not kept waiting. a minute later he caught the slow crackling and trampling of some heavy creature through the undergrowth, and he was confident that his old enemy was close at hand. the lad sank down upon one knee, so close to the fire that it scorched him, and awaited his approach. but the grizzly had been so thoroughly scared that he hadn't entirely recovered from it. when something like twenty feet away he halted, and evidently began debating whether it would be prudent to approach. chadmund could not make out his figure distinctly, although he knew precisely where he was; but, by and by, when the head moved a little, he caught the phosphorescent glitter of the eyes. as the fire light shone upon the gun-barrel he wanted no better opportunity, and, supporting the weapon upon one knee, he pointed it straight at the center--that is, directly between those glowing orbs, which remained stationary, as if in waiting for the fatal messenger. it came the next moment. true to its aim, the tiny sphere of lead entered the head of the bear at the most vulnerable point, and the life went out from that huge mass. a rasping growl, a few spasmodic throes, and it was all over. ned was naturally exultant over his exploit, and he reflected that if matters went on in the same fashion, he could soon lay claim to being quite a hunter. he had shot an indian, a buffalo, and a grizzly bear, besides performing some other exploits not always accomplished by men. "i guess the best plan is to load again," he muttered, as he adopted this precautionary measure. "that isn't the only grizzly bear in the country." by this time the fire was running down, and the lad, throwing some more fuel upon it, seated himself directly in front, prepared to watch for further visitors. he had scarcely ensconced himself in this position when his hair fairly rose on end at hearing a low but distinct, growl, proving that some other unwelcome caller was about to pay him his respects. he hurriedly looked in every direction, but could see nothing to explain the cause of this alarming manifestation. it was so different from the warning uttered by the grizzly that he knew it must be some other sort of creature. holding his rifle ready for instant use, he glanced hurriedly about him, but, although the camp fire was throwing out a long stream of light, no sign of an animal could be detected. "i'm sure i heard something," he repeated, still wondering and looking around in search of the cause. "hello! there it goes again. it sounds as if it were somewhere up in the air--it is in the air!" the fire had been kindled against the face of a rock. this rock rose perpendicularly a dozen feet above the ground below, where the fire was burning, and where the lad was standing. as he looked up he saw the gaunt figure of a large mountain wolf standing on the very edge of this, looking down upon him, its lank jaws distended, its eyes glaring, and its whole appearance that of a ferocious beast about to leap down upon his head. the suggestion was so startling, that ned uttered an exclamation of terror, and leaped back several feet. it must be that when a wild beast comes across a boy, he concludes that even though he carries a gun there is nothing to be feared from him. the grizzly bear had shown a sublime indifference to ned's capacity, and his life had paid the forfeit. and now, although the mountain wolf must have seen him raise that rifle and point it as straight as the finger of fate directly at him, he paid no attention to it whatever; but there he stood, snarling and growling, and on the very point of leaping. suddenly there was a short, sharp crack, and it was all over with the wolf. he must have gathered himself for a leap at that very moment; for the bullet that bored his brittle skull through and through did not prevent an outward bound. a faint yelp and the creature bounded full a dozen feet directly out from the rock, and, owing to some curious quirp of the muscles, turned a complete somerset, and would have landed directly upon the head of ned if he hadn't sprung to one side as the carcass fell to the ground. "that settles your case," remarked the boy, with the indifference of an old hunter. "now it's time to load up again." this done he settled himself to watch and listen and play the part of his own sentinel for the rest of the night. a faint moaning of the night-wind was all that reached his ears. once he fancied he heard the report of a gun far away in the distance, but it was so faint that he might have been mistaken. then a cry, somewhat resembling that made by a panther, was borne on the wind, but that, too, seemed to come from the mountains that were miles away to the westward. no sound indicated the presence of any further danger close at hand. everything was quiet, and seemingly at rest. chapter xxxi. sleep. the sentinel on his rounds, the watchman upon his beat, or the sailor pacing the deck of his vessel in mid-ocean, keeps his senses awake by the constant motion of his body. to sit down to rest for a few minutes only is fatal. sleep has the power of stealing over the faculties, and wrapping them up in its embrace so insidiously, that no watchfulness can guard against it unless artificial means, such as walking, are resorted to. when ned chadmund resumed an easy position in front of his own camp fire, the inevitable result followed. he resolved to keep his ears and eyes open, and almost immediately closed them. a few minutes passed and then his head began to nod. several times he narrowly escaped tumbling over, and, finally rousing, he vigorously rubbed his eyes, yawned, and arose to his feet. "my gracious! this won't do," he exclaimed, with a shuddering sense of the danger he was running. "a bear might steal right up to me and eat me up before i could help myself. if i'm going to play sentinel, i must do it like a man." straightway he began pacing back and forth in front of the blaze, his beat extending some twenty feet back and forth. he carried his rifle on his shoulder and proved the thoroughness of his vigilance by an occasional glance at the top of the rock, from which the mountain wolf had made its death leap. the coast remained clear. the far-off sounds which had attracted his attention a short time before were not repeated, and, as the labor of walking back and forth grew a little wearisome, he began to argue the question with himself. "i wonder whether there isn't some way of resting without working? if i've got to walk all night, what shall i be good for to-morrow? i don't see any fun in this sort of business. ah, i know how i'll fix it; i'll kindle two fires." he acted upon the idea at once. he had gathered such an abundance of fuel that he had no fear of the supply running out. in a few minutes he had a second fire started, about a dozen feet from the other, while he stowed himself away directly between them. his position, he soon discovered, was rather warmer than he anticipated, but he speedily remedied this by permitting each fire to subside in a slight degree. "this is nice," he muttered, shrinking up against the rock. "i don't think any wild creature would harm me unless he tumbled over the top of the rock there and dropped on my head. even then i think i should wake up soon enough to use my gun on him. but then, i guess i won't go to sleep." five minutes later his head was nodding again, and utter unconsciousness speedily followed. but one of the brands in the fire on his right fell, and there was a slight crackling explosion of the embers--as is often the case. a glowing spark flew outward and dropped upon the limp hand of the sleeping youngster. simultaneously there was a yell, and the lad leaped several feet from the ground, dancing about like a rejoicing warrior and flinging his hand as if he were trying to shake off some clinging reptile. "i should like to know who did that?" he exclaimed, a little confused by the startling manner in which he had been aroused. "i guess i understand how it all came about, though," he added, as he examined the stinging blister upon the back of his hand. the pain from this little wound effectually banished all sleep for the time. ned busied himself in replenishing the fire, and then walked out in the gloom and looked about. everything was the same. the night was dark,--no moon being visible,--and an oppressive sultriness was in the atmosphere. it seemed as if some elemental disturbance were close at hand, but in looking to the sky no presage of it could be discovered. after wandering about for some time, the lad spat upon some earth, and, plastering it over the smarting blister, succeeded in shutting out the air from it and secured considerable relief. "it must be that i am all alone," he added, standing still and listening. "no one is near and no one sees me but god. he has taken care of me in the past, and he will not forsake me in future," he added, looking reverently upward. the old feeling of drowsiness again stole over him and he determined to secure a night's rest--that is, during the portion of the night that remained. still the fact that the fires had run down somewhat raised the inquiry in his mind as to what was likely to happen in case they went out altogether. if any more grizzly bears should put in an appearance, his situation would not be of the most inviting nature, but he had argued himself into the belief that no further peril of this character threatened. by placing a goodly amount of fuel upon the fires he hoped to keep them going until daylight, or until his slumber was over. had he been able to find a suitable tree, he would have made his bed in that, even at the risk of another disagreeable fall, but nothing of the kind could be seen, and he had already grown weary of hunting for some hiding place among the rocks. accordingly, the camp fires were replenished and he resumed his former position between them, covering his hands very carefully, lest another spark should drop in the same place. "i wish it was colder!" he exclaimed, when he found the place growing uncomfortably warm. "if it was winter now, i shouldn't want anything nicer." he stood it like a hero, however, and by and by his place became more pleasant, for the reason that the fuel was rapidly burning down. about this time sleep regained possession of his senses, and, cramped up though he was, with his back against the rock, his slumber was scarcely less sound than if he were stretched out upon his blanket beneath a tree in the forest. at the time young chadmund relapsed into unconsciousness it was nearly midnight, and for nearly two hours following there was scarcely the slightest change in the surroundings. the fires burned low, until the figure of the lad braced up against the rock grew dim and shadowy in the deepening gloom. scarcely a breath of air stirred the vegetation about him, and everything seemed to be calculated to lull one into a deep, soothing, dreamless sleep. but at the end of the time mentioned, something came out of the undergrowth and advanced stealthily toward him. it was vague, shadowy, and so dimly outlined that at first its form could not be recognized; but as it glided closer to the fire, there was enough light remaining to disclose the figure of another wolf. like a phantom born of the gloom itself, it moved toward the unconscious lad, until scarcely a dozen feet intervened. then, as if directed by providence, one of the embers snapped apart, throwing out a sudden flame, which momentarily lit up the surrounding darkness. like a flash the wolf slunk back, and then, pausing, stood and stared at the lad, licking his jaws as if in anticipation of the feast he expected to enjoy upon him. as the flames subsided again, and the same gloom crept over the scene, the hideous creature stole up again, resolved to have the meal displayed so temptingly before him. once more he was within reach, still advancing with jaws distended--ready to leap upon him. the boy slumbered dreamlessly on. still nearer crept the wolf until ned was at his mercy. at this critical juncture, something whizzed from the upper surface of the rock, with the velocity almost of a bullet. it was a tomahawk, which, speeding true to its aim, struck the unsuspicious wolf fairly and with such terrific force that his skull was cloven in twain as completely as if smitten by the headsman's ax. there was scarcely time for the wild yelp as he tumbled over backward. but, such as it was, it aroused ned, who sprang to his feet and gazed about him with an alarmed and bewildered air. before he could fairly comprehend what had taken place he saw figures descending and approaching. it was too late to retreat. he was surrounded. "i'm a goner now!" he muttered. but as the firelight brightened, he saw the kindly faces of tom hardynge and dick morris. chapter xxxii. reunited. "how was it that you came to leave me for so long a time?" inquired ned, after he had welcomed his two friends with boyish enthusiasm and congratulated himself upon his timely deliverance. "wal," replied tom, as the three took up a comfortable position before the fire, "we started you off on that hunt on purpose to give you a little taste of buffaler huntin', calc'latin' to foller on after ye in the course of an hour or two. afore we could do so, a war-party of a hundred redskins got right atween us--didn't you see 'em?" "no such party as that." "in course they shut us out altogether. the worst of it was, we exchanged a few shots back and forth with 'em, and they give us a brush; so by the time we had dodged out of their way, we was a long ways off from you. we couldn't do nothin' till mornin', and by that time the buffaloes and injuns had trampled out your trail, so that there was nothin' to be seen of it, and we had to go it on general principles. we had 'bout made up our mind that some of the varmints had gobbled you, when we put eyes on this fire, and there ain't any use of tellin' any more." the lad now in compliance with their request, related his entire experience since their separation. old and veteran hunters as they were, and chary of praise as was their custom, they did not hesitate to compliment him highly upon the courage he had displayed in the most trying emergencies in which he was placed. his experience had, indeed, been a most remarkable one, and providence had protected him in a wonderful manner. everything being understood, and the past cleared up, it now became them to look to the future. there were only two horses to three persons, and as there were no means of obtaining one, it became necessary to divide the lad between the two hunters--an arrangement which was easily made. but, although it might seem that the greatest danger of the company had passed, the truth was, however, that the greatest was still before them, and both dick and tom knew it. they were pursuing a journey in an almost due south-westerly direction--precisely the course necessary to take in order to reach home, as they had come to look upon fort havens. but directly in their path was a broad level patch of country, interspersed, here and there, with rocks and vegetation, over which both the comanches and apaches were so constantly roaming that it would be impossible for a white man to cross it without being discovered by some of the war-parties. when dick and tom were coming from the other direction, they were seen, and escaped only by the superior fleetness of their horses. but the trouble was that while they were not expected and not watched for then, now they were. the redskins were cunning enough to know that if two hunters rode at full speed through their country in the direction of santa fe, they would be very likely to return again in the course of a few days, and, as dick said, the reds "would be ready for 'em." consequently, it became not a question of fleetness; for, if it were, the hunters could afford to have very little apprehension over the result; but tom hardynge was well convinced that the apaches, to the number of a hundred or more, were distributed at different points, and on the lookout for them. indeed, he had already seen such evidence of the fact that it could not be doubted. he did not consider it necessary to tell their young friend all this, for he would learn it in due time. such being the case it would have been a waste of time for the three to remain where they were, while they had the sheltering darkness to screen them in their flight; but the two mustangs had done a good deal of traveling, and it was wise to give them the rest while it could be gained. here were water and grass, of which the animals were taking the advantage. it was wise to husband their strength and endurance until the following day. the hunters extinguished one camp fire entirely, and toned the other down so that there was no possibility of its attracting the notice of any one unless he passed very near at hand. fortunately for ned, they had some very good and substantial lunch with them, with which his hunger was fully satisfied. there still remained a little stock on hand, which was reserved more for him than themselves. they were accustomed to such privations and could stand it very well, but the lad was of too tender years not to suffer keenly. the night was so far gone that no one attempted to obtain any sleep. the hunters went out and examined the dead grizzly, learning his dimensions by the sense of feeling alone. tom picked up the tomahawk, and, wiping off the blade upon the grass, shoved it down in his belt, with the remark that it might come handy again before they reached fort havens. the two then made an observation for the purpose of learning whether any of the indians were in the neighborhood. nothing important was discovered, however, and in due time the night ended and the morning came again. the sun was scarcely up when they were under way. ned at first was placed upon the back of the mustang ridden by dick morris, and side by side, the two fleet-limbed creatures left the ridge and took the shortest route to fort havens. the gait was an easy, swinging one, which the horses were capable of keeping up from rise of morn until set of sun. the day was warm and sunshiny, but the air was so clear and pure that the oppressiveness was much less than would have been the case in a more northern latitude. beyond the ridge, the country remained open, as the prairie was inclined to be rolling than otherwise, but with a surface which permitted the utmost swiftness of which an animal was capable. occasionally patches of wood and rocky elevations were discernible, but these were given a wide berth in all cases, as they were the very places where the treacherous enemies would have wished them to come. a herd of buffaloes, probably the same seen a short time before, was discerned far to the south, but they were passed by while still a long distance away. chapter xxxiii. closing in. the party pushed on until the greater portion of the forenoon was passed, when ned was transferred to the back of tom's horse. the lad had noticed that the hunters were acting in a strange manner, as though they were ill at ease, and were apprehensive that peril of some kind was approaching. dick morris rode fully a hundred yards in advance of his comrade, and the motion of his head showed that there was no part of the horizon that was not under his surveillance. tom was equally busy while riding in the rear. neither of the hunters addressed a word to the other, but the boy detected a sort of telegraphy occasionally passing between them. they were working by a preconcerted arrangement, like corresponding parts of some machine, understanding each other so well that there was no need for explanation. the boy also used his to the best advantage possible, often turning his head and scanning the prairie and horizon, but not a single time did he discern anything that looked like indians. had he been alone, he would have journeyed serenely forward, certain that no danger of any kind threatened. at noon, a brief halt was made as they struck the margin of a small stream, the water of which was rather warm and muddy, the buffaloes having probably disturbed it at some point above. the horses quaffed their fill, and upon the suggestion of tom, ned did the same. there was a good deal of significance when he uttered the words. "it may be a good while before you get a chance at another." it did not escape the notice of the lad, either, that both his friends filled to the full their old canteens, after which they repaired to one side, where they conversed for some time in low tones, and with such earnest, excited gestures, that it was plain they were in deadly earnest. "i don't see why they keep everything from me," he muttered, as he observed this. "i think i've seen as big sights as they have for the last few days, and if there's any trouble coming, i wonder whether i haven't got to take my chance the same as them? but i'll let them alone till they get ready to tell me." he was watching the two as they were talking to each other, when tom beckoned to him to approach. "there's no use of talkin'," said the hunter, in a low voice; "we're gettin' into the worst scrimmage of our lives. we're right in the middle of a dangerous tract. we've been seen by the apaches and they're arter us." "why don't you wait until night and go through when they can't see you?" the hunter shook his head at this seemingly reasonable query. "the darkness is worse for us than it is for them. they can lay flat on the perarie and hear the sound of the hosses' feet a good deal further off than they can see 'em, and the scamps are so cunnin' they would have drawn us right into some ambush afore we'd knowed anythin' about it. no, we must try it with our eyes open and the sun shinin'." "but what of it?" asked ned, who did not see why their position need be looked upon as so critical. "your mustangs are as fleet as theirs. how are they going to catch you?" the whole difficulty was then made clear to the lad. if the apaches were nowhere but in the rear, it would be an easy matter to give them the slip, but they were on the right and left, and in front, and signs that had been seen through the day indicated very clearly that the indians were carrying out to the letter the plan of which the hunters had spoken, and which they dreaded so much. they had already surrounded them, the circle being quite a number of miles in diameter, and were now simply drawing in their lines. this, as a matter of course, made a collision inevitable, unless the hunters could manage to steal between these redskins, and, by striking the open country beyond, place the entire company in their rear. such a plan as this was scarcely possible of accomplishment. if attempted during the daytime, it would be instantly detected by some of the redskins, who would notify the proper ones, when an immediate concentration would take place in front of the fugitives. if tried during the darkness of night, it would fail. the apaches would take every imaginable precaution against it and there was no means of concealing the noise made by hoofs. by going on foot they could get through the lines without difficulty; but they could not commit the imprudence of leaving their horses. the situation, therefore, was critical. tom made known two most important facts. the first was that beyond a doubt lone wolf was at the head of the whole enterprise, and they were likely to meet with this treacherous chief again. the second was that, in case they were driven to the wall, the hunters had determined upon taking refuge in a place known as hurricane hill. "it's nothing more than a pile of rocks," added hardynge. "i've been there before, and it's just the spot to make a desp'rit stand. two men like us, if we can reach the right p'int, can keep a hundred of the redskins back." "won't they get there ahead of us?" asked ned. "i think not," replied the hunter, in that hesitating manner which showed that he had thought of the contingency before; "for the reason that i b'leve they'd like to have us run there; but, come, let's be off." that the mustangs might be relieved, the lad was now taken on the back of dick's, and the journey toward the southwest was resumed at the same sweeping gallop. tom took the lead, carefully scanning the ground over which they traveled. for an hour all went well, and then he reined up his steed with startling suddenness. "look yonder!" he said, pointing to the south. glancing in the direction indicated, the boy saw a number of moving specks, apparently on the very horizon. "injuns," said dick, in a low voice, although the boy scarcely needed the explanation to know they were their old enemies--mounted apaches. "do you see 'em?" "yes." "now take a peep off there." this time the hunter pointed exactly opposite, where almost precisely the same thing was visible. "now, i s'pose you understand how it all is? they've been keeping along with us all day, a little ahead, and all the time closing in a little. they've got things down to a dot, and mean bus'ness, you can bet." "but are we anywhere near hurricane hill?" "yonder it is." several miles in advance, a dark, mound-like obstruction appeared against the sky. it was so far away that it was seen only indistinctly, but its character was evidently such as described by the hunter. "are you going for it?" "we are." and, suiting action to his words, they immediately broke into a gallop which was more rapid than before. the situation, especially to the boy, became painful in its thrilling intensity. he required no telling to know that the dreaded programme described by his friends was being carried out to the letter. the apaches were steadily closing in upon them, and it was evident that, if they chose to do so, they could effectually shut them out from reaching their vantage ground. young chadmund dreaded such a course upon their part. somehow or other he had grown to look upon hurricane hill as their haven of safety. the few words of recommendation that tom hardynge had given it caused this belief upon his part. he did not pause to ask himself what was to be done after reaching it. suppose it could be gained in perfect safety, what then? if they should prove themselves fully able to keep a whole host of apaches at bay, how was the siege to end? if the indians should content themselves with merely waiting until hunger and thirst could do their work, what more? these questions naturally occurred to the men themselves, but it came back to hobson's choice after all. and so they dashed ahead, gradually increasing their speed, while the apaches, with the regularity of machine work, as gradually drew in upon them. "will they cut us off?" inquired ned, when the chase had continued for some time. "guess not," replied dick; "but it don't make much difference." "why not?" "'cause it begins to look as if they had a dead sure thing of it," said the scout, sententiously. "i hope not--i hope not," said the trembling lad, who could only pray that heaven would not desert them in the peril which was encompassing them on every hand. chapter xxxiv. hurricane hill. while yet at a considerable distance, the full force of the indians became developed. they were divided almost equally, fifty being on either hand, and their speed still remained such that the main portion kept ahead of the fugitives, with about half a mile intervening between them and their pursuers. it may have been fancy, but tom hardynge maintained that he was able to recognize lone wolf among the redskins on the right, and when a short time afterward dick morris emphatically asserted the same thing, it began to look as if the belief were well founded. the sun was quite low in the sky, and the gait of the mustangs began to tell upon them. the two were galloping side by side, and going nearly at full speed. both tom and dick were angry at being forced into such a position, which, to them, was a cowardly flight from a lot of wretches whom they despised and hated. "i must give 'em my compliments," suddenly exclaimed the latter, when they were within rifle shot of each other. as he spoke, he raised his gun, and fired into lone wolf's band. he seemed to take no aim at all, and, indeed, there was little necessity for it, as the indians were so numerous and compact. a yell followed and then a commotion, showing very plainly that the shot had told. "i reckon i'll try it again, it works so well," said dick, repeating the demonstration, except that he aimed to the company on the left. he took a little more pains to guard against throwing his shot away and the result was similar to the first. "now we'll catch it," said the terrified ned, crouching down beside the hunter, who like his friend was engaged in reloading his gun. but there was no return fire. the apaches, evidently, had concluded that they could wait. the shots, however, resulted somewhat advantageously for the fugitives, who, during the momentary confusion thus created, managed to crowd a little ahead. the horses were then put to a dead run and the final rush made for hurricane hill, the last refuge for which the fugitives could flee, seeing which, the indians converged toward them, and made every effort to shut them off. although the hunters had apparently used their utmost endeavors up to this time, they had husbanded the strength of their animals so cleverly that their pursuers themselves were deceived, and when they expected to interpose themselves directly across the path, they beheld them flying like a whirlwind toward the rocks. the few hundred yards remaining between the latter and hurricane hill were passed in a few seconds by the fleet-footed mustangs. ned was fairly dazed by the bewildering rush of events, and hardly able to keep track of their order. he saw the hurrying warriors directly behind them, and the rough, cragged mass of rocks in front. the next moment he was off the mustang. the scouts had checked their beasts at the same instant at the base of hurricane hill, and, leaping to the ground, skurried up the steep incline by which its surface was reached. the feet of the lad did not touch the earth. dick, who was slightly in advance, carried him under his arm as if he were an infant snatched up in haste, and the men bounded toward the top of the hill, the whole howling horde at their heels. hurricane hill, it should be stated, was a pile of rocks about one hundred feet in diameter, with half that height. on one side a narrow path led upward at an angle of forty-five degrees, and, as it permitted only one to pass at a time, the place, with a few defenders, was impregnable against almost any force. this path upward was filled with loose, rattling stones, which sometimes made one's foothold treacherous, and it also made several curious turns, so that, after ascending a rod or so, one was shut out from the view of those upon the ground below. the very instant this point was reached dick morris dropped the lad and exclaimed: "now run like thunder, and don't stop till you reach the top." then, wheeling about, he leaped back several paces to the assistance of tom, who was defending the pass like a second leonidas against the swarming warriors. a huge, stalwart redskin, who probably believed his strength to be superior to that of the scouts, advanced boldly and seized him, with the evident purpose of drawing him down among the others and making him a prisoner in spite of himself. but he found he had made a slight miscalculation when he was lifted like a child from the ground and hurled over the heads and among the glowering redskins crowding below. the momentum of his body was such that a half dozen were forced backward and almost off their feet. had the apaches chosen to do so, it would have been an easy matter to have shot all three of the fugitives, or even two of them, and taken the lad; but they had some old score against tom and dick, which could not be wiped out by mere death alone. now that such a fine opportunity was presented for securing them and indulging in all the luxury of torture, they were not the ones to throw away the chance. hence, they persistently refused to fire and as persistently forced their way upward. this check, which might have been simply temporary, was emphasized and made more permanent in its character by dick, who at the critical moment seized a goodly sized rock, which he drove down among the wretches like the discharge from a fifty pounder. it made terrible work and the discomfited apaches retreated tumultuously to the bottom, while the hunters hastened away again to the top of the hill. ned was there awaiting their coming with the most painful misgiving about their coming at all. he knew from the uproar that a desperate fight was raging in the narrow pass, and he feared that the resentful apaches would overcome the braver hunters, who were defending themselves so desperately. but there they were at last, with the announcement that their enemies had fallen back and a temporary peace was given them. "can't expect it to last long, howsomever," added tom, who breathed scarcely any faster from his terrific exertions. "them skunks are bound to swallow us whole, and we've got to kick hard to prevent it." as soon as a little breathing time had been gained, the besieged made an examination of their immediate surroundings, to learn the probable form in which this business was likely to end. the hunters removed all superfluous articles from their persons,--in the shape of canteens and a few appurtenances,--like pugilists who are stripping for a fight. the surface of hurricane hill was generally level, and free from the boulders and obstructions which one would naturally expect to find there, which tom hardynge explained by saying that they had all been rolled down upon the indians below by parties who had been driven to this _dernier resorte_ years before. the position of the three, therefore, was very much as if they were upon the extensive top of a tower which was reached by a narrow stairway, their province being to defend it against all comers. for some time after the repulse of the apaches, all remained quiet. of course, they took charge of the two mustangs that the fugitives had been compelled to leave behind in their flight and then disposed themselves around the refuge, like those who had made up their minds to wait until the fruit dropped into their hands. the afternoon was drawing to a close, and ned naturally viewed the coming night with distrust. darkness seemed to be the appropriate time for the fiends to work, and more than once he shuddered as he pictured in his imagination the merciless wretches swarming up the narrow path and spreading over the top, like the rush of waters when bursting up from some hidden fountain. "all we've got to do is to keep our eyes open," said dick, with a most reassuring manner. "if i could have plenty to eat and drink, with the privilege of sleeping a little now and then, i wouldn't want any better fun than to stay up here for a few months and crack their heads as they come up." "shall i do the watching to-night?" "not much," grinned dick. "tom takes the first half, me the last, and that's as good a way as we can fix it." "and what shall i do to help?" "go to sleep as soon as it is dark, and don't wake up for three or four days--and even then you must not be dry or hungry." chapter xxxv. the sentinel. ned then understood why the two scouts had taken pains to fill their canteens at the brook during the day, and why, also, they so religiously preserved the little lunch still remaining in their possession. it was to guard against just such a contingency. as the sun approached the horizon, the lad seated himself upon a rocky protuberance and looked off over the surrounding country. to the west, the blue, misty outlines of a moderately high range of mountains shut off all further view. "just beyond that," he said to himself, as he fixed his eyes upon the elevation, "tom tells me is fort havens, where father is waiting for me. if he only knew we were here, he might come to our relief. wouldn't he scatter the redskins down there? but i don't know how he will find it out. oh! if we were only among those mountains, it wouldn't take us long to go the rest of the way. i suppose the fort can be seen from their top." to the south, a stratum of yellow vapor stretched for forty degrees along the horizon. there were no buffaloes there, but there had been, and it was the evidence of their passage. to the north, the view was broken by ridges, patches of wood, and curious irregularities of surface, but there was no sign of life among all, nor could it be detected except by peering over the edge of hurricane hill down upon the assembled besiegers below. he noticed that tom hardynge, shading his eyes with his hand, was gazing off with a fixed intensity in the direction of the mountains which intervened between them and fort havens. he said nothing, but there was a significance in his persistency which aroused the curiosity of the lad in no small degree. could it be that his keen vision detected something tangible toward the setting sun, which was hidden from view by the mountain range? or was it the mere searching for something upon which to hang his hopes? dick morris was very differently occupied, acting, indeed, as if unaware that anyone else was upon the hill-top besides himself. crawling to the edge, he was stretched out flat upon his face, his hat removed, while he peered stealthily downward upon the crowd below. probably, he, too, was searching for something or somebody. there was so much meaning in his actions that the interest of the lad centered upon him, and he watched every motion. the hunter fidgeted around for a few minutes, as if his posture was not exactly comfortable, and then hastily projecting his gun over the margin, he took a quick aim and fired, and then flinging the weapon aside, looked down again to see the result. all at once, he sprang to his feet, and stamped back toward the center of the plateau, in a terrific rage. "ain't it awful!" he exclaimed, adding a forcible expletive. "did i ever make a bigger mistake?" "what do you mean, dick?" "hit the wrong skunk." "how is that?" asked tom, turning toward him. "i've been figuring around for half an hour so as to draw a bead on lone wolf, and just as i pulled the trigger, i found i'd hit the wrong one. it's trying to one's feelings to be disappointed that way." "i don't b'leve you'll get a chance at him," said tom, as he seated himself and resumed his patient scrutiny of the western horizon. however the scout was not quite in despair, and, reloading his piece, he returned to his position and resumed his watch. but the mistake he had made operated against him in every way. it apprised the apaches of their danger from this sort of sharp-shooting, and the whole force fell back, while lone wolf, who was shrewd enough to know that his life was in special demand, made sure that he was out of range of those fatal rifles. besides this, it was rapidly growing dark, and before dick could gain any kind of a chance at all, the light was too dim to afford him the indispensable aim. the hunters showed a business-like manner of doing things. as soon as it was fairly dark, dick morris gave up his hunt for lone wolf, and, remarking that there would be no fun until the morrow, rolled over and away from the margin, and was sound asleep within ten minutes. "you'd better do the same," said tom to the lad, as he left him alone, and moved down the incline to the position he intended to occupy while acting as sentinel during the first portion of the night. ned remained up a considerable time, when, as there seemed to be nothing going on of an alarming nature, he concluded to step out and do the same, if he could control his nerves enough to do so. he was both hungry and thirsty, but not to a very great degree, and as his companions said nothing about eating or drinking, he made up his mind to wait until the morrow. it was about an hour before he became entirely unconscious, but when he shut his eyes they were not opened until morning. before that time, however, tom hardynge became involved in a little difficulty. the point where he located was about half way between the base and top of hurricane hill. here the path made such an abrupt bend that it was easy to conceal himself, and still keep a sharp watch upon any one coming from below. it was the hunter's belief that an attempt would be made by the apaches to steal upon them before morning; for, while their enemies were ready to wait three or four days, or as long as was necessary, yet it was to be expected that they would prefer to force matters to a conclusion as speedily as possible. if they could crowd up to the top of the hill and overwhelm the fugitives, they were willing to incur the risk of losing several lives that they might do so. accordingly, when he assumed his position it was with the expectation that there would be something on the carpet before long. nor was he disappointed. for two hours not the slightest sound reached his ears, and then a pebble softly rattled down the incline below him. there might have been no human agency in this slight occurrence, as the loose _dã©bris_ was likely to do the same thing at any moment, but tom believed that it was caused by the moccasin of an apache stealing upward. he stealthily peeped around the edge of the rock, but nothing was to be seen. there was a moon in the sky, but its position was such that the path was thrown in shadow, and he could not have detected a man a dozen feet distant. fifteen minutes more passed and then the scout became certain that an indian was stealing up the path toward him. it was a wonder how the thing could be done, without sending streams of gravel and pebbles rattling to the bottom. hardynge straightened up, still peering around in the gloom. the moments wore away and still he was able to detect that soft, faint gliding, as if a rattlesnake were getting into a position to strike its prey. by and by--yes, he could now make out the crouching figure approaching through the darkness and he drew back lest he should be seen. nearer and nearer it drew, while he remained as motionless as the solid rock beside him. finally, after great delay it stood opposite. at the very instant it was passing the hand of tom hardynge shot straight out with lightning-like quickness and force, and the knife clutched in his iron-like grasp did its duty well. no outcry proclaimed the deed. there was only a gasp and all was over. the moment it was done the hunter straightened up and listened. "mebbe there's another behind him." but the most patient, careful listening failed to detect anything, and, leaving the body lying where it had fallen, he went noiselessly to the top where dick was sleeping. a gentle touch aroused the latter and he instantly rose to his feet. a few words told him all that had happened and then the two hurriedly discussed the scheme which had occurred to hardynge a short time before. two minutes only were needed for them to reach a conclusion. "i'll do it," muttered tom, as they arose and began picking their way down the path. chapter xxxvi. a desperate scheme. the two scouts carefully descended until they reached the spot where the dead apache lay. they moved as noiselessly as shadows until they stood directly by the inanimate form. then, while tom hardynge began adjusting his outer garments, dick morris stooped over and drew forth the blanket which was crumpled beneath the dead warrior. the apaches and comanches and different tribes of the southwest nearly always carry their blankets with them when traveling, and when this particular indian essayed his perilous reconnaissance on a sultry summer night that garment was flung over his shoulders. these savages as a rule, do not wear their hair done up in the defiant scalp-lock form seen among their more northern kindred. it hangs loosely about their heads and shoulders, being ornamented with stained feathers, the hair itself frequently daubed with brilliant paint. tom gathered the blanket about him precisely as did the warrior, and then, his own cap being thrown aside, the feathers were stuck in among the tresses with all the skill of the veteran warrior. as he wore leggings the same as the redskin, his _tout ensemble_ was complete. beneath his blanket he carried his rifle, pistol and knife, and even took the tomahawk from the girdle of the fallen brave, and managed to stow that about his clothing. even now the two comrades spoke not a word. they merely shook hands in a silent, cordial grasp, and almost immediately became invisible to each other. dick remained where he was for several minutes, listening and looking, and then, hearing nothing, moved back toward his former position, muttering as he went: "if anybody can get through 'em, tom's the boy--but it's a powerful desprit scheme--a powerful desprit one!" reaching the top, he crawled again to the margin, and stretched out with his head partly over. eye-sight was of no avail now, and he depended upon hearing alone, believing that by that means he would be able to learn the success or failure of the maneuver. but not until nearly an hour had passed did he begin to feel anything like a real hope that his comrade had succeeded. in the meantime, tom was doing his best. it was no easy task for him to pass safely through the apache lines in the guise of an indian. the redskins would be on the lookout for the return of their scout, and the ordeal through which he would have to pass would be a much more severe one than usual. but he was accustomed to desperate schemes, and ready for any sort of encounter. if discovered immediately, he meant to dash back again up the rocks; but if he could get any distance away, he would make a determined effort to elude his enemies altogether. following out his plan with the deliberation of a veteran, he stole slowly downward, consuming fully half an hour before he reached the base of hurricane hill. when, at length, he stood upon hard ground below, he was taken somewhat back by seeing no one near him. "that's queer," he said; "what's become of the skunks?" he had scarcely uttered the words when a tall form suddenly appeared at his side, coming up as if he had risen from the very ground. "do the hunters sleep?" this question was asked in pure apache, and tom, somewhat distrustful of his own ability in that line, managed to muffle his blanket up in front of his mouth as he replied in the same tongue: "they sleep not." "where is their scalps, mau-tau-ke?" "on their heads." the warrior was no more than ten feet distant, and from the moment the scout detected him he began edging away, the indian naturally following along while these words were being uttered, so as to keep within easy ear-shot. upon hearing the second reply to his question, he paused, and tom, dreading a betrayal, grasped the handle of his knife under his cloak, and was ready to use it on the instant. but the indian remained standing, while tom, still moving away in his indifferent manner, soon passed beyond his view. "i guess he's stopped to think," was the conclusion of the scout, as he looked back in the gloom, "and it'll be some time before he's through." but the trouble now remained as to how he should pass through the apache lines beyond. if the redskins had any suspicion of any such movement, or if the warrior whom he had just left were suspicious, serious trouble was at hand. the hunter sauntered aimlessly along, using his eyes and ears, and a walk of something over a hundred yards brought him up against a number of figures that were stretched out and sitting upon the ground, with several standing near at hand. they showed no surprise at their "brother's" approach, and he was confident that, if they didn't undertake to cross-question him too closely, he stood a good chance of getting through. as they were gathered too closely at this point he made a turn to the right, and, to his amazement, not a word was said or the least notice taken of him, as he walked directly by. that was succeeding, indeed; but tom was not yet ready to leave the neighborhood. he wanted his horse, thundergust, and, once astride of him, his heart would be light as a bird; but in looking around he could not discern a single horse. it would be useless to attempt to reach fort havens on foot. the apaches would detect his flight by daylight, which was only a few hours away, and they could overhaul him before he could go any distance at all. no, he must have his horse, and he began his search for him. this was a delicate task; but he prosecuted it with the same skill and _nonchalance_ that he had displayed heretofore. he had stolen along for a short distance, when he descried some twenty horses corraled and cropping the grass, while a still larger number were lying on the ground. was his own among them? he asked himself, as he stood looking in that direction, while he dimly discerned the figures of the warriors upon his left. very cautiously he gave utterance to a slight whistle. there was no response, although he suspected it was heard by the redskins themselves. then he repeated it several times, walking a little nearer the group of equines. all at once one of their number rose from the ground with a faint whinney, and came trotting toward him. at the same time several indians came forward from the main group, their suspicions fairly awakened by these maneuvers. one of these suddenly broke into a run, as he descried the mustang trotting toward the warrior-like figure shrouded in his blanket. there was no doubt in his mind that something was wrong. the scout stood like a statue, as though he saw not the approach of the man or horse. the latter as if distrustful of the shape of things moved so reluctantly that the redskin beat him in reaching the goal. "what means mau-tau-ke?" he demanded, in a gruff voice, as he clutched his shoulder. "is he a dog that--" the poor apache scarcely knew what disposed of him. it was with the suddenness of the lightning stroke, and, flinging back the dirty blanket that had enshrouded his form, the scout pointed his revolvers at the others, fired three shots, accompanied by a screech loud enough to wake the dead. then, springing toward his mustang, he vaulted upon his back, wheeled about, and thundered away, like the whirlwind across the prairie. this demonstration was so unexpected and so appalling that the apaches were effectually checked for a time. before they could recover, mount their horses, and start in pursuit, the fugitive was beyond their sight. it was useless to pursue, at any rate, for there was no steed among them all that could overtake the flying mustang, whose hoofs were plainly heard upon the prairie, rapidly growing fainter as the distance increased. in a few minutes it had died out altogether, and, ferocious as was the hatred of the redskins toward the hunter who had outwitted and injured them so often, no one made any effort to overhaul him. tom hardynge, every few seconds, let out a regular apache war-yell, intended as exultation, taunt and defiance. he could afford it, for he had triumphed as completely as heart could covet. the magnificent thundergust instinctively knew their destination, and the reins lay loosely upon his neck as he sped away. he was aiming for fort havens. it was a long distance away, and many hours must pass before its flagstaff could be detected against the far-off horizon. chapter xxxvii. the two defenders. dick morris, stretched out full length upon the top of hurricane hill, peering down in the impenetrable gloom, understood all that had passed. there was no mistaking that yell of tom hardynge; he had heard it many a time before in the heat of conflict, and it generally meant something. "go it, old chap!" he shouted, swinging his hat over his head, as he saw the whole thing in his imagination. "them 'ere pistol-barks show there's been some bitin' done. business is business." he noted, too, the sounds of the mustang's hoofs growing fainter and fainter, until the strained ears could detect them no longer. tom hardynge had safely passed through the apache lines. it was a daring and desperate feat indeed, but it had succeeded to perfection. nothing now remained to hinder his flight direct to fort havens. "i rather think somebody's mad," exulted dick, who was fully as proud over the exploit of his comrade as was tom himself. "there ain't much doubt but what there'll be lively times here before long. they know there's only two of us, counting in the little chap, and they'll make a rush. let 'em do it. if they can get up by that corner where the other fellow dropped they're welcome, that's all." and with this conclusion he left the top of the hill and picked his way down the path, until he reached the spot where he had parted from his comrade. here he stooped down with the purpose of picking up the body of the warrior and flinging it down upon the heads of those below. to his astonishment, it was gone! he searched around for several minutes, venturing to descend some distance, but it was missing. "i don't think he could have got up and walked away," said the hunter, as he scratched his head over the occurrence. "no, it couldn't have been that, for tom don't strike any such blows any more than i do." it followed, then, as a matter of course, that after the discovery of the trick, some brother apache had stolen his way up the path and removed the body, a proceeding which dick morris hardly suspected until he was really compelled to believe it. "if i'd only knowed he was coming," he growled, "how i would have lammed him; but he's come and gone, and there ain't any use in cryin' over it." he waited and listened carefully, and once or twice a slight rattling of the gravel caused him to suspect that some of the redskins were attempting to steal upon him; but if such were the case, they must have contented themselves by not approaching within striking distance. finally the night wore away, and the dull light of morning began stealing over the prairie. as soon as objects could be distinguished, he returned to his position upon the top of the rock and made his observations. little, if any, change was discernible in the disposition of the besieging indians. their horses were gathered at some distance, where the grass was quite rank. the warriors had assumed all the indolent attitudes which are seen in a body of men that have more time at their disposal than they know what to do with. they had shifted their position so far back that they were beyond good rifle range; for although a hunter like dick morris could have picked off a redskin nine times out of ten, yet he could not "pick his man." lone wolf had attired himself precisely as were the rest of his warriors, and at the distance it was impossible to distinguish him from them, so the scout wisely concluded to hold his fire until he could be certain of his target. as soon as it was fairly light, dick naturally turned his eyes off toward the southwest, in the direction of the hills, whither his comrade had fled during the night. "he is gone," he muttered, when he had made certain that no object was to be seen. "i might have knowed that before i looked, 'cause the hoss knows how to travel, and tom's made him do his purtiest." "hello! what's the news?" the query came from ned chadmund, who had aroused himself from slumber, and was standing at his side. "where is tom?" "about fifty miles off yonder, goin' like a streak of greased lightnin' for fort havens." "what?" whereupon dick morris explained. of course the lad was astounded to think that all this had taken place while he was dreaming of home and friends, and he hardly knew whether to rejoice or to be alarmed at the shape matters had just then taken. true, tom hardynge was speeding away on his fleet-footed mustang for fort havens, but it would take a long time to reach there and return. there was something startling in the thought that a man and a boy were all that were left to oppose the advance of the force of the apaches from below. what was to prevent their swarming upward and overwhelming them? nothing, it may be said, but the strong arm of dick morris. he might have been a hercules, and still unable to stem the tide, but for the vast advantage given him by nature in constructing hurricane hill. he could be approached by the enemy only in single file. dick, however, was of the opinion that something of the kind would be attempted, for the apaches could not but know the errand of him who had so nicely outwitted them. "ain't there some way of blocking up the way?" asked ned, as they discussed the plan. "i've been thinkin' it over, and there is," returned morris, crossing his legs, and scratching his head in his thoughtful way. "three years ago, me and kit carson had to scoot up here to get out of the reach of something like two hundred comanches, under that prime devil valo-velasquiz. they shot kit's horse, and mine dropped dead just as we reached the bottom of the hill, so we couldn't do anythin' more in the way of hoss-flesh. "them comanches hated kit and me like pison; they knowed us both, and they went for us in a way that made us dance around lively; but it was no go, and we tumbled 'em back like tenpins, but they kept things so hot that me and kit tipped over a big rock in the path. of course they could climb that easy enough, but it gave us so much more chance that they didn't try it often, and they fell back and tried the apache dodge--waiting until hunger and thirst made us come down." "how was it you got out of the trouble?" "it was in a mighty queer way--a mighty queer way. on the next day arter the brush we had with 'em, a bigger party than ever came up, and we calc'lated things were goin' to be redhot. but as soon as the two parties jined, some kind of a rumpus took place. we could see 'em talkin' in the most excited way, and a high old quarrel was under way. kit carson knowed all about injins, but he couldn't make out what all this meant. we was in hope they'd git into a wrangle themselves, and swaller each other, and i can tell you they came mighty nigh it. "just as it begun to look as if it was goin' that way, one of their chiefs walked forward, swingin' a dirty rag on the end of his ramrod as a flag of truce. kit looked at him very closely, and then exclaimed that it was quizto, a great rival of valo-velasquiz. they were always at swords points, and whichever happened to have the strongest party at his back when they met, outranked the other. the beauty of it all was that quizto was a friend all his life to kit carson--a regular redskin friend, who was ready to scalp all his brothers and sisters if they tried to harm him--and when he came to learn that kit was treed, he swore that he'd burn at the stake any injun that laid a straw in his way. "this made a time, and, as i's tellin' you, the biggest kind of a fight. at one time it only lacked a word to set it a-goin'; but quizto's braves stood by him, every one, and the others had to knock under. "when quizto come forward with his flag of truce, he called out to kit and told him that he was at liberty to go wherever he chose without harm; but as valo-velasquiz would be so disappointed, he thought carson would turn over his friend, who wasn't of much account, that they might have the pleasure of torturing him to death. that was lovely for me, and you ought to have heard kit laugh. he told quizto that he couldn't do that--both would go or stay together. that made another wrangle, but the friendship of the chief to carson saved the lives of us both. he wouldn't consent that the guide should run the least risk, and they told us to come down and clear out. we expected a big fight, for valo-velasquiz had some ugly men with him, and he was a regular devil himself; but when we got to the bottom, there was two mustangs awaitin', and we straddled 'em, and warn't long in leavin' those parts. old valo-velasquiz and a dozen of his warriors tried to sneak along after us, but we was as well mounted as they, and we rode into santa fe without tradin' rifle shots with any of 'em. that was a strange thing, but," added the scout, significantly, "i don't think you've got any quizto among them skunks down there." chapter xxxviii. hand to hand. the apaches surrounding hurricane hill were more closely watched through the forenoon, for dick more than once gave it as his opinion that they would make a rush before the day was over. to protect themselves as much as possible, the rock of which the hunter had spoken was forced into the passage-way, and an unremitting guard maintained, to prevent any sudden surprise. it was near noon, when three apaches were seen to leap upon their mustangs, one going north, another south and the third due west. "spies," explained dick. "lone wolf is a little anxious about what tom may do, and he sends them out to watch. if they find out anythin' they'll manage to telegraph him in time to get ready for anythin' comin'." "can you see lone wolf among them?" "can't make sartin of it," returned the hunter. "he knows that if i can get a crack at him he'll go, and so he takes care not to let me have the chance. can you see anythin' off toward the mountains in the west?" "nothing but that apache horseman going away like an arrow." "there's the p'int from which our friends will come, if they ever come at all. keep your eye on it while i take a look below." the scout moved down the declivity, until he reached the place where it had been barricaded, when he stationed himself behind the obstruction, quite certain that something stirring would soon take place. it was his belief that when the time came, the apaches, at a preconcerted signal, would rush tumultuously up the steep in a determined effort to overwhelm them all. such a movement, of course, from the very nature of things, would give timely notice of its coming. his astonishment, therefore, may be imagined when, after he had stood in his position for a few minutes, rather listlessly and looking for no immediate demonstration, he perceived a dark body suddenly pass over his head. turning about, he saw an indian warrior speeding like a deer up the path toward the top of hurricane hill, where ned chadmund stood, all unconscious of his coming. the hunter, astonished as he was at the daring feat, was not thrown off his guard. he knew that the apache was not seeking the life of the lad, but only to open the way for the rest of the warriors to follow over the barricade. they believed that in the excitement dick would turn and dash after the redskin, leaving the way open for the whole horde to swarm to the top of the hill. but the clear-headed dick maintained his position, only uttering a shout of warning to ned chadmund, in the hope that he might be prepared and "wing" the redskin the instant he should appear in view. then, having done this, he stood back behind the jutting rock and held his rifle ready. within ten seconds a second apache scrambled over the barricade, and started at full speed up the pathway, but he had no more than fairly started, than he fell headlong to the ground, pierced through and through by the rifle fired almost in his face. almost the same instant a second appeared, when he tumbled backward, driven thence by the revolver of the hunter, who was as cool as an iceberg. this stemmed the tide, the crowding warriors hurrying back before the lion that lay in their path. all this was the work of a very few seconds, but it was scarcely effected, when a cry from the lad on top of the rock showed that he had discovered his danger. the next instant, white-faced and scared, he came dashing down the path, shouting to the hunter: "oh, dick, save me! save me! there's an indian after me!" the savage, however, did not follow, and dick, as the lad rushed into his arms, shook him rather roughly, and said: "keep still! why do you make such a thunderin' noise?" the lad speedily controlled himself, and then the scout placed his revolver in his hand, and said: "stand right here, and the minute a redskin shows himself, crack him over. can you do it?" "haven't i proved it?" "yes; but you made such a racket here that i've lost faith in you." "try me and see." adding a few hasty words, the scout left him, and hurried to the top of the hill, without pausing to approach with his usual precaution. his expectation was to encounter the redskin at once upon reaching it, but, to his surprise, he was nowhere to be seen, and he paused somewhat bewildered. "i wonder whether he's got scart 'cause none of the rest followed him, and jumped overboard--" at that instant something descended like a ponderous rock, and he realized that he was in the grip of the very redskin about whom he had been meditating. the miscreant had managed to crouch behind a rocky protuberance, and then made a sudden leap upon the shoulders of the hunter. as the apache's scheme had miscarried thus far, and instead of being backed up by the other warriors, he was left alone to fight it out, he did not pause to attempt to make him prisoner, but went into the scrimmage with the purpose of ending it as briefly as possible. as he landed upon the shoulders of dick the latter caught the gleam of his knife, and grasped his wrist just in time. fearful that it would be wrenched from him, the apache managed to give his confined hand a flirt, which threw it beyond the reach of both. by a tremendous effort dick then succeeded in flinging him over his shoulder, although the agile redskin dropped upon his feet, and instantly flew at his antagonist like a tiger. for several minutes the struggle raged with the greatest fury; but the apache, in a contest of this kind, was overmatched. the hunter was much the superior, and he began crowding his foe toward the margin of the rock. divining his purpose, he resisted with the fury of desperation; but it was useless, and the two moved along toward the brink like the slow, resistless tread of fate. neither of them spoke a word, nor was a muscle relaxed. the scout knew that the instant the struggle was detected by those below, there would be a rush up the incline such as ned chadmund with his loaded and cocked revolver could not withstand. the fighting, therefore, was of the hurricane order from the beginning to the close. there was one terrific burst of strength, and then, gathering the writhing savage in his arms, dick morris ran to the very edge of the plateau and hurled him over. down, down from dizzy heights he spun, until he struck the ground far below, a shapeless, insensible mass, falling almost at the feet of the horror-bound apaches, who thus saw the dreadful death of one of their most intrepid and powerful warriors. without waiting to see the last of the redskin, the scout turned and hurried down to the relief of his young charge, and to be prepared for the rush which he was confident would be made the next minute. but it was not. the redskins had learned, from dear experience, the mettle of this formidable white man, and they had no wish to encounter it again. the time wore away until the sun was at the meridian, and the heat became almost intolerable. even the toughened old scout was compelled to shelter himself as best he could from its intolerable rays, by seeking the scant shadow of jutting points of the rock. ned chadmund suffered much, and the roiled and warm water in the old canteen was quaffed again, even though they were compelled to tip it more and more, until, toward the close of the day, dick held it mouth downward, and showed that not a drop was left. "no use of keeping it when we are thirsty," was the philosophic remark of the hunter. "it's made to drink, and we needn't stop so long as any is left; and bein' there ain't any left, i guess we'll stop. i've a mouthful or two of meat left, and we may as well surround that." so they did; and when the sun sank down in the west, not a particle of food nor a drop of water remained to them. "now, ned, my boy," said dick, who always maintained a certain cheerfulness, no matter what the circumstances might be, "go to the lookout and tell me what you see." the lad was absent some ten minutes, during which he carefully scanned every part of the horizon and took a peep down upon their besiegers. "i find no sign of a living soul," he said, when he returned, "except the apaches, and they're waiting until they can get us without fighting." "stay here while i take a peep." long and carefully dick morris gazed off to the west, in the direction of the mountains, and then something like a sigh escaped him, as he shook his head and muttered: "it looks bad, it looks bad. if tom succeeded, he ought to be in sight by this time. i see nothing of 'em, and from the way the redskins act down there, they seem to be sartin he's gone under. i don't mind for myself, for i'm ready to go any time; but i feel powerful sorry for the little fellow down there." chapter xxxix. conclusion. long and hard rode tom hardynge after his escape from the beleaguring apaches, for he was determined to save ned and dick if the thing were within the range of human possibility. his mustang seemed to understand what was expected of him, and he required no urging from his master to maintain his arrowy flight. it was a literal race between life and death. if he could reach fort havens in time to procure succor, the man and the boy were saved. if not, then they were doomed. at daylight he was among the mountains, and the steed paused a few seconds to swallow a little water from a tiny stream. an hour later he ascended an elevation, and from his back the rider took a survey of the plain stretched out before him. far away in the distance a dark, stationary object was discerned. a keen eye could detect something fluttering above it in the wind. that was the star-spangled banner, waving above fort havens. yonder was the destination toward which the little party had been laboring for days and which there was no assurance of still reaching. the scout had not yet passed half the distance intervening between the fort and hurricane hill. mercy to his beast compelled him to give him a brief rest and an opportunity to eat a little food. then, away again. it was the middle of the afternoon, and tom was nearing the fort, which was in distinct view a few miles ahead, when his attention was arrested by the sight of a number of men moving along to the north, and in a contrary direction to that which he himself was following. they suddenly emerged from some hills, and rode at a sweeping gallop. what surprised the hunter was the discovery that they were united states cavalry, that had evidently come from fort havens itself! how their appearance could be explained was more than he could understand; but he saw at once that if their co-operation could be secured, several hours' valuable time might be saved. he turned the head of his mustang in that direction and rode at the same tearing speed as before. the cavalry detected his coming, reined up and awaited his approach. the afternoon was well advanced when the hunter drew rein in front of the company, and saluted the chief officer, who was colonel chadmund himself, the commandant of fort havens, at the head of seventy-five veteran cavalry. he recognized the scout, and rode forward to meet him. "any news of my little boy, tom?" he asked, before their palms crossed. "alive and well." "thank god! thank god!" exclaimed the white-faced officer, trembling with joy. "have the indians caught him?" "no; but he is in danger. what are you doing with these men here?" "an indian came into the fort several hours ago, with the word that lone wolf and a party of apaches had driven two or three persons to the top of hurricane hill, where they would soon be caught unless assistance was sent them. the indian is one of our regular scouts, in whom we have much confidence, and thinking it might be you, with possibly my little ned, i put myself at the head of the company and started out to see. i had very little hope, however, of seeing him alive, for news had reached us of the massacre of the escort party in devil's pass." hardynge, in a few minutes, explained the situation, and the colonel was all excitement to be off again. every hour--every minute, indeed--was precious to him, and, as the two rode back, the advance was resumed without a moment's delay. instead of proceeding back in a direct line, however, over the path traveled by the scout, they made a detour to the northward, the configuration of the country being such that a much nearer approach, undiscovered, could be made from this direction than from any other. there were several extra horses in the company, one of which was appropriated by tom, while he left his own to roam over the plain and reach the fort whenever his disposition should take him in that direction. colonel chadmund had taken the precaution to mount all his men upon the best steeds at command, and they were driven into a rapid, telling pace. they made good progress, but when the sun set they had not yet reached a point from which the most distant view of hurricane hill could be obtained. a more moderate speed was kept up until midnight, when they went into camp, picketed their animals, and resumed the march at daybreak. the horses were forced to the greatest possible endurance, but never did miles seem so long. it was high noon before a point among the hills on the north was reached from which a fair view of the pile of rocks could be obtained. colonel chadmund produced his glass, and scrutinized the towering-like mass, in quest of some sign of the defenders. not the least could be obtained; but he saw at the base the band of apaches, spread out like a miniature besieging army, and this, to the minds of all, was proof that the garrison of hurricane hill were still at the post of duty. it was necessary to approach as close to the spot as possible without discovery, and then to charge down upon the indians with such fiery impetuosity that they would have no time to inflict any damage upon the brave defenders. the appearance of the cavalry would apprise them that the siege was at an end, and in the gnawing rage thereat, they might charge up the incline and open a fire, which would riddle dick and ned and from which there would be no escape. colonel chadmund understood indian warfare so well as to know that lone wolf had his scouts out, and it would be a difficult matter to avoid them. still the attempt was made, and by the middle of the afternoon, the cavalry had reached a point barely two miles away without his presence being suspected. "i've been watching the place for half an hour," said the colonel, as he lowered his glass, and handed it to tom hardynge, standing at his elbow, "and it seems to me that the top of hurricane hill is deserted, although the apaches at the base seem to point the other way." "of course, of course," replied the hunter, impatiently. "you don't 'spose they'd stand up in sight all the time, like a couple of spoonies gettin' their pictures took? they're watchin' the path that leads up to where they be." it required but a few minutes to conclude their preparations, when the seventy odd cavalrymen, armed to the teeth, burst forth from the hills like a mountain torrent, and charged straight for lone wolf and his band. the latter, of course, were quick to detect it, and drew up with the purpose of making a fight; but when they took in the strength of the company approaching, they changed their minds, and broke and scattered like chaff before the whirlwind. this was a severe disappointment, for the colonel and a dozen of his best indian fighters had arranged to make a determined effort to rid the country of this pest. these were the best mounted in the company, and in their eagerness they sped straight ahead after the redskins, still hoping that some turn of fortune's wheel would give them the coveted chance. but the mustangs of the apaches were fresh and fleet, and they had no purpose of meeting the united states cavalry where there was anything like an equal advantage; so they continued their flight with such persistent celerity that they soon vanished from view. the heart of colonel chadmund misgave him as he galloped toward hurricane hill and saw no sign of life there. but while he was alternating between hope and despair, the figure of a man appeared around the corner of the rock, and then the form of a little boy was discerned, as he came running across the prairie with out-stretched arms. "oh, father! father!" colonel chadmund leaped from the back of his horse and ran to meet him. "my darling boy! god be thanked!" the stern old soldier wept like a child as he caught him in his arms and hugged him to his breast, while more than one rough soldier, looking on, dashed the tears from his eyes and tried to look as if he were thinking of something else. the danger was passed. little ned, carried in triumph to the fort, remained the appointed time with his father at this advanced frontier post, and when he returned to santa fe to his beloved mother it was with an escort which guaranteed his safety. thus ended his adventures with what were then the scourges of the great southwest, but the memory of them is indelible and not to be subdued by the lapse of years. in his manhood days he looks back upon those troublous times when the wild riders left the bones of venturesome white men to whiten upon the banks of the gila; and, although remembrance brings its thrill of excitement, it is coupled with a shudder whenever ned chadmund thinks of his passage "through apache land." volume iii of the war whoop series is entitled "in the pecos country." special circular to educators "masterpieces of the world's literature" the premium library is extensively used by schools and colleges for supplementary reading. it is issued in attractive 16mo shape, paper covers, printed from clear, readable type, on good paper. many of the volumes are illustrated. 1. abbã© constantin. ludovic halã©vy. 2. ã�sop's fables. 3. black beauty. anna sewell. 4. bracebridge hall. irving. 5. childe harold's pilgrimage. byron. 6. coming race. bulwer. 7. cranford. mrs. gaskell. 8. crown of wild olive. ruskin. 9. discourses of epictetus. 10. dreams. olive schreiner. 11. dream life. ik marvel. 12. drummond's addresses. 13. emerson's earlier essays. 14. ethics of the dust. ruskin. 15. frankenstein. mrs. shelley. 16. uncle tom's cabin. mrs. stowe. 17. lady of the lake. scott. 18. lalla rookh. thomas moore. 19. lamb's essays of elia. 20. lamb's last essays of elia. 21. lamb's tales from 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79. grandfather's chair. hawthorne. 80. bacon's essays. 81. idylls of the king. tennyson. 82. wonder book. hawthorne. 83. cricket on the hearth. c. dickens. 84. idle thoughts of an idle fellow. jerome k. jerome. 85. inez. augusta j. evans. 86. kidnapped. r. l. stevenson. 87. lucile. owen meredith. 88. phillips brooks' addresses. 89. prince of the house of david. professor ingraham. 90. three men in a boat. j. k. jerome. the famous henty books the boys' own library g. a. henty has long held the field as the most popular boys' author. age after age of heroic deeds has been the subject of his pen, and the knights of old seem very real in his pages. always wholesome and manly, always heroic and of high ideals, his books are more than popular wherever the english language is spoken. each volume is printed on excellent paper from new large-type plates, bound in cloth, assorted colors, with an attractive ink and gold stamp. a final reckoning a tale of bush life in australia among the malay 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green a tale of the boyne and limerick one of the 28th a tale of waterloo out on the pampas a tale of south america rujub the juggler st. george for england a tale of crã©cy and poictiers sturdy and strong true to the old flag a tale of the revolution the golden caã±on the lost heir the young colonists a tale of the zulu and boer wars the young midshipman the dragon and the raven a tale of king alfred the boy knight a tale of the crusades through the fray a story of the luddite riots under drake's flag a tale of the spanish main with wolfe in canada the tale of winning a continent with clive in india the beginning of an empire with lee in virginia a story of the american civil war young carthaginian a story of the times of hannibal young buglers a tale of the peninsular war young franc-tireurs a tale of the franco-prussian war flag of freedom series by captain ralph bonehill boys of the fort; or, a young captain's pluck captain bonehill is at his best when relating a tale of military adventure, and this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the wild west is of more than ordinary interest. the young captain had a difficult task to accomplish, but he had been drilled to do his duty, and he did it thoroughly. gives a good insight into army life of to-day. the young bandmaster; or, concert stage and battlefield in this tale captain bonehill touches upon a new field. the hero is a youth with a passion for music, who, compelled to make his own way in the world, becomes a cornetist in an orchestra, and works his way up, first, to the position of a soloist, and then to that of leader of a brass band. he is carried off to sea and falls in with a secret-service cutter bound for cuba, and while in that island joins a military band which accompanies our soldiers in the never-to-be-forgotten attack on santiago. a mystery connected with the hero's inheritance adds to the interest of the tale. off for hawaii; or, the mystery of a great volcano here we have fact and romance cleverly interwoven. several boys start on a tour of the hawaiian islands. they have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. their numerous adventures will be followed with much interest. a sailor boy with dewey; or, afloat in the philippines the story of dewey's victory in manila bay will never grow old, but here we have it told in a new form--not as those in command witnessed the contest, but as it appeared to a real, live american youth who was in the navy at the time. many adventures in manila and in the interior follow, giving true-to-life scenes from this remote portion of the globe. a book that should be in every boy's library. when santiago fell; or, the war adventures of two chums captain bonehill has never penned a better tale than this stirring story of adventures in cuba. two boys, an american and his cuban chum, leave new york to join their parents in the interior of cuba. the war between spain and the cubans is on, and the boys are detained at santiago de cuba, but escape by crossing the bay at night. many adventures between the lines follow, and a good pen-picture of general garcia is given. the american lad, with others, is captured and cast into a dungeon in santiago; and then follows the never-to-be-forgotten campaign in cuba under general shafter. how the hero finally escapes makes reading no wide-awake boy will want to miss. * * * * * press opinions of captain bonehill's books for boys "captain bonehill's stories will always be popular with our boys, for the reason that they are thoroughly up-to-date and true to life. as a writer of outdoor tales he has no rival."--_bright days._ "the story is by captain ralph bonehill, and that is all that need be said about it, for all of our readers know that the captain is one of america's best story-tellers, so far as stories for young people go."--_young people of america._ "we understand that captain bonehill will soon be turning from sporting stories to tales of the war. this field is one in which he should feel thoroughly at home. we are certain that the boys will look eagerly for the bonehill war tales."--_weekly messenger._ mrs. l. t. meade's famous books for girls there are few more favorite authors with american girls than mrs. l. t. meade, whose copyright works can only be had from us. essentially a writer for the home, with the loftiest aims and purest sentiments, mrs. meade's books possess the merit of utility as well as the means of amusement. they are girls' books--written for girls, and fitted for every home. here will be found no maudlin nonsense as to the affections. there are no counts in disguise nor castles in spain. it is pure and wholesome literature of a high order with a lofty ideal. the volumes are all copyright, excellently printed with clear, open type, uniformly bound in best cloth, with ink and gold stamp. the following are the titles the children of wilton chase bashful fifteen betty: a schoolgirl four on an island girls new and old out of the fashion the palace beautiful polly, a new-fashioned girl red rose and tiger lily temptation of olive latimer a ring of rubies a sweet girl graduate a world of girls good luck a girl in ten thousand a young mutineer wild kitty the children's pilgrimage the girls of st. wode's light o' the morning bad little hannah rebellion of lill carrington a little mother to the others merry girls of england (http://www.freeliterature.org) from page images generously made available by the bodleian libraries, university of oxford (http://www.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/home) note: images of the original pages are available through the bodleian libraries, univerity of oxford. see http://dbooks.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/books/pdfs/600061818.pdf stoneheart by gustave aimard author of "bee-hunters," "smuggler chief," etc., etc. london, charles henry clarke, 13 paternoster row. 1874 contents. i. sympathy ii. the virgin forest iii. don torribio quiroga iv. la tertulia (the party) v. the ambush vi. san lucar vii. the attack on the presidio viii. disgrace ix. the prisoner x. the camp of the redskins xi. the renegade xii. woman's will xiii. paleface versus redskin xiv. the catastrophe xv. one month later xvi. preparations for the chase xvii. the chase xviii. el voladero de las ánimas xix. the hand of god chapter i. sympathy. sympathy is a feeling admitting neither analyzation nor discussion. it masters us, whether we will or no. persons we meet unconsciously attract or repel us at first sight. and why? it is a question impossible to answer, but the fact is indubitable. an irresistible magnetic influence draws us towards people whom, if we listened to the promptings of self-interest, we ought to shun; while, on the other hand, the same influence compels us to avoid others, in whom this very interest should induce us to confide. and it is an extraordinary fact, well worthy of remark, that this intuition, acting in opposition to our reasoning powers, seldom if ever misleads us. sooner or later we are forced to acknowledge as right what to the prejudiced eyes of the world appeared erroneous, and find that our sympathy, far from deceiving, has only led us to the truth. the result of this sympathy and antipathy are so palpable, so many persons have experienced the effects of this mysterious influence, that it would be superfluous for us to linger longer over the topic. don estevan and stoneheart had become acquainted under circumstances which might have induced enmity between them, or, at all events, made them indifferent to each other: the reputation of the bee-hunter, and the singular life he led, were ample reasons why the young and straightforward _mayor domo_ of don pedro de luna should feel himself repelled by them; and yet a diametrically opposite effect was produced without the two young men knowing why, and they suddenly felt themselves friends, bound together, not by one of those vapid sentimentalities so common in civilised life in europe, where the word "friend" means no more than a mere acquaintance, and is one of the titles most easily and constantly profaned, but by the strong, true feeling, admitting neither limit nor reasoning, which shoots up so strongly in a few hours that it engrosses an immense part of the existence of those of whom it has taken possession. they had never seen each other before their casual encounter in the road to san lucar, and yet they seemed to have known each other for ages, and now only to have met again after a long parting. singular to say, the same effect was produced on both at the same moment, without calculation or reservation. what we have asserted is so true, that don estevan, notwithstanding the innate prudence of his character, had not hesitated to confide to stoneheart, on the spur of the moment, the history of his master, or, to speak more correctly, his benefactor. he had recounted this history in all its details, without disguising anything, or omitting a title, induced to act as he did by the secret presentiment which apprised him that he had found a man worthy of sharing the burden of this important secret. the course of this tale will furnish us with still stronger proofs of the singular confidence these two men had instantly felt for each other. the sun was setting in a flood of purple and gold behind the snowy crests of the lofty and jagged mountains of the sierra madre, when don estevan ceased speaking. the landscape assumed that garb of placid melancholy in which it clothes itself at the approach of eve; the birds came flying in countless flocks, to nestle, twittering, under the leafy boughs of the grand old trees. _vaqueros_ and _peones_, galloping in all directions, mustered the cattle, and drove them towards the _hacienda_; and in the distance appeared a camp of _arrieros_, whose watch fires already began to tinge the rapidly darkening sky with a ruddy glow. "and now," resumed don estevan, "having acquired as intimate a knowledge as my own of the secrets of the family with whom chance has brought you into contact, what do you intend to do?" "first, and before all a single word," answered stoneheart. "say on; you must indeed have many things to confide to me in your turn." "not so many as you think. you already know as much of my life as i do myself; that is to say, almost nothing. but that is not the question between us at present." "what can it be, then?" said don estevan, unable to repress his curiosity. "i am about to tell you. surely you have not told me this long and interesting tale with the sole purpose of satisfying a curiosity i never exhibited; there must be some other motive in your thoughts, and i think i have guessed it. don estevan diaz, two bold men, bound to each other as closely as the ivy and the oak, with thoughts running in the same channel, with but one will between them,--two such men are mighty; for the one forms the complement to the other, and what each alone would not dare to essay, the two will undertake without hesitation, and be almost certain to succeed, however hazardous and rash their projects may seem. are you of the same way of thinking?" "most surely, don fernando; i am entirely of the same opinion." a flash of joy illumined the face of the bee-hunter. "good!" said he, stretching out his arm; "here is my hand, don estevan; it belongs to a man who, with his hand, offers you a loyal and honest heart, whatever may be said to the contrary: will you accept them?" "_¡vive dios!_" eagerly exclaimed the _mayor domo_, heartily pressing in his own the hand so frankly tendered; "i accept both one and the other. thanks, brother! i was on the point of making the same offer to you; we are now one for life or death. i am yours, as the handle is to the blade." "ah!" said don fernando, with a sigh of pleasure, "at last i have a friend. i shall no longer wander through life alone: joy and sorrow, grief and happiness,--i shall have one to whom i can confide them all." "you shall have more than one to sympathise with you, brother; you shall have a mother too. mine shall be yours also. come, let us mount; it grows late. we have still many things to talk of." "let us go," was all the hunter answered. the horses had not strayed from the neighbourhood of the _rancho_, near which they found abundant pasturage: the men easily _lassoed_ them, and five minutes later the friends rode side by side in the direction of don estevan's dwelling. ña manuela was awaiting them at the entrance. she was smiling. "make haste!" she cried, as soon as she perceived them; "the _angelus_ has rung an hour ago. it is supper time." "which means to say, mother, that we are dying with hunger," replied her son, dismounting; "so, if you have not prepared an ample meal, you run great risk of leaving our appetites unappeased." "no fear of that, estevan. i thought you would arrive in some such condition; so i took my precautions." "can you forgive me, madam," said the bee-hunter, "for making this fresh inroad on your hospitality?" the mistress of the house smiled kindly. "i am so ready to forgive you, señor," said she, "that, feeling convinced we should have you a long time with us, i have myself arranged your _cuarto_ (quarters)." don fernando did not reply at once: a lively blush overspread his features; he dismounted, and approaching the old lady: "señora," said he, much affected, "i know not how to thank you; you have guessed the dearest wish of my heart. your son calls me brother: would you deign to permit me to call you mother? how happy it would make me!" ña manuela fixed upon him a long and steadfast gaze: her face exhibited tokens of vivid emotion; two tears coursed slowly down her pallid cheeks. then, stretching out her hand to the hunter, she said: "be it so! instead of one, i have now two children. come, my sons, supper is waiting." "my name is fernando, mother." "i will not forget it," was her smiling answer. they entered the dwelling, while some _peones_ led away the horses to the _corral_. don fernando had not deceived his friend; he had in truth given him a mother. the meal proceeded with the cheerfulness to be expected from three persons who, although strangers three days before, had suddenly understood and appreciated each other: that is to say, it was gay and cordial. no allusion was made to the impromptu band which had linked them together so intimately and unexpectedly. as soon as the _peones_ had retired, and their masters found themselves alone, they left the table, and betook themselves, as on the previous day, to an inner room, where, sheltered from prying eyes and ears, they ran no risk of having their conversation overheard, commented on, and perhaps reported. "shut the door," said don estevan to don fernando, who was the last to enter. "not so," replied the latter; "we will leave it open: by this means we shall both see and hear anyone who may come near us. take this as a general rule: never close the door when you have secrets to tell." don estevan drew forward some _butacas_ (seats), sat down, lit his cigarette, and turning to the hunter, said: "now for our talk!" there are certain situations in life where the most insignificant word becomes of the greatest importance. so, when don estevan said, "now for our talk!" each of the three felt that the conversation to ensue would not be confined to the limits of pleasant chat, but would almost assume the proportions of a congress with closed doors, so extremely grave were the matters which would be propounded. it was don fernando who first commenced the conversation in the decided and clear manner which was habitual to him. "my friend, i have pondered deeply on what you told me today: you would never have intrusted such an important secret to me, if grave reasons had not induced you. i think i have divined your reasons; they are these: the tranquillity which don pedro has enjoyed since he lived here is menaced; you dread evil to doña hermosa. are these your motives, or am i mistaken?" "you are not. in fact, i have for some time past been oppressed by a vague fear, a secret apprehension, i cannot subdue; i feel, as it were, the approach of some misfortune, without knowing whence or how it will come. doubtless you know better than i can tell you, that in all men's lives certain dark hours occur, in which the brave man trembles without apparent cause, like a child afraid of its own shadow. all things alarm, all things excite suspicion. well, my friend, for the last two months i have lived these dark hours: an invincible sadness overpowers me. in a word, i am living in fear, without knowing why; for all around me takes its usual course: don pedro is as calm, doña hermosa as gay, as lively, and as free from care as ever; we live in this out-of-the-way corner of the world entirely ignorant of its doings; the rumours of society die without an echo on our threshold. what have we, then, to fear? who is the enemy that lies in wait for us, and whose savage eye watches us night and day? i know not; but i repeat, i feel him; i see him, as it were, without being really able to discover him." "you know your enemy now, as well as i do. it is the tigercat. the conversation you overheard last night between him and myself must have enlightened you as to his intention, if not as to his plans." "true; but, nevertheless, my mind refuses to admit that this man can really be our enemy. as there can be no effects without causes, so there can be no hate without a reason. since don pedro's arrival in this country, he has never come in contact with this man at home or abroad, for good or for evil. why, then, should he wish ill to my master?" "why! why!" repeated the hunter, with feverish impatience. "why does day follow night? why are there good and bad men? why rascals and honest people? the inquiry would lead you too far, my good friend. i know as well as you that none of you have ever come in contact with the tigercat. it is impossible to doubt it; but what does that signify? this man is a gloomy miscreant, the greater portion of whose life is spent in doing evil for mere evil's sake. don pedro is loved and honoured by all who know him; doña hermosa is respected even by the apaches,--the most ferocious redskins of the prairie; hence, most likely, the hatred he bears to the family of the _hacendero_. in such a man's eyes, no one has the right to be good and honest with impunity; it is an obvious necessity that all loyal hearts should be his natural enemies. a man, however low he may have fallen, can never forget his frightful downfall, or the position from which his crimes have hurled him; he cannot forgive the world his own abasement; but as he cannot avenge himself upon it in the mass, he wages war upon it in detail, attacking all those within his reach, and taking his revenge on them for fault she has himself committed. here lies the sole cause of tigercat's hatred of don pedro; seek no further reason; no other exists." "yes; you are right," answered don estevan uneasily; "it must be as you say." "of course it is! trust in me, who have known the monster so long, as it is he who brought me up. but enough of this: what do you intend to do, now we have clearly ascertained our position?" "i confess i find myself greatly embarrassed, and know not how to extricate myself from the dilemma--how to upset plans the aim of which is beyond my ken; how to thwart projects tending to an unknown end. there lies the difficulty for me." "i think it would be by far the best course to leave the family in complete ignorance of our suspicions," said ña manuela. "say rather our conviction, señora," replied don fernando. "but in this matter i am quite of your opinion: it will be easy for us to guard don pedro and his daughter so secretly that they shall not dream of the danger which threatens them. then, if the position grows too complicated, we shall not be in want of pretexts to oblige them to keep watch over their own safety." "oh, yes!" exclaimed don estevan excitedly; "it is most important that they should entertain no suspicion, particularly doña hermosa, who is so sensitive. poor child; if our fears prove true, she will learn to know misfortune too soon. come, fernando, counsel us; you are the only one who can aid us in this trying emergency." "i will do all a man can do to save those you love." "thanks. but why not save those whom you love yourself? you have already rendered them an inestimable service." "alas, my friend!" said the hunter, with a sigh; "what am i, the miserable adventurer, that i should lift my thoughts so high? i am nothing more; and can only play the part of the honest watchdog, who saves his master and dies at his feet." he spoke these words in accents of so much sadness and humility, that don estevan and his mother, moved to tears, with one accord seized his hands, and pressed them affectionately. "do not speak thus, brother," exclaimed the _mayor domo_; "you do not know doña hermosa as we do: a more upright heart, a purer or nobler soul, does not exist: she loves you." "ah," said don fernando with emotion, "do not utter the word. doña hermosa--love me--me! it is impossible." "doña hermosa is a woman, my good friend; you saved her life. i do not positively know the nature of her sentiments towards you,--it is very likely they are inexplicable to herself,--but i am convinced of her gratitude to you; and in a young girl gratitude soon merges into love." "silence, estevan!" cried the old lady, interrupting him; "such words must not be used when speaking of your master's daughter." "very true, mother; forgive me; i was wrong. but had you heard doña hermosa speaking of our friend as i did, and exacting from me a promise to search for and bring him to her,--_¡vive dios!_ you would not know what to think." "perhaps so; but, at all events, i should not have poured oil upon the flame, and, for my own sake and that of my friend, should have prudently locked up my thoughts at the bottom of my heart." "do not think me so mad, señora," exclaimed don fernando, "as to attach more importance than they deserve to your son's words. i know too well what i am--i have too complete a conviction of my inferiority--to dare to raise my venturous eyes to her whom honour compels me to respect as one of the angels." "well said, don fernando, and spoken as a man should speak," broke in ña manuela; "but let us drop the subject, and occupy ourselves in finding the means of escape from the dilemma we are in." "i think," replied the hunter, with some hesitation--"i think i can show you the means, if you cannot contrive something better." mother and son eagerly drew their _butacas_ nearer to him, in order to listen more attentively. "speak, brother, speak," cried don estevan; "let us have no further delay. these means, what are they?" "you must excuse me," resumed don fernando, "if the plan i am about to submit to you should not be exactly compatible with the strict laws of honour as they are understood in the civilised world; but i entreat you to recollect that i have been brought up as a redskin; that the man with whom we are about to enter into mortal strife is more than half an indian; and the war he intends to wage with you will be an apache war, full of treachery and ambuscades; that, in order to meet him with advantage, we too, whatever repugnance we may feel, must employ the same measures,--must turn his own weapons against himself; must repel treachery by treachery, and knavery by knavery; for if, adhering to a false idea of honour, we persist in an open and honest warfare, we shall play the part of fools indeed, and he will outwit us." "what you say, fernando," replied the _mayor domo_, "is unfortunately but too true. the proverb is right, 'cap a knave with a knave.' i perfectly understand the bearing and the justice of your reasoning, yet i confess that it is hard for an honest man, accustomed to look his enemies in the face, to be forced to wrap himself in a fox's hide, and condescend to stratagem when his heart leads him to attack openly." "but what can we do? this is one of the sad necessities of our position. if we do not act in this wise, we may as well submit to our foe as attempt to thwart his measures; for we should fail." "let it be as you wish, since there is no other method; but now for your plan." "it is this: notwithstanding the disagreement between myself and the tigercat, he has allowed me to dive too deep into his confidence--too many of his secrets are known to me--for him to exhibit any rancour against me, whatever anger he may feel. accustomed for a number of years to mould me to his will, and rule over me as he pleased, he thinks he knows my character thoroughly, and is persuaded that my dispute with him was only an outbreak of temper, and that nothing would please me more than to place myself once again under his guidance. finally, like all men who have through long years cherished a chimera, the tigercat--who, i am convinced, has only fostered me and suffered me in his presence for the sake of making me useful in one of his infernal plots--will allow himself, shrewd as he is, to be overreached by me, if i choose to take the trouble." "all this sounds plausible enough," observed don estevan. "i think it does. well, then, listen to my proposal. at daybreak tomorrow you and i will leave for the _presidio_, where i will put you into communication with a certain rogue of my acquaintance, who is as much devoted to me as people of his sort can be. this _pícaro_ will serve you as an agent: through him we shall learn all the tigercat is doing at san lucar with the _leperos_ he is enrolling for some sinister purpose. we will then part: you to return quietly to this place; i to rejoin the tigercat in the prairies. in this way, whatever happens will reach our ears. this is my project; what do you think of it?" "it is capital, fernando; you have thought of everything." "but remember three things: first of all, whatever i may do or say, whatever measures you may see me try, do not take offence at them; leave me complete master of my actions, and never for a moment suspect that i intend to betray you." "have no uneasiness on that score; i will put no faith in the testimony of my eyes or ears: my confidence in you shall be unalterable. and now for your next remark." "you will instantly comprehend its importance. as soon as we have left the _presidio_, we must be as strangers; we must know nothing of each other." "it is indeed an important piece of advice, and i will take care to follow it; the consequences of a single mistake would be incalculably disastrous to us." "lastly, be ready to act at the first signal, be it by night or day. never mind what you may be doing; leave everything instantly to assume the offensive the moment the signal is given." "good. after tomorrow, on the pretence of having certain urgent work to be carried out at the _hacienda_, i will quietly enlist a score of _leperos_,--hairbrained fellows,--who for gold will obey me blindly and recoil before no danger." "the very thing! you can easily employ them here in doing nothing till the time comes for the use of knife and rifle." "i will be answerable that no one shall make a single inquiry concerning them. but what sort of token will you send me, and through whom will you send it?" "the token will be a white eagle's plume broken into three pieces, and with the quill painted red. he who brings the plume will only say the words, 'my two piastres.' you will give them to him without remark, and send him away again." "but who is the man, fernando?" "he will be a stranger; most likely the first man i happen to meet. it is requisite that the messenger should not suspect the importance of the message he conveys, should he chance to fall into the enemy's hands." "well reasoned! come, come, i think we shall get through this business successfully." "as for me, i am sure of it," exclaimed don fernando, "if you will only follow my instructions to the letter." "do not be anxious on that score, brother; i will answer for my accuracy." everything having been thus arranged and decided on by our three personages, they separated and retired to rest, for it was already late, and the two men were to mount at daybreak to take the road to the _presidio_ of san lucar. chapter ii. the virgin forest. don torribio quiroga, with whom we have now to do, was a young man of twenty-eight, with a refined and intellectual countenance, an elegant figure, and possessing in the highest degree the manners of the best society. he belonged to one of the richest and most considerable families in the province of chihuahua: the death of his parents had put him in possession of an income of more than five hundred thousand piastres, or about ninety thousand pounds sterling; for money is plentiful in that country. a man in this position, and gifted with all the mental and physical advantages enjoyed by don torribio, had a right to very high pretensions; for, a certain amount of fortune once reached, obstacles no longer exist, or, at least, are only an excitement instead of an impediment. don torribio had succeeded in all his undertakings, with one exception: his struggle against don fernando,--a struggle in which the latter had always come off victorious. thus the hatred the rich _hacendero_ felt for the bee-hunter, and which was originally based upon puerile motives, had insensibly increased with each successive mortification, and ended at last by assuming the alarming proportions of real mexican hate, which only the death of its object can appease. after the meeting with don fernando carril, which resulted so unfavourably for him, don torribio quiroga remained a prey to that cold and concentrated rage which slowly eats into the soul till it explodes with terrific violence. as soon as he lost sight of his lucky adversary, he had started at full speed. his spurs mangled the flanks of his luckless horse, who snorted with pain, and redoubled his furious pace. now, where was don torribio going, with distorted features and hair streaming to the wind? he did not know himself; moreover, he did not care. he saw nothing, heard nothing. revolving sinister projects in his brain, he crossed torrents and ravines without checking his horse's career. hatred was crying aloud in his heart; nothing cooled his burning forehead; his temples beat as if they would burst, and nervous agitation shook him in every limb. this state of overexcitement lasted many hours. his steed still continued to fly. at last the noble animal, worn out with fatigue, suddenly stopped and dropped upon the sand. don torribio rose, and looked around him with a bewildered air. a shock like this rude fall was necessary to restore order to his ideas, and recall him to reality. another hour of such continued anguish would have made him raving mad, or ended in sudden apoplexy. it was night. thick darkness covered the earth; a mournful silence reigned over the wilderness to which chance had brought him. "where am i?" he exclaimed, endeavouring to make out his position. but the moon, hidden by clouds, gave forth no ray; the wind began to roar like thunder; the branches of the trees crashed against each other, and, from the depths of the wilderness, the growlings of the wild beast began to mingle their deep notes with the sharper howling of the wild cats. don torribio strained his eyes in vain efforts to penetrate the darkness around him. at last he approached his horse, which was stretched on the ground, and drawing its breath with difficulty. moved with pity for the faithful companion of so many adventures, he stooped down, removed his pistols from the holsters to his belt, and taking from the saddle, where it was slung, a gourd filled with rum, began to wash the eyes, nostrils, and mouth of the panting animal. half an hour's persistence seemed to restore life to the horse. he got on his legs, and, with his natural instinct, soon discovered a neighbouring rill, at which he slaked his thirst. "all is not yet lost," muttered don torribio; "after all, i may make my escape hence." but a deep roar resounded at a short distance, repeated immediately afterwards in four different directions. the horse's coat stood on end; and don torribio felt a cold shudder run through his veins. "curse upon it!" he exclaimed; "i have stumbled upon a drinking place for panthers! what is to be done?" he stooped, and found the confirmation of his fears in the footprints stamped in the muddy borders of the rill. just at this moment he saw, at ten paces from him, two eyes, glimmering like burning coals, fixed upon him with strange intensity. don torribio was a man of well-tried courage. many a time, before the eyes of his comrades, he had performed deeds of wonderful temerity; but now, alone in the darkness, and surrounded by savage animals, he felt himself overcome by deadly terror: his chest heaved, and his breath came and went with difficulty through his set teeth; a cold sweat broke out on his limbs, and he was on the point of dropping. but this fit of terror did not last above a minute. by a violent effort of his will, he collected himself, and calling all his energy to his aid, prepared for a desperate struggle, in which he knew he must succumb; yet, preserving that instinct of self-preservation and hope which is seldom utterly extinguished in man, he determined to defend his life to the last moment. just then his horse, with a snort of horrible fear, bounded away, and made his escape on to the plain. "so much the better," muttered don torribio; "perhaps the poor brute's speed may save him." a frightful concert of yells and howling broke out in all parts of the forest at the flight of the horse, and mighty shadows, indistinguishable in the darkness, bounded past don torribio. he smiled bitterly. "aha!" said he; "shall i stand here to be devoured, without attempting to escape? _¡vive dios!_ it would be the act of a fool! come, i am not eaten yet: i will go." a violent gust of wind here cleared the heaven of clouds, and for some minutes the wan light of the moon lit up the wild spot, in which don torribio found himself. a few paces off, the rio del norte ran between two steep banks; on all sides, and far away in the distance, the dense masses of the virgin forest extended themselves. a chaos of rocks piled on each other in inextricable confusion, from whose fissures rose clumps of trees overgrown with entangled creepers drooping in fantastic garlands, pushed its ramifications to the verge of the river; the soil, composed of sand and the detritus always abounding in the forests of america, crumbled under the footstep. then don torribio knew where he was: at least fifteen leagues from the nearest inhabited spot. he was entangled in the first spurs of an immense forest--the only one throughout the country of the apaches which the hardy pioneers of civilization had not yet dared to explore, such mysterious horrors seemed concealed in its dark recesses. don torribio took no pains to inquire how his headlong course had brought him to this dreaded region. danger so frightful that it claimed the exertion of all his powers, hung too directly over his head for him to waste time in speculating on anything save the manner of extricating himself. at this side, the limpid steam we have mentioned issued from a rock; its banks, impressed with numberless footprints of wild beasts, clearly indicating that the spot was a favourite drinking place, when, at sunset, they left their lairs to seek their food and quench their thirst. and as a further living proof of the fact, two magnificent jaguars, male and female, had at that very moment stopped at its border, and were watching with restless eyes the gambols of their young. "so," said don torribio to himself, "here are pleasant neighbours;" and he mechanically cast his eyes on the other side. an immense panther, crouched on a rock in the attitude of a cat on the watch, had fixed on him two eyeballs glowing like carbuncle. don torribio, according to the custom in south america, never left home without his weapons. his carbine, of great price, was of remarkable accuracy, and by a providential chance, had not been broken when he fell with his horse. he had placed it as he rose against a rock beside him: he stretched out his arm, and seized it. "good!" said he, with a grim smile; "the struggle will cost them dear, at all events." he shouldered the weapon; but at the moment he was about to fire, a plaintive caterwauling causing him to raise his eyes, he saw a dozen of catamounts and tiger cats of immense size perched in the branches above him, while a number of wolves crept stealthily up and dropped down in the bushes behind him. poised on the summits of the surrounding rocks, a tribe of vultures, bald buzzards, and _urubus_, with half closed eyes, seemed to be expecting the moment to seize their share of the quarry. with one bound, don torribio threw himself on to an angle of the rock, and from thence, by aid of his hands and knees, he contrived, in the course of a minute or two, to drag himself with enormous difficulty, to a kind of terrace, about twenty feet above the ground. here he felt himself in comparative security for a time. the horrible concert performed by the denizens of the forest, attracted one after another by the keenness of their scent, increased in volume with every minute, and had now reached such a pitch, that it drowned the roar of the wind which was raging through the ravines and clearings. the moon had disappeared behind the clouds, and don torribio was once more enveloped in darkness. but if he could no longer distinguish the wild beasts, he knew they were there: he smelt their odour; he saw their eyes flashing through the obscurity; and their yells, nearing him more and more, made him feel that the last spark of hope would soon be extinguished for ever. firmly planting his feet on the ground and leaning a little forward to secure his aim, he drew a revolver, and fired six shots in rapid succession at the tiger cats. six howls of agony, and the noise produced by falling from branch to branch, immediately followed. six of the beasts were killed or wounded. nothing more horrible can be conceived than the uproar caused by this unexpected onslaught. the wolves threw themselves yelling on the victims, which they began to devour eagerly, disputing their booty with the vultures and _zopilotes_, who also claimed their share. suddenly there was a strange rustling amongst the leaves and branches of the trees. a body, of indistinguishable shape, shot through the air, and alighted growling on the platform. don torribio, clutching his rifle, dealt the animal a terrific blow with the butt on the skull, and the brute rolled howling from the top of the rock to the bottom. and now his ears were stunned by the uproar arising from a dreadful combat, a few feet below him, between the jaguars and tiger cats on one side, and the panther which had attacked them. fascinated by the terrible danger to which he was exposed, don torribio, forgetful of the evil consequences to him that might ensue, fired two pistol shots into the mass of foes tearing and rushing at each other's throats at his feet. thereupon a strange thing occurred: all these animals, natural enemies to each other, seemed to comprehend that it would be better to unite against man, their common foe, than waste their strength in strife among themselves. suddenly ceasing from the terrible combat in which they were engaged, and abandoning, with one accord, the bloody and half-devoured bodies of the victims, they turned their rage in the direction of the rock on which don torribio seemed to set them at defiance, and attacked it in concert with terrific energy--leaping upon its excrescences, striving to hold on to them, and trying to escalade it on all sides at once. the situation grew more and more critical. several tiger cats had already bounded on to the platform. as fast as don torribio knocked them over, others took their place. the number of his enemies increased with every minute; his own strength and energy were gradually deserting him. this strife of one man against a host of ferocious brutes had something grand and striking about it. don torribio, like one with the nightmare, strove in vain to beat back the constantly renewed crowds of his assailants: he felt close to him the hot and fetid breath of the tiger cats and panthers; the roaring of the jaguars, and mocking moans of the panthers, poured into his ears a frightful song, that deafened and made him giddy; the eyes of thousands of his invisible foes flashed through the obscurity, and fascinated his own gaze; and sometimes the heavy wing of the vulture or _zopilote_ brushed his cheek, from which the cold sweat exuded. an accurate perception of his own existence had vanished from his soul; he no longer thought: his life, if we may still use the expression, had grown mechanical; his motions and gestures were those of a machine, and his arm rose and fell with the dull regularity of a pendulum. talons had already torn his flesh; several catamounts, rushing upon him, had fastened on his throat, and he had been obliged to seize them bodily to force them to quit their hold. his blood was streaming from twenty wounds, superficial, it is true; but the moment was close at hand when the energy which alone sustained him would be worn out, and he would fall from the rock, to be torn in pieces by the brutes who were ever pressing more madly upon him. at this solemn moment, when strength and courage were alike failing, a last cry issued from his breast--a cry of agony, a cry of horrible expression, which was repeated far and wide by the echoes: the last, the final protest of a bold man, who owns himself vanquished, and instinctively calls on his kind for succour before he falls. wonderful to relate, a cry answered his own! don torribio, astonished, and not daring to believe that a miracle was to take place in a wilderness where none before himself had dared to penetrate, fancied his ears had deceived him; yet, confessing to himself how little strength was still left him, and feeling hope faintly reviving in his soul, he uttered a second cry, more poignant, more help-seeking than the former. as soon as the echoes of the forest were silent after their repetition of the cry, a single word, weak as a sigh, was borne to his listening ears on the wings of the breeze: "hope!" don torribio recovered himself. electrified by the word, he seemed to regain new life and strength, and redoubled his strokes on his numberless assailants. suddenly the gallop of many horses was heard in the distance, several discharges of firearms illumined the darkness with their transient splendour, and some men, or rather demons, rushed unexpectedly into the thickest crowd of wild beasts, making a horrible slaughter. at this moment don torribio, attacked by two tiger cats, rolled upon the platform struggling with both. in a very short time the brutes were put to flight by the newcomers, who hastened to light fires to keep them at bay for the rest of the night. two of the men armed with burning torches of ocote wood, set themselves to search for the man whose cries of distress had brought them to his aid. they were not long in finding him stretched out on the platform, surrounded by ten or twelve dead tiger cats, and clutching in his stiffened hands the throat of a strangled catamount. "well, carlocho," exclaimed a voice, "have you found him?" "yes," replied the other; "but he seems dead." "_¡caray!_" resumed pablito; "it would be a pity; for he was a bold fellow. where is he?" "there; on the rock opposite you." "can you let him down with the _verado's_ help?" "nothing easier; he is as still as a log." "make haste, then, in the name of heaven!" said pablito; "every minute's delay may be a year's life stolen from him!" carlocho and the _verado_ lifted don torribio by the feet and shoulders, and with infinite precaution carried him from the improvised fortress he had defended so bravely to one of the fires, and laid him on a bed of leaves prepared by el zapote; for the four _vaqueros_ were, by a strange chance, reunited in this spot. "_¡canarios!_" cried pablito, at sight of the miserable man; "poor devil! how they have mauled him! it was high time for help." "do you think he will recover?" asked carlocho, with great interest. "there is always hope," said pablito dogmatically, "when the vital organs are uninjured. let us look at him." he bent over the body of don torribio, unsheathed his poniard, and put the blade to his lips. "not a sign of breath!". and he shook his head. "are his wounds serious?" asked the _verado_. "i think not: he has fallen from fatigue and overexcitement." "but in that case he may come round again?" "perhaps he may; perhaps he may not: all depends upon the greater or less violence of the shock to his nervous system." "ha!" exclaimed the _verado_ joyfully; "look here! he breathes. _¡vive dios!_ he has tried to open his eyes!" "then he is saved!" replied pablito; "he will soon come to his senses. this man has a constitution of iron. he will be able to be in the saddle in a quarter of an hour, if he likes; but we must attend to his wounds." the _vaqueros_, like the backwoodsmen, live far from inhabited places; and are obliged to be their own doctors; hence they acquire a certain practical knowledge of surgery, and are adepts in the collection and application of the herbs in use among the indians. pablito, aided by carlocho and the _verado_, bathed the wounds of don torribio, first with water, then with rum, and blew tobacco smoke into his nostrils. the latter, after some minutes of this strange treatment, uttered a scarcely perceptible sigh, moved his lips slightly, and at last opened his eyes, which as yet had no consciousness in them. "he is saved!" repeated pablito; "now let us leave nature to work: she is the best doctor i know." don torribio raised himself up, supporting himself on one elbow, and passed his hand across his forehead, as if to recall his thoughts. "who are you?" he said in a feeble tone. "friends, señor; fear nothing." "i am killed; my limbs are all broken." "it is nothing to signify, señor; it is only fatigue: you are as well as we are?" don torribio sat up and looked attentively at the men who surrounded him. "i must be mistaken," said he; "i never expected to find you here. by what miracle did you reach me in time to save me?--you, whom i promised to meet at a rendezvous so far from the spot where we are?" "it was your horse performed the miracle, señor," said the _verado_. "how is that?" asked don torribio, whose voice grew stronger every moment, and who had already managed to stand up. "the case is very simple. we were skirting the forest, on our road to the place you had pointed out to us, when suddenly a horse passed across us at a giddy speed, a pack of wolves at his heels. we soon relieved him from his incarnate foes. then, as we thought it unlikely for a saddled horse to be all alone in a forest into which none dare venture, we set out in search of his rider. your cry was our pilot." "thanks!" replied don torribio; "i shall know how to repay the debt i have contracted with you." "nonsense! that is not worth speaking of. come! here is your horse; we can go as soon as you like." don torribio held up his hand. "stay here," said he; "we shall find no more suitable place than this to discuss what we have got to say to each other." chapter iii. don torribio quiroga. there was a long silence after these words of don torribio. the _vaqueros_, with their eyes fixed on him, endeavoured to guess his thoughts from the play of his features. but don torribio's face, cold and rigid as a block of marble, gave no signs of the thoughts within. at last, after casting a glance of suspicion around, more from habit than from any fear of being overheard, he rolled a cigarette, lit it with the greatest coolness, and began to speak in a careless tone. "my good _verado_, i am truly sorry that you have taken these honourable _caballeros_ from their vocations, and put yourself to inconvenience, in order to repair to the place i had appointed." "why so, señor?" asked the _verado_, perfectly puzzled by this commencement. "for a very simple reason, señor,--because the motives no longer exist which induced me to wish to confer with you." "what!" cried all the rogues together; "can that be possible?" "oh, yes!" he replied coolly; "all things considered, don fernando carril is a charming _caballero_. i should be in despair if i caused him the slightest inconvenience." "_diablo!_ not quite so charming!" observed the verado; "the fellow who ordered carlocho to kill me quietly!" "it was not to me, dear friend," said carlocho, with great suavity, "but to don pablito here, that señor don fernando gave the order." "you are right; i made a mistake. accept my excuses, señor." after this exchange of courtesy, the two bandits again grew silent. "an honest man sticks to his word," said tonillo; "and if don torribio has changed his mind, we have nothing more to say. that reminds me," he added, with a smothered sigh, "that i must refund to you two hundred piastres, which you advanced to--" "keep the trifle, dear señor," said don torribio; "the money cannot be in better hands than yours." the _vaquero_, who had pulled the coins from his pocket with evident reluctance, thrust them back again with a celerity that evinced the greatest satisfaction. "it is all the same," said he; "i do not consider myself quits with you, señor. i am an honest man, and you may rely upon me." "on us all!" exclaimed the others in one voice. "i thank you for your devotion, señores, and appreciate it highly. unfortunately, as i say once more, it is of no use to me." "it is unfortunate," said the _verado_; "one does not find such patrons as you every day, señor." "pooh!" said he gaily; "now you are free, what prevents your placing yourselves under the orders of don fernando? he is very generous; a _caballero_ to the tips of his fingers: i am sure he will pay you well." "i suppose it will have to be so, señor," said pablito; "moreover, we can now confess that we have already been thinking of it, and--" "have already taken service with him," said don torribio carelessly. "i was aware of it." "you know it?" cried the bandits, struck with astonishment. "and are not vexed at it?" continued pablito. "why should i be? on the contrary, i am delighted. it is a strange chance; but perhaps you will be even better able to serve me by the change." "indeed!" said they, becoming very attentive. "certainly you may. so you really are devoted to me?" "to the last drop of our blood!" shouted the _vaqueros_ in touching unison. "you do not despise money?" "money can never hurt those who have none," replied the sententious pablito. "when it is earned honourably," added tonillo with a grin like a monkey. "i agree with you," said don torribio; "particularly when it is a question of a hundred ounces or so," (about three hundred and forty pounds sterling). the bandits trembled with joy, and their wild eyes sparkled. they exchanged looks of promise to themselves for the future, which did not escape don torribio's observation. "_¡caray!_" they muttered, hugging themselves with joy. "so that would suit you, i suppose?" "_rayo de dios!_ a hundred ounces! i should think so," said pablito. "there may be more," observed don torribio. "but doubtless it will be a difficult job," the _verado_ ventured to say. "_¡dame!_ you know, things are going wrong at present." "no need to tell us that, señor; the misery is frightful." "perhaps there may be a man to kill?" insinuated carlocho. "that might happen!" roundly replied don torribio. "so much the worse for him," muttered pablito. "then the offer is agreeable to you, even in that case?" "more so than ever," growled tonillo. "since that is your opinion, _caballeros_, listen attentively," said don torribio, drawing himself up; "i have pledged my honour," he began, "to make no attempts against don fernando carril, either directly or indirectly." "an honest man sticks to his word," said tonillo. "and i intend to keep mine scrupulously, as regards don fernando." the _vaqueros_ made signs of approbation. "but," continued the speaker, "you know as well as i do that don fernando is a man made of mysteries, whose life lies hidden under an impenetrable veil." "alas, yes!" piteously sighed tonillo. "no one knows what becomes of him for the greater part of his time: he disappears for months together, to start up again at the moment when one least expects him." "it is but too true," said pablito; "the life of the _caballero_ is most extraordinary." "to how many dangers he must expose himself," continued don torribio, "in those perilous adventures, of which no one knows the object, nor the direction in which he seeks them!" "it is terrible even to think of them," said carlocho, with an air of conviction. "one so easily meets with mishap in the wilderness," added the _verado_. "without going further, only look what might have happened to yourself tonight, señor!" said tonillo, looking interested. "it is dreadful," exclaimed pablito. "you will clearly understand, señores," resumed don torribio, "that i can by no means be responsible for the numberless accidents to which don fernando's manner of life exposes him at every step." "this is incontestable," cried the others. "chance seems to take malignant pleasure in deranging and upsetting the best conceived plans; and it is impossible for me to save him from chance, even with the lively interest i take in his safety." "there can be no doubt on that head," said pablito, dogmatically; "and certainly not a soul would have the right to utter a word of reproach against you, señor, should poor don fernando be killed in one of his perilous adventures." "exactly what i think; but as i am now no longer the enemy, but the friend of don fernando, and in that capacity take the greatest interest in knowing all that may happen to him, so that i might fly to his aid if necessary--" "or avenge him, if ill luck should have it that he should be killed," said carlocho, interrupting him. "i should like," continued don torribio, "to be constantly apprised of whatever may happen to him." "oh, holy friendship!" exclaimed tonillo, raising his eyes to heaven with a sanctified air; "thou art not a mere idle word!" "_caballeros_, you could not be in a better position for giving me information; and as all trouble should have its reward, you shall receive at least one hundred ounces to share amongst you, or two hundred, according to the news you may bring me. you understand?" "perfectly, señor," replied carlocho, with imperturbable composure, in the name of his deeply touched companions; "the office you confide to us is most honourable. you may rely on our carrying out your views to your utmost satisfaction." "well, that is settled, señores; i rely upon the accuracy of your information, for you must perceive the ridiculous position in which a false report would place me in the eyes of don fernando's numerous friends, whom i should be loth to disturb without good cause." "trust entirely to us, señor; we will confirm our information by irrefragable proof." "good! i see we understand each other; it is useless to pursue the matter further." "perfectly useless, señor; we are men of quick comprehension." "yes," said don torribio, smiling; "but, as your memories may be short, do me the honour of dividing these ten ounces amongst you,--not as the earnest--money of a bargain, for there is no bargain between us, but as a return for the service you have just done me, and as a means of imprinting our conversation on your brains." the _vaqueros_, without waiting to be pressed, extended their hands, and, with smiling faces, pocketed the ounces so liberally bestowed. "now, one word more, _caballeros:_ where are we?" "in the selva negra, señor," answered pablito; "not more than four leagues from the hacienda del cormillo, where don pedro de luna and his family are at present residing." don torribio started in astonishment. "what! has don pedro left las norias de san antonio?" "yes, señor; since yesterday." "what a singular thing! el cormillo is on the extreme verge of the wilderness, in the midst of the apaches: it is impossible to understand it." "they say it was doña hermosa who wished for this change, of which scarcely anybody has yet heard." "what an extraordinary whim! after the dangers to which she was exposed only a few days ago, to come and brave the redskins on their own territory!" "the _hacienda_ is strong, and perfectly safe from sudden assault." "true: yet the change of residence seems very incomprehensible. at sunrise, i should be happy if you would do me the honour of serving me as guides till i get within sight of the _hacienda_. it is important that i should see don pedro without delay." "we shall be at your orders, señor, as soon as you please to depart," answered carlocho. the night was fleeting; and don torribio had need of repose to restore his strength, exhausted by his late struggle for life. he rolled himself in his _zarapé_, stretched out his feet towards the fire, and was soon asleep, in spite of the trouble that racked his mind. the _vaqueros_ followed his example, after drawing lots amongst themselves as to who should watch over the common safety. the post fell to carlocho: the others closed their eyes; and the silence of the wilderness, which had just been so terribly disturbed, resumed its empire. night passed, without anything occurring to disturb the rest of these guests of the forest. at sunrise the _vaqueros_ were up. after feeding and watering their horses, they saddled them, and roused don torribio, announcing that the hour of departure had arrived. the latter rose at once; and, after a short prayer uttered by them all, the five men mounted, and left the clearing which had nearly proved so fatal to one of them. the hacienda del cormillo may be looked upon as the advanced sentinel of the _presidio_ of san lucar; it is, without contradiction, the richest and strongest position on the whole indian frontier. it rises on a kind of peninsula, three leagues in circumference, on which an incalculable number of cattle pasture at liberty. we will not expatiate much on the description of a dwelling in which only a few scenes of our story are laid; we will confine ourselves to saying, that in the middle of the _hacienda_ properly speaking, and perfectly secured behind the massive fortifications, loopholed and bastioned, of the fortress (for el cormillo was certainly such), there stood a white house, small indeed, but admirably arranged, pleasant and cheerful looking. at a distance, the roof was half concealed by the branches of the trees which covered it with their verdant foliage; from its windows, the eye roamed on one side over the wilderness, on the other over the rio del norte, which unrolled itself in the plain like a silver band, and was lost to view in the blue distance of the horizon. the _vaqueros_, in company with don torribio, had struck into the forest. for three hours their route led them along the banks of the rio bravo del norte, till they were opposite the hacienda del cormillo, which dimly showed itself in the centre of one of those charming oases created by the deposit of the river, and covered with groups of willows, nopals, mesquites, orange and citron trees, and jasmines in full flower, amongst the branches of which a whole host of birds of varied plumage warbled unceasingly. don torribio halted, and turning towards his companions, who had likewise stopped, addressed them: "i must leave you here; i thank you for the escort you have done me the honour to give me. your help is no longer needed. return to your avocations, señores; you know our agreement, and i reckon on your punctuality." "farewell, _caballero_," they replied, bowing ceremoniously to him; "cast aside all anxiety as to the measures we are about to take." they turned the heads of their horses, made them enter the river as if they intended to cross it, and soon vanished behind a rise in the ground. don torribio remained alone. the families of don torribio and don pedro de luna, both originally spanish, and connected by various ties in old times, had always lived on a footing of great intimacy. the young man and the girl had almost been brought up together. so, when her handsome cousin had come to bid her adieu, and announce his departure for europe, where he was to stay a few years, in order to complete his education and acquire the manners of the fashionable world, doña hermosa, then about twelve years old, had felt sorry to lose him. they had loved each other from infancy, unwittingly obeying the secret impulses of childhood, which is always seeking for happiness. don torribio had left her, carrying his own love with him, and never doubting that doña hermosa was preserving hers for him. on his return to veracruz, after visiting the most celebrated places of the civilized world, he had hastened to put his affairs in order, and set out for san lucar, burning with desire to meet her whom he loved so dearly, and whom he had not seen for three years--his hermosa, that pretty child, who by this time, must have grown into a beautiful and accomplished woman. the surprise and joy of don pedro and his daughter were extreme. hermosa was particularly happy, for, we must confess, she had thought all day long of don torribio, and looked at him through the medium of her recollections of childhood; yet at the same time she felt her heart disturbed by mingled sensations of pain and pleasure. don torribio perceived it: he understood, or thought he understood, that she still loved him; and his happiness was complete. "come, children," the smiling father had said, "embrace each other; you have my permission." doña hermosa, with many blushes, bent forward her forehead to don torribio, who respectfully touched it with his lips. "is that what you call kissing?" cried don pedro. "come, come, no hypocrisy; embrace each other frankly. do not play the coquette, hermosa, because you are a pretty girl and he is a handsome fellow; and you, torribio, who have come upon us like a thunderbolt, without giving warning, do you think to make me believe you have ridden many hundred leagues, as fast as your horse could carry you, to see me? i know for whom you come all the way from veracruz to san lucar! you love each other. give each other an honest kiss, like betrothed lovers as you are; and if you are wise, you will be married offhand." the young people, melted by his kind words and pleasant humour, threw themselves into the arms of the venerable man, to hide the depth of their emotion. in consequence of this reception, don torribio had been formally acknowledged as having a claim to the hand of doña hermosa, and in that capacity was received by her. we must do the girl the justice to say, that she sincerely believed she loved her cousin. the ties of relationship, their childish friendship, and the long separation, which had increased the warmth of their feelings, disposed her to think favourably of the marriage proposed by her father. she awaited the day fixed for her espousals without any degree of impatience, and looked forward with a kind of pleasurable hope to the time when she would be indissolubly united to him. although such an assertion will most likely make many of our readers cry "fie!" upon us, we will nevertheless maintain that a young girl's first passion is rarely genuine love. her second love originates in the heart; the first only in the brain a young girl who begins to experience the first emotions of her heart naturally allows herself to be attracted by the man who, from circumstances and his relations towards her, has long ago obtained her confidence and excited her interest. this kind of love, then, is only friendship, fortified by habit and magnified by the secret influence exercised by the as yet vague and undecided thoughts which crop up in the brains of sixteen; and lastly, and more than all, by the want of opportunities for comparing her lover with others, and the fact that the marriage is already settled, and she thinks it impossible to recede. this was the position in which doña hermosa, without at all suspecting it, stood towards her cousin. the marriage had been retarded, up to the day about which we are now writing, for divers reasons of age and convenience, although don pedro attached immense importance to it, either on account of his intended son-in-law's enormous wealth, or because he was persuaded the union would make his daughter happy. matters had proceeded thus between the young people, without any remarkable incident occurring to trouble the calm of their relations to each other, up to the time when the events we have narrated in another place happened to doña hermosa in the prairie. but at the first visit don torribio paid his betrothed after her return to the hacienda de las norias, he perceived, with the clear-sightedness of love, that doña hermosa did not receive him with the freedom or the frankness of speech and manner to which he had been accustomed. the girl seemed sad and dreamy; she scarcely answered the questions he addressed to her, and did not appear to understand the hints he threw out about their approaching marriage. don torribio at first attributed the change to one of those nervous influences to which young girls are subject, without suspecting it. he fancied she was unwell, and left her, without dreaming that another filled the place in the heart of his betrothed which he believed himself alone to occupy. moreover, upon whom could his suspicions fall, if he entertained any? don pedro lived in great retirement, only receiving at long intervals his old friends, most of them married, or long past the age for marrying. it was impossible to suppose that, in the two days doña hermosa spent in the prairie among the redskins, she could have met with a man whose appearance and manners could have touched her affections. however, don torribio was soon compelled to acknowledge in spite of himself, that what he had at first taken for a girlish whim was a confirmed resolve; or, in one word, that if doña hermosa still preserved for him the friendship to which he had a right, as the companion of her childhood, her love, if she had ever felt it for him, had vanished for ever. when once convinced of this certainty, he became seriously uneasy. the love he felt for his cousin was profound and sincere; he had let it grow into his heart too deeply to be easily eradicated. he saw all his plans of happiness in the future crumble together, and, his hopes once shipwrecked, resolved to have the indispensable explanation from the girl which should tell him how much he had to hope or fear. it was with the intention of demanding this explanation from doña hermosa that, instead of returning to san lucar, where he lived, he had desired the _vaqueros_ to show him the way to the hacienda del cormillo. but as soon as his guides left him, and he found himself alone in front of the _hacienda_, his courage nearly evaporated. foreseeing the result of the step he was about to take, he hesitated to enter the dwelling; for, like all lovers, in spite of the pain caused by the girl's indifference, he would have preferred to go on cheating himself with futile expectations, rather than learn a truth which would break his heart, by robbing him of all hope. the struggle lasted a long time; more than once he made as if he would ride back; but at last reason conquered passion. he comprehended how difficult the position would be, both for doña hermosa and himself. happen what might, he resolved to end it; and digging his spurs into the flanks of his horse, he galloped towards the _hacienda_, rightly fearing that, if he lingered longer, he would find no strength to accomplish the project he had formed. when he arrived at el cormillo, he was informed that don pedro and his daughter had gone hunting at sunrise, and would not return before the _oración_ (time for mass). "so much the better," muttered don torribio between his teeth, and with a sigh of satisfaction at the respite chance had so opportunely afforded him. without stopping for the refreshments offered him, he turned his horse's head in the direction of san lucar, and galloped off, congratulating himself that the explanation he both dreaded and desired had been thus providentially delayed. chapter iv. la tertulia (the party). we must now introduce our readers to the hacienda del cormillo, two days later than the event we have just narrated. towards eight o'clock in the evening, two persons were seated in the drawing room of the _hacienda_, close to a _brasero_ (brasier); for the nights were still cold. a stranger opening the doors of this room could have fancied himself transported to the faubourg st. germain, it was so elegantly furnished in the french fashion. parisian luxury was exhibited in the carpets, parisian taste in the choice of the furniture. nothing was forgotten,--not even a pianoforte by erard, on which lay the scores of parisian operas, nor a magnificent harmonium from the workshops of alexandre; and as if to prove that glory travels far, and genius has wings, the novels and poems in fashion at paris strewed a round table by boule. everything put you in mind of france and paris, with the exception of the silver _brasero_, which, with its glowing knots of olive wood, showed that you were in spanish america. this magnificent withdrawing room was lighted up by candles of rose-coloured wax, in handsome chandeliers. it was don pedro and his daughter who was seated by the _brasero_. doña hermosa was clad in a dress of the greatest simplicity, which made her look still more charming. she was smoking a tiny cigarette, rolled in a maize leaf, which did not interrupt the flow of her conversation with her father. "yes," said she, "the most lovely birds in the world have been brought to the _presidio_." "well, _querida chica?_" (my darling). "it appears to me that my dearest father is not quite as gallant as usual tonight," she said, pouting a little, like a spoilt child. "what do you know about that, señorita?" answered don pedro, laughing. "what! is it the truth?" she exclaimed, as she jumped from her seat, and clapped her hands together; "you have thought--" "of buying you the birds. tomorrow you will see your feathered subjects, and your aviary stocked with parakeets, love birds, bengalis, hummingbirds, and heaven knows how many others. there are at least four hundred of them, you little ingrate!" "oh, how kind you are! and how i love you!" replied the girl, throwing herself into her father's arms, and kissing him a thousand times. "that will do, that will do, little monkey! do you want to stifle me with kisses?" "what shall i do to show my gratitude for such kind forethought?" "poor little dear!" said he sadly; "i have only yourself to love now." "say to adore, my dearest father; for it is adoration you feel for me; and i too love you with all the strength of love which god has given me." "and yet," said don pedro, in tones of gentle reproach, "you are not afraid of causing me uneasiness." "i!" said hermosa, beginning to tremble. "yes, you," he replied, threatening her with uplifted finger; "you are concealing something from me." "father!" she murmured softly. "daughter, a father's eye can pierce to the bottom of the heart of a girl of sixteen. some extraordinary change has taken place in you these last few days: your thoughts are strangely preoccupied." "you are right, father," she replied with a good deal of firmness. "and what are you dreaming about, little girl?" asked don pedro, smiling to conceal his anxiety. "about don torribio de quiroga, father." "aha!" replied he, "because you love him, i suppose?" doña hermosa drew herself up, and assumed a serious expression. "i!" said she, placing her hand on her bosom, "no! i deceived myself until today. i do not love don torribio, and yet i cannot help thinking of him, although i do not know why. since his return from europe, a change has come over him for which i cannot account. it seems to me, that he is not the same person who was brought up with me. his look pains, yet fascinates me; his voice raises a feeling of undefinable sorrow. certainly, the man is handsome; his manners are noble, and his bearing that of a highbred gentleman: yet there is something nameless about him which chills me, and inspires invincible repugnance." "how romantic!" said don pedro, laughing. "laugh at me! mock me!" she replied, her voice trembling. "shall i confess everything, father?" "speak confidently, dearest child." "i will. i believe this man, whom i thought i loved, will bring evil upon me." "child," replied don pedro, kissing her forehead, "what ill could he do you?" "father, i cannot tell; but i dread it." "do you wish me to break with him, and not to admit him again?" "heaven forbid! it would certainly hasten the misfortune that threatens me." "pooh! you are a spoilt child! you grow whimsical, and amuse yourself by creating phantoms. all these fears and imaginary presentiments spring from your love for your cousin. the only way to restore your tranquillity is to marry you to him as soon as possible; and be sure, my dear, that is what i intend to do." doña hermosa shook her head sorrowfully, and cast down her eyes, but she made no reply: she felt that her father had completely misunderstood her meaning, and that any attempt to bring him over to her wishes would be vain. just at that moment a _peon_ announced don torribio, who entered the room. he was dressed in the latest paris fashion; and the glare of the candles lighted up his handsome face. father and daughter both trembled; the one perhaps with joy, the other certainly with fear. don torribio, after gracefully saluting doña hermosa, approached her and respectfully offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. she took them with a forced smile, and, without looking at them, placed them on the table. soon after, other persons were announced: the governor, don josé kalbris, and his staff; two or three other families--in all, about twenty people; and lastly, don estevan dias, and don fernando carril. it was certainly impossible to recognise the hardy backwoodsman, the redoubtable bee-hunter, who a few days before had done don pedro and his daughter such signal service, in the elegant caballero who arrived in the company of the _mayor domo_ of the hacienda. his irreproachable bearing, his distinguished manner, in short, all about him, banished suspicion, or rather prevented comparison. we have already said that don fernando carril, although his life was wrapped in impenetrable mystery, was superficially known to all the best society in the provinces, and, thanks to the easy-going manners of the mexicans, received in the best families. his presence at the hacienda was, therefore, nothing extraordinary. nevertheless, his appearance excited lively curiosity in the guests; for it was a long time since don fernando had been seen at any entertainment. like don torribio, the hunter, when he entered the room, approached doña hermosa, bowed profoundly to her, and respectfully offered her a flower he held in his hand. "señorita," said he, in a voice full of suppressed emotion, "deign to accept this modest flower; it grows only in the desert," he added, significantly. doña hermosa trembled at the sound of his voice, which she thought she had recognised; a lively blush rose to her cheeks; and dropping her eyes under the ardent gaze fixed upon her, she took the flower and placed it in her bosom, as she answered inarticulately: "everything that comes from the desert will be dear to me henceforth." the conversation of the guests had by this time grown animated. the little incident passed without remark, except from one person, who, with that kind of intuition which springs from love and jealousy, had divined in don fernando one who, if not an openly declared rival, was, at least, preferred in secret. this person was don torribio quiroga. leaning towards don estevan, who chanced to be near him, he said, in a voice low indeed but perfectly distinct and audible to all: "what golden key does this man possess, whom nobody knows, by which he introduces himself into honourable families, where his presence is neither desired nor invited?" "ask him yourself, señor," said don estevan dryly; "he will most likely be able to explain his conduct satisfactorily." "i shall follow your advice this instant, señor," answered don torribio haughtily. "it is unnecessary, caballero; i heard your words perfectly," said don fernando. his voice was calm, and he made a courteous bow to don torribio, while an ironical smile curled his lips for a moment. all conversation had been suddenly broken off; a profound silence reigned over those present, and the looks of all were turned in curiosity towards the two men. doña hermosa, pale and trembling, cast a look of entreaty on her father. don pedro walked resolutely into the middle, of the room, and placed himself between the two caballeros. "what does this mean, señores?" said he. "is this the idea of propriety you have brought back from your travels in europe, don torribio? do you dare to turn my drawing room into lists wherein to break your lance in personal quarrels? what right have you to cavil at don fernando's presence here? you are not my son-in-law yet, as far as i know. i am master here, and can receive whom i think fit." "even cutthroats and _salteadores_ (highwaymen), cousin, if such is your good pleasure," replied the young man, with an ironical bow. don fernando looked as if he were going to rush upon the man who had thus insulted him, but managed to contain himself. "will don torribio deign to explain himself," he said calmly, "and not speak in enigmas?" "and whose fault is it, caballero, if i speak in enigmas? are you not the cause of the mystery?" "enough, caballeros!" exclaimed don pedro; "he who utters another word on this subject, makes me his mortal enemy." the two men bowed respectfully to the hacendero and separated, but not without having exchanged looks of terrible expression. "well, colonel," continued don pedro, addressing the governor, in the hopes of glossing over the lamentable altercation, "what news from la ciudad? is mexico still tranquil?" "our great santa anna," replied the colonel, who was choking in his uniform, "has once more soundly beaten the audacious general who has dared to issue a _pronunciamiento_ (manifesto) against him." "thank god! perhaps this victory will procure us the tranquillity of which commerce stands so much in need." "yes," said a rich hacendero, a neighbour of don pedro. "communication has been so difficult of late, that we can forward nothing." "are the redskins at work?" asked a merchant, whom these words had troubled. "no," said the governor; "there is no danger from them. the last lesson they got was a rude one, and they will not forget it. for a long time they have not dared to invade our frontiers." an almost imperceptible smile curled the lips of don fernando. "you forget the tigercat and his adherents," said he. "oh! the tigercat is only a bandit," said the governor hastily. "besides, government is at this moment preparing an expedition against him, so as to finish, once and for all, with his band of brigands." "it is an admirable idea," said don torribio, with a sarcastic sneer. "it is time this frontier should be cleared of the host of fellows, with more than equivocal habits, who infest it." "i am quite of the same opinion; it seems a most sensible measure," said don fernando quietly, but giving back to his adversary a smile as bitter as his own. "in case of invasion, do you think the indians able to give the province much trouble?" asked the merchant. "h'm!" said don josé, with a patronising air; "people entertain exaggerated ideas of these redskins; in fact, they are but miserable wretches." don fernando smiled again; but this time the smile was savage and sinister. "señor _gobernador_," said he, "you are not quite right. to judge by the news you were good enough to communicate, i believe the indians will keep quite peaceably at home, unless they are determined to tempt ill luck." "_¡rayo de dios!_ i should think so," replied the governor. "ah! señorita," said don torribio, gracefully turning to doña hermosa, "may i pray of your kindness to let us hear that delicious song from the _domino noir_, which you sang to such perfection a few days ago?" doña hermosa, darted a look from under her long lashes at don fernando. the latter's eyes conveyed a mute prayer of entreaty. without further hesitation, she placed herself at the piano, and, in a pure and feeling voice, sang the romance in the third act. "i remember having heard that delicious romance sung in paris by madame demareau, that nightingale who flew away too soon," said don torribio, bowing gallantly to doña hermosa. "i know not whether you or she sang it with most taste and spirit." she answered: "cousin, you have lived too long in france." "how so, señorita?" "because," she replied, with a smile as cold and keen as the point of a poniard, "france has made you a detestable flatterer." "_¡bravo!_" chuckled the fat governor, whose cheeks shook with delight. "you see don torribio, our creoles rival the parisian ladies in the smartness of their repartee." "incontestably, colonel," answered don torribio. "but i can take my own part," he added in an undefinable tone; "i shall soon have my revenge." and he cast a glance at don fernando and doña hermosa, who were seated close to each other, which made the girl shudder with fear. "don fernando, and you other caballeros, here present," said the governor, addressing the guests, "i hope that tomorrow you will attend the _te deum_ to be sung in honour of our glorious santa anna." "i shall have the honour," said don fernando. the others made a similar response. "as for me," said don torribio, "you must excuse me, colonel; for business compels me to leave tonight." "what!" cried don pedro, in astonishment; "you are going to travel tonight, cousin?" "i am indeed, señor don pedro; i am obliged to leave you, even though i have but just arrived." "well, that is a singular and most unforeseen resolution. where are you going?" "excuse me if i keep the object of my expedition secret. certain persons must not have the sole right of making mysterious excursions." "indeed!" said don pedro peevishly. "and do you intend to stay away long?" "i hope not, but dare not say i am sure." "so much the better. come back to us as soon as you can; for," said he significantly, "your return will please all of us here." "_¿quién sabe?_" (who knows?) muttered don torribio, with a sinister expression. doña hermosa, who overheard these two words, could no longer master her fears. while don pedro and his cousin were exchanging these words, the girl whispered to don estevan: "brother, tomorrow, after mass, i want to speak to you at my nurse's." "to me, or to my friend?" said don estevan softly. "to both," she answered, with feverish agitation. don estevan and don fernando now retired with joyful hearts. the latter was sure that doña hermosa had recognised him. the other visitors also gradually departed, till don torribio de quiroga was left alone with his host. "cousin," said he, in a low and broken voice, as he bent down to the lady to bid her farewell, "i am about to begin a journey in which i shall incur considerable danger. may i hope you will remember the traveller in your prayers?" hermosa looked him in the face for an instant, and replied with an austerity unusual in her: "cousin, i cannot pray for the success of a journey the purport of which i do not know." "thanks for your frankness, señorita," he replied, without exhibiting emotion; "i shall not forget your words." "so you are really going, don torribio?" said don pedro, who joined them at the moment. "this very instant, cousin: all is ready for my departure." "then i wish you luck! i hope we shall soon hear from you?" "yes," he replied, with a singular expression; "you shall soon hear of me. farewell!" "what is the matter with your cousin, _niña?_" asked don pedro, when he found himself alone with his daughter: "his conduct tonight has been very strange." before she could answer, the door opened. "the _capataz_ of the hacienda de las norias," said a _peon_ who had entered, "wishes to speak to señor don pedro de luna on affairs of consequence." "admit him instantly," replied don pedro to the domestic who had announced the arrival of the _capataz_ so pompously. don torribio was terribly agitated when he left the house. he looked back, and cast a venomous eye on the windows of the room, on which he could see the graceful shadow of doña hermosa. "proud girl," said he in a terrible voice, "i hate you with all the power of the love i once felt for you! soon, very soon, i will punish you for your disdain." then, wrapping his cloak around him, he rapidly took the direction of the nearest _patio_ (out-buildings), where he hoped to find his horse. indeed, he found him there; a _peon_ holding the bridle. don torribio seized the reins, threw the _peon_ a piastre, flung himself into the saddle, and rode off at a gallop. "_wagh!_" said the indian, picking up the money; "what ails the young master? one would think him mad. how he scampered off!" in the meantime don torribio had left the hacienda behind him, and was making all haste on the road to san lucar. but he had not ridden more than a quarter of an hour, when suddenly, at a turn of the road, his horse gave a start of terror, reared, and flew round, with his ears laid close to his head. don torribio looked to see what had alarmed the animal. a man of tall stature, mounted on a strong black horse, held the middle of the road four or five paces in advance of him, and completely barred his passage. don torribio cocked a pistol. "holloa, caballero!" he cried in a sharp tone; "move to the right or the left." "neither to one nor the other, don torribio de quiroga. i want to speak to you." "it is a singular demand at this time of night, and in such a place." "i did not choose either time or place. did you not receive a note without a signature today?" "i did," said don torribio, striking his forehead; "and the note proposed--" "to teach you things," hastily interrupted the stranger, "which it is important you should know at once." "those were the words contained in the note." "it was i who sent it." "indeed?" said don torribio, surprised; "was it you?" "yes; and i am ready to satisfy you; but to do that, you must follow me." "but what good will it do me to know these matters? perhaps it would be better to leave them untold." "as you please; i do not force you to listen to me. everyone is free to act as he chooses. if you prefer to sit down under insult without avenging yourself, i have no objection." these words were uttered with such a sneer, that don torribio could not help shuddering. "do you in truth offer me revenge?" he asked in a voice half stifled with the rage surging at his heart. "you shall judge, if you will follow me." "demon!" cried don torribio, "whoever thou may'st be, lead on, since it must be so! i will follow thee, even unto hell." "amen," said the stranger, with a sinister chuckle. the two riders dashed into the darkness, and the sound of their furious pace was soon merged in profound silence. chapter v. the ambush. don fernando and his friend, as we have related, left the hacienda a little before don torribio. they had made all haste to reach their dwelling. the _tertulia_ had ended at nine o'clock; and by eleven they were at the _rancho_. doña manuela was expecting them. in a few words they reported to her all that had happened at the _tertulia_, and hastened to their couches; for they were obliged to leave again at daybreak, if they wished to arrive in good time at san lucar without over-fatigueing doña manuela, who was to accompany them. in fact, according to agreement, they mounted their horses a little before four in the morning. in mexico, on account of the intense heat of the day, people generally travel by night; that is to say, from four in the morning till eleven, and from six in the evening till midnight. nine o'clock struck as the three entered the _presidio_. don fernando left his friend and the mother to find their way to the house he possessed in san lucar, which he had placed at their disposal, while he himself repaired to the governor's house, whither affairs of grave importance called him. the worthy governor overwhelmed the visitor with civilities,--for the latter had, on more than one occasion, rendered him important service,--and seemed unable to show him sufficient courtesy but, in spite of the efforts of his host, don fernando perceived that don josé kalbris was a prey to anxiety, which all his sense of the attentions due to his guest did not enable him wholly to conceal. don josé kalbris was a brave and worthy soldier, true as his own steel, to whom the mexican government had given the charge of the _presidio_ as a recompense for his valiant services during the war of independence. for fifteen years the colonel had governed the _presidio_, and, thanks to a certain degree of severity tempered by justice, and to his undoubted courage, had managed to keep it in a state of comparative tranquillity, in spite of the evil passions of the _vaqueros_--a set of rascals, three or four of whom he was obliged to garrote annually, in order to overawe the rest--and the continual raids of the indians, who pushed up under the guns of the fort in their attempts to carry off cattle and make prisoners, the latter being their favourite booty, especially women. don josé, endowed with moderate intelligence, but rich in experience, and warmly supported by the better classes, who had entire confidence in him, had contrived to maintain peace in his province without much difficulty up to the time of which we are now speaking. this denoted a certain strength of character in the old soldier, who was without education, and had made his own career, particularly when one takes into consideration the difficulty of his receiving support from his government; so that he was thrown on his own resources, and obliged to take the initiative, and act on his own responsibility, in all cases where he thought fit to exercise the strong arm of the law. in person the governor was a tall, stout man with a purple and bloated face, perfectly self-satisfied, fond of hearing himself talk, and who laid great stress on every syllable he uttered. don fernando, well acquainted with the colonel's character, and holding him in great esteem, was astounded at the uneasiness he displayed, and the change from his usual placidity of manner. fancying that want of money might be at the bottom of his embarrassment, he resolved to sound him, and come to his aid, if that were necessary. "holloa!" said the colonel, "what good wind blows you to the _presidio_ so early, don fernando?" "the wish to see you," replied the latter, pressing the hand the colonel extended. "it is very kind of you. you will breakfast with me, of course?" "i came to invite myself." "that is right," said the colonel, striking a bell. a domestic entered. "this caballero will do me the honour to breakfast with me." the servant, a well-trained soldier, disappeared. "by the bye, don fernando, i have a heap of papers here addressed to you." "thank heaven! i was afraid they had been delayed. i want them particularly, for certain reasons." "so much the better, then," said the colonel, producing the papers, which don fernando put into his pocket. "breakfast is ready," said the same man who had appeared an instant before. the governor and his guest proceeded to the breakfast room, where they found a third person waiting for them. this was a major barnum, an old englishman, tall, dry, thin, and formal; as brave a soldier as ever existed; for twenty years in the service of the mexican republic; devoted heart and soul to the country of his adoption; and second in command in the _presidio_ of san lucar. he and don josé had seen much service together, and were attached to each other like two brothers; resuscitating in this out of the way corner of the world the fables of castor and pollux damon and pythias, and all the other heroes of ancient friendship. don fernando and major barnum were slightly acquainted with each other, and glad of the meeting; for the englishman was an excellent fellow, and hid a warm and loyal heart under his rather cold manner. after the usual greetings, all three placed themselves at table, and commenced a vigorous attack on the delicacies with which the board was abundantly supplied. when the first keen relish of appetite had been appeased, the conversation became more lively, and at the close of the meal grew quite amicable and confidential. "by the bye, what is the matter with you, don josé?" said don fernando. "there is something odd about you today, which i have never seen before." "right," said the governor, draining a glass of _jerez de la frontera_ (sherry); "i feel sad." "you sad! you astonish me. if i had not noticed your appetite at breakfast, i should think you were ill." "well," said the soldier, with a sigh, "my appetite is good." "then what is there to vex you?" "i have a presentiment of evil," said the governor, seriously. "a presentiment of evil!" echoed the major. "i know that at first sight it seems ridiculous for old soldiers like ourselves to attach importance to such folly, which is only, at the best, the result of a diseased imagination. nevertheless, i too feel like the colonel: i am uneasy without knowing why; i expect every moment to receive evil tidings. in two words, i am firmly convinced some great danger is impending. i feel it, i know it, without being able to guess whence it is to come." "ah," said the governor, "the major has just described my own sensations. long as my career as a soldier has been, i have never felt so anxious and oppressed as now. i have been in this state of excitement a whole week, and am astonished nothing has happened to justify my forebodings. don fernando, god does give warnings of danger to man." "i do not deny the truth of what you propound. i know you too well to have the least intention to question your conviction. but still, how is it to be accounted for? you and major barnum are not men to be afraid of a shadow, or easily scared; you have proved that a thousand times. has nothing occurred to confirm your presentiment?" "nothing as yet," replied the governor; "but i momentarily expect bad news." "come, come, don josé!" said don fernando gravely; "you are suffering from an attack of a malady very common in the major's country, where they call it 'the blue devils.' it is a kind of spleen, caused by the fogs in england. listen to me: get yourself bled--do not spare the wine cup; and in a couple of days you will be the first to laugh at the trick your fancy has played you. do you not think so, major?" "i wish it were so," said that officer, shaking his head. "pooh!" said don fernando; "life is short enough already. what is the use of creating bugbears to frighten ourselves? and besides, who is there to give you trouble?" "_¿quién sabe?_ we are never sure of anything on the frontiers." "nonsense! the indians have grown as quiet as lambs." just then a servant opened the door, and beckoned to the governor. "what do you want?" said the latter. "señor," replied the servant, "a _vaquero_, just arrived in all haste, requests an audience. he is the bearer of important intelligence." this announcement fell like a sheet of ice on the three caballeros, and thoroughly stopped the flow of their fictitious gaiety. "let him come in," said the colonel. then casting a look of inconceivable sadness on don fernando, he added: "it is fate herself who undertakes to answer you!" "we shall see!" replied don fernando with a forced smile. heavy footsteps were heard in the adjacent apartments, and the _vaquero_ entered. it was pablito. the man had indeed the look of one who brings bad news. he seemed to have just left the battlefield--to have escaped from a massacre. his clothes hung in rags, stained with mud and gore; his face, pale as death, had an expression of sadness very strange in such a man. it was with difficulty he held himself upright, so dreadfully jaded he seemed by the struggle he had had to reach the _presidio_. his spurs left a bloody mark on the floor at every step; and he was forced to support himself on his rifle. the three men looked at him with mingled fear and pity. "here," said don fernando, pouring out a tumbler of wine; "drink this; it will restore you." "no!" said pablito, thrusting back the glass; "i thirst for blood, not wine!" these words were uttered in such a tone of hatred and despair, that the listeners involuntarily turned pale, and shuddered with horror. "what has happened?" said the colonel, in deep anxiety. the _vaquero_ wiped the cold sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and said, in short, sharp accents, which struck terror into his hearers: "the indians are upon us!" "have you seen them?" asked the major. "yes," said he abruptly; "i have seen them." "when was that--today?" "this very morning, colonel." "far from hence?" "about twenty leagues. they have already crossed the rio del norte." "already! how many are there? do you know." "count the sand grains in the desert, and you will know." "god!" said the colonel; "it is impossible. the indians cannot assemble in such numbers in the course of a day. your fears have deceived you." "fears!" said pablito, laughing derisively. "fear is very well for you who live in towns; in the wilderness we have no time to make her acquaintance." "well, then, how are they coming?" "like a tornado, burning and pillaging as they come." "is it their intention to attack the _presidio_?" "they have formed an immense half moon, the two horns of which are nearing you every moment." "are they still a good way off?" "yes; for they are acting on a preconceived plan, establishing themselves firmly in places capable of defence, and apparently not governed by the sole instinct of pillage; but, as it would seem, obeying the directions of a chief who understands the art of war, and whose influence is felt in all their movements." "this looks serious," said the governor. the major shook his head. "why have you waited so long before you warned us?" said he. "this morning, at daybreak, my comrades and i were surrounded by more than two hundred of these demons, who seemed to rise out of the ground. we defended ourselves like lions: one is dead; two of us are wounded, but we managed to escape; and here i am." "get back to your post as soon as possible; they shall give you a fresh horse." "i will be off directly, colonel." the _vaquero_ saluted and left them. five minutes later, they heard his horse's hoofs clattering over the stony road. "well," said the colonel, looking at the two others; "what did i tell you? did my forebodings lie?" don fernando rose. "where are you going?" asked the colonel. "back to the hacienda del cormillo." "at once! without finishing your breakfast?" "this instant. i am torn by indescribable anxiety. the indians may attack the hacienda; and god knows what may happen." "el cormillo is fortified, and cannot be taken by a _coup-de-main_. however, i think doña hermosa would be safer here. try, if there is time, to induce don pedro to return: no one can foresee the issue of an invasion undertaken on such a scale; and one cannot take too many precautions. i should be glad to see don pedro and his daughter safe among us." "thank you, colonel; your advice is excellent. i will use every effort to induce don pedro to follow it. good-bye. i venture to flatter myself that an energetic demonstration on your part will rid us of these ferocious foes, whose tactics are always to attempt a surprise, and who disappear as suddenly as they came the moment they find their plans have been discovered." "god grant it! but i scarcely hope as much." "farewell, caballeros, and good luck!" said don fernando, pressing the hands of the two old soldiers. don estevan was waiting for him in the court, and joined him as soon as he appeared. "well," said the _mayor domo_, "you have heard the news? the indians are coming like the locusts." "yes; i have heard so." "what do you intend to do?" "to return to the hacienda at once." "h'm! that would be scarcely prudent. you know how speedily these demons spread themselves over all the country; we should most likely meet some of them." "well! we will ride over their corpses." "_¡canarios!_ i dare say. but you may be killed." "pooh! doña hermosa expects me; and i am not killed yet." "true; but you may be." "well, we shall see." "probably so. however, as i foresaw the objections you would make, i have arranged everything to go. the horses are ready saddled, the _peones_ in waiting: we will set off as soon as you choose." "thanks, estevan; you are really a friend." "i know it," said the latter, with a gay smile. estevan diaz whistled shrilly, and the _peones_ entered the court, leading two horses by their bridles. "let us be off," said don fernando, springing into the saddle. "let us be off," repeated don estevan. they gave the horses their heads, and began to push their way slowly through the crowd of idlers assembled before the gates of the fortress to learn the latest news, and trotted down the steep incline leading from the fort to the old _presidio_, replying, as well as they could, to the questions with which they were assailed on all sides. as soon as they had threaded the town, they increased their speed along the road to the hacienda del cormillo, without noticing the repeated signals of several more than suspicious-looking individuals, carefully wrapped in thick cloaks, who had followed them at a distance since they left the fort, talking eagerly the while to each other. it was a stormy day. the sky was gray and lowering; the birds wheeled screaming around; and the wind, blowing in squalls, roared in the deep defiles of the road, filling the air with clouds of impalpable dust. the two _peones_ who had brought the news of the indians' march upon the _presidio_ rode twenty paces in advance, and scanned the country on each side of the road with startled looks, expecting every instant to see the redskins make their appearance, and to hear the dreaded war whoop. don fernando and don estevan rode side by side, without exchanging a syllable, each sufficiently occupied by his own thoughts. in the meanwhile, the nearer the travellers got to the river, the more the storm increased in intensity. the rain fell in torrents, the lightning flashed incessantly, and the peals of thunder rolled majestically among the high cliffs, from which enormous crags were constantly detached, and hurled crashing into the river. the storm had reached such a pitch of fury, that the riders had the greatest difficulty in making progress, and were in constant danger of falling with their horses, which were plunging wildly in their fright at the tempest. the ground, soaked with rain, afforded no foothold for the poor brutes: they slipped and stumbled at every step, snorted violently, and threatened to break down. "it is impossible to get farther," said the _mayor domo_, picking up his horse from a plunge which had nearly unseated him. "but what is to be done?" asked don fernando, looking about him with great anxiety. "i think we had better take shelter under this clump of trees for a while: the storm grows worse and worse. it is folly to pursue our journey while it lasts." "let us go, if we must," said don fernando resignedly. accordingly they turned towards a small copse on one side of the road, which seemed to offer some little shelter from the intensity of the storm. they were only a few paces from it, when four men, their faces covered with black masks, rushed out of the wood, and dashed at the travellers, whom they attacked without uttering a word. the _peones_ fell from their saddles, knocked over by two shots from the masked strangers, and rolled on the ground in convulsive agony, uttering the most piteous cries. don fernando and don estevan, astonished at this sudden attack by men who could not be indians,--for they were dressed like _vaqueros_, and their hands were white,--instantly dismounted, and, placing themselves behind their horses, awaited their assailants' onset with cocked rifles. the latter, after making sure of the death of the _peones_, turned their horses' heads to attack the two spaniards. shots were again exchanged, and a terrible combat began,--a dreadful struggle of two men against four--in which no word was spoken, and which was intended to end in the death of those who had been so treacherously set upon. however, the combat was sustained with a semblance of equality which discouraged the assailants, of whom one had already fallen, cut down to the teeth; while a second was retreating, with his chest pierced through by the good blade of don fernando. "aha! my masters," exclaimed the latter; "have you had enough, or do you wish to make further acquaintance with my blade? fools that you are! you should have set at least ten to assassinate us." "what!" added the _mayor domo_, "are you already satisfied? you are not clever enough for highwaymen; the man who pays you might have made a better choice." in fact, the two remaining men in masks had withdrawn a few paces, and held themselves on the defensive. suddenly four other masked men appeared, and all six rushed upon the spaniards, who awaited them firmly. "the devil! i wronged you by my suspicion," said don estevan. "i see you are up to your work;" and he discharged a pistol point-blank into the midst of his adversaries. the latter, still without a word, answered his fire, and the struggle was renewed with fresh fury. but the two brave spaniards could not defend themselves much longer: they were exhausted with fatigue; and it was not long before they, in their turn, fell on the dead bodies of two more of their assailants, whom they had sacrificed to their fury before they fell. when they saw don fernando and don estevan stretched on the ground, the strangers uttered a shout of triumph. without troubling themselves about the _mayor domo_, they seized the body of don fernando, threw it over the neck of one of their horses, and rapidly vanished amongst the manifold complications of the road. the tempest continued to rage with fury. a lugubrious silence reigned in the spot where this tragedy had been acted, and where seven corpses were now lying, round which the vultures and hideous _zopilotes_, uttering their hoarse cries, began to sail in narrowing circles. chapter vi. san lucar. when don fernando left them, the governor and the major remained perfectly mute a while, overcome by the gravity of the news they had just received. but a state of prostration so much at variance with the character of the two veterans, whose life had been spent in active service, could not last long. they soon recovered their animation, like two noble steeds who prick up their ears at the signal for the charge; their features resumed their usual expression of imperturbability; and, having exchanged a shake of the hand; they left the apartment. "the shock has been a rude one, and i was far from expecting it," said the colonel; "but, _¡vive dios!_ the pagans shall find out whom they have to deal with. major, have the officers' call sounded we will hold a council of war, to concert measures of defence." "that is right," replied the major; "just what you ought to do. i had rather see you thus--proud, resolute, and stern--than troubled and anxious, as you have looked these last few days. _caray!_ you are yourself again, now, my good friend." "well," said the governor, smiling, "you ought not to be astonished at the change, my dear barnum. for some time past i have been sadly oppressed by vague forebodings, and the ill they threatened seemed the greater, because i could not divine what it might be. now the stroke has fallen, i know what i have to do. i have not the least doubt that the danger which menaces us is immense, but we know what the result will be." "quite true," said the major, leaving him to obey the orders he had received from his chief. the officers of the garrison were soon assembled around the governor; there were six of them, without counting the major and colonel. don josé kalbris invited them to be seated, and then addressed them: "_caballeros_, you are aware why i have sent for you: the indians threaten us once more. i have just got the information from one of our bravest scouts--in fact, the most faithful and intelligent of them all. it is a grave case, señores; for the indians have leagued themselves together, and are marching against us in great force. i have caused you to meet here, in order to organise a vigorous defence, and to endeavour to discover the means of giving these savages so sharp a lesson, that it will be a long time before they dream of invading our territories again. but, first of all, let us see what means are at our disposal." "we have plenty of arms and ammunition," said the major. "we have two hundred thousand pounds of powder, abundance of muskets, sabres, lances, and pistols; and the guns are in good condition, and amply supplied with round shot and grape." "a capital account," said the colonel, rubbing his hands for joy. "unfortunately," continued the major, "although we have plenty of arms, we have very few men fit for service." "how many men have we?" "the effective state should be two hundred and seventy; but, unluckily, disease, death, and desertion have reduced them to a hundred and twenty." "the deuce!" said the colonel, shaking his head; "but i think we might manage to increase the number. we are in one of those critical positions where the end sanctifies the means: we must not be nice in our choice. besides, the common safety is in question. i trust to meet with no opposition to the execution of a plan which i hope will save us all." "what is it? we all go hand and hand with you." "i know that very well. i do not allude to you, señores, but to the inhabitants of the town, who will reject it, and with whom we shall be obliged to have recourse to forcible measures. it is of the last importance to make an imposing show of men on the walls. now, this is what i propose: all the _peones_ of the _haciendas_ shall be enrolled, and formed into companies; the merchants shall form another corps; the haciendas, well mounted and armed, shall defend the approaches, and patrol the plain. by these means, we shall muster an effective force of about eleven hundred men,--a number quite sufficient to hold the savages in check, and force them to retreat precipitately to their villages." "you must recollect, colonel, that the greater number of the _vaqueros_ here are criminals, to whom any disturbance is a pretext for plunder." "for that reason, i have appointed them the exterior defence of the place. they shall encamp outside the _presidio_, into which they shall not enter on any pretence. to lessen the chance of a mutiny amongst them, they shall be formed into two divisions--one of which shall be constantly employed in scouring the neighbourhood, while the other remains in camp. thus, by keeping them always at work, we shall have nothing to fear from them." "as for the creoles, and the strangers at present in the _presidio_," said the major, "i think you had better order them to assemble in the fort every night: we shall be able to use them in case of necessity." "very good. you will also double the number of scouts, the better to avoid a surprise. you will also have the entrances to the place barricaded, to check the tremendous charges the indians make when they attack a position." "permit me to propose, colonel, that a man to be depended upon should be despatched to put the hacenderos on their guard, and warn them to take refuge in the fort at the signal of three guns, to announce the approach of the indians." "it shall be done, major; or these poor fellows would be all massacred by the pagans. the inhabitants of the town must also be warned to retire--the women into the fort--as soon as the indians are visible, or they may be carried off. the savages are partial to white women, and in the last inroad carried off three hundred: such a piece of misfortune must not happen again. i think, señores, we have taken every precaution against the threatened danger; we have now only to do our duty as brave men. our fate is in the hands of god, who will surely not abandon us in circumstances of such great peril." the officers rose, and were preparing to take leave of their chief, when another _vaquero_ was announced as bringing reports to the governor. don josé made signs to his officers to retain their seats, and ordered the scout to be introduced. it was tonillo el zapote, pablito's friend. he had left the place where they had hidden themselves to watch the movements of the indians four hours after his comrade, and yet had arrived at the _presidio_ only an hour later,--sure proof of the importance of the news he bore. he looked as impudent and sneering as ever. his face was pale, and smeared with blood and powder; his dress was torn in many places; while the bandage round his head, one arm in a sling, and, more than all, three or four scalps which hung bleeding from his girdle, showed that he had had a hard tussle with the indians, and been obliged to cut his way through them to reach the _presidio_. "zapote!" said the governor; "your comrade, pablito, has just left me." "i know, colonel," answered the _vaquero_. "have you brought us worse tidings than his?" "that depends upon the light in which you look upon them, señores." "what do your words imply?" "oh!" was the reply, while the speaker swayed himself carelessly from side to side; "if you love your ease, it is very probable it would be troubled before long, and, in that case, the news i bring cannot be very pleasant to you; but if you are fond of mounting to meet the redskins, you can easily gratify your whim, and all i have to tell you will be very acceptable." notwithstanding the gravity of the situation and the anxiety they felt, the governor and his officers could not help smiling at the singular logic of the _vaquero_. "explain, zapote," said don josé; "we shall then know what to think of your tidings." "hardly ten minutes after my comrade left me, i was rummaging in the bushes, which seemed to me to have an odd kind of motion, when i discovered a _peon_, whose terror was so great, that it took me a good half hour to get him to describe the dangers from which he had escaped. the fellow belonged to a poor old man called ignacio rayal, one of the two solitary individuals who escaped from the massacre of the inhabitants of the peninsula of san-josé by the apaches in the last invasion, twenty years ago. the _peon_ and his master were looking for firewood, without dreaming of danger, when the indians suddenly started up close by. the former had time to hide himself in a drain; but the old man, too feeble to save himself, fell into the hands of the savages, who butchered him with all the refinements of their horrid barbarity. his body was riddled with wounds, till his own mother would not have known him; he had received twenty lance thrusts; and his head was smashed to atoms with tomahawks. i left the _peon_ to watch in our ambuscade, after i had restored his courage as well as i could, and, proceeding in the direction he pointed out, was not long in seeing a host of indians driving before them a multitude of cattle and prisoners. these fellows put everything to sack and fire on their route; they were marching rapidly on the _presidio_, and detached parties at intervals to destroy the haciendas on their road. the haciendas of piedra rosa and san blas are no longer standing; they are now a heap of ashes, under which their unfortunate owners lie buried. these are my tidings; make what you like out of them, señores." "and these scalps?" said the governor, pointing to the bloody trophies hanging at the _vaquero's_ girdle. "oh! these are nothing," he replied, with a smile of triumph; "as i had got too near the indians, in the hope of getting a better idea of their force and intentions, they saw me, and naturally wanted to lay hands on me; so we had a bit of a skirmish." "i presume these indians are a party of pillagers from the wilderness, who want to steal cattle, and will retire when they have collected enough booty." "hm!" said tonillo, shaking his head; "i am not sure of that. there are too many of them; they are too well equipped. colonel, these fellows have another object: unless i am greatly mistaken, they intend to wage war to the knife against us." the governor exchanged looks with his officers. "thank you, zapote," said he; "i am pleased with you. your conduct has been that of a loyal mexican. return to your post, and be doubly vigilant." "you may rely on my comrades and me, colonel. you know, we do not exactly love the indians," said tonillo, who saluted and left them. "you see, señores," said the governor, "that the situation grows more critical every minute. we will lose no more time in deliberation. you may go." "one moment," said the major; "i have a piece of advice to give before we separate." "let us hear it, old friend." "no precaution must be omitted in the perilous circumstances which surround us. we are here in an out-of-the-way place, far from any speedy and efficacious support. we may have to sustain a siege in the _presidio_, and run the risk of being starved out. i propose that a vessel be immediately despatched to the governor general of the state, to apprise him of our critical position, and to request reinforcements; for it is impossible, with our scanty forces, to hold out long against the invasion." a profound and solemn silence followed this speech. "what do you think of major barnum's advice?" said the colonel to his officers. "we agree to it," said one of them, speaking in the name of the others; "and we think it ought to be put into execution without delay." "i am of the same opinion," said don josé; "let it be so. caballeros, you may retire." and now they began to organise the defence with an energy inconceivable to those acquainted with the spanish character, and the profound laziness which is one of its principal failings. the terrible danger menacing them made all the inhabitants of the _presidio_ responsible for each other; it seemed to give courage to those who had none, and redouble the ardour of the others. two hours later, troops of cattle were driven in and parked in the town, the streets barricaded, the guns supplied with ammunition, and the women and children shut up in the buildings within the fort. a vessel had been despatched to the capital of the state, as had been agreed on in council; and a hundred and fifty resolute men intrenched themselves in the old _presidio_, the houses of which they loopholed, in order to make head against the indians when they appeared. the governor and major barnum seemed to multiply themselves; they were ubiquitous; encouraging the newly enlisted, helping the workmen, and speaking hope to all. about three o'clock in the afternoon, a strong wind arose, bringing with it from the south-west volumes of thick smoke, obstructing the view of objects at a distance. it was caused by the conflagration throughout the country. the anxiety of the inhabitants increased tenfold, as the direction from which it came proved that it could only arise from the doings of the indians. the indian tribes always have recourse to this measure when they intend to invade the territories of the whites; an excellent aid to their system of attack by surprise, for, by shrouding the country in smoke, they prevent the scouts discovering them from afar, and are more easily able to conceal their numbers and motions. on the day in question, the indians, unhappily for the mexicans, succeeded better than their wont; for the wind drove the smoke across the open, and one could scarcely distinguish objects at ten paces off. it must be allowed, that in a country so uniformly level as the prairies, which afford no points to mask a march, and where nothing is easier than to find out the enemy's whole strength, the stratagem employed by the indians is as simple as it is ingenious. the scouts came galloping in one after the other, to report to the governor the approach of the enemy, who, according to their calculations, would reach the _presidio_ of san lucar that same night. the masses of indians increased every moment. their hordes covered the open; they marched with inconceivable rapidity, and seemed to concentrate all their forces on the luckless _pueblo_. the governor ordered the three alarm-guns to be fired. immediately one saw the poor _rancheros_ (cottagers) of the plain trooping in crowds into the town, bringing with them their cattle and furniture, and shedding tears of rage and despair at the sight of their harvests blazing in all directions. the poor men encamped as they best could in the squares of the _pueblo;_ and after sending their women and children into the fort, all able to bear arms rushed to the barricades, resolved to make those pay dearly who had been the cause of their ruin. terror and consternation reigned throughout the town: nothing was heard but sighs and lamentation; and night came, to add horror to the situation by enveloping the earth in darkness. strong patrols paraded the streets incessantly; and at times hardy _vaqueros_, gliding like serpents through the obscurity, ventured two or three hundred paces from the walls, to assure themselves that no immediate danger threatened the _presidio_. things remained in this state till about two in the morning, when, in the midst of the mournful silence brooding over the town, a slight noise, scarcely perceptible at first, was heard. it grew louder every moment, and all of a sudden, as if by enchantment, and without any one being able to guess how they got there, the apaches crowned the barricades of the _presidio_, brandishing flaming torches and uttering the war whoop. for a moment the inhabitants thought the town was taken; but major barnum, who commanded at this post, was too old a soldier, and too accustomed to indian warfare, to be deceived by their stratagem. at the moment the apaches were about to cross the barricades, a well-sustained fire opened suddenly upon them, and drove them from the intrenchments much faster than they had scaled them. the mexicans charged with the bayonet: for one moment there was a frightful _mêlée_, from the midst of which rose cries of agony, maledictions, and the sharp clang of steel crossing steel; then the whites regained their position; the indians disappeared; the town, illumined for so short a time by the blaze of the torches, was again enveloped in darkness; and the silence, broken by the few minutes of onslaught, was once more complete. this was the only attempt that night. the indians were up to their work; having failed in their bold _coup-de-main_, they would, in all probability, convert the attack into a blockade, if they were determined to take the town; or they might retreat altogether, if their miscarriage had led them to despair of mastering it. but at daybreak this latter illusion vanished; the indians seemed to have no inclination to beat a retreat. the country presented a most afflicting spectacle; everything was burnt down, and the disorder frightful. in one place a band of mounted apaches were driving before them the horses and cattle they had stolen; in another, nearer the town, and facing towards it, a strong body of warriors, with poised lances, watched the movements of the inhabitants of the _presidio_, with the intention of repelling any sortie that might be attempted; behind them, women and children were chasing the cattle, which were lowing with anger at being forced to quit the pastures; here and there prisoners, men, women, and children, driven on by blows of the lance, lifted their hands in vain supplication, and painfully dragged themselves forward amidst their captors. lastly, as far as the eye could see, long files of indians were hastening up on every side, while others drove in the pickets, or built _callis_ (huts); and the town was completely surrounded. then an unheard-of circumstance occurred--a circumstance which the most experienced soldiers in the fort had never witnessed in all their previous encounters with the indians, viz. the order that ruled through all this disorder; that is to say, the manner in which the _callis_ were grouped, the serried and disciplined march of the infantry, the precision of their movements; and, what particularly upset all the arrangements of the colonel and major, the drawing of a parallel about the place, and throwing up an earthwork with immense rapidity, so as to shelter the apaches from the fire of the guns. "_¡sangre de dios!_" exclaimed the colonel, with an angry stamp; "those wretches have a traitor among them; they have never made war in this fashion before." "hem!" said the major, pulling at his moustache; "we shall have to tilt against rude jousters." "yes," replied the colonel; "and if succour does not arrive from the city, i do not exactly see how this is to end." "badly, colonel. _¡caray!_ i am afraid we shall lose our hides here. look! there are more than three thousand of them, without counting those who are still coming and blackening the plain on all sides. but what is the meaning of this noise?" he added, as he turned in the direction whence the notes of a trumpet proceeded. four sachems, dressed in white, and preceded by an indian bearing a white flag, had halted at half-gunshot from the first barricade at the old _presidio_. "what can this mean?" said the colonel; "they seem to demand a parley. do they think i am fool enough to fall into the snare? major, a hatful of grape for that group of pagans! we'll teach them to take us for dolts!" "i think you are wrong, colonel, and that it would be better to parley with them; in that way we shall learn their intentions." "you may be right, my good friend; but who will be fool enough to risk his life among these lawless bandits?" "i, if you will permit me," answered the major. "you!" cried don josé, in astonishment. "yes; is it not our duty to suffer no means to escape us by which we may save the wretched people confided to our honour? i am only one man; my life is of little importance to the defence of the _presidio_, and the step i am about to take may save it." the colonel stifled a sigh, pressed his old friend's hand affectionately, and exclaimed, in a voice half choked with the emotion he vainly endeavoured to suppress: "go, since you insist upon it." "thanks," said the major joyfully. and he turned with a firm step in the direction of the barricade. chapter vii. the attack on the presidio. major barnum was unarmed; he was offering up his life, and would not take his sword, that he might have no pretext for defending himself should a conflict ensue, as would probably be the case. when he had got within earshot, he halted. as in his former campaign he had often had occasion to confer with the apaches, he had learnt enough of their language to need no interpreter. "what do you require, chiefs? have you crossed the rio grande del norte, and invaded our frontiers, in breach of the peace existing between us?" he said this in a loud voice, and saluting them with his hat, which he immediately replaced after this act of courtesy. "are you the man whom the palefaces call don josé kalbris?" asked one of the chiefs; "the man to whom they give the title of governor?" "no; according to our laws, the governor may not quit his post. i am major barnum, second in command, deputed to represent him; so you may report to me what brings you hither." the chiefs conferred together for an instant; then, planting their long lances in the sand, they dashed forward on their horses till beside the major. the latter, who had never taken his eyes off them, had divined their purpose, but remained motionless, and testified no surprise at seeing them at his side. the indians, who had intended by the suddenness of their action to throw off his guard and perhaps intimidate the major, were secretly annoyed at his coolness, which they could not help admiring. "my father is brave," said the one who was spokesman. "at my age," replied the veteran, "one does not fear death; one often looks upon it as a blessing." "my father bears on his head the snows of many winters; he must be one of the wisest chiefs of his nation. the young men listen to him with respect around the council fire." the major bowed modestly. "do not talk of me," he said; "we have met to discuss graver matters. why have you demanded this interview?" "will not my father lead us to the council fire of his nation?" said the warrior in insinuating tones. "is it proper for great _sachems_, renowned warriors, to treat of important affairs on horseback, between two armies ready to come to blows?" "i understand your meaning, chief; but cannot comply with your desires. when a town is invested, no leader of the enemy can be admitted as flag of truce." "does my father fear that we four should take the town?" said the apache, laughing, but secretly vexed at the abortion of his plan to communicate with the friends he undoubtedly had in the place. "it is not my custom to fear anything," replied the major; "i tell you a fact of which you were ignorant, that is all. and now, if you wish to use this pretext to break off the interview, you can do so; i have nothing more to do than to go back." "oho! my father is hasty for his age. why break off the interview, when we have not even mentioned the object of it?" "speak then, and tell me what brings you here." the _sachems_ looked at each other, and exchanged a few words in a whisper. then the chief took up the word: "my father has seen the great army of the apaches, and the nations their allies?" "i have," replied the major carelessly. "and has my father, who is a learned paleface, counted the warriors who compose it?" "yes, as far as it was possible." "ah! and how many are there, according to my father's counting?" "upon my word, chief," replied the major, with an unconcern that was admirably counterfeited, "i must confess that, as for us, we do not care how many of them there are." "but still," persisted the indian, "at how many does my father count them?" "how can i know? eight or ten thousand i dare say." the chiefs were astounded at the indifference the major displayed for numbers thrice their force; and the apache warrior replied: "and my father is not frightened at the number of warriors united under one chief?" the wonder of the _sachems_ had not escaped the major. "why should i be frightened? has not my nation conquered greater numbers?" "it is possible," said the chief, biting his lips; "but this time you will not conquer." "who can tell? is that what you came to parley about, chief? if so, you might have spared yourself the trouble." "no; it is not that. let my father be patient." "speak, then, and have done with it. one never knows how to get on with all your indian circumlocutions." "the army of the great nations is camped before the _presidio_ to obtain satisfaction for all the wrongs the palefaces have done the indians, since they first set foot on the red man's territory." "what are you talking about? explain yourself clearly; and, first of all, what is your pretext for thus invading our frontiers, without previously declaring war? have we broken the treaties we made with you? have we not always been generous to the indians who claimed our protection? answer!" "why does my father pretend to be ignorant of our just reasons for war with the palefaces?" replied the apache, feigning to be discontented with the major's speech. "my father knows that we have for centuries been at war with the long knives,[1] who dwell on the other side of the mountains. why has my father's nation, which assumes to be at peace with us, made treaties with them?" "chief, you are only seeking a quarrel; but that does not signify. i would rather you had told me frankly that your wish was to pillage and steal our horses and cattle, than give me a reason without common sense. we should be at war with the comanches, if you really meant what you say. therefore, chief, mock me no more, but proceed to facts. what is it you demand?" the chief burst out laughing. "my father is cunning," he said. "listen; thus say the chiefs: 'this land belongs to us: we will have it.' the white ancestors of my father had no right to establish themselves in it." "that pretext is, at all events, specious; for my ancestors bought this land from one of your _sachems_." "the chiefs in assembly round, the tree of the master of life have determined to return to the great white chief, without reserve, all the articles formerly given to the _sachem_ in exchange for the land, and to resume the country belonging to them, in which they will no longer have the palefaces." "is that all you were deputed to tell me?" "it is all," said the chief, bending his head. "and how much time," answered the major, "do the chiefs allow the governor of the _presidio_ to discuss these proposals?" "two hours." "very well," said the major coolly. "and if the governor refuses, what will my brothers do?" "the _sachems_," replied the apache, emphatically, "have determined to resume the ownership of their territory. if the palefaces refuse to restore it, their village shall be burnt, their warriors put to death, their wives and children carried away as slaves." "ah!" said the major; "before you obtain that result, all the whites in the _presidio_ will have been killed in its defence. but it is not for me to discuss the matter with you. i will carry your demands to the governor, precisely as you have made them; and tomorrow, at sunrise, you shall have your answer. hostilities must be suspended until then." "no; it is for you to stop them. we cannot stay here inactive; so be on your guard." "thanks for your frankness, chief," replied the major. "i am happy at meeting an indian who is not altogether a rascal. good-bye, till tomorrow." "farewell," said the chiefs courteously. all were struck with admiration at the coolness of the veteran. the major retired as slowly as he had come, without manifesting apprehension. the colonel awaited him at the barricade with the greatest anxiety. the long interview had filled him with uneasiness. he had prepared himself to avenge any insult that might be offered to his envoy. when the major reached the barricade, he hastened to join him. "well?" said he impatiently. "they are only seeking to gain time, in order to execute one of their devilries." "what is the sum of their demands?" "their pretensions are absurd, and they know it; for they sneered when they laid them before me. they pretend that the _sachem_ who ceded the territory to the spaniards, two hundred years ago, had no right to sell it. they demand that we should surrender it to them in twenty-four hours; if not--then follow the usual threats. ah!" said the major, with an ironical smile, "i forgot to tell you, colonel, that they pretend to be ready to restore everything the _sachem_ received for the land he sold. that is all i am commissioned to report." the colonel shrugged his shoulders in disdain. "the demons are mad," said he, "or else they are trying to lull us into security, so as to surprise us the more easily." "what do you think of doing?" asked the major. "redouble my vigilance, my good friend; for i have no doubt we shall soon come to blows with them again. i am specially uneasy about the old _presidio_." "you go back to the fort; i will take the command of the advanced post. it is most important, in case of a check, that our communication should not be cut off, and that we may be able to retreat into the place without too great loss." "i will leave you at liberty to act, my dear major; i am sure you will do your best." the two veterans separated, after shaking hands warmly. the colonel returned to the fort, while the major actively bestirred himself to put the post confided to him in safety against a surprise. the garrison of the old _presidio_ consisted chiefly of _vaqueros_ and _leperos_,--people, we confess, on whose fidelity the major could only moderately rely. but the stout old soldier locked the apprehensions that tormented him up in his heart, and feigned entire confidence in these fellows, whom he more than suspected. the day passed over quietly enough. the apaches, buried like moles behind their intrenchments, seemed determined not to quit them. the sentinels watched vigilantly at the barriers and barricades which closed the suburb. the major, reassured by this apparent tranquillity, hoped that the indians would not assume the offensive before the term proposed for the receipt of the governor's answer; and, overwhelmed with fatigue from the numerous operations he had been obliged to superintend in providing for the defence in its minutest details, he retired to a house close to the barricade, to snatch a few minutes of necessary repose. certain of our old acquaintances were amongst the defenders of the suburb: pablito, el verado, tonillo, and carlocho. the worthy _vaqueros_, since the appearance of the indians, had given such undeniable proofs of fidelity, that the major, at their request, and as a reward for their good conduct, had confided to them the most advanced barricade, which was, in fact, the key of the suburb. a few minutes after sunset, these four men were together at the foot of the barricade, and talking in whispers. a dozen more rascals of their own stamp, grouped a few paces off were evidently awaiting the result of their mysterious council. at last they rose, and their colloquy terminated. "well, then," said carlocho, by way of wind-up, "it is settled for ten o'clock?" "for ten o'clock," peremptorily replied el zapote; "a man can only stick to his word. we have been nobly paid, and must fulfil our promise, especially as we have received half the amount." "true," said the others, thoroughly convinced; "the loss would be too great." "i should think so!" exclaimed el zapote; "only think, _queridos_ (my boys); five-and-twenty ounces a piece!" the bandits grinned like hyenas which scent a corpse, and their eyes glistened with greed. the major, lying half upright on a _butaca_, slept the restless sleep of a man whose mind is preoccupied by affairs of great moment; when all of a sudden he felt himself rudely shaken, and a voice, half unintelligible from emotion, shouted into his ears: "rise, major, rise! we are betrayed! the _vaqueros_ have given up the barricade to the apaches, and the indians are in the place." the officer bounded to his feet, seized his sword, and rushed out of doors without answering, followed by the man--a mexican soldier--who had so rudely awakened him. at a single glance, the major recognised the truth of the disastrous news reported to him. el zapote and his comrades had not only surrendered the barrier to the apaches, but had even joined them, followed by the few wretches we mentioned above. the situation was very critical. the mexicans, disheartened by the shameful defection of the _vaqueros_, fought without energy or order, dreading further treachery, and on that account not daring to make good head against the enemy. the apaches and the _vaqueros_ howled like demons, and charged furiously on the demoralised defenders of the _presidio_, whom they slaughtered pitilessly. it was a horrid spectacle to witness, this homicidal strife, illumined by the lurid reflection of the houses fired by the indians to light up their victory. the war whoop of the apaches mingled with the cries of agony of the mexicans they were massacring and the awful roaring of the flames, fanned by the frequent squalls. the major threw himself resolutely into the thickest of the fight, calling the garrison around him, and exciting them by voice and gesture, to a desperate resistance. the appearance of the commandant of the _presidio_ produced an electrical effect on the mexicans. animated by his example, they formed around him, and replied by a well-directed fire to the attacks of their ferocious foes. the _vaqueros_, brought to a stand by the point of the bayonet, ignominiously fled, pursued by a shower of balls. thanks to the energetic action of the major, the fight was fairly renewed; but barnum was a soldier of too much experience to allow himself to be deceived by a factitious success. he felt that any attempt to hold the suburb would be madness; he therefore only thought how to make good his retreat in the best possible order, and to bring off the women and children. calling his boldest and most resolute men about him, he formed them into a body to hold the indians in check, while the non-combatants embarked and crossed the river. the apaches perceived big project, and doubled their efforts to hinder its execution. the _mêlée_ grew still more frightful. a desperate hand-to-hand combat ensued between whites and redskins; the former fighting for the safety of their families, the latter in the hope of an immense booty. but the mexicans, encouraged by the heroic devotion of their commander, only retreated step by step, resisting with the energy of that despair which performs prodigies, and in desperate circumstances trebles the strength of man. this handful of brave men, scarcely numbering a hundred and fifty, kept in check for three hours, and without allowing themselves to be broken, nearly two thousand indians, falling one after the other at their allotted posts, in order to save their wives and children. at last the final boats full of wounded and non-combatants quitted the suburb; the mexicans uttered a shout of joy, charged the apaches once more, and, under the orders of the major,--who, like an old wounded lion, seemed to abandon the fight with regret,--commenced their retreat, continually harassed by the apaches. they soon reached the river. here the savages were constrained to fall back in their turn, being decimated by the showers of grape poured upon their dense ranks by the guns of the fortress. this successful diversion permitted the scanty survivors of the heroic mexican phalanx to enter the boats, and retire without further molestation, carrying with them two or three prisoners they had contrived to secure. the fight was at an end, after having lasted five hours. the apaches had only conquered through the treachery of the _vaqueros_. the colonel received his friend at the landing place, and congratulated him on his admirable defence, which, in his eyes, was as good as a victory, on account of the enormous losses it had caused the enemy. then, without losing time, the two officers took measures to complete the defence of the place, by ordering the construction of strong intrenchments on the bank of the river, and the erection of two flanking batteries, of six guns each. the capture of the old _presidio_ by the indians, through the treachery of the _vaqueros_, was an immense loss to the mexicans, whose communications with the numerous haciendas on that bank were cut off. luckily, the colonel, foreseeing a result almost inevitable from the want of troops at his disposal, had withdrawn the whole of the population of the suburb into san lucar. the houses had been gutted, horses and cattle carried off, and the boats moored under the batteries of the fort, where they were in safety--at least for the present. it is true the indians were masters of the suburb; but the success had cost them greater losses than the possession of it was worth. after all, the mexicans had only lost an insignificant piece of ground, scarcely worth defence; for the old _presidio_ was not the key of the place, of which it was only a questionable dependency, and from which it was separated by the breadth of the river. thus the effect of the battle on the two camps was exactly the reverse of what the reader might suppose. the mexicans almost congratulated themselves on the loss of a position nearly useless to them in the present state of affairs, and the defence of which could only cost them many valuable lives; while the apaches asked each other sadly what good the conquest of the suburb had done them, in return for the loss of more than five hundred of their bravest warriors who had fallen. two _vaqueros_, who had been thrown from their horses, had been taken prisoners by the mexicans during their retreat. the colonel ordered a court martial to assemble, commanded two high gibbets to be erected a little in advance of the new intrenchments along the river, and had them hung in the sight of the whole population, and of their companions, who had clustered together on the opposite bank of the river, and uttered shouts of impotent rage at seeing them executed. don josé kalbris was not naturally cruel; but in this case he justly thought he ought to make an example, in order to intimidate such as might have the inclination to imitate them. a _bando_ (an edict), fixed to the foot of each gibbet, announced that the same fate awaited every revolted _vaquero_ who fell into the hands of the mexicans. while this was doing, evening closed in; and the indians, to annoy the whites, amused themselves by setting fire to the suburb they had taken the night before. the immense volume of flame produced by the conflagration threw fantastic shadows over the camp of the apaches and the town of san lucar, whose miserable inhabitants, plunged in the stupor of grief, knew they had no mercy to expect from foes like these. the colonel seemed made of iron: he did not take a moment's rest, but visited the posts continually, and sought by every means to strengthen the defences of the town. he and the major had just entered the fort, after making a final round. the night had passed, and the indians had retreated to their camp, after making a futile attempt to surprise the _presidio_. "well, major," said the colonel, "you see how it is; there is no use in our trying to blind each other. it is only a question of time for us; whether we shall be taken tomorrow or in a week, no one can say: but everyone can see what the result must be." "hm!" said the major; "when the last moment has come, we shall always have the resource of shutting ourselves up in the fort, and blowing it and ourselves to the devil." "unluckily, we have not even that resource." "how so?" "why, we old soldiers might blow ourselves up easily and ought to do it; but we cannot condemn the women and children shut up with us to such a cruel fate." "true; but i have it! although we cannot blow ourselves up, i can always blow out my brains." "you have not even that consolation, my good friend. is it not our duty to set an example to the poor people cooped up here, and protect them while we can? is it not our duty to be in the breach to the last?" the major made no reply to this argument, which he inwardly acknowledged to be unanswerable. "but," said he, after a pause, "how is it we have received no news from the capital of the state?" "ah, my friend! out there they have probably other things than us to think of." "i will not believe it." at this moment a servant opened the door, and announced: "don torribio quiroga!" the two men shuddered, without being able to account for their emotion. don torribio entered. he wore the magnificent uniform of a colonel in the mexican service, and on his left arm the ribbons of an aide-de-camp. he bowed respectfully to the two officers. "is that you, don torribio?" said the colonel. "i suppose it is," said the former smiling. "when i last saw you, you were about to undertake a long journey." "from which i have just returned." "but the uniform you wear?" "good heavens, caballeros! i was tired of being treated in the provinces as a nobody, a kind of useless ninny. i threw off everything of that sort, and have become a man of the world like others." "then you are--?" asked don josé. "an officer like yourself, colonel,--of the same rank; and moreover, aide-de-camp to the governor of the state." "it is wonderful!" said the colonel. "why so? nothing could be more simple." the major had taken no part in this conversation. when don torribio entered, a strange suspicion had seized him. "i confess," said the colonel, "that i was a thousand miles from thinking--" "what, pray? that i should turn officer? you see, you were wrong; and so much the more so, since i have been deputed by the general commanding the province to bring you a message, which i am sure will be of great service to you in the present conjuncture." he drew forth a large folded paper, sealed with the mexican arms, and presented it to the colonel. don josé hastened to take it. "with your permission," said he, and hurriedly broke the seal, and read the missive. "aha!" he exclaimed; "four hundred and fifty men! i did not expect so strong a reinforcement." "the general feels greatly concerned for the _presidio_," said don torribio; "he will spare no sacrifice to retain it." "_¡vive dios!_ caballero, with such help i care as much for the indians as for a bundle of straw." "it seems to me that they will not arrive a whit too soon," said don torribio, with a sneer. "_¡canarios!_ it is just in time; but now we shall have some fun." "i hope so," said the other, while an indescribable smile curled his lips. "and your men?" asked the governor. "will be here in an hour, at the latest." "to what corps do they belong?" "to none in particular; they are _guerilleros_" (irregular troops). "hm!" said the colonel, showing a little disappointment; "i should have preferred other troops. but never mind; if you like, we will go out to meet them." "i am at your orders, colonel." "shall i go with you?" asked the major. "nothing could be better," said don torribio hastily. the colonel hesitated a moment. "no," said he, at last; "remain here. one cannot tell what may happen, and somebody must be here to act for me in my absence. come, don torribio." with a sigh of satisfaction, the major threw himself back again on the sofa from which he had risen. the two men went out. just as they were mounting, they encountered a horseman, who came up at full speed. "estevan diaz!" muttered don torribio to himself; "please heaven he has not recognized me." [1] the inhabitants of the united states. chapter viii. disgrace. as we have already said, don torribio had rapidly quitted the hacienda del cormillo in company with the mysterious stranger whom he had met in such an extraordinary manner. their journey was not long. at the close of a quarter of an hour, the stranger pulled up his horse, saying, in a sharp tone: "it is useless to take you farther before i know what i have to expect from you." don torribio had halted at the same time as the unknown. "i think you are making a mistake, caballero," said he dryly. "in what way, if you please, señor?" said the other in a sneering tone. "i am going to put you in possession of a few facts, which will put us on a level with each other." "let us hear them, caballero; i am all attention." "in the first place," said don torribio firmly, "before we go any farther, let me give you a piece of advice." "advice is always useful: if yours is good, i shall profit by it; of that be certain." "you will be right. i am unaware whether you know me, but be sure of this: i am not easily frightened; and if, for some unknown reason, you have led me into an ambush, i warn you that, at the first suspicious movement you make, i will blow your brains out; for i neither know you, nor what your intentions are." "good! you are a man after my own heart, i see clearly we shall come to an understanding." "perhaps so. but as it is not i who have come to seek you out,--as i have not claimed your aid in any way,--i demand, in the first place, that you give me a clear explanation, without prevarication or circumlocution." the stranger shrugged his shoulders. "is it not enough for you to know that i am in a position to serve you effectually in the plans of vengeance you meditate?" "i neither understand what you say, nor to what you allude," said don torribio haughtily. "aha!" said the other, laughing grimly; "is that the way you answer me?" "why should i give you a different answer? what right have you to my confidence? on what plea, supposing i have a secret, do you pretend to search into it?" "because your enemy is mine also; because, in avenging you, i avenge myself. do you understand me now?" "no more than i did before. if you have nothing else to say, we had better break off our conference and part." the stranger made a gesture of impatience: he had not expected to meet with so much inflexibility. "one word more, don torribio quiroga. the man whom you hate, whose death you have already plotted, is called don fernando carril. that man who for a long time has crossed your path at every turn, counteracting your plans and ruining your hopes, has overthrown you in all your reencounters; your very life belongs to him; he has taken all, even to the heart of her you love. is not this true? will you trust me now?" don torribio had listened with mingled pain and anger to the revelations of the singular being who had accosted him. "yes," said he, clenching his hand with rage, "yes, you are well informed. i care not whether you have gleaned your knowledge from heaven or hell; it is accurate. this man is my evil genius, always and forever crossing my path, and overthrowing, as if in wantonness, my most cherished aspirations. i would sacrifice my whole fortune to avenge myself on him--to hold him, panting and despairing, in my power." "i thought we should end by coming to an understanding." "do not mock me, señor; my soul is deeply troubled. i could have forgiven this man his insolent good luck, his success in the world, where he thrives at my expense, the heaps of gold he wins with such proud indifference,--i say, i could have forgiven him all this, if he had not destroyed my sweetest hopes in tearing from me the heart of her i love; for although i have no tangible proof to corroborate my suspicions, i have tonight acquired a moral certainty impossible to controvert. a lover's heart does not deceive him; jealousy is sharp-sighted. on the appearance of don fernando at don pedro de luna's, i found in him a rival, and a rival who is preferred to me." "if you choose, i will rid you of don fernando, and deliver doña hermosa into your hands." "you will do that?" cried don torribio, beside himself with joy. "i will do it," briefly responded the stranger. "before two days are over, you shall have your revenge on both. but it all depends upon your own will." "ah! if that is all," said the other, with an indescribable expression of rage, "i will do all you ask, i will agree to all your demands, to the utmost of my power." "take heed, don torribio; we are about to enter into a compact--a compact, the conditions of which you must fulfil at all hazards." "whatever they may be, i will fulfil them, if you secure my twofold revenge." "good! swear to me, by all you hold most sacred in this world, that, whatever may happen, whatever determination you may arrive at hereafter, you will never divulge what is going to pass between us." "i swear to you, _a fe de_ caballero," (on the honour of a gentleman), "señor. speak with all confidence." "just now you asked me who i am: i am the tigercat!" don torribio shuddered involuntarily on hearing this redoubtable name, but recovered himself immediately. "very good," said he; "the name you reveal is a guarantee of success to my vengeance." "yes," said the bandit, chuckling, "i dare say it is; my reputation has been established a long time on the frontiers. in the meantime, this is what i exact of you. ponder well what you are about to hear--reflect seriously on what i am going to propose--before you answer; for, i repeat once more, i will compel you to act up to the conditions when once you have accepted them." "speak," he replied impatiently; "have i not told you i am longing for revenge?" "hear me, then, and remember your oath. i am at this moment preparing an expedition against san lucar, of which i intend to gain possession at any price. for certain reasons, which need not be mentioned, i have assembled several tribes of the apaches and a considerable number of _vaqueros_, who are concealed not far from hence, and only await my signal to fall, like tigers thirsting for blood, upon the _pueblo_, as it is gorged with wealth. an active and intelligent ally, upon whom i counted to execute this bold _coup-de-main_, has deserted me at the last moment. you alone can replace him: will you do so?" "what is this?" exclaimed don torribio, shuddering; "it is treason you propose!" "no," replied the other, in a deep voice, "it is revenge!--consummate vengeance, by which i shall confound your enemies, and those who have applauded their success, while they laughed in scorn at each of your disasters." "what! i, don torribio quiroga, belonging to one of the oldest families in the country; i am to associate--" he hesitated and paused. the tigercat laughed with disdain. "with bandits and redskins, you would say, and wage war on your own countrymen. why hesitate to pronounce the words? as for me, those qualifications have no value. i offer you revenge on your countrymen, who have become your enemies in siding with your adversary. you are about to engage in a duel. in a duel, all feints to kill your opponent are lawful. but these are my conditions, and i will not alter them a tittle. i will give you twenty-four hours for consideration." a long silence ensued between the two men. the night was dark; the wind howled mournfully through the branches of the trees; nameless noises passed them by, borne on the wings of the breeze. at last don torribio answered in husky tones: "you have given me twenty-four hours; i demand forty-eight to come to my determination. i will make one more attempt with her i love. you see, i am frank with you. the line of conduct i adopt will depend upon the result of the experiment." "be it so," said the tigercat; "it is better thus. your cooperation will be more efficacious, and your will firmer, when your last allusion has been torn from you. go, then! for my part, i shall not be idle." "thanks! in case i want to communicate to you my resolve, where shall i find you?" "i will await you at the barranca del fraile" (the friar's inn). "agreed! god grant," he added, with a sigh, "that fate may not force me to be there!" the tigercat laughed aloud; and, without replying, spurred his horse, and disappeared in the darkness. we have already related how the old freebooter acted to keep his promise to don torribio. the desertion among the apaches, brought about by the influence of the _amantzin_, on the night when the tigercat left them to repair to the rendezvous arranged with stoneheart, had not been as successful as the sorcerer had hoped. the sudden return of the old chief sufficed to restore his authority among the apaches, who had long been accustomed to obey him, and whose raids against the frontier had always been productive of booty when he commanded them. the tigercat had not even taken the trouble to punish the _amantzin_ himself--the zopilote had taken care of that; and the summary execution had produced an excellent effect upon those rugged and savage minds, which brute force alone can tame. nevertheless, he had no wish to damp the renewed devotion shown him by the redskins; and, although his final dispositions were not yet made, and the defection of stoneheart was a serious hindrance to his plans, he comprehended the necessity of hurrying on his expedition, even at the risk of seeing it fail, calculating on turning to his own profit the hatred of don torribio, whose high standing in the province might be very useful to him. he assembled all the indians able to bear arms of whom he could dispose, crossed the rio grande del norte; and these vultures fell like a devastating hurricane on the luckless indian frontier,--burning, pillaging, slaughtering, and passing like a horrible plague over those magnificent plains which they left behind them a desert. don torribio quiroga was one of the first to learn the tidings of the indian invasion. the news gave him an indescribable feeling of mingled joy and regret. he guessed that the tigercat wished to give him a proof of the sincerity of his intentions towards him, and of the manner in which he meant to keep the promise he had given. up to that time a prey to a thousand conflicting feelings, he now resolved to settle his doubts at once, and to learn positively what he had to hope or fear from doña hermosa and her father. towards nine o'clock in the morning, he called for his horse, and, in spite of the danger he would certainly incur in the short space between the presidio and the hacienda, he managed to leave san lucar, on which the indians were rapidly moving, and rode at full speed towards el cormillo. about half way to the hacienda his horse started at several dead bodies lying across the road, riddled with wounds; but he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts to pay much attention to the ominous reencounter. as he rode past, he cast a careless look at the corpses, and continued his road without further thought of the incident. either designedly, or because they knew the futility of an attack on the hacienda, the apaches had deviated from their furious course, so as not to approach it. when don torribio arrived, he found it in a perfect state of defence: the gates shut and barricaded with care, the windows blocked and loopholed; and he saw the bayonets of the numerous garrison gleaming above the walls in the sunshine. the sentries placed at the principal entrance gave admittance to don torribio, but not before they had questioned and recognised him. a _peon_ received and conducted him to the drawing room. he found three persons there: don pedro de luna, ña manuela, and don estevan diaz, who, pale and bloody, was lying upon a sofa, apparently asleep. his mother, seated beside him, watched his slumbers with that tender solicitude which belongs to mothers only. don torribio took a few hesitating steps forward, and stopped in surprise when he perceived that no one seemed to notice his presence. at last don pedro raised his eyes, and looking at him coldly, said, "oh! is it you, cousin? how does it happen that you are here today?" "had i no other motive," replied don torribio, troubled by a reception he had not anticipated, and foreseeing a storm, "the lively interest i take in your family would have made it my duty to be here now." "i thank you, cousin," said don pedro still more coldly, "for the proof of sympathy you are kind enough to give us. but you might have remembered that el cormillo is in a perfect state of defence, and that we run no danger behind these walls, before you exposed yourself to be assassinated on the road, as has nearly happened to our poor don estevan." "has he been set upon?" asked don torribio. "yes," dryly replied the hacendero; "he and another person, who, less lucky than estevan, is most likely dead. did you not know it?" "i!" exclaimed don torribio, with an accent of truth there was no mistaking; "how should i know?" "excuse me, cousin; i am so troubled at what has occurred, that i hardly know what i am saying." don torribio bowed, and then replied: "may i not have the pleasure of offering my homage to my charming cousin?" "you must excuse her; she has retired to her room. the poor child is so distracted by the late extraordinary events, that she is unable to see any one--not even you." "i am the more grieved at this indisposition, as i wished to have some conversation with her on a matter of moment." "so much the worse, cousin; so much the worse. the time is ill chosen to speak of business, as you must allow, when the indians are at our gates, devastating our fields and burning our dwellings." "true, cousin; i acknowledge the justice of your remark. unfortunately, i find myself placed by chance in such extraordinary circumstances, that if i might persist--" "it would be useless, my dear don torribio," said don pedro, interrupting him, and exhibiting a certain degree of stiffness. "i have the honour to tell you that my daughter cannot have the pleasure of seeing you today." "then pray, cousin, excuse my inopportune intrusion. perhaps i shall be more lucky another day." "that is it; some other day, when we have got rid of these cursed pagans, and have no longer a horrible death in perspective." "and now," said don torribio, with ill-suppressed rage, "as i perceive that, owing to your abstraction doubtless, you have not even offered me a seat, cousin, i have no more to do than offer my good wishes for your safety, and take my leave of you." the hacendero did not seem to observe the tone of ill humour in which these words were uttered. "good-bye, then, don torribio," said he, "and a lucky journey. above all things, be prudent, and do not travel with your eyes shut. the roads are infested by brigands, and i should be in despair if you met with mishap." "i thank you for your advice, and will follow it," he replied, turning to leave the room. just at this moment don estevan--who, as we have said, appeared to be sleeping--opened his eyes, and perceived don torribio. his look brightened. "mother," said he in a feeble voice, "and you, don pedro, do me the favour to leave me alone with this caballero for a short time. i have a few words to say to him in private." "to me, señor?" asked don torribio, in a tone so haughty it sounded like disdain. "to yourself, señor don torribio quiroga," replied the wounded man, whose voice grew stronger under the excitement of his feelings. "you are very weak, my son, for a conversation with any one," said manuela. "perhaps, my friend," said don pedro, "it would be more prudent to defer it for a few days." "no," was the reply; "it must be today--must be this instant." "just as you please, headstrong!" said don pedro. "we will go into the anteroom, where we shall be within call. come, manuela." don estevan kept his eyes fixed on the door till it closed behind them; then he turned to don torribio, who was still standing in the centre of the room. "come nearer, señor, that you may be better able to hear what i have to say to you." "i am listening to you, señor; but, at the same time, must beg you not to delay your communication." "you shall have it. i warn you, that i tore the mask from one of the bandits who attacked us, and recognised him." "i am at a loss to understand," said don torribio. "oh! you do not understand, señor! it is the answer i expected. i suppose, likewise, you do not know the name of the person who accompanied me, and on whom the _vaqueros_ fell with such indescribable fury?" "i am perfectly ignorant as to who he was," said don torribio, quite unmoved. "better and better! learn, then, that it was don fernando carril who was killed." and he cast a look pregnant with irony at the man standing beside him. "don fernando carril!--killed!" exclaimed the latter, stupefied. don estevan smiled disdainfully. "listen once more to this," he continued in threatening tones. "if don fernando is not brought to this hacienda within twenty-four hours, i will reveal to don pedro and his daughter the name of his assassin. i think you understand me this time?" and, overcome with grief, he sank half fainting on his couch. don torribio remained a moment, annihilated with the words he had heard; but, immediately recovering his presence of mind, he quickly left the hacienda, and galloped into the plains, muttering as he rode: "the tigercat was right: there is nothing left for me but to seek the barranca del fraile." chapter ix. the prisoner. we must now explain to our readers what happened after the fall of don fernando carril, when he was made the victim of an ambuscade. when his hand was no longer able to raise his sword, and he had fallen by the side of his companion, the men in masks--who had been chary of approaching too near him, out of respect for the blade he wielded so well, as proved by the bodies of four bandits lying on the sand beside him? rushed all at once upon him. don fernando carril lay on his back showing no signs of life. a deadly, pallor overspread his noble features; his half-opened lips disclosed his clenched teeth; blood was flowing in torrents from the many wounds he had received; and his hand still clasped the weapon with which he had so long held his assailants at bay. "_¡caspita!_" cried one, looking at him attentively; "here is a young gentleman who is seriously hurt. what will the master say?" "what would you have him say, señor carlocho?" said another; "he defended himself like a lion. it is his own fault. he ought to have let himself be taken nicely, and all this would not have happened. look! we have lost four men." "a pretty loss indeed, those four fellows there! i would rather he had killed six than be in the state he is now." "the devil!" muttered the other bandit; "that is no compliment to us, you know." "that will do; that will do. help me to bind up his wounds as well as we can, and lose no time about it. this is no wholesome place for us; besides we are expected elsewhere; so be quick." without further discussion, the bandits hastened to obey the orders of carlocho. don fernando's wounds were bound up somehow; he was thrown across the horse of the _guacho_, who seemed to be leader of the expedition, and the party set off at full gallop, without further heed of those who had fallen in the struggle, and whose bodies were abandoned to the beasts of prey. after a very rapid ride of two hours, they reached an abandoned _rancho_. two men were awaiting their arrival with impatience. these two men were tigercat and don torribio. "well!" shouted the former, as soon as he saw them. "it is done!" said carlocho laconically, as he dismounted, took don fernando in his arms, and carried him to a bed of leaves. the latter showed no signs of life. "is he dead?" asked the tigercat. carlocho shook his head. "he is hardly better than dead," he replied. "wretch!" cried the indian chief in a fury; "is it thus you execute my orders? did i not command you to take him alive?" "hm!" said carlocho; "i only wish you had been there to see! an incarnate demon, who, armed only with a thin rapier, withstood us for more than twenty minutes, and only gave in after killing four of our bravest!" the tigercat smiled disdainfully. "you are all cowards," he said. and turning his back on the _vaquero_, he went up to don fernando. don torribio was already at his side. "is he dead?" he asked. "no," replied the mexican; "but nearly so." "so much the worse," muttered the old chief, "i would give a good deal for his recovery." don torribio looked at him with astonishment. "of what importance is the life of this man to us?" he said. "was he not your enemy?" "the very reason why i do not wish him to die." "i do not understand you." "i have devoted my life to the accomplishment of an idea; therefore i no longer belong to myself, and am bound to offer up my hate and friendship to my idea." "i admit that, up to a certain point: but how is it, then, that you have laid a trap for this man, who, according to your own account, is a traitor." "are men always to be harshly judged, even by those who are most intimate with them?" said the old chief, with a bitter smile. "what is it to me that the man may be a traitor? by putting him out of the way, without touching his life, i should have gained the end i had before me when i sought your alliance. after keeping him a prisoner for a few days, to prevent his counteracting your plans, and hindering your marriage with doña hermosa, i should have restored him to freedom. unluckily, it is too late now: what is done cannot be undone. the death of this man, obscurely slain in ambuscade, will do more to frustrate my plans than you imagine. his blood be upon your head! it is you who ordered this murder." "i!" replied don torribio. "you are mad!" the tigercat looked at his new ally with a stare of surprise, shrugged his shoulders, and whistled a mexican _seguidilla_. it was evident that don torribio had not understood a word of what had been uttered by this singular man, whose sole delight had hitherto been in slaughter. "pooh!" said he; "what does one, more or less, signify?" the indian chief stooped over the body of the wounded man, and examined it carefully. the eyes were closed, and the features had the paleness and rigidity of death. two or three _vaqueros_, aided by carlocho, rubbed his temples and chest incessantly with rum. after looking at the body attentively, the old chief drew a knife from his girdle, held the blade for two or three minutes across the mouth, withdrew it again, and examined it. he thought it was slightly tarnished; then he knelt down by don fernando, seized his left arm, ripped up the sleeve, and, having felt for the vein, pricked it with the delicate point of his knife. then followed an instant of anxious suspense. the looks of all were fixed on the wounded man. this attempt would be the last; if it did not succeed, all was over: he knew of no other means to recall him to life. the _vaqueros_ continued the friction. at the puncture made by the chief's knife, there appeared at last a dark speck; little by little it increased in size, till it grew into a black point, which finally became a bead of jet: this trembled for a moment, and then fell rolling down the arm, pressed forward by another which succeeded it, and immediately made room for a third; then the blood grew less black and less thick, and finally gushed out in a long vermillion stream. the tigercat could not repress a shout of triumph; don fernando was saved. in fact, after the lapse of a minute, the latter moved slightly and uttered a deep sigh. the indian chief rose, after binding up don fernando's arm and signed to pablito to follow him into another compartment of the _rancho_, requesting don torribio to remain for a time where he was. without waiting for the question which the _vaquero_ was about to ask, and which he saw playing about his finely chiselled lips, the chief began to speak with a feverish haste, betraying the secret agitation of his mind. "you see what has happened," he said. "but you yourself willed it so!" said pablito, utterly surprised. "yes, i did will it; and i thank god for having spared me this odious crime!" "if you are satisfied, all will go well." "but here is another matter. remember this: don torribio must be kept in the dark. to all the world, and to this man in particular, don fernando is dead." "speak on; i think i understand you." "don fernando's wounds, though many, are not severe. the loss of blood, and the speed with which he was brought hither, are the sole causes of the lethargy into which he has fallen, and out of which he will soon awake." "good; now, what am i to do?" "he must not see me." "very good; nothing can be easier." "nor must he recognise you." "that will be more difficult; he knows me well." "it is most important." "i will try." "and now, this is what you have to do." "i am all attention." "i must leave this place immediately; my presence is required elsewhere. as for you, you will have don fernando carried to the _presidio_, without his learning who has taken him thither." "to the _presidio_?" exclaimed pablito, astonished. "yes; it is the safest place," said the chief, drawing forth a paper cut to a certain shape; "you will take him to my house. he must not leave it on any pretence: above all, he must not know he is at the _presidio_." "is that all?" "it is. only, remember, you are answerable to me for him." "very well. at your orders i will produce him, alive or dead." "alive! his life is precious to me." "then i will do my best." "and now, pablito, be honest with me. can i trust you?" "well," said pablito, "since you are so much concerned about such a wretched affair, i will answer for your prisoner." "then farewell, and thanks," said the tigercat; "above all, remember to report to me tonight, in don torribio's presence, that his enemy is dead." "rely upon me for that." "no, no," muttered the old chief to himself; "he must not die: his life is too necessary for the accomplishment of my revenge." he rejoined don torribio, who had grown impatient. without exchanging a word, the two mounted the magnificent mustangs that were waiting for them, and disappeared amongst the foliage. pablito, twisting his moustache in ill humour, returned to the wounded man; the office intrusted to him was evidently unpalatable. however, as the _vaquero_ was an honest man enough, after his own fashion, and prided himself, among the numerous other good qualities he fancied he possessed, most especially on his adherence to his word, the thought of breaking it never entered his mind. "how is he?" he asked carlocho in a whisper. "a great deal better," replied the latter. "it is astonishing how much good the bleeding has done him; he has already opened his eyes twice and tried to speak." "hm! then we have no time to lose. put a bandage round the eyes of this fellow, and then, lest he should use his hands to remove it, tie them down to his sides. but, as this is only to be done for prudence' sake, i recommend you to use as much gentleness and delicacy as your nature is capable of. do you understand perfectly?" "yes, _¡canarios!_ one need not be a wizard to do that!" "well, make haste! i give you five minutes to obey my orders: in ten we shall be gone." the wounded man had indeed recovered a good deal of his strength. as the chief had declared, his wounds were not severe, and the loss of blood alone had occasioned the prostration in which he was lying. little by little he had recovered his senses sufficiently to know into whose hands he had fallen; and although too feeble to offer the slightest opposition whatever to the bandits at his side, his presence of mind had returned in a degree to enable him to comprehend that the greatest circumspection was necessary, to avoid arousing the suspicions as to his state in people who would not for a moment hesitate to sacrifice him to their safety. so, when carlocho, according to the injunctions of pablito, passed a folded handkerchief over his eyes, and bound his hands, he feigned entire insensibility, and allowed them to do as they pleased with him, secretly rejoiced at these precautions, which indicated that his life was safe for the present. "now, what is to be done?" asked carlocho. "two or three of you take up the wounded man, and carry him carefully to the boat i have in waiting close by. and pay particular attention to him, you fellows; for, at the first jolt, i will blow your brains out." "_caray!_" was all the _vaquero_ could utter, for surprise. "ah!" said pablito, with a shrug of his shoulders; "as you were fools enough not to kill him when you might have done so, so much the worse for you: now you shall mount guard over him. that shall teach you to introduce courtesy, or, if you like it better, clumsiness, into an ambuscade the next time." carlocho opened his eyes wide at this rodomontade, which he could not understand, but hastened to obey the order. don fernando was carried thus into a boat by pablito, carlocho, and a third _vaquero;_ while the remainder went off by land, taking their comrades' horses with them. three hours later, the prisoner, to whom his keepers had not spoken a word during the journey, was carried into the _presidio_, and shut up in a house lately hired by the tigercat in a fictitious name--a circumstance of which don fernando knew nothing. the bandage was taken from his eyes, his hands were freed; but a man in a mask, mute as a tomb, was placed in his chamber, and never left him. the wounded man, harassed by the journey, and weakened by the blood he had lost, resolved, for the present, to trust to chance for relief from his annoying and incomprehensible situation. he gave that apparently listless but all-observant glance around him which is peculiar to prisoners, and dropped off into a deep sleep, lasting many hours, and restoring to his mind all its coolness and original clearness. the people who served him, though masked and dumb, took the greatest care of him, and seemed to vie with each other in their endeavours to comply with his wishes, and satisfy his most capricious whims. in point of fact, his position was tolerable; at bottom, there was a spice of originality about it; and don fernando, convinced, at the end of two days' experience, that no attempt would be made on his life, but that, on the contrary, every effort was made to heal his wounds as quickly as possible, concluded to bear his lot bravely, in the expectation of better times. the third day of his captivity, don fernando, whose wounds were only sword cuts, and now nearly cicatrised, rose from his bed, partly to try his strength, and partly to look out and discover where he was: it was requisite to know the locality, in order to mature the scheme of escape he was already secretly planning. the weather was magnificent; the hot sunlight shone cheerfully in at the windows, tracing the bars on the floor of the chamber which served as his prison. it made him feel quite refreshed, and he tried to walk a few steps, still carefully watched by his inevitable guard, whose flaming eyes were never off him. suddenly a terrible clamour arose, and a round of artillery shook the panes. "what is that?" asked don fernando. his keeper shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply. the sharp cracking of muskets was now mingled with the roar of the guns; and it became evident that a hard fight was going on somewhere in the neighbourhood. his keeper, imperturbable as ever, closed the windows. don fernando went up to him. the two men stared at each other for a moment. many a time had the wounded man addressed a question to this stolid sentry without eliciting an answer, and now he hesitated a little before making a fresh attempt. "friend," said he, at last, in a gentle voice, "what is going on out of doors?" the man remained mute. "answer me, in the name of heaven!" continued the querist; "i ask but little. surely you would not overstep your instructions by telling me thus much?" just then the clamour seemed to draw nearer; hurried steps, mingled with outcries, sounded close at hand. his keeper rose uneasily, drew his machete (knife) from its sheath, pulled a pistol from his belt, and went towards the door; but on a sudden it was violently opened, and a man rushed into the room, his face blanched with terror. "up! on your guard;" cried he; "we are lost!" his keeper made a sign for don fernando to keep back, and placed himself resolutely in front of the door, where four men, masked and armed to the teeth, had just made their appearance. "back!" cried the keeper; "no one enters here without a watchword!" "here you have it," answered one of the men at the door, as, with a pistol, he blew out the keeper's brains. the four men stepped over his body, seized and bound his comrade, who had crouched down in the farthest corner of the room, and advanced to don fernando, who was wondering at the strange scene. "you are at liberty, caballero," said one of the four. "come, you must leave this house at once." "first of all, who are you?" replied don fernando; "who are you, who proclaim yourselves my liberators?" "we have no time for explanations," answered the man in the mask. "make haste and follow us." "not before i know who you are." the other gave an impatient stamp, and, stooping down, whispered in his ear: "madman! have you no wish to see doña hermosa again?" don fernando reddened with pleasure. "i follow you," said he. "here," said the mask, "take these pistols and this sword; we have not done our work yet. we may still have fighting before us." "yes!" exclaimed don fernando joyfully; "i now see that you are really sent to save me. i will follow wherever you may lead." and he seized the weapons, and placed them in his girdle. they hastily left the house. "what!" cried don fernando, as he put his foot out of doors, "am i at the _presidio_ of san lucar?" "did you not know it?" asked his guide. "how was it possible? i was brought here with my eyes bandaged." in the court several horses, ready saddled, were tied to rings in the wall. "could you keep your saddle?" said the stranger. "i hope so," replied don fernando. "you must," said the stranger peremptorily. "then i will, even if i die in it." "good: let us mount and be gone." at the very moment they were issuing into the street, a troop of ten or twelve mounted men were coming up at full gallop: they were not more than twenty paces off. "here are the enemy," said the stranger in deep and low tones; "we must charge and ride over them, or die." the five men formed in line, and rushed like a thunderbolt upon the newcomers, at whom they discharged their pistols point-blank, and then cut their way with the sword. "_¡caray!_" screamed pablito, in a fury--for it was he who commanded the troop--"my prisoner is escaping." spurring his horse, he dashed at don fernando. but the latter, without drawing bridle, fired a pistol; and the _vaquero's_ horse, struck by a ball in the forehead, rolled to the ground, bearing his rider with him. pablito rose, half killed by the fall. the men who had attacked him so briskly had disappeared. "never mind; i shall find them again," he cried. in the meantime, the fugitives had reached the bank of the river, and found a boat waiting for them. "we must part here," said the stranger, taking off his mask. "estevan!" cried don fernando. "myself," replied the _mayor domo_. "this boat will take you to the hacienda del cormillo. go there without delay, and," he added, as he placed in his hands a paper folded into four, "read this attentively; perhaps you will have to come to the rescue in your turn." "be assured on that score: i have my revenge to take." "farewell, my friend." "shall i see doña hermosa?" "i am forbidden to talk on the subject." "another question, then. do you know who kept me prisoner?" "yes; there were two--the tigercat and don torribio." "indeed!" said don fernando, frowning. "i will not forget them. once more, thanks estevan." he sat down in the boat, and gave a sign to the rowers. they were soon in rapid motion, and speedily lost in the shadows of the darkening night. three persons remained on the bank anxiously watching the course of the frail boat. these three persons were estevan diaz, doña hermosa, and ña manuela. chapter x. the camp of the redskins. the extreme care of don pedro and his daughter soon restored don estevan to perfect health. his first care was to reveal to the hacendero, in accordance with his threat to don torribio, the name of the man who had originated the dastardly attack on don fernando, and into whose hands he had fallen. after that communication, don torribio was a lost man in the estimation of don pedro and his daughter. having accomplished this piece of revenge, the _mayor domo_ undertook the duty of discovering tidings of his friend. chance favoured him by throwing el zapote in his way. the worthy and conscientious _vaquero_ was just then in the best humour for giving all the information required, in consequence of having that very morning, by a ruinous run of ill luck which fastened upon him been utterly cleaned out at _monte_, and left without an _ochavo_ (a farthing). by the help of a few ounces of gold, the _mayor domo_ contrived to learn, in the minutest detail, all that had passed, and the place where don fernando was concealed. as soon as he had learned all he wanted, don estevan left the _vaquero_, and hastened his return to the hacienda. doña hermosa was no ordinary woman. she was gifted with much energy, and, moreover, loved don fernando. she resolved to set him free; but held her tongue, in the fear of making don pedro uneasy. she merely expressed a wish to spend a day or two at the hacienda of las norias; to which don pedro consented, on condition of her taking with her a strong escort of resolute and well-armed _peones_. instead of going to the hacienda, the girl went to the _presidio_, into which she managed to find her way unnoticed by the indians. once in the _presidio_, she revealed her project to don estevan. the _mayor domo_ was astounded at her coolness as she detailed the plan she had conceived--a plan in which not only herself, but also don estevan's mother, was to act a part. all his efforts to make her renounce her project were futile; willing or unwilling, he was forced to obey. when they could no longer see the boat with don fernando, her foster brother turned to doña hermosa. "now, señorita, what are you going to do next?" she answered succinctly: "i am going to visit the camp of the apaches and see don torribio." the _mayor domo_ shuddered. "dishonour and death await you there," said he in a hoarse, low voice. "no," she replied firmly; "only revenge." "you wish for revenge?" "i demand it." "very well," he replied; "i will obey you. go and get ready; i myself will escort you to the camp of the redskins." the three returned to don pedro's house without exchanging a syllable. night had now fairly set in. the streets were deserted: a deathlike silence pervaded the town, which for two days the indians had been sacking; and their diabolical figures could be perceived, as they passed and repassed among the still flaming ruins. when they arrived at the house, don estevan stopped short in the court. "ponder well what you are about to do, señorita," said he. "why must you avenge yourself? have you not secured the safety of him you love?" "yes; but he has barely escaped death. the first atrocious attempt has failed; the second may succeed. don torribio has wounded me in my most cherished affections. my resolve is taken; he shall feel a woman's vengeance." "can nothing change your resolve?" "nothing," said she, coldly. "then make your preparations, señorita; i will wait for you here." the two women entered the house together, while don estevan seated himself on one of the steps of the porch. his watching was not long: in ten minutes they returned. both were clothed in the apache dress; the paint smeared upon their faces completed the illusion, and secured them from recognition. the transformation was so perfect, that don estevan could not repress his admiration. "nothing could be better," he exclaimed; "you are indian women indeed." "do you think," said doña hermosa bitterly, "that don torribio has the sole right of deception and assuming any character at his pleasure?" "who can strive against a woman?" said the _mayor domo_, with a shrug. "and now, what are your orders?" "very simple; your escort as far as the first indian lines." "and after that?" "the rest of the affair is our work." "but are you really dreaming of remaining alone in the midst of these pagans?" "it is no dream; it is my immovable resolve to stay there." "and you, mother?" said her son sadly; "are you, too, determined to throw yourself into the hands of the savages?" "be comforted, my son," replied the dame; "i run no danger." "and yet--" "estevan," said doña hermosa, interrupting him, "i will answer for your mother's safety." the _mayor domo_ was thoroughly discouraged. "then," said he, "i can only commend you to heaven." "let us go," said doña hermosa, wrapping the folds of her cloak around her. don estevan led the way. the night was dark. here and there the dying watch fires in the _presidio_, round which the besieged were sleeping, threw a pale and uncertain glimmer over the surrounding objects, without affording sufficient light to guide them through the increasing obscurity. a mournful silence brooded over the town, interrupted at intervals by the hoarse cries of the vultures, _urubus_, and prairie wolves, quarrelling over the corpses of the slain, and dragging hither and thither morsels of bleeding flesh. the three pushed resolutely forward amidst the ruins, stumbling over fragments of fallen walls, striding over dead bodies, and disturbing the horrid feast of the birds of prey, that flew off uttering screams of anger. thus they traversed the whole length of the town, and arrived at last, with desperate difficulty, and after making many circuits, at one of the barriers opposite the camp of the redskins, from which numberless fires were glancing, and shouts and songs were heard. the sentries, after exchanging a few words with their guide, allowed the three to pass, a few paces farther on, don estevan halted, and stopped his companions. "look, doña hermosa," said he in a whisper; "there is the camp of the redskins before you. if i went farther with you, my escort would prove fatal. i must stop here: only a few steps separate you from your object." "thanks!" said the girl, stretching out her hand. don estevan retained it between his own. "señorita, one word more." "speak, dear friend." "i conjure you, in the name of all you hold dear in the world, to renounce your project. trust to my experience while it is yet time: return to the hacienda del cormillo; you know not the danger to which you expose yourself." "estevan," replied the girl firmly, "whatever be the danger, i will brave it: nothing can change my resolve. farewell! i shall soon see you again." "farewell!" repeated the _mayor domo_. doña hermosa turned away in the direction of the indian camp. ña manuela hesitated a moment, and then threw herself into the arms of her son. "alas!" cried he, excited by the emotions terrible to witness in such a man; "stay with me, mother, i implore you!" "what!" said the noble woman, pointing to doña hermosa, "shall i leave her to sacrifice herself alone?" don estevan was unable to reply. manuela embraced him once more, then tore herself with a violent effort from the arms of her son, who vainly strove to restrain her, and hurried to join hermosa. the _mayor domo_ followed them with his eyes as long as he could distinguish them in the obscurity; than, uttering a heart-felt sigh, he retraced his steps, muttering as he went: "if i can only get there in time--if it has only not yet reached don josé de kalbris!" just as don estevan arrived at the fort, the governor was leaving it, in company with don torribio quiroga. but the mexican, absorbed in the ideas which were harassing his brain, did not notice them, although they passed so close to him that he might have touched them. this fatal accident was the cause of irreparable misfortune. having left don estevan, the two women wandered about at a venture, directing their steps towards the fires in front of them. on getting within a certain distance, they, stopped to recruit their spirits, and to calm the throbbing of their hearts, which beat almost to bursting. they were now within a few paces of the indian _toldos_ (huts); the rash and hazardous nature of their undertaking presented itself in all its force, and the poor women felt their courage gradually oozing away, in spite of the resolution which had animated them. their hearts turned to stone at the thought of the horrible drama in which they were going to act the principal characters. strange to say, it was manuela who restored her companion to the firmness which was abandoning her. "señorita," she said to her, "it is now my turn to act as guide; if you will only consent to follow my council, i hope to be able to avoid all the danger with which we are threatened." "speak, nurse; let me hear what you propose." "we must first drop these cloaks, which hide our dress, and betray that we are whites." in saying this she threw off her mantle, and cast it away. doña hermosa followed her example. "now walk by my side; show no fear, whatever may happen; and, above all, do not utter a single word, unless we are hopelessly lost." "i obey you," said hermosa. "we are to be two indian women," continued manuela, "who have made a vow to wacondah for the recovery of their wounded father; and once again, no words from your mouth." "let us go on. may god protect us!" "amen!" said manuela, devoutly crossing herself. they continued their journey, and, five minutes afterwards, entered the camp of the redskins. the indians, intoxicated with the easy triumph they had gained over the mexicans, were giving vent to their joy. there were nothing but singing and dancing everywhere. some casks of _aguardiente_, discovered in the old _presidio_ and in the pillaged _haciendas_, had been dragged into camp, and staved. on this account, unexampled disorder and a nameless hubbub prevailed among the indians, whom drunkenness makes raving mad, and excites to the most hideous excesses. the power of the _sachems_ was disowned: moreover, the greater number of them were in the same state as the warriors; and there can be no doubt that, if the inhabitants of san lucar had been in sufficient force to attempt a surprise, they might have made a frightful massacre of the savages, brutalised as they were by strong liquors, and incapable of defending themselves. profiting by the disorder, the two women climbed over the ramparts of the camp without being observed. then, their hearts palpitating with terror, and with shivering limbs, they glided like serpents between the knots of indians, passing unnoticed through the midst of the drinkers; seeking at haphazard, and trusting to providence or their good angel to find among the scattered _toldos_ the hovel which served as a habitation to the great paleface. they had already been some time roaming about in this manner, without lighting on any unpleasant adventure. emboldened by success, their fears nearly dissipated, they were exchanging looks of encouragement, when suddenly an indian of athletic stature seized doña hermosa round the waist, and, lifting her from the ground, gave her a boisterous kiss on the neck. at this unexpected insult, she uttered a shriek of terror, and making a superhuman effort, freed herself from his arms, pushing him from her with all her strength. the savage staggered backwards, and, too drunk to keep his legs, dropped to the ground, giving vent to a cry of rage; but, springing up in an instant, he rushed like a jaguar on hermosa. ña manuela threw herself hastily before her. "back!" said she, resolutely placing her hand on the indian's chest; "this girl is my sister." "el zopilote is a brave who never puts up with an insult," replied the savage, frowning, and unsheathing his knife. "will you kill her?" exclaimed manuela in terror. "yes, i will kill her, unless she consents to follow me to my _toldo_. she shall be the wife of a chief." "you are mad," said manuela. "your _toldo_ is full, and there is no room for another fire." "there is room for two," replied the indian, grinning. "since you are her sister, you shall go with her." the noise collected a crowd of indians round the two women, who were thus the centre of a circle it would have been impossible to break through. manuela instantly comprehended the danger of their situation; she saw they were all but lost. "well," continued el zopilote, seizing in his left hand hermosa's hair, and twisting it round his wrist, at the same time brandishing his scalp knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my _toldo?_" the poor girl cowered down; half recumbent upon the ground, she awaited the mortal blow. manuela drew herself up to her full height; her eyes flashed fire; she arrested the arm of el zopilote, and addressed him thus: "since thou wilt have it so, dog, let thy destiny be fulfilled! behold, the wacondah allows not his servants to be insulted with impunity." hitherto manuela had contrived to keep herself in such a position that her face was shaded as much as possible, and no one had remarked her features; now she turned her head towards the full light of the fires. on seeing the fantastic lines of paint, the indians gave utterance to a cry of surprise, and recoiled in terror. manuela smiled at her triumph: she resolved to complete it. "the power of the wacondah is boundless," she cried; "woe to him who would oppose his schemes: he it is who sends me. back, all!" grasping the arm of doña hermosa, who had scarcely recovered from her terrible emotion, she advanced to the edge of the circle. the indians hesitated. manuela extended her arm in an attitude of supreme command; the outwitted savages opened to right and left, and gave them passage. "i shall die," faintly whispered doña hermosa. "courage!" replied manuela, "we are saved." "_wagh!_" said a jeering voice; "what is passing here?" and a man placed himself before the two women. "the _amantzin!_" muttered the indians; and taking fresh courage, they again crowded round their prisoners. manuela shuddered, overcome with despair at seeing her hopes annihilated; still the resolute woman determined to make one more effort. "the wacondah loves the indians," she said; "it is he who sends me the _amantzin_ of the apache braves." "indeed!" said the sorcerer, with a sneer; "and what does he want with me?" "none but yourself may hear." "_wagh!_" said the _amantzin_, placing his hand on her shoulder, and looking at her attentively; "what proof can you give me of the mission with which the all-powerful spirit has charged you?" "will you save me?" said manuela, whispering rapidly in his ear. "that depends on her," answered the sorcerer, fixing his glittering eyes on the girl. "see!" said manuela, presenting to him the rich bracelets of gold and pearls she took from her arms. "_wagh!_" replied the sorcerer, hiding them in his bosom; "they are beautiful! what does my mother require?" "first of all, to be freed from these men." "and afterwards?" "deliver us first." "it shall be as you will." the indians had remained motionless, impassive spectators of the scene. they had heard nothing of this short conversation. the _amantzin_ turned towards them, exhibiting a countenance distorted with fear. "fly!" said he in terrible accents; "this woman brings misfortune! the wacondah is angry! fly, all; fly!" the indians, who had only been restored to confidence by the advent of their sorcerer, seeing him a prey to a terror they could not comprehend, first crowded together, and then dispersed, without asking further questions. as soon as they had disappeared behind the _toldos_, the sorcerer turned to the two women. "am i able to protect you?" he asked. "yes," replied manuela; "and i thank my father, who is as powerful as he is wise." a smile of gratified pride just formed itself on the lips of the cautious indian. "i am powerful to avenge myself on those who deceive me," said he. "therefore i shall not attempt to deceive my father." "whence comes my white daughter," he asked. "from the ark of the first man," replied manuela, looking him steadily in the face. the _amantzin_ blushed. "my daughter has the forked tongue of the _congouar_," he said. "does she take me for a lizard, that one can entrap like an old woman?" "here is a necklace," she replied, offering a rich string of pearls to the indian; "the wacondah gave it me for the wise man of the apaches." "_wagh!_" said the _amantzin;_ "my mother cannot lie; she is wise. what more can i do for her?" and he slipped the necklace into the same receptacle with the bracelets. "my father must lead me to the _toldo_ of the great white chief who fights in the ranks of the apache warriors." "my daughter would speak to the white chief?" "i would." "the white chief is a wise man; will he admit women?" "let not that trouble my father; tonight i must speak with the white chief." "good; my mother shall speak to him. but this woman?" and he pointed to doña hermosa. "that woman," answered manuela, "is a friend of the tigercat. she too is charged with a mission to the _sachem._" the sorcerer shook his head. "the warriors must spin the vicuña wool," said he, "since women make war, and sit at the council fire." "my father errs; the _sachem_ loves my sister." "no," replied the indian. "let us see if my father will refuse to lead me to the _toldo_ of the great chief," said manuela, impatient at the tergiversations of the _amantzin_, and dreading the return of her persecutors. "let him beware, the great chief expects us." the sorcerer cast a piercing look at her, which manuela bore without casting down her eyes. "good," said he; "my mother does not lie. follow me." grasping each of the women by a wrist, he placed himself between them, and began to guide them through the labyrinthine confusion of the camp. the indians they met on their road avoided them with unequivocal signs of terror. the _amantzin_ was by no means displeased with what had happened: he was radiant with joy; for, besides the profit derived from meeting the women, the incident which occurred in consequence had tended to confirm his power in the eyes of the credulous and superstitious indians, who believed him to be really inspired by the wacondah. a quarter of an hour's difficult walking brought them to the _toldo_, in front of which the totem (standard) of the assembled tribes was planted, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors. "this is the place," said the sorcerer to manuela. "good; let my father give orders that we enter alone." "am i to leave you?" "yes; my father can wait for us outside," "i will wait," briefly replied he, casting a suspicious look on them. at a sign from the _amantzin_, the sentries placed before the _toldo_ made way for the women. they entered with trepidation: the dwelling was unoccupied. they were unable to repress a sigh of satisfaction. the absence of don torribio gave them time to prepare for the interview doña hermosa so greatly desired. the _amantzin_ remained standing at the entrance to the _toldo_. this man, lately raised to the dignity through the influence of the tigercat, was his tool, and acted as his spy. chapter xi. the renegade. don torribio quiroga and don josé kalbris urged on their horses, in order to get beyond the defences of the _presidio_ as soon as possible. the governor was rejoicing at the reinforcement the general commanding in the province had sent him. he knew it would be an easy task to compel the indians to raise the siege of the _presidio_ when once the troops marching up had joined him. indeed, he counted upon profiting by the opportunity to give the apaches--those untiring ravagers of the mexican frontiers--such a rude lesson, that it would be long before they again attempted an inroad into the territory of the confederation. they now arrived at one of the barriers, guarded by a strong detachment of _vaqueros_ and townspeople. "we must pass through here," said don torribio to the governor. "the night is dark, bands of these indian vagabonds are prowling about all over the country, and we shall most probably have to ride a league or two before we meet our men. i think it will be scarcely prudent for us to venture forth without an escort." "a very just remark," said don josé. "you must recollect that you are the governor of the _presidio,_" continued don torribio, with a strange smile. "the consequences would be very serious for the town if the indians were to attack us, and take us prisoners. i do not mention this on my own account, but on yours: i should be a prize of little value to the savages; but with you it is a very different matter. i beg you to consider this carefully, before we go any farther." "by heaven! you are quite right colonel; it would be an unpardonable imprudence. so i think the best thing we can do is to take an escort." "i think it would be advantageous," said don torribio. "how many men will you take?" "oh, a dozen, at the most." "no; take a score. we cannot tell whom we may fall in with on our road at this time of night. suppose we were to be set upon by a couple of hundred indians! we ought to be able to show them a front." "let it be a score, then, if you like," answered don josé, with perfect indifference; "and be good enough to choose them yourself." "make your mind easy," said torribio. with that he rode up to the guard, who had turned out on the governor's arrival, and picked out twenty horseman, whom he ordered to form behind them. "now," said he to the governor, "we are ready to march." "then let us go," said the latter, giving his horse his head. the escort put itself in motion, and followed don josé kalbris and colonel torribio quiroga at about twenty paces' interval. all went well for nearly an hour, when the governor began to grow restless, in spite of don torribio's lively conversation. the latter kept up a constant fire of jokes and sparkling repartees, laying himself out to amuse don josé, and had never before proved so agreeable a companion. "excuse me, colonel," said the governor, coming to a halt; "but is it not extraordinary that we see no signs of the troops we are going to meet?" "not at all, señor; perhaps the officer in command is waiting for my return, before he leads his men into roads with which he is unacquainted." "it is just possible," said the governor, after a minute's reflection. "i think it highly probable," said don torribio; "and, in that case, we have nearly another league before we can meet him." "then we had better push on." they resumed their march, but without renewing their conversation. both of them seemed absorbed in meditation. at times don torribio raised his head, and looked carefully about him. all of a sudden they heard the distant neigh of a horse. "what is that?" said don torribio. "most likely the troops we are looking for," replied the governor. "perhaps," answered the other; "but we had better be cautious." requesting the governor to stop where he was, he set spurs to his horse, and riding forward was soon lost in the darkness. having ridden a short distance, he dismounted, applied his ear to the ground, and listened. "_¡demonios!_" he exclaimed, hastily rising and throwing himself into the saddle; "they are pursuing us! can that vagabond, don estevan, have recognised me? there is not a moment to lose!" "well, what is it?" asked the governor, as don torribio rode back to him. "nothing," said don torribio shortly; "nothing of interest to you." "then--" "then," retorted the other, laying his hand on the governor's left arm, "don josé kalbris, surrender; you are my prisoner." "what do you say?" replied the astounded veteran. "are you mad, don torribio?" "call me no longer don torribio: i am a nameless, homeless wretch, whom the thirst for vengeance has driven amongst the apaches." "treason!" exclaimed the governor. "to the rescue, men! defend your colonel!" "these men will not help you, don josé; they are in my pay. surrender, i say!" "i will not surrender," said the governor resolutely. "don torribio, or whatever else you may call yourself, you are a coward!" he gave his horse the spur, shook off don torribio's hold, and drew his sword. at the same time, the rapid approach of horsemen was heard in the distance. "aha!" said the governor, cocking a pistol; "here comes aid!" "yes," replied don torribio; "but it comes too late." and he ordered the _vaqueros_ to surround don josé, and attack him. a couple of shots from the governor's pistol laid two of them in the dust; and a terrible combat began. don josé, knowing all hope of safety to be gone, determined to sell his life dearly, and did wonders. an accomplished horseman, he parried the blows aimed at him, and struck fiercely into the men crowding upon him with savage vociferations. in the meantime, the thundering gallop of the approaching horsemen grew louder. don torribio saw it was time to make a finish, and shot the governor's horse through the head. don josé came violently to the ground, but was up again in a moment, and aimed a blow at the renegade, which the latter avoided by a dexterous movement. then the gallant old soldier put the muzzle of his pistol to his own forehead. "a man like me," said he, "never surrenders to dogs like you; here, curs, quarrel over my body!" with these words he blew his brains out. just then several shots were fired, and a troop of horsemen fell, like a whirlwind, upon the _vaqueros_. don estevan and major barnum led the assailants. the conflict did not last long. don torribio gave a loud whistle, and the _vaqueros_ went to the right-about, and, scattering in all directions, were soon lost sight of. seven or eight remained dead on the field. "what is to be done?" said major barnum. "nothing!" replied don estevan sorrowfully; "we are too late. don josé has killed himself rather than submit to be carried off by these dogs." "he was a noble soldier!" said the major; "but how can we get at the rascals again?" "we will let them alone, major: they are in camp by this time. trust me, we shall soon learn to read this riddle." the _mayor domo_ dismounted, and cut with his _machete_ a branch of the resinous pinewood, which grows so abundantly through all the country. he struck a light, and in a minute or two a torch was ready. by its ruddy and flickering flame, he and the major began to examine the bodies on the ground. they soon found the governor, lying on his back, with his head horribly crushed. his hand still retained the fatal weapon; and his features wore an expression of haughty disdain and indomitable courage. "look at him!" said don estevan. the major could not repress the tear that rolled silently down his swarthy cheek. "yes," he said; "he has died like a soldier, with his face to the foe. but, alas! he has fallen a victim to treachery--killed by a white man. my poor old friend! was this to be your end?" "it was god's will," answered don estevan. "it was," said the major: "may we do our duty as he has done his!" reverently they lifted the body, put it upon a horse, and marched back in sadness to the _presidio_. in the meanwhile, don torribio was greatly disconcerted. his plans had failed. he had not wished the governor to lose his life, for his death would be no benefit, but, on the contrary, prejudicial, by inspiring the mexicans with the desire for revenge, and strengthening their determination to resist to the last, and bury themselves under the ruins of the _presidio_, rather than surrender to such ferocious enemies. his intention had been to seize don josé, keep him prisoner, and to make his own terms with the mexicans. but the old soldier's energetic resistance, and resolve to blow out his own brains rather than surrender, had upset these plans. so he returned to the camp, cast down and discontented, while his companions looked upon the cause of his dejection as a triumphant success. manuela and doña hermosa had profited by his absence to throw off their disguise, and resume their usual dress. as soon as don torribio reached his _toldo_, the sorcerer, who had never quitted it since he had led the two women to the spot, came forward to meet him. "what do you want?" said don torribio. "let my father look with a favourable eye upon me," replied the _amantzin;_ "two women have entered the camp tonight." "and what is that to me?" said the chief impatiently. "these females, although dressed like indians, are white," answered the sorcerer, laying stress on the last two words. "what then? they are most likely wives of some of the _vaqueros_." "not so," said the sorcerer; "their hands are too white, and their feet too small." "indeed!" replied the other, in whom the tale began to excite some interest; "who has taken them prisoner?" "no one; they are here alone, of their own accord." "alone?" "they said they had important revelations to make to my father." "they did?" said the chief, scanning the man narrowly; "and how does my father know that?" "because i rescued them, and brought them to my father's _toldo_." "then they are in here?" "this hour or more." don torribio drew from his pocket a few ounces, and handed them to the sorcerer. "i thank my brother," said he; "he has done well." the _amantzin_ grinned, and pocketed the bribe. don torribio rushed to the _toldo_, and raised the curtain. a cry of joy and astonishment escaped him when he recognised doña hermosa. the latter smiled; while he bowed gracefully, asking himself the while what the meaning of this could be. doña hermosa could not resist admiring the man. his rich uniform became him; it exhibited all his handsome proportions, and increased his attractions. "what rank shall i give you?" she said, beckoning to him to sit down by her side. "give me any name you like best, señorita. if you speak to the spaniard, call me don torribio; if you address yourself to the indian, the name by which i am known among the apaches is 'the accursed.'" "why have they given you this dreadful name?" said she. there was no answer to her question: and the two gazed at each other in silence. doña hermosa was thinking of the manner in which she should tell him the object of her visit; he was pondering over the reasons which could have brought her there. he was the first to speak. "have you really come here inquest of me señorita?" "of whom else?" she replied. "excuse my frankness," said he; "but this seems to me so extraordinary, that although i see and hear you, i cannot believe in such great good fortune. i feel as if i were in a dream, and dread the awakening." this piece of flattery was pronounced in the tone which don torribio quiroga would have employed had he been at don pedro's hacienda; a tone adding to the strangeness of the scene, it was so little in accord with the circumstances and the place where it was uttered. "good sir," replied doña hermosa, in the same easy tone he had used towards her, "i will relieve your trouble, and hasten to dispel the witchery to which you would attribute my presence in your _toldo._" "you will still remain an enchantress in my eyes," said he, smiling. "you flatter me. if there is any enchantment at all in the matter, poor estevan is the wizard he knew my fixed determination to see you, and told me where i should find you. so, if you are determined to raise somebody to the rank of sorcerer, let estevan be the victim." "i will not forget him when the opportunity occurs," said don torribio, his face darkly clouding over. "but let us not wander from our own two selves. i have the happiness to see you here: will it offend you if i ask why you come?" "the reason is quite simple," replied doña hermosa, eyeing him steadfastly. "a girl of my age, and particularly of my rank"--and she laid great emphasis on the latter word--"does not take a step so--let us say, so singular, without a strong motive." "i am sure of it." "what motive could be strong enough to induce a woman to lay aside the instinctive modesty of her sex, and risk her good name? i know but one. when her heart is in question, when her love is involved? am i speaking clearly, don torribio? do you begin to understand me." "i begin to comprehend, señorita." "the last time we met, my father received you coldly,--you, my betrothed. mad with jealousy, furious with him and myself, believing our marriage broken off, you rushed from us, and left the hacienda with rage and hatred boiling in your breast." "cousin, i swear to you?" "i am a woman, don torribio; and we women possess an instinct which never deceives us. can you think for a moment that i, on the verge of marriage with you, did not know the love you felt for me?" don torribio gazed at her with an indefinable expression. "a few days later," she continued, "don fernando carril fell into an ambush, and was left for dead on the spot. why did you do this, don torribio?" "i will not attempt to deny, señorita, that i wished to avenge myself on one i considered a rival; but i swear i gave no orders to kill him." "i know it!" she replied; "you need not attempt to exculpate yourself." don torribio looked at her without understanding her words. "the man whom you imagined to be your rival was no favoured suitor," she continued, with a sweet smile. "you had scarcely left the hacienda, before i confessed to my father that you were my only love, and that i would never consent to marry another." "is it possible?" cried don torribio, rising in his excitement. "oh! had i but known it!" "calm yourself; the evil you have done is partly repaired. don fernando, rescued by my orders from the clutches of pablito, is now at las norias, whence he will shortly depart for mexico. my father, who can never refuse me anything, has given me permission to choose him i love most." as she said this, she darted at don torribio a look full of unutterable affection. he was thunderstruck. a crowd of opposing feelings jostled in his breast: he did not dare to put full credence in the girl's words; a cruel doubt would insinuate itself. was she mocking him? "is it indeed true," he said, "that you could still love me?" "is not my presence here an answer? why should i have come? what should induce me?" "it is true!" said he, falling on his knees before her. "forgive me, señorita; i am mad, and know not what i say. it is too much happiness." a smile of triumph lighted up her face. "if i did not love you," she said, "could i not have chosen don fernando, who is now at the hacienda?" "yes, yes; you are a thousand times right! o woman! adorable woman! who is able to fathom thy heart?" doña hermosa smiled bitterly: she had brought the lion captive to her feet; she had vanquished man in his pride. now she was sure of her revenge. "what answer shall i give my father?" she said. he drew himself up to his full height; his eyes flashed, his features grew radiant, and he answered in a low tone: "señorita, my happiness is immeasurable. say to your father, that the devotion of a whole life cannot repay the bliss of this interview. as soon as the _presidio_ of san lucar is taken, i shall present myself at the hacienda of don pedro de luna." chapter xii. woman's will. every extreme situation, as soon as it reaches its culminating point, must necessarily subside into a reaction of an opposite tendency. this was exactly what happened after the scene we described in the last chapter. don torribio, beside himself with joy, could not accept doña hermosa's protestations of love without a certain degree of mistrust. yet the improbability of her having taken this decided step from other motives than the one she professed, had materially aided her in the successful attempt to hoodwink her admirer. intelligence of a high class is often accompanied by a weakness detrimental to its possessors: they cannot bring themselves to believe, that those who fawn upon them and flatter their propensities are sufficiently acute to deceive them. and so it happened in this case. how could he fail to believe a girl, still almost a child, whose manner seemed so guileless, whose looks were fraught with love, and who avowed her affection so frankly? what could she gain by deceiving him, now don fernando was alive? what object could she have in coming thus to put herself into his hands, without the possibility of escaping from him? all this appeared absurd: and was so, in fact, up to a certain point. it only proved that don torribio, preeminently a statesman, endowed with admirable talent, and whose sole aim through life had been the accomplishment of his dreams of ambition, was so entirely absorbed in farfetched political calculations, that he had no time to study that amalgam of archness, grace, and perfidy we call woman, and knew nothing about her nature. a woman south american woman especially--never forgives an injury to her lover; he is the holy ark which none may touch. moreover, we must say, doña hermosa was the first, the only love of don torribio. his love was to him a creed, a faith; and all doubt vanished from before his eyes at the proof she had just given of her affection. "and now," she said to him, "can i remain in the camp till my father comes, without risking insult?" "you have but to command!" he replied: "all here are your slaves." "the woman, under whose protection i was able to reach you will go back to the _hacienda_ of las norias." don torribio strode to the curtain of the _toldo,_ and clapped his hands twice. an indian warrior appeared. "let a _toldo_ be prepared for me; i cede this to the two paleface women," he said, in the apache language; "a body of chosen braves, whom my brother will command, will watch incessantly over their safety. woe to him who fails in the profoundest respect! these women are sacred; free to come and go, and to receive whomsoever they choose. does my brother understand?" the warrior bowed his head without reply. "let my brother have two horses ready." the indian disappeared. "you see, señorita," he continued, turning towards her, "you are queen here." "i thank you!" said doña hermosa, drawing from her bosom an open letter she had prepared for the occasion; "i felt sure of the result of my interview with you: you see, i have announced it to my father, even before i met you. take this, don torribio, and read what i have written." she held it out to him with a charming smile, but an inward misgiving. "señorita," he replied, motioning the letter away, "what a daughter writes to her father should be sacred; no one but himself should read it." doña hermosa folded up the letter, without evincing the least emotion at the terrible risk she had just run, and gave it to manuela. "mother," she said, "you will give this letter to my father, and explain to him what i have not been able to write." "allow me to retire," exclaimed don torribio; "i must not listen to the instructions you are about to give to your attendant." "i object," she replied; "i must have no secrets from you; henceforth you must know all my inmost thoughts." don torribio glowed with delight. just then they brought the horses. doña hermosa profited by the opportunity afforded by his speaking to the apache to say rapidly to manuela: "your son must be here in an hour, if that be possible." manuela made a sign of acquiescence, and don torribio reentered the _toldo_. "i myself will accompany ña manuela as far as the defences of the _presidio_; this will insure her from incurring any danger." "thanks, once more," replied doña hermosa. the two women threw themselves into each other's arms, and embraced as if they were never to meet again. "do not forget!" whispered doña hermosa. "trust in me," replied manuela. "this is now your home," said don torribio "no one will dare to enter without your permission." doña hermosa smiled her thanks, and accompanied them to the entrance of the _toldo_; manuela and her escort mounted and departed. the young mexican followed them with her eyes till the sound of their horses' feet was lost amid the other noises in the camp, when she returned to the _toldo_, murmuring: "the first steps are taken: now to discover his intentions!" a quarter of an hour later, manuela and her guide arrived within a hundred yards of the _pueblo_. they had not exchanged a word. "you have now no further need of me," said don torribio. "keep the horse; he may be useful to you. may god preserve you!" without another word, he turned his horse, and rode back to the camp, leaving manuela alone. the latter looked about her to discover whereabouts she was, and then rode resolutely towards the town, which was looming in a dark mass before her. she had only gone a few paces, when a rude hand seized her reins, a pistol was presented at her head, and a rough voice exclaimed, in spanish: "who goes there?" "friend," she replied, attempting to conceal her trepidation. "mother!" cried a joyful voice. "estevan, my darling child," she exclaimed, throwing herself on his breast, to which she was clasped in the most affectionate embrace. "how did you come here, and whence?" he asked, after a time. "from the camp of the redskins." "already!" said he, in astonishment. "yes; my mistress sends me to you." "and who was the man with you, mother?" "don torribio himself." "malediction!" exclaimed the _mayor domo_; "i have let him escape, when i had covered him for five minutes with my rifle. but we will not stay here. come with me. as soon as i have placed you in safety, you shall relate what your mistress has charged you to communicate to me." when they got into the _presidio_, don estevan made his mother recount the incidents of their expedition. "ah!" said he more than once; "women are imps of cunning; men are but fools beside them!" when manuela had quite finished her tale, he said: "mother, there is not a moment to lose: don pedro must get the letter this very night. the poor father must be in a state of dreadful anxiety." "i am going to him myself," said manuela. "no!" he replied "you have need of rest. i have a man here who will acquit himself well of this commission." "as you please, estevan," said she, giving him the letter. "yes, i think this will be the best way. come into this house; the good woman to whom it belongs knows me, and will take every care of you." "are you going to doña hermosa?" "by heavens! do you think i intend to leave the poor girl there, in the midst of those infidels? besides, what she has got to say to me may concern us all narrowly." "devoted as ever, estevan! how like you that is?" "what can i do, mother?" he replied, with a laugh. "devotion seems to be my vocation." he led his mother into the house, where he confided her to its mistress, and then went in search of his emissary to don pedro de luna. round a bright fire burning in the centre of the street several men were lying, wrapped in their cloaks. don estevan roughly shook one of the sleepers. "wake, tonillo!" he said; "get up, _muchacho:_ you must be off for the hacienda de las norias." "but i only came thence a quarter of an hour ago!" replied the _lepero_, rubbing his eyes, and still half asleep. "i know it; and that is the reason why i send you; you ought to know the road well. besides, it is for doña hermosa's sake." "for doña hermosa's sake!" cried the _lepero_, whom the sound of the name seemed to awaken thoroughly; "what are her orders?" "now you are as you should be," said the _mayor domo._ "mount directly, and carry this letter to don pedro: to say it is from his daughter, is to tell you it is of importance." "very well; i will go this minute." "i have no need to tell you that no one must take this paper from you." "i can see that, _canarios_." "you will let yourself be killed sooner than give it up?" "yes, yes; make yourself easy, _mayor domo_." "and even after death they must not find it." "i will sooner eat it; _rayo de dios!_" el zapote was galloping towards the hacienda a quarter of an hour later. "it is my turn now," said the _mayor domo_ to himself, as soon as he was alone; "but how am i to get to doña hermosa?" it seemed as if a little consideration had enlightened him as to the means, for he banished the frown from his forehead, and gaily took the road to the fort. after a conference with major barnum, who, since the death of the governor, had assumed the command of the town, estevan disguised himself as an indian, and went to the camp of the redskins. shortly before sunrise he was in the town again. "well!" said his mother. "all is for the best," he replied. "_¡vive dios!_ i think doña hermosa will make that incarnate demon pay dearly for kidnapping don fernando." "am i to rejoin her?" "no; it is not necessary." without entering into any details, don estevan who was sinking from fatigue, retired to snatch a few hours' repose. several days passed without the indians attacking the _pueblo_. they contented themselves with investing it more closely, without attempting an assault. their plan seemed to be to starve out the inhabitants, and force them to surrender from famine. the blockade was kept so strictly, that it was impossible for the besieged to stir beyond their lines: all their communications were cut off, and provisions began to fail. the cattle which had been collected at the commencement of the siege had all been killed, and the mexicans were now driven to the necessity of consuming the hides. the plan would doubtless have succeeded; and the mexicans, reduced to the last extremity, would soon have been obliged to surrender without striking a blow; but a project of don estevan's, communicated to major barnum, and executed without delay, suddenly defeated the tigercat's plans, and obliged him to make the assault, in order to hinder the revolt of the tribes who followed him. the mexicans, whom the pangs of famine were driving to despair, were eagerly longing for the assault. don estevan ordered a hundred and fifty loaves to be made of wheat saturated with arsenic. these were packed on a few mules, still left in the fort, in company with twenty-four kegs of brandy mixed with vitriol. with ten trusty fellows, he escorted this formidable freight to within a short distance of the redskin intrenchments. everything happened as he had foreseen. the indians, who are extravagantly fond of brandy, were allured by the sight of the kegs, and rushed upon the convoy in the hopes of capturing it. don estevan lost no time. casting loaves and kegs upon the sand, and retreating at full speed, he brought off his men and mules in the _pueblo_. the indians, dragging their booty into their camp, knocked in the heads of the barrels, and an orgy commenced which lasted till bread and brandy had disappeared. more than a thousand indians perished through this ingenious device of the _mayor domo's_[1] the others, smitten with terror, began to disband in all directions. the exasperated savages, in their first moments of excitement, and in spite of the efforts of their leader, ruthlessly massacred under horrible tortures all the men, women, and children who had fallen into their power at the commencement of the war, and had been kept prisoners in the camp up to the time. doña hermosa herself, notwithstanding the respect with which she had been treated, and the extreme care she took never to leave the _toldo_, was in great danger of falling a victim to the fury of the indians. chance alone saved her. the great chief resolved to finish the war at once. he despatched el zopilote to order all the _sachems_ to assemble in his _toldo_. as soon as they arrived, he announced to them that at the _endic'ha_ (daybreak) on the morrow the _presidio_ would be attacked on all sides at once. don torribio, in his quality of chief, was present at the council. as soon as it was over he hastened to doña hermosa's _toldo_, and demanded an interview. since her arrival in the camp, although the tigercat was perfectly aware of all that was going on between her and don torribio, he had purposely avoided meeting her, contenting himself with congratulating the latter on the affection the girl manifested for him. nevertheless, an acute observer might have easily perceived that the tigercat harboured some sinister purpose in his mind. don torribio, on the contrary, was too much blinded by his passion to attempt to read the countenance of the old bandit. the intensity of his love, and the zest with which he gave himself up to it, diverted his thoughts from the shame and remorse which stung him when he thought of the infamy attached to his name by his treacherous desertion of his own people to become a member of the ferocious and sanguinary tribes of the apaches. doña hermosa, on hearing that don torribio wished to see her, gave orders for his instant admittance. she was talking at the time with her father. don pedro de luna had hastened to join his daughter the instant he received her letter, and had already been some days in the camp. the interior of the _toldo_ was greatly changed. don torribio had ordered it to be embellished with divers pieces of elegant furniture, stolen by the indians from different haciendas. partitions had been constructed, closets contrived, so that the metamorphosis was complete; and, although the exterior remained as it had been before, the inside, in consequence of the alterations, assumed the appearance of a european residence. manuela, doña hermosa's nurse, had also returned with don pedro--a circumstance extremely agreeable to the girl; first, on account of the great confidence she reposed in her; and again, because manuela was indispensable for all those little services and attentions to which women of rank are accustomed. besides, the presence of the nurse, who never left doña hermosa's side in her interviews with don torribio, prevented any exuberant outbreak of passion on his part, and confined him to the limits of a respectful decorum. whatever astonishment the redskins might have felt at the alterations in the _toldo_ undertaken by don torribio, the veneration and devotion they professed for the tigercat were so great, that, with the delicacy which seems innate in their race, they pretended to see none of them, especially as the latter had taken no offence at the conduct of the paleface chief. moreover, as, under all circumstances, the latter rendered them energetic cooperation, being always the foremost in battle and the last to retreat, they thought it right to leave him to arrange his own affairs as he judged best, without any attempt to oppose him. "well," said doña hermosa, when he entered, "has the tigercat succeeded in subduing the exasperation of the tribes?" "thank heaven! he has, señorita; but the atrocious crime committed by major barnum is unworthy of a man, and more the deed of a savage brute than of a civilized being." "perhaps the major is not the author of the crime." "the whites are accustomed to treat the indians thus. have i not heard them assert a thousand times that the redskins are not human beings? all weapons that kill them are lawful, and poison is one of the surest. this crime alone is sufficient to justify me in having quitted the ranks of the monsters." "speak no more on this subject, i beseech you; you make me shudder. i am obliged to confess that reason is on your side. when we witness such horrors, we begin to regret that we belong to a race capable of inventing them." "what is the decision of the council?" asked don pedro, in order to turn the conversation. "tomorrow, at daybreak, a general assault will be delivered on the _presidio_." "tomorrow!" exclaimed doña hermosa, in a fright. "yes," he replied; "tomorrow i hope to revenge myself on those who were my brothers, and have forced me to repudiate them. tomorrow i shall conquer or die." "god protect the good cause!" said she ambiguously. "thanks, cousin," replied don torribio, mistaking the meaning of her exclamation. don pedro with difficulty repressed a sigh. "the action tomorrow will be severe," don torribio continued. "i conjure you, señorita, not to leave the _toldo_. should we meet with a reverse, no one can tell to what extremes the rage of the apaches may carry them. i will leave twenty resolute men, _vaqueros_ on whom i can rely, to defend you. as soon as the affair is over, i will send you word." "are you going already, don torribio?" said she, as she saw him move for the purpose. "i must, señorita; i am one of the chiefs of the indian army. in that quality, i have duties to fulfil, and must make preparations for the morrow. i entreat you to let me go." "farewell, then, if it must be so." bowing respectfully to her and her father, don torribio retired. "all is lost," said don pedro; "the mexicans will never be able to withstand the assault." doña hermosa looked at him with a strange expression, and then whispered in his ear: "father, have you read your bible?" "why do you ask, little madcap?" "because," said she, with a coaxing smile, "you seem to have forgotten the story of delilah." "what!" he exclaimed, more astonished than ever; "do you intend to cut off his hair?" "_¿quién sabe?_" she answered, shaking her head knowingly, and with a delicious assumption of bravado; while at the same time she put one of her fingers on her rosy lips. don pedro gave the shrug of a man who is utterly at a loss to understand, and who gives up an inexplicable enigma. [1] a fact. an identical occurrence took place at the carmen of patagonia, daring an attack by the indians. chapter xiii. paleface _versus_ redskin. the redskins in general, and the apaches in particular, exhibit a surprising degree of craftiness when on the warpath, or preparing for a hazardous expedition. the best troops of the civilized world cannot compete with them in subtlety and wariness, such pains do they take to conceal and dissemble their movements. towards three o'clock in the morning, just as the first pearly notes issued from the throats of the _mawkawis_[1] nestled among the leaves, the tigercat and don torribio rose from their beds, armed themselves for the fight, and issued forth from their toldos, followed by several apache braves, directing their silent and rapid steps towards the centre of the camp, where the _sachems_ of the tribes, crouched on their haunches around an immense brasier, smoked the war calumet while waiting for the great chief. when the tigercat appeared, the indians rose in a body to reverence their leader. the tigercat, returning their salute, made them a sign to be seated, and turning to the _amantzin,_ or sorcerer, who stood by his side. "will the master of life remain neutral?" he asked. "will the wacondah be propitious to the apache braves? or will he be adverse to the war his indian sons, united before the stone _atepelt_ (village) of the palefaces, are going to wage this day against their oppressors?" "at the bidding of the chiefs," replied the _amantzin_, "i will question the master of life." then, drawing himself up to his full height, he wrapped his bison robe about him, and thrice paced round the fire, marching from left to right, and muttering words unintelligible to all, and which yet seemed to have a mysterious meaning. at the third round, he poured a _coui_ (a small vessel) of water, sweetened with _smilax_, into a cup of reeds, plaited so closely that not a drop escaped. next, having dipped a sprig of wormwood in the _coui_, he sprinkled the assembled _sachems_, and emptied the water in three separate portions towards the rising sun. then, bending his body forward, with outstretched head and expanded arms, he appeared to listen to sounds perceptible to him alone. at the end of a few seconds the _mawkawis_ lifted up his song again, on the right of his sorcerer. immediately his face contorted itself, and grew horrible to look at; his bloodshot eyes seemed ready to start from their orbits; a whitish foam oozed from the corners of his compressed lips; a livid pallor overspread his features; his limbs were convulsed, and his body was agitated by violent distortions. "the spirit comes! the spirit comes!" muttered the indians, in superstitious terror. "silence!" cried the tigercat; "the wise man is about to speak." in fact, a painful hissing issued from the distorted mouth of the _amantzin_, which changed by slow degrees into words, unintelligible at first, but soon pronounced sufficiently distinctly to be understood by all. "the spirit comes!" he exclaimed; "he has unbound his long locks, which float abroad on the winds. his breath brings annihilation; the heaven are red with blood. victims will not be wanting for the wacondah, the spirit of evil. who can resist him? he alone is master. the knives of the apaches shall find a sheath in the breasts of the palefaces. the vultures and _urubus_ are glad; they snuff the ample repast. shout the war cry! courage, warriors! the wacondah himself will lead you. death is nothing; glory is all!" the _amantzin_, having uttered a few other unintelligible words, dropped to the ground, a prey to frightful convulsions. strange to relate, the men who had up to this time hung suspended on his lips, listening with strained anxiety to his utterances, had now no look or word of pity or interest for him as he lay writhing on the ground, but left him there, without further thought about him. it was because the man rash enough to touch a sorcerer while possessed by the spirit would fall a lifeless corpse: such is the indian belief. as soon as the _amantzin_ had ceased speaking, the tigercat took up the word in his turn. "great chiefs of the apache tribes," said he in a deep voice, "you see that the god of your fathers smiles on our attempt, and encourages it. let us not hesitate, warriors! let us confound with one last blow the pride of our oppressors. our lands are now free; one single spot is still in the power of our tyrants. let us conquer it today, and at sunset let the spanish flag, whose fatal shadow has so long been the omen of misery and death, be lowered on our frontiers forever. courage, brothers! your ancestors, hunting in the happy prairies, will joyfully welcome those who fall in the battle. let each repair to the post i have assigned him; the hoarse cry of the _urubu_, thrice repeated at equal intervals, will give the signal for the assault." the chiefs, with deep reverence, took their departure, and dispersed in various directions. the tigercat remained alone, absorbed in profound meditation. an awful stillness reigned over the scene. there was not a breath of wind, nor a cloud in the sky. the limpid and transparent atmosphere permitted objects to be seen at a vast distance. the dark blue heavens were studded with a multitude of sparkling stars; the moon was pouring forth her silver rays in profusion; no sound disturbed the impressive silence, except, at intervals, that low murmuring which, coming we know not whence, seems the awful breathing of slumbering nature. the white chief, on the point of making his mightiest effort to enfranchise the indian nations, and pave the way for the triumph of his mysterious combinations, yielded with delight to the tumultuous thoughts busying themselves in his brain. communing with his soul, he scrutinised his own conduct, and fervently entreated him who is almighty, and whose eye searches the heart, not to abandon him, if the cause for which he fought was righteous. a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. thus rudely recalled to himself, the tigercat started. he passed his hand over his damp brow, and turned to the intruder. the sorcerer stood there, gazing at him with his perfidious eyes, and grinning an evil smile. "what brings you here?" said the chief abruptly. "is my father satisfied with me?" replied the _amantzin;_ "has the wacondah spoken well to the _sachems?_" "yes," said the tigercat, with a gesture of disgust; "my brother has done well: he may go." "my father is great and generous! the spirit that possesses me tore me grievously." the chief snatched a string of pearls from his neck, and threw it to the wretch, who caught it with a shout of delight. "go!" said the tigercat, turning haughtily away. the _amantzin_ retired. he had got all he wanted. don torribio had left the scene of the incantation with the other chiefs, to repair to his post; but after proceeding a little way, he looked up to the sky, and mentally calculated the hour by the position of the stars. "i shall have time," he muttered to himself. so he hastily directed his steps towards the _toldo_ of doña hermosa; numerous guards surrounded it. "she sleeps," said he; "sleeps, lulled by sweet childish fancies. o god! who knowest the extent of my love, and the sacrifice i have offered at its shrine, grant she may be happy!" he went up to one of the _vaqueros_, who, leaning against a tree, was silently smoking his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the _toldo_. "_verado,_" said he, with emotion he could not repress, "twice have i saved your life at the risk of my own. do you remember?" "i remember," said the _vaquero_ briefly. "today it is i who come to ask a service. can i rely on you?" "speak, don torribio; i will do all a man can do, to do you a service." "thanks, comrade! my life, my soul, all i hold dear in the world, is contained in this _toldo_. i confide her to you. swear to defend her, whatever may happen!" "i swear it, don torribio. the _toldo_ is sacred; neither friend nor enemy shall enter. i and the men you have placed under my command will die on the spot before injury shall happen to those you love." "i thank you," said the chief, extending his hand to the _vaquero_. the latter seized the bottom of his leader's cloak, and kissed it reverently. don torribio cast one more look of affection at the _toldo_, which concealed, as he had said, all he loved in this world, and then went his way with rapid strides. "now," said he, "let me be a man! they are bold men we have to contend with." as soon as the chief had ordered the sachems to their posts, where the warriors were anxiously expecting the word to let them loose upon the foe, they proceeded to the different stations where their respective tribes were posted. the men then commenced one of those incredible marches which indians alone can perform--crawling on their bellies over the ground. creeping and gliding along like snakes, they managed to station themselves, in less than an hour, and without attracting notice, immediately at the foot of the ramparts held by the mexicans. this movement had been executed with so much precision and success, that no sound had been heard in the prairie, and nothing appeared to have stirred in the camp, where all seemed plunged into the deepest repose. nevertheless, a few minutes before the _sachems_ had received the final orders of the tigercat, a man in apache dress had quitted the camp in advance of the others, and crept towards the fort on hands and knees. when he arrived at the barricade, another man who, leaning over it, had been listening with intense anxiety, reached out his hand, and helped him inside the town. "well, estevan?" "we shall be attacked before an hour is over, major," said the _mayor domo_. "will the attack be serious?" "an assault. the indians are determined to finish the game at once; they are afraid of being all poisoned if they wait longer." "what is to be done?" grumbled the officer. "let ourselves be killed," was the reply. "by heavens! a comfortable piece of advice! we can but do that at the last extremity." "we might try something else." "but what? speak, in heaven's name!" "is everything prepared as we agreed?" "it is. but what do you propose?" "give me twenty-five _vaqueros_, whom you can trust." "take them; you will lead them?" "that is my affair, major. i will not answer for success; for these red devils are numberless as the sands; but you may depend on my thinning their ranks." "that will do us no harm. but the women and children?" "i have got them all safely to las norias." "god be praised! now we can fight like men; our dear ones are in safety." "for a time they are." "what do you mean? what is there else to fear?" "only that when the indians have taken the _presidio_, they will most probably attack the hacienda." "you are out of your wits, estevan," said the major, smiling; "and doña hermosa--" "true," replied the _mayor domo_ gaily; "i had forgotten her." "is that all you have to report?" "no, major," he said quickly; "one thing more." "out with it then; for time presses." "the signal for the attack is to be three screams of the _urubu_, at equal intervals." "good! i will be ready for them: they will attack before daybreak." the major and don estevan separated, to visit the posts in succession, to arouse the guards, and prepare them for the event. the preceding evening, major barnum had assembled all the townspeople, and, in a brief and energetic speech, and with the greatest frankness, apprised them of the precarious situation of the _pueblo;_ had explained his plan of defence; and finished by telling them that boats were ready moored under the guns of the fort, to receive the women, children, old men, and all those country people who declined to join in his desperate resistance; adding, that all who embarked would be conveyed at nightfall to the hacienda of las norias, where they would be kindly received. we are bound to say, that a few of the people in the town, dismayed by the energetic proceedings of the major, had recoiled from the idea of taking part in them, and had gone to the hacienda. there remained, therefore, in the town only resolute men, determined to sell their lives dearly, and on whom he could rely with confidence. thus when, on being aroused, the immediate attack of the apaches was made known to them, they manned the barriers confidently, with eyes and ears on the watch, ready to give fire at the first signal. one hour passed over without any occurrence to break the stillness of the night. the mexicans began to imagine that they had been summoned to the walls by a false alarm, as had already happened on several occasions, when suddenly the hoarse and ominous scream of the _urubu_ arose. again it broke through the silence, and a cold shudder ran through the frames of the besieged, who recognised their death cry, and knew how little chance of escape existed. a third time the scream of the _urubu_ arose, louder and hoarser than before. ere it was well ended, the dreadful war whoop broke forth on all sides, and the indians threw themselves in swarms on the exterior defences, and attempted to carry them by escalade. the mexicans received them firmly, like men who knew their last hour was come, and were resolved to fall amidst a hecatomb of foes. the indians fell back in dismay, astounded at the vigorous resistance. their measures had been taken so secretly, that they felt certain of surprising the town. as soon as they were in the open, showers of grape swept them down, and scattered death and disorder among their masses. don estevan, profiting by the panic, threw himself, at the head of his _vaqueros_, on the thunderstricken redskins, and cut them down indiscriminately. twice he renewed the charge with the courage of a lion, and twice the indians recoiled before him. as long as the darkness lasted, the apaches could not perceive the smallness of the force opposed to them, and the combat was greatly favourable to the palefaces, who, sheltered behind the barricades, kept up a deadly fire on the dense masses of the enemy. but after about two hours of this obstinate resistance the sun rose, and lighted up the field of battle with the glorious splendour of his rays. the indians hailed his appearance with clamorous shouts, and precipitated themselves with renewed fury on the intrenchments from which they had just been driven. their shock was irresistible. the whites, after an amount of resistance determined on beforehand, abandoned a position they could no longer hold. the indians, at the top of their speed, rushed in pursuit. but at that moment a frightful explosion was heard, the ground burst under their feet, and the mangled wretches, hurled into the air, were cast in all directions. the interior of the defences had been undermined, and the major had just issued the order to fire the train. the effects of the explosion were horrible. the panic-stricken redskins began to fly on all sides, and, yielding to the impulse of their terror, were deaf to the orders of their _sachems_, and refused to renew the fight. for a moment the palefaces thought themselves saved. but the tigercat, mounted on a magnificent jet black mustang, and unfolding to the breeze the sacred _totem_ of the allied tribes, rushed to the front, braving in his single person the shots the mexicans aimed at him, and cried in a terrible voice: "cowards! as you will not conquer, see how a brave man can die!" his voice conveyed the bitterest reproach to the ears of the redskins; the most cowardly were ashamed to abandon the chief who was thus generously sacrificing himself; they faced about, and returned to the assault with redoubled ardour. the tigercat seemed invulnerable. he made his horse bound into the thickest of the fight, parrying the blows aimed at him with the staff of the _totem_, which he held displayed above his head to encourage his men. the apaches, electrified by the audacity of their great chief, crowded around him, undismayed even in death, and shouted: "the tigercat! the tigercat! let us die for the great chief!" "look there!" cried he enthusiastically, pointing to the morning star; "look there! your father is smiling upon your deeds! forwards! forwards!" "forwards!" repeated the redskins, advancing with fresh fury. but the major knew this horrible struggle could not last much longer. the redskins had carried all the barricades; the town swarmed with them. the mexicans disputed it house by house, only leaving one to throw themselves into another when dislodged by main force. the redskins formed into a solid mass, led by don torribio, charged up the steep street leading to the old _presidio_ and the fort which commands it. in spite of the ravages caused in their ranks by the grape from the guns of the fort, they advanced without wavering; for they saw, after each of the discharges which showered death amongst them, the tigercat ten paces in advance, bestriding his black charger, and brandishing the _totem_, with don torribio at his side waving his sword. "come," said the major gravely to don estevan; "the time has arrived to execute the orders i gave you." "you insist upon them, major?" replied the latter. "i do estevan." "enough, major; they shall not say i disobeyed your last orders. farewell! or rather, may we soon meet in heaven; for i shall fall as well as you." "_¿quién sabe?_ farewell, farewell!" "let us still hope," answered the _mayor domo_ in a stifled voice. the two men silently clasped each other's hands in a final pressure; for they knew that, without a miracle, they should never meet again. after this leave-taking, don estevan collected some forty horsemen, formed them into a compact body, and, in the interval between two volleys from the fort, threw himself at full speed on the advancing redskins. the apaches could not resist the impetuosity of the charge, and fled into the houses on either hand. when they recovered from their panic, the horsemen who had so rudely handled them had got on board two large boats, and were rowing swiftly towards the hacienda de las norias. don estevan and the whole of his followers were saved, with the exception of three or four who fell in the charge. the major had profited by the diversion to throw himself, with the remaining whites, into the fort, the gates of which were instantly closed behind him. don torribio ordered the redskins to halt, and advanced alone to the fortress. "major," cried he in a loud voice, "surrender! the lives of yourself and the garrison shall be respected." "you are a traitor, a coward, and a dog!" replied the major, appearing on the walls. "you murdered my friend, who trusted to your loyalty. no surrender!" "it is death to you and all with you; for the sake of humanity, surrender! defence is impossible." "you are a coward!" cried the major again; "here is my answer." "back, all of you! back!" shouted the tigercat, driving both spurs into his horse, which bounded into the air, and flew off with the speed of an arrow. the indians precipitated themselves from the top to the base of the rampart, seized with an indescribable panic; but not speedily enough to avoid the fate that threatened them. the major had fired the magazines in the fort. a terrific explosion ensued. the gigantic edifice oscillated for a second or two on its foundations, like a tottering mastodon; then, suddenly torn from the ground, rose into the air, and burst like an elephantine shell. amidst the last cries of "long live the republic!" from the besieged, a storm of stones and bodies, horribly mutilated, hailed down upon the redskins, aghast at the horrible catastrophe--and all was over, the tigercat was master of the presidio de san lucar; but, as major barnum had sworn, he was only in possession of a pile of ruins. with tears of rage, don torribio planted the _totem_ of the apaches on a strip of tottering wall--the sole remnant to mark the spot where, ten minutes ago, rose the magnificent fort of san lucar. [1] a mexican songbird. chapter xiv. the catastrophe. several days had elapsed since the fall of the _presidio_ of san lucar. the pueblo had been given up to pillage, with refinements of barbarity impossible to describe. only the principal buildings had been spared, thanks to the measures employed by the tigercat, who to save the immense treasures they contained, had allotted them to the most powerful _sachems_ of the tribes who followed him. the old freebooter had established his headquarters in the former dwelling of don torribio quiroga, which the latter had gracefully ceded to him. doña hermosa and her father had resumed possession of their own mansion. the town, with none but indians for inhabitants, had a mournful aspect: no more commerce; no more cheerful songs; nothing left of the careless spirit of gaiety which formerly animated the mexican colony. here and there in the open streets lay corpses, battled for by the birds of prey, festering, and infecting the atmosphere. in a word, the whole scene afforded the spectacle of that desolation which accompanies a war of extermination between two races who have been foes for centuries. about a week after the events we have described in the preceding chapter, three persons were assembled, about ten o'clock in the morning, in a room in don pedro de luna's house, and were talking in low tones. these three persons were, don pedro himself, doña hermosa, and the worthy _capataz_ luciano pedralva, who, huddled up in the fantastical costume of a _vaquero_, looked like a monstrous robber, exciting bursts of laughter from ña manuela, who was seated, on the watch, at a window. every time she looked at him, she broke into a fresh laugh, to the indignation of the _capataz_, who voted his disguise at the devil. "well as we have agreed," said don pedro, "you must put on your pumps, luciano, and prepare for the dance." "and it is to take place today?" "it must, my good friend. it seems to me that we live in singular times, and in a very singular country. i have seen many revolutions, but this beats them all." "as for me," said doña hermosa, "it seems consistent enough from an indian point of view." "very possible, my dear. i am not going to enter into a discussion with you; but you must confess that a month ago we were far from expecting such a prompt re-establishment of the apache power on these frontiers." "you know, don pedro, i understand none of these matters; only it appears to me that the tigercat is not very magnanimous for a man about to become a sovereign." "what do you mean by that, luciano?" "i mean what everyone ought to mean. the letter he sent don fernando the day before yesterday is explicit enough; for in it he tells him, shortly and sharply, that if he is found in the colony five days after its receipt, he will have him hanged." "if he can catch him!" said doña hermosa hastily. "that is understood," replied the _capataz_. "what is there in that to astonish you, luciano?" said don pedro. "by heavens! what extraordinary things i have witnessed in my life! i myself know a score of people to whom the same threats have been made, and who are yet alive and well." "it is all one; but, in spite of that, i do not like it." "but this is all foreign to our matter. you will return to the hacienda, don luciano; and remember my advice." "trust to me, señor. but i have something else to say." "say what you will, my good friend; but lose no time." "i am dreadfully anxious about don estevan," replied the _capataz_, in a voice so low that it could not reach ña manuela's ears; "for six days he has disappeared, and we hear no tidings of him." doña hermosa smiled slyly. "estevan is not the man to lose himself without leaving a trail," said she. "tranquilize yourself: at the proper time you will see him again." "so much the better, señorita; for he is a man to be relied on." "don torribio!" suddenly exclaimed manuela. "indeed!" said the _capataz_; "then it is time for me to vanish." "follow me quickly;" cried the _mayor domo's_ mother. the _capataz_ bent reverently before doña hermosa and don pedro, and left the room with manuela. the door by which they went out had hardly closed upon them, when another opened, and don torribio entered. he wore a superb indian dress; his forehead was lined with care, and his looks were sad. he bowed to doña hermosa, cordially grasped the hand of don pedro, and took his seat at a mute sign from the lady. after the interchange of a few common-place words, the daughter of the hacendero, whom don torribio's downcast demeanour disquieted more than she liked to evince, turned gracefully towards him, and said, with an assumption of interest which was admirably acted: "what ails you, don torribio? you look sad. what bad news have you received?" "none, señorita; though i thank you for the interest you take in my affairs. were i ambitious, i should feel content; for all my aspirations have been realised. in receiving your hand, a few days hence, the dream of my whole life will be fulfilled. you see, señorita," he added, with a mournful smile, "that i allow you to peer into the depths of my heart." "i am thankful for what you say; but, don torribio, you were not thus a few days ago. something must have--" "nothing personal, i assure you. but the nearer the time comes for the ceremony of taking possession of the territories we have won back, the greater discouragement masters me. i can by no means approve the determination of the tigercat to have himself officially declared an independent sovereign; it is a folly i cannot comprehend. the tigercat knows better than any one how impossible it is to maintain himself here. the apaches, brave as they are, will never be able to hold their own against the disciplined force the mexican government will despatch against us, as soon as they hear of this outbreak." "is it impossible to induce the tigercat to change his purpose?" "it is. i have tried every means to show him the insanity of his project. he will listen to nothing. the man has an object in view known to himself alone; the wish he loudly proclaims--to regenerate the race of redskins--is a mere pretext." "you shock me, don torribio! if this is the case, why not give him up?" "can i do so? am i not already a renegade? shall i confess to you, señorita? although every thing seems prosperous,--although the future seems to have nothing but smiles for me,--yet, for the last few days, an invincible despondency has crept over me. everything looks dark, and i feel world worn. in a word, i have a foreboding that i am on the eve of a terrible misfortune." doña hermosa cast a piercing glance at him, which he did not observe. "banish these mournful thoughts," said she, with emphasis; "henceforth your fate is settled; nothing can alter it." "i believe so; but, you know, señorita, mischance may come between the cup and the lip." "come, come, don torribio!" said don pedro gaily; "let us to breakfast. it is the last repast you will share with us before the ceremony of taking possession. is it still to be today?" "it is!" replied don torribio, offering his hand to doña hermosa, to lead her into another room, where a splendid meal was prepared. at first they were very silent; the guests seemed ill at ease; but by degrees the efforts of doña hermosa and her father to cheer don torribio succeeded in breaking the ice, and the conversation became more lively. yet it was easily seen that don torribio had a hard struggle to repel the thoughts that rose to his lips, and to condemn them to silence. towards the close of the repast, the chief turned to doña hermosa. "señorita," he said, "tonight my future will be settled. in taking part, as an indian chief, in the ceremony of today, i shall throw down the gauntlet to my countrymen, by giving them to understand that i openly join the cause of the redskins; and that what they at first supposed to be an indian raid grew, thanks to the tigercat and me, into the rising of a whole nation. i know the pride of the whites! unable to utilise the immense territories they possess, they will still never leave us in peaceful enjoyment of the heritage we have carved out for ourselves at the point of our lances. the mexican government will wage a war of destruction upon us. can i depend upon you?" "before answering, don torribio, i must demand a clearer explanation." "and you shall have it. reprisals are what the spaniards most dread in an indian insurrection; that is to say, a massacre of the whites. my carriage with a mexican would be a gage of peace from us to them--a pledge for the future security of their commerce, and the observance of the relations to be established between us. our path is marked out, however the chiefs of the tribes may object. neither the tigercat nor i will deviate from it a hair's breadth. señorita, i address this frank and loyal question to you: will you grant me your hand?" "why should you press so grave a matter at such a moment, don torribio?" was her answer "are you not sure of me?" don torribio quiroga frowned. "always the same reply," he said. "child, you are playing with the lion! if i had not been your shield these ten days past, you would have been slain ere now. do you fancy me ignorant of your petty machinations, or ensnared by your childish calculations? you are playing for life or death, silly one; you are caught yourself in the net you spread for me. you are in my power! it is for me to dictate my conditions. tomorrow you will espouse me; the heads of your father and of don fernando shall answer for your compliance!" seizing a crystal vase of water, he filled his glass, and emptied it at a draught; while doña hermosa gazed at him with a strange expression in her eyes. "in an hour," said he, dashing the glass to pieces on the table, "you will attend the ceremony. you shall be beside me. i will it so!" "i will be there!" she said quietly. "farewell!" he exclaimed, in a husky voice; and, casting another glance at her, he left the room. the girl rose hastily, seized the vase, and emptied its contents, murmuring: "don torribio! don torribio! thou hast thyself told me, that between cup and lip stood death!" "now for the finishing stroke!" said don pedro at a sign from his daughter, he went out upon the terrace, and placed two stands, filled with flowers, close to the balustrade. this appeared to be a signal; for they had hardly been moved a minute, when manuela hastily entered the room, saying, "he is here!" "let him come!" said don pedro and his daughter. don estevan made his appearance. the hacendero, having charged manuela to be on the watch, carefully closed the doors, seated himself close to the _mayor domo_, and said in a whisper, "what news have you brought, estevan?" * * * * * the grand square of the _pueblo_ presented an unusual spectacle that day; a large stage, covered with a crimson velvet carpet, had been erected in the centre. on the stage stood a mahogany _butaca_; another armchair, lower and less decorated, was placed on the right, and several forms were arranged in a semicircle behind the two seats. at twelve o'clock precisely, when the sun at its zenith was pouring down its vertical rays, five shots, fired from a gun at regular intervals, thundered through the _pueblo_. instantly the different apache tribes, constituting the tigercat's army, debouched by the several approaches to the square, headed by the principal _sachems_ in their robes of ceremony. these warriors were few in number, forming an effective force of fifteen hundred men; for, according to indian custom, the booty, immediately after the fall of the _presidio_, had been sent under a strong escort to the villages, and the greater number of the redskins had dispersed, to return to their _atepelts_. those who stayed behind were tried and faithful braves, devoted heart and soul to the tigercat. the latter, after the total defeat of the mexicans, deemed it useless to retain a larger force about him, particularly as the first signal would bring back the others to his standard. as fast as the tribes reached the square, they ranged themselves in good order on three of its sides, leaving the fourth open, which was presently occupied by a body of two hundred _vaqueros_, who, like the redskins, halted motionless on the spot assigned to them--with this difference: that the indians were on foot, and without arms, except the _machetes_ at their girdles; while the _vaqueros_ were mounted, and armed to the teeth. a very few lookers-on, english, french, or germans, who had remained in the town after its occupation, showed their pale and frightened faces at the windows of the houses in the square. indian women, huddled together in disorder behind the warriors, stretched their heads inquisitively over the shoulders of the latter, in order to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. the centre of the square remained void. in front of the stage, and at the foot of a rude altar, shaped like a table, with a deep groove in it, and surmounted by an image of the sun, stood the great _amantzin_ of the apaches, surrounded by five sorcerers of inferior grade. all had their arms crossed on their breasts, and their eyes cast on the ground. when everyone had fallen into his place, five more guns were fired. then a brilliant cavalcade came curveting into the square. at its head rode the tigercat, with haughty air and fiery eye, holding in his hand the _totem_, and having on his right don torribio, who carried the sacred calumet. behind followed don pedro, his daughter, and several of the principal townspeople. the tigercat dismounted, ascended the stage, and placed himself in front of the principal seat, but did not sit down. don torribio, having assisted doña hermosa from her horse, took his place before the second chair. the features of the former, usually so pale, were now inflamed, and his hollow eyes seemed red with incessant vigils. he ceaselessly wiped the moisture from his brow, and appeared a prey to agitating emotions, which would break forth in spite of his efforts to control them. doña hermosa had placed herself behind her father, at a short distance from the stage. she, too, seemed to suffer from secret agitation. she was pale, her lips were contracted, and occasionally a nervous tremor made her limbs tremble, and a feverish flush passed over her face, which, however, soon resumed its former pallor. she kept her eyes resolutely fixed on don torribio. the apache _sachems_ grouped themselves at the foot of the platform, which they surrounded completely. a third time the cannon roared. then the sorcerers stepped to one side, disclosing to the view a man firmly bound, who lay on the ground in the midst of them. the _amantzin_ addressed the multitude: "listen to me, all you who hear me. you know why we are here assembled: our great father, the sun, has smiled at our success. the wacondah has fought on our side, according to the promise of our illustrious chief. this _atepelt_ is now ours. the chief elected by ourselves to command and defend us is the tigercat. in his name and our own we now offer to the master of life the sacrifice most agreeable to him, in order that he may still continue his almighty protection. sorcerers, bring hither the victim!" the _amantzins_ seized the unhappy wretch they guarded, and laid him upon the altar. he was a mexican, taken prisoner at the capture of the old _presidio_. the pulquero, in whose house one of the first scenes of this story was laid, had, from avarice, refused to quit his miserable _pulquería_, and had fallen into the hands of the redskins. in the meantime, don torribio felt his strength gradually deserting him. his eyes grew more bloodshot, his ears were stunned, his temples throbbed violently, and he was obliged to support himself by one of the arms of his seat. "what ails you?" said doña hermosa. "i know not," he replied; "the heat--agitation, perhaps: i am choking. but it is nothing." the _pulquero_, extended on the altar, had been stripped of his garments. the wretch uttered shouts of terror. the _amantzin_ approached him, brandishing his knife. "it is horrible," cried doña hermosa, hiding her face in her hands. "silence!" said don torribio; "the sacrifice must be completed." the sorcerer, heedless of the cries of the victim coolly examined him to find the right place for the blow; while the miserable prisoner, with eyes unnaturally distended, gazed at him with an expression of fear impossible to describe. suddenly the _amantzin_ raised the knife, and, thrusting it into the chest of his victim, laid it open the whole length of the ribs. the wretched man uttered a horrible cry. then the sorcerer plunged his hand into the gaping breast of the victim, and tore out the palpitating heart; while his assistants carefully collected the blood that was flowing in torrents. the sufferer writhed in agony, still making superhuman efforts to break his bonds. while this was doing, the _sachems_ in a body ascended the stage, and seating the tigercat on the _butaca_, raised him on their shoulders, shouting enthusiastically "long live the conqueror of the palefaces, the great _sachem_ of the apaches!" the sorcerers meanwhile sprinkled the crowd with the blood of the sacrifice; and the redskins, frenzied with excitement, rent the air with deafening clamour. "at last," said the tigercat proudly, "i have kept my promise: i have driven the palefaces from this country for ever." "not yet," exclaimed don pedro, in cutting tones; "look hither." a sudden change had indeed come over the scene. the _vaqueros_, up to this time impassive spectators, suddenly charged, the unarmed indians: mexican troops fell upon them from all the entrances to the square: and all the windows were manned by whites armed with muskets, who poured down a pitiless fire on the redskins. in the centre of the square were don fernando carril, luciano pedralva, and don estevan, who mercilessly rode in upon the indians, shouting: "down with them! down with them! slay! slay!" "_¡caray!_" exclaimed don torribio, waving the _totem;_ "what horrible treachery is this?" he rushed forward to fly to the side of the redskins; but he tottered--a dark veil obstructed his sight--and he sank on his knees. "god!" cried he, "what has happened to me?" "you are dying," whispered don estevan in his ear; "that is what is happening." and he seized him fiercely by the arm. "you lie, dog!" said don torribio, trying to release himself. "i will go and help my brothers." "your brothers are slain, as you intended to have slain tomorrow don pedro, doña hermosa, don fernando, and myself. die, wretch, with rage at seeing your treachery meet its reward! i have given you _leche de palio_[1] to drink; you are poisoned." "ah!" said he despairingly, and dragging himself on his knees to the edge of the platform; "woe to me; woe; god is just." in the square the mexicans were making a horrible carnage. "remember don josé de kalbris," they cried; "revenge major barnum!" it was no battle; it was a fearful butchery. several of the chiefs, flying before don fernando, luciano, and don estevan, threw themselves upon the stage as a last place of refuge. "ha!" shouted don torribio, with a bound like a jaguar, seizing don fernando by the throat; "at least i shall not die unavenged." a moment of terrible anxiety ensued. "no," he continued, quitting his grasp on his foe, and falling backwards, "it would be the act of a coward. my life belongs to this man; he won it from me." the bystanders could not repress a cry of admiration. don fernando coolly raised his rifle to his shoulder, and discharged its contents point-blank into the breast of the man stretched at his feet. "thus perish all traitors!" he cried. "great god!" freely exclaimed don torribio, by a supreme effort rising to his knees, and looking up to heaven with an expression of sublime hope irradiating his features,--"great god, i thank thee! thou hast forgiven me!" one last smile of unutterable happiness glided over his face; he fell back and expired. meanwhile doña hermosa had disappeared. when the tigercat, who had been fighting like a lion in the midst of the fray, perceived that all was lost, and nothing but flight could save him from the fate to which the mexicans had doomed him, should he fall into their hands, he rallied around him a handful of his bravest warriors, seized doña hermosa, regardless of her cries and prayers, threw her across his saddle, spurred his horse into the thickest of the _mêlée_, cut his passage through, and, followed by his faithful braves, succeeded in getting out of the town and gaining the prairie. it was too late for pursuit when the mexicans became aware of his flight; the old freebooter was already beyond their reach, carrying his prey with him, like an eagle bearing a lamb in his talons. [1] literally, milk from a pall; poison. chapter xv. one month later. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon. the rays of the sun, falling more and more obliquely, were gradually lengthening the shadows of the trees; the birds were flying to their roosts, and nestling as they could under the foliage, with deafening cries and pipings. a few bands of prairie wolves were showing themselves here and there, snuffing the breeze, and preparing for their nocturnal chase among the tall grasses. at intervals, the lofty antlers of elks and antelopes were suddenly rising from amidst the herbage, the animals quickly throwing back their heads, and commencing a giddy flight into the distance. the sun, close on the verge of the horizon, looked like a globe of red fire behind the trunks of the stately trees. everything announced the rapid approach of night. in the virgin forest, about two hundred miles from the _presidio_ of san lucar, where the last terrible episodes of our story occurred, and in the centre of a vast clearing, two men, habited like the mexican _gambucinos_, were sitting on buffalo skulls, beside a clear fire which gave forth no smoke. they were don estevan diaz the _mayor domo_, and luciano pedralva the _capataz_. they held their rifles across their knees, ready for an emergency, and smoked their maize _pajillos_ in silence. several _peones_ and _arrieros_ were lying about a few paces off, and baggage mules were greedily munching the rations of indian corn laid on mats before them. eight or ten horses were tethered, to prevent their straying, close to a _jacal_ (hut) of branches, the entrance to which was closed with a _zarapé_. a _peon_, standing motionless with cocked rifle on the borders of a little brook which meandered round the extremity of the clearing, watched over the common safety. it was easy to perceive, from the fragments of all sorts which littered the ground, whence every vestige of grass had disappeared, and from the quarters of venison suspended from the boughs of a mahogany tree, that the encampment we have described was not one of those temporary resting places which the backwoodsmen choose for a night and quit at sunrise, but one of those more substantial camps which the hunters often establish as places of rendezvous for the trapping season. the _zarapé_ at the entrance to the _jacal_ was lifted, and don pedro made his appearance on the scene. his features were pale, his expression was sad and pensive. he looked carefully around, went up to the two men seated by the fire, and spoke: "no news as yet?" "none whatever," replied don estevan. "this absence is incomprehensible; don fernando has never before stayed away from us so long." "true," said the _capataz;_ "it is more than thirty hours since he left us. pray god, no misfortune may have happened." "no," answered don estevan; "don fernando is too well acquainted with the desert to incur much danger." "but think whereabouts we are," put in don pedro; "the country round about is infested by the most dangerous serpents; wild beasts swarm in every place." "what does that matter, don pedro?" boldly answered don estevan; "you forget that don fernando and stoneheart are one and the same; that in this region the greater part of his life was spent; that it is here, for long years, he was a bee-hunter, and gathered the cascarilla bark." "but how do you explain his protracted absence?" "you recollect, don pedro, with what disinterestedness our friend offered us his cooperation when, in despair at the sudden disappearance of doña hermosa, mad with grief, and impotent to act, we knew not what step to take to recover the lost one. we have been led from the _presidio_ to this spot, following a trail invisible to all eyes save don fernando's, who, accustomed to reap the sublime lines of the wilderness, recognised it with singular ease and exactitude. the trail has suddenly vanished here--vanished in spite of the most minute and patient research. we have been eight days encamped in this place; and every morning, at sunrise, don fernando--whom obstacles seem to excite, rather than subdue--mounts and begins his search afresh. hitherto his labour has been in vain. yesterday he left us, as usual, at daybreak. well, suppose the reason of his protracted absence, which makes you so restless, should be the finding, at some spot leagues away perchance, the signs we have sought for so long and unavailing?" "god grant it, my good friend! your idea glads my heart. but what traces could we find, after the painful exertions we have already made?" "you forget, don pedro, that we have to deal with the apaches, the most astute savages in the wilderness, the most acute of all the redskins in hiding their trail." "holloa!" exclaimed the _capataz;_ "i hear the tread of a horse." "is it possible?" said don pedro joyfully. "yes," said don estevan; "i, too, hear a noise, but it is not the sound of one horse; there are two or three." "yet don fernando left the camp alone." "he has probably encountered someone on the road," replied don estevan, laughing. "you are wrong to joke with us in our circumstances; it is almost an insult to my sorrow." "heaven preserve me from such an intention, don pedro! the sound is coming nearer. we shall soon see what we have to do. i should not be at all surprised if don fernando has laid hands upon some indian marauder, at the very moment when, concealed by the underwood, he was watching our camp, and spying out our movements." "_¡canarios!_ it is he himself!" cried the _capataz_. in fact, the clear and sonorous voice of don fernando replied to the challenge of the sentry, and two horsemen pushed through the thick underwood which surrounded the clearing and formed a kind of natural rampart. don fernando brought with him a man whom he had firmly bound to a horse to prevent his escape. as to the prisoner, he seemed to bear his capture lightly. he swayed himself comfortably in his saddle, comported himself with an air of assurance, and looked altogether as impudent as possible. on reaching the fire, where our personages were assembled, he saluted them with a grimace, unabashed by the looks of the standers-by. he was no other than our friend tonillo el zapote, whom we have presented to our readers on several occasions. don fernando was very warmly and heartily greeted. his friends burnt with impatience to question him; and their curiosity was the more excited, as the frank and almost joyful expression of his features led them to suppose he was the bearer of good news. don fernando dismounted, embraced his friends, and unbuckled the girth which strapped the prisoner's legs under the belly of his horse, thus giving him the use of his limbs. "good," said the _vaquero_, "many thanks, don fernando. i have had quite enough of it. my legs are tingling as if a million of pins were stuck in them." he sprang to the ground; but he had spoken truly; his benumbed limbs could not support the weight of his body, and he fell heavily. the _capataz_ hastened to raise him. "it is a mere nothing," said the _vaquero_, honouring him with a gracious smile; "yet i thank you, caballero. in five minutes the circulation will be restored, and no harm done. but if it is the same to you, don fernando, pray do not pull the buckle so tight another time." "it will depend upon yourself, zapote. swear you will make no attempt at escape, and i will set you free." "if that is all," cried the _vaquero_, gaily, "we shall soon strike a bargain. i swear, by all my hopes of paradise, not to slip away." "enough! i will trust you." "an honest man sticks to his word," answered el zapote; "you will have no cause of complaint against me. i am the bond-slave of my word." "it will be all the better for you if that is the truth. but i am doubtful about it, particularly after your late conduct towards me, in spite of the protestations and offers of service you made me." the _vaquero_ showed no signs of embarrassment at this straightforward thrust. "men endowed with certain good qualities are sure to be misunderstood," he replied in a wheedling tone; "i never broke the promise i made you." "not when, after introducing indians and other rascals of your own kind into the _presidio_, you laid an infamous snare for me, and led me into an ambuscade?" "yes, señor don fernando; i was faithful even under the circumstances you mention." "_¡rayo de dios!_" impatiently exclaimed the latter; "i should be glad to learn how you can prove your fidelity there." "good heavens, señor! i was faithful after my own fashion." this answer was so extraordinary and unexpected, that the bystanders could not refrain from laughing. el zapote bowed gravely, with the proud humility common to men of doubtful talent, who in their inmost soul consider themselves unappreciated geniuses. "after all," said don fernando, carelessly shrugging his shoulders, "we shall soon see. i know pretty well the extent of this elastic fidelity." el zapote returned no answer; he merely raised his eyes to heaven, as if to invoke it as a witness of the injustice done to him, and crossed his arms on his breast. "before telling you anything, let me have something to eat," said don fernando, "i am fainting from inanition; i have neither eaten or drank since i left the camp." don estevan hastened to place provisions before him, to which he and his prisoner did great honour. however, the meal was short. don fernando's appetite was soon appeased; he gave a sigh of satisfaction, after slaking his thirst in the limpid brook, came and sat down beside the others, and, without putting their curiosity to further torture, began to explain the causes of his prolonged absence in all their details. don estevan had judged correctly; don fernando had really discovered the trail so long fruitlessly sought for. the trail took a south-west direction, towards the most unexplored regions of the far west. he had followed it with a trapper's indomitable patience for several hours, in order to be well assured that it was the true trail, and not an indian artifice to turn his steps astray. the redskins, when they fear pursuit, and cannot hide their trail, entangle so skilfully the many tracks they purposely make, and throw them all into such hopeless confusion, that it is generally impossible to distinguish the right one. on this occasion they had used a similar artifice with such dexterity and success, that they would have managed to outwit and lead astray any hunter less adroit than stoneheart. but he, accustomed from childhood to their wiles, did not suffer himself to be hoodwinked, particularly as he thought he had recognised some peculiar signs, which would have escaped the observation of a less experienced woodman. don fernando, delighted with his discovery, had rapidly commenced his return to the camp, without neglecting any of the prudential measures requisite in a country where every bush may conceal a foe, when it struck him that the grass in a certain spot was waving in a manner not wholly natural. he dropped quietly from his horse, and, without other arms than the knife he carried in an iron ring at his girdle, and a pistol, crept towards the suspected spot, crawling on hands and knees with the speed and silence of a snake gliding through grass. after a quarter of an hour's work, he reached the place, and with difficulty repressed a cry of joy on seeing el zapote comfortably seated on the ground, the bridle of his horse passed over his left arm, and finishing a copious meal. don fernando drew a few paces nearer, in order to be sure of his man; then, having carefully measured the distance, with a spring like a jaguar he seized the _vaquero_ by the throat, and had him bound beyond the possibility of resistance before el zapote had recovered from his astonishment. "aha!" said he, seating himself beside his prisoner, "what a singular chance! how are you, zapote?" "you are very kind, caballero; i cough a little." and he put his hand to his threat. "poor fellow! i hope it is of no consequence." "i hope, too, that no evil consequences may ensue, señor; nevertheless, i am not quite easy about it." "pooh! cast aside your anxiety. i will cure you." "do you know a remedy, caballero?" "yes; an excellent one, which i propose to apply to you." "a thousand thanks, señor! but perhaps that would give you too much trouble?" "none in the world. judge for yourself. i propose to knock out your brains with the butt end of a pistol." the _vaquero_ shuddered when the words were uttered; but he would not give in. "you really think that remedy would cure me?" said he. "radically, i am convinced." "it may seem very odd, caballero; but, with all due deference, i am obliged to observe, that i am of a totally different opinion." "you are wrong," replied don fernando, coolly cocking a pistol; "you will soon find how efficacious it is." "and you really think, señor, there is no other remedy?" "by my faith, i see no other." "but it seems to me a little too violent." "you only think so. i tell you again, you are wrong." "possibly so. i would not take the liberty of contradicting you, caballero. have you any great wish to administer the remedy on this particular spot?" "i? not at all! do you know any more fitting place?" "i think i do, señor." "and whereabouts is the place, comrade?" "good heavens! caballero, i may be mistaken; but still, i think it would be a pity so marvellous a secret as this remedy should be lost, for want of an eyewitness to its efficacy. consequently, i wish you to take me where we can find one." "very well! i suppose you know of such a place, not very far hence?" "yes, caballero; i even fancy you would be charmed to see those to whom i wish to present you." "that depends upon who they are." "you know them very well, señor: one of them is the tigercat--a most amiable caballero." "and you will undertake to lead me to him?" "whenever you please: this very instant if you like." don fernando replaced the pistol in his belt. "not directly. no," he said; "we must first report ourselves at the camp, where my friends expect me. i find you are not quite so ill as i thought; and i need not administer my remedy just now. we can always fall back upon it some other time, if it is necessary." "i can assure you, there is no hurry at all," replied the _vaquero_, trying an engaging smile. thus the business was concluded between the two men, who, knowing each other for a long time were perfectly aware of what each could expect from the other. don fernando put no faith in tonillo; so he took good care to remove all temptation to stray from his side, by leaving him bound as he was--a proceeding against which the _vaquero_ did not remonstrate. but as night had fallen while they were talking, they made such arrangements as they could for sleeping where they were, giving up all idea of rejoining the camp until the morrow. two or three times in the course of the night the _vaquero_ surreptitiously tried to free himself from the bonds in which he lay; but each time he endeavoured to put his project into execution, he saw the large blue eyes of the hunter fixed steadfastly upon him. "do you still feel indisposed?" he asked, the last time the prisoner made his attempt. "not at all!" replied the _vaquero_ hastily; "not at all." "i am glad to hear it; but," added he slowly, and emphatically, "your inability to sleep made me anxious about you." the _vaquero_ took the hint, shut his eyes without another word, and did not open them again till daylight. don fernando was already alert, and had saddled the horses. "aha! awake at last?" said he. "have you slept well?" "capitally; only i feel a little numb. gentle exercise would soon restore the circulation." "the effects of the dew," said the hunter imperturbably; "the nights are cold." "the devil!" said the _vaquero_, grinning. "i hope i shall not catch the rheumatism." "i think not. the ride will do you good." while he said this, don fernando had hoisted his companion on his shoulders, and thrown him across one of the horses. but on second thoughts, he freed his legs, and set him upright in the saddle; reflecting that useless cruelty would only harden the man against him, who could give such precious information when the proper moment arrived. the _vaquero_, who feared he was about to make the journey slung over the horse like a bale of merchandise, felt grateful for the half-liberty allowed him, and made no objection when don fernando took the precaution of buckling his legs together under his horse's belly. in this manner the two men rode to the camp, talking on different matters, and apparently the best friends in the world. chapter xvi. preparations for the chase. all the time don fernando was telling his story, el zapote had assumed the _nonchalant_ attitude of a man perfectly satisfied with himself; nodding his head affirmatively at certain passages, and smiling at others with an air of modest gratification. when the former ceased speaking, he thought it time to put in his word also. "you see, señores, i made no objection whatever to following this estimable caballero; which means to say, that i am ready to obey all commands you may please to lay on me." "here is a compliment," said don fernando, with a malicious smile, "which would evidently have been addressed to others, but for the surprise of yesterday!" "oh, fie, caballero!" retorted the _vaquero_, assuming a look of indignant denial. "but," continued stoneheart, "i will not vex you on that score; your secret feelings towards me affect me in nowise. i thought i had given you ample proof a long while ago how little i dread you in any way. i will content myself with remarking, that, more generous than you, i have several times held your life in my hands, and never abused the power." "on that account i am deeply grateful to you, señor." "pooh, pooh, señor zapote!" replied stoneheart, shrugging his shoulders; "you have quite mistaken your man. i have no more belief in your gratitude than in your good feelings towards me, and i have only refreshed your memory in this respect to induce you to reflect that, if i have hitherto condescended to pardon you, the amount of courtesy i could afford to expend on you is at length exhausted, and on the next occasion matters will end very differently between us." "i perfectly understand your meaning, señor; but, please god, such an occasion, i am quite sure, will never present itself. i repeat, once for all, that i have given you my word, and, you know, an honest man sticks--" "no more!" broke in stoneheart. "i wish it may be so, for your own sake. however that may be, listen attentively." "i am all ears, señor; i will not lose a word." "although i am still young, señor tonillo, i know one important truth not very creditable to humanity. if one wishes to attract a man, and insure his fidelity, one must not attempt to act upon his virtues, but make sure of him through his vices. you are more richly endowed with these last than most men i know." the _vaquero_ made a modest bow in acknowledgment of the compliment. "señor," he said, "you cover me with confusion; such praise--" "is richly deserved," continued stoneheart. "i have seen few men in possession of such a formidable assortment of vices as you, my friend. yours are so many, that i was at a loss which to select. but among these vices are a few more prominent than the rest: for instance, your avarice has acquired a prodigious development; i am going to appeal to your avarice." the _vaquero's_ eyes sparkled with greed. "what do you want me to do?" said he. "first, let me tell you what i will give you; after that, i will explain what i require." the leering, cunning face of the bandit instantly grew serious; and, leaning his elbows on his knees, he stretched out his head to listen to stoneheart's words. "you know i am rich, and can have no doubt that i am able to fulfil any engagement with you into which i may enter. however, to save time, and deprive you of any pretext to betray me, i will immediately place in your hands three diamonds, each worth two thousand five hundred piastres you are so well acquainted with precious stones, that a single glance will convince you of their value. these diamonds are yours. i make you a present of them. nevertheless, if you prefer it, i engage to pay you what they are worth; that is to say, to forward seven thousand five hundred piastres on your first demand, after our return to san lucar, in exchange for the jewels." "and you have got the diamonds about you?" said the _vaquero_, in a voice half stifled with emotion. "here they are!" replied stoneheart, drawing from his bosom a small deerskin bag, and taking out three good-sized jewels, which he placed in the _vaquero's_ hands. the latter clutched them with a glee he did not attempt to conceal, looked at them for a moment with eyes sparkling with triumph, and hid them carefully in his bosom. "wait a moment!" said stoneheart, with a curious smile; "i have not yet told you the conditions." "whatever they may be, i accept them, señor. _¡caspita!_ seven thousand five hundred piastres! it is a fortune to a poor devil like me! no _navajada_ will ever bring me in as much, however well they pay me!" "then you want no time for consideration?" "_¡canarios!_ i should think not! whom am i to kill?" "no one," briefly answered stoneheart. "listen to me: all you have to do is to lead me to the place where the tigercat has taken refuge." the _vaquero_ shook his head discontentedly at this proposal. "i cannot do it, caballero. by all my hopes hereafter, it is impossible!" "very well," said stoneheart. "i forgot to mention another little thing." "what is it, señor?" asked the _vaquero_, in great trouble at the turn the conversation was taking. "a very trifling matter. if you do not accept my proposal, i will instantly blow out your brains." el zapote examined the speaker's face most carefully; with a rascal's intuitive perception, he felt that the time for pleasantry was over, and matters were threatening to become serious. "at least give me leave to explain, señor," said he. "i ask no better," said stoneheart coldly. "i am in no hurry." "i cannot lead you to the tigercat's hiding place--i swear so; but i can direct you to it, and tell you its name." "that is something. go on; we have already made some progress. i see we shall come to an understanding. i am in despair at finding myself obliged to use extreme measures; it is so disagreeable." "unhappily, señor, i have told you all. this is what happened: the tigercat, after his flight from the _presidio_, collected some score of resolute men, of whom i was one, who comprehended that for some time to come the mexican confederation would be too hot to hold them, and resolved to plunge into the wilderness, in order to give the storm time to blow over. all went well for a little while, when the tigercat suddenly changed his route; and, instead of leading us to overrun the country of the apaches, took us to the district of the bee-hunters and cascarilla gatherers." "he has done that?" exclaimed stoneheart, starting with surprise and terror. "yes, señor. you can understand how little i cared for a game of life and death, in regions infested by the fiercest beasts of prey, and, worse than that, by serpents whose bite is mortal. seeing that the tigercat was seriously bent upon taking refuge in this horrible country, i confess, señor, i got terribly frightened; and at the risk of dying with hunger, or being scalped by the redskins in the desert, i quietly dropped to the rear, and profited by the first opportunity to give the tigercat the slip." stoneheart fixed on the _vaquero_ a gaze which seemed to search his inmost soul; the latter bore it manfully. "it is well," he said, "i see you have not lied. how long is it since you left the tigercat?" "only four days, señor. as i do not know this part of the wilderness, i was wandering about at a venture, when i had the good fortune to fall in with you." "indeed! now, what is the name of the place to which the tigercat intended to lead you?" "el voladero de las ánimas," answered the _vaquero_, without hesitation. stoneheart instantly grew pale as death at this information; and yet he had almost expected it, from the cruel and implacable character of his former teacher. "alas!" cried he; "the unfortunate girl is lost! this wretch has carried her into a very nest of serpents!" the bystanders were dreadfully agitated. "what is this horrible place?" said don pedro. "alas! el voladero de las ánimas is an accursed region, into which the hardiest bee-hunters and boldest _cascarilleros_ scarcely dare to enter. the voladero is a lofty mountain, which frowns over an immense expanse of swamps swarming with cobras, coral snakes, and others, whose slightest bite kills the strongest man in ten minutes. for ten leagues around this dread mountain, the country is alive with reptiles and venomous insects, against which how shall man defend himself!" "great god!" cried don pedro, in despair; "and it is to this hell they have carried my darling child!" "calm yourself," said stoneheart, who perceived the necessity of restoring a little courage to the poor father; "the tigercat knows this accursed place too well to enter it without taking the needful precautions. the swamps alone are to be dreaded; the voladero is free from these noxious animals; the air is too pure, and its elevation too great for them to live there. not one attempts to scale it. courage, then! if your daughter, as i hope, has reached the voladero alive, she is in safety." "but, alas!" replied don pedro, "how are we to cross this impassable barrier; how reach my daughter, without encountering certain death?" an indefinable smile illumined the features of don fernando. "i will reach her, don pedro," he exclaimed, in firm and resolute tones. "have you forgotten that i am stoneheart, the most renowned bee-hunter of the prairies? the tigercat confided all his secrets to me when we were not only bee-hunters but _cascarilleros_. courage, i say; all is not yet lost." if a man who is struck down with some dire and and unexpected calamity has a friend beside him, whose stout heart and cheering words bid him hope, his prostrate courage revives, however faint and problematical the hope may be, and, confiding in the prospect held out to him, he gathers fresh energy for the approaching struggle. this was exactly what happened to don pedro. the speech of stoneheart, who, for weeks past, had worked hard for him,--whom he had learned to love, and in whom he had entire confidence,--revived his hope and courage as if by magic. "and now," said stoneheart, addressing the _vaquero_, "tell me how the tigercat treated his prisoners. you remained with him long enough to give me reliable information on this point." "as far as that goes, señor, i can answer without hesitation, that his attention to the señorita's welfare was unceasing; he watched over her with anxious care, often shortening the day's march for fear of overtiring her." his hearers breathed more freely. this solicitude on the part of one who respected neither god nor man seemed to indicate better intentions than they had a right to expect. stoneheart continued his interrogations. "do you know the nature of the tigercat's conversations with doña hermosa?" "i overheard one, señor. the poor señorita was very sad: she dared not weep openly, for fear of offending the chief; but her eyes were always filled with tears, and her breast heaved with stifled sobs. one day, during a halt, she was sitting apart at the foot of a tree, her eyes fixed on the road we had just travelled, and large tears coursing down her cheeks. the tigercat advanced towards her, looked at her for a moment with mingled pity and displeasure, and addressed her in nearly the following words: 'child, it is useless to look back; those you expect will not come. no one shall tear you from my hands till the time comes when i shall think fit to restore you to freedom. to you alone i owe the ruin of my projects, and the massacre of my friends at san lucar. i know it well. therefore i carried you off, for vengeance' sake. but this i will tell you, for your consolation and encouragement: my revenge shall not be harsh; within a month i will give you to him you love.' the señorita looked at him incredulously; he perceived it, and continued, in a tone of implacable malice: 'my most earnest wish is to see you some day the bride of don fernando carril: i have never lost sight of this. take courage, then; dry those useless tears, which only disfigure you,--for i swear to you i will carry out my resolve, the very day and hour i have appointed.' having said this, he left her, without waiting for the answer doña hermosa was about to make. i happened to be lying on the grass, a few paces from the lady. the tigercat either did not notice me, or thought me asleep. that is how i overheard their conversation. to the best of my belief, that is the only time the chief ever conversed with his prisoner, although he continued to treat her well." when the _vaquero_ ceased, a long silence ensued, caused by the strangeness of this revelation. stoneheart racked his brains in vain endeavours to discover a motive for the tigercat's conduct. he recalled the words the chief had once uttered in his presence,--words which agreed with what he had just heard; for even at that time the old man seemed to take delight in the project. but stoneheart vainly tried to find a solution to the question, why he should act thus. in the meanwhile the sun had gone down, and night set in with the rapidity peculiar to intertropical climates, in which there is no twilight. it was one of those delicious nights of southern america which are replete with sweet odours and airy melody. the dark blue sky was enamelled with a countless number of golden stars. the moon, now at the full, showered down a flood of soft and glorious light; and the transparent atmosphere made distant objects seem close at hand. the night wind tempered the oppressive heat of the day; and the men seated in front of the _jacal_ inhaled with delight the refreshing breeze that whispered among the foliage, surrendering themselves to the influence of the night, which stole upon them with all its seductive languor. when don pedro and his two confidential agents first set out on their search for doña hermosa, under the auspices of stoneheart, ña manuela, that devoted pure-hearted woman, refused to leave her master and her son. she had loudly claimed her share in the risks and perils they were about to encounter, asserting her right to accompany them in her quality of doña hermosa's nurse. the good woman had persisted so obstinately, that don pedro and don estevan, touched by her self-abnegation, could no longer resist her entreaties, and she had come with them. ña manuela had charge of the commissariat of the camp. as soon as night had completely closed in, she issued from the _jacal_, bearing refreshments, which she distributed with strict impartiality to all present, master and man. unseen, the worthy woman had listened to the queries put to the _vaquero_. her heart failed her at el zapote's story; but she dissembled her grief, for fear of augmenting don pedro's anguish; and she appeared amongst the travellers with dry eyes and a smiling countenance. however, time passed on; the hour for rest had come; one after another the _peones_ rolled themselves in their _zarapés_, and slumbered peacefully, with the exception of the sentries posted to watch over the safety of the camp. stoneheart, plunged in deep meditation, was reclining, with his head supported by his right arm; his companions now and then exchanged a few words, uttered in a low tone, that they might not disturb him. the _vaquero_, with characteristic carelessness, stretched himself out on the ground, indifferent to what was passing around him. his eyelids grew heavy; he was already in a state of semi--somnolence, when he was thoroughly roused to consciousness by don fernando, who shook him rudely. "holloa, señor! what is the matter?" said he, sitting up, and rubbing his eyes. "is it possible to trust you?" "a question you asked once before, señor. i replied, 'yes, if you pay me well.' now, you have paid me royally. there was but one man in the world to whom i could attach myself sooner than to you--don torribio quiroga. he is dead; you take his place. no dog would obey your slightest sign more faithfully than i." "i am not now going to put your new fledged fidelity to any rude proof; i shall content myself with leaving you here. but remember to deal frankly with me, and without reservation; for as surely as i have not hesitated to pay you in advance in the bargain i have concluded with you, so surely will i not hesitate to kill you on the spot if you betray me. and take this to your soul: if you deceive me, no hiding place, however secret or remote, shall save you from my vengeance." the _vaquero_ bent his head, and answered unhesitatingly: "señor don fernando, i swear, by the cross of our lord, who died for the remission of our sins, that i will be faithful to you unto the death." "good," said stoneheart; "i believe you, zapote. sleep now, if you are able." the _vaquero_ did not wait for a repetition of the words, but rolled over, and was soon fast asleep. "señores," said stoneheart, turning to his friends, "it is time for you to rest. as for me, i must watch a while. be of good courage, don pedro; our position is far from desperate. the more i reflect, the surer i am we shall tear from the tigercat the prey he holds in his grasp and longs to devour. be not too anxious; and if you should not see me tomorrow, do not on any pretext leave this encampment till my return: my absence will not be long. good night to all!" having said this, stoneheart crossed his arms on his breast, and returned to his sombre meditations. his friends, respecting his wish to be alone, withdrew; and ten minutes later all the inmates in the camp, except stoneheart and the sentinels, were asleep, or seemed to sleep. chapter xvii. the chase. deep silence prevailed through the wilderness, broken only at long intervals by the growling of the jaguar at the spring, or the barking of the prairie dog in his burrow. stoneheart had not moved after his friends left him; he was so motionless, one would have thought him asleep, but for the occasional glitter of his eye through the darkness. suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder. he started up in an instant. don estevan stood beside him. stoneheart greeted him with a smile. "you have something to tell me?" said he. "i have," replied don estevan, seating himself at his side. "i waited till all were asleep before sought you out. you are meditating some daring exploit--perhaps an expedition to the camp of the tigercat?" stoneheart replied by a smile. "have i guessed aright?" said the _mayor domo_. "perhaps you have, estevan; but how does that concern you?" "more than you think, fernando. such an expedition is as dangerous as can be imagined; you yourself said so. i will not let you commit so great a folly as to attempt it alone. remember that, from our first meeting, we have been irresistibly attracted to each other; we are bound together by ties of friendship which nothing can sever. everything ought to be in common between us. who can tell the danger to which you would be exposed in the expedition you are about to undertake! this is what i have come to tell you: half of that danger is mine; i come to claim the share you have no right to withhold from me." "brother," replied stoneheart, much moved, "i feared this would happen; i dreaded the demand you have just made. alas! you have guessed truly; the expedition is indeed desperate, and who can say whether i shall succeed? but why link yourself to my evil fate? has not my whole life been one long sorrow? it will make me happy to sacrifice it for the poor father, pining for the child who has been torn from him. every man has a destiny in this world; mine is to be wretched. let me fulfil it. your destiny smiles upon you; you have a mother whom you cherish, and who adores you. i am alone. if i perish, none save yourself will regret me. should you fall by my side, you leave me a lifelong sorrow for having caused your death. no length of life could obliterate my remorse." "fernando, my determination is irrevocable. whatever you may say, i shall follow you. fidelity is an heirloom in our family; and i must do this day what my father did not hesitate to do long ago for the family to whom we are attached. i repeat once more, fernando, my duty compels me to be with you." "think no more of it, estevan; think of your mother, and her grief." "i think of nothing but what honour bids me." "estevan, i cannot consent to what you wish. again i say, think of your mother's grief if she should lose you." "my mother, fernando, would be the first to bid me go, were she here." "spoken like a man!" said a gentle voice behind them. they turned, and saw ña manuela. "i have heard all," she said. "thanks, don fernando, for speaking as you did; i will never forget your words. but estevan is right: duty compels him to follow you. you lose your time in trying to dissuade him. he springs from a race who never tamper with their duty. let him go with you. if he falls, i shall weep,--perhaps i shall die; but i shall die blessing him, for he will fall in the service of those whom, through five generations, we have sworn to serve faithfully." stoneheart gazed with admiration at the mother who did not hesitate to sacrifice her son to her sense of duty, regardless of the boundless love she bore him. he felt himself a weakling, compared with this self-denial. words failed him, and he could only manifest by signs his acquiescence in a wish so energetically expressed. "go, my sons," she continued, raising her eyes to heaven with an expression of holy fervour; "god, who sees all, sees your devotedness. he will reward you. the rule of the wicked on earth is short; the protection of the almighty will be with you--will defend you in every danger. go without fear; he tells me you will prosper in your undertaking. farewell!" "farewell, mother," replied the two men, moved even to tears. the noble woman pressed them to her heart, but could not part from them without an effort. "remember this law," she said,--"it is the basis of honour: do your duty, whatever may happen. farewell, farewell!" she turned, and hastily entered the _jacal_ for, in spite of herself, tears were regaining the mastery, and she would weaken their resolution. the others were silent for a time, looking steadfastly at the _jacal_. "you see," said don estevan, at last, "my mother herself orders me to follow you." "be it as you will, then," said stoneheart, with a sigh; "i will no longer oppose your wishes." "thank heaven!" exclaimed the _mayor domo_. stoneheart carefully examined the heavens. "it is two o'clock," he said; "at half past three it will be daylight. we must go." don estevan left him, to bring up the horses. they were soon saddled. the men left the camp, gave their horses the spur, and dashed into the desert. by sunrise they had ridden six leagues. they were following the course of one of those nameless rivers which traverse the wilderness in every direction, and ultimately fall into some larger stream. "let us halt here a while," said stoneheart; "first to breathe our horses, and then to take a few precautions indispensable to our success." dismounting, they took the bits from the horses' mouths, leaving them at liberty to crop the luxuriant grass on the banks of the river. "the time has come, estevan," said don fernando, "when i must teach you something, without which it would be impossible to avoid the dangers we are about to encounter; i must reveal a secret known only to us, 'the bee-hunters.' hardly two leagues farther on, we shall have to enter the swamps, swarming with serpents, and we must take the requisite precautions against their fatal bite, for every reptile we shall meet on the road will be of the most venomous species." "the devil!" ejaculated don estevan, turning somewhat pale. "i will give you a lesson. when we have once put on our armour, we can trample with impunity on the heads of the most dangerous." "_¡caray!_" replied don estevan; "your secret is worth knowing." "you shall prove it soon. come with me. of course you are acquainted with the _guaco?_" "certainly. i have often helped it in his battles with snakes." "very well. i dare say you are ignorant of the means this intelligent bird employs to heal the wounds in the mortal combats which always terminate in the destruction of the reptile?" "i confess, fernando, that i have never attempted to fathom the mystery." "then it is lucky, estevan, that i have thought for both. come, close at hand i see several stems of the _mikania_ twisting round the cork trees: that is what we want. we will take a supply of the leaves of the guaco creeper." don estevan, without troubling his head concerning his friend's intentions, set about collecting the leaves of the creeper he had pointed out. by dint of exertion, a goodly number were soon heaped upon the ground. when stoneheart deemed the quantity sufficient, he gathered them up in his _zarapé_, and returned to the spot where they had left their horses. without further explanation, he began to pound the leaves on a flat stone he brought from the edge of the water. don estevan, taking great interest in the mysterious operation, occupied himself in collecting in a _coui_ (or gourd) the juice which ran from the leaves as stoneheart crushed them. the work lasted an hour, by which time the _coui_ was filled to the brim with a greenish liquid. "what are we to do now?" said don estevan, puzzled more and more. "that is a delicate question, my friend," replied stoneheart, with a laugh. "we must undress; then, with the point of the _navaja_, we will make longitudinal incisions in our breasts, our arms, thighs, and between the fingers and toes, just deep enough to cause blood to flow. afterwards, we will carefully inject the liquid we have collected into these incisions. have you sufficient courage to inoculate yourself with the _mikania_juice?" "certainly, fernando, though the operation will be painful. but what good will it do us?" "only the least in the world! we shall be invulnerable. we shall be able to trample thousands of snakes under our feet; and their bites shall do us no more harm than the prick of a pin." stoneheart said no more, but undressed himself, and coolly began to make incisions in his body. don estevan followed his example. after slicing themselves in this fashion, they rubbed the cuts with the juice of the creeper, leaving the liquid time to dry in before they resumed their dress. "well, that is done," said stoneheart. "we need not keep our horses: the poor brutes would infallibly perish, for we cannot insure them from the serpents. we will leave them here, and pick them up when we return; only let us hobble them well, for fear they should stray too far." the saddles were carefully hidden under some bushes, and the two hardy adventurers commenced their journey on foot, trailing their rifles, and holding in one hand a slender but tough twig of mesquite, to cut the reptiles in two which might dispute their passage. they marched rapidly, one behind the other, shaking the grasses on right and left with their rods, to dislodge the snakes, and following a track left by a numerous body of horsemen. suddenly they saw a dead body before them horribly swollen and putrified, over which they were obliged to step. "ah!" said stoneheart, "here lies a poor wretch, who probably did not know the uses of the guaco creeper." just at that moment, a sharp hissing was heard, and a beautiful little snake, about as thick as the little finger, and seven or eight inches long, crept from under the corpse, raised itself upon its tail, and, darting with wonderful rapidity, fixed itself on stoneheart's right leg. "your pardon, my good fellow," said he coolly; "you have made a mistake!" and, seizing it by the tail, he swung it round, and crushed its head on the ground. "it is a ribbon snake," he added; "bitten by him, you have just eleven minutes to live. you grow first yellow, then green; then you begin to swell, and all is over--with this exception: you have the consolation of changing colour once more, this time from green to black. it is odd, is it not, estevan?" "_¡caray!_" replied the latter, who could not help shuddering; "yours was a lucky thought, fernando." "do you think so, estevan?" "by heavens! it is self-evident. ha! crush that coral snake coiling round your leg!" "why, really, so he is! well, he is a gentleman who takes liberties!" saying this, he seized the reptile, and crushed him. "it is a lovely country," he continued. "it is quite diverting to travel here. halloa! more bodies!--this time a man and horse. they have died together. poor brute!" and thus they went on all day. the farther they advanced, the more numerous were the snakes; they met them by threes and fours together. at intervals they found more bodies stretched across their path, proving that they were still on the right trail, and that the tigercat had left the greater number of his companions on the road. with all their courage, they could not refrain from shuddering at the frightful spectacles they had witnessed in passing through this dreadful place. suddenly stoneheart stopped, bent his body forward, made a sign to his friend to be still, and listened anxiously. "if i am not mistaken," he whispered, "somebody is coming this way." "someone!" exclaimed the astonished estevan. "impossible!" "and why so? we are here, and why not others?" "quite right: but who can it be?" "we shall soon see;" and he dragged his companion behind a thick bush, where they crouched for concealment. "cock your rifle, estevan. who can tell whom we may have to meet?" the _mayor domo_ obeyed. both kept motionless, expecting the arrival of the individual, whose steps were now clearly distinguishable. during the last hour, the path our adventurers were pursuing had gradually begun to rise, with frequent turnings--a sure proof that they were quitting the swamps, and approaching the region which was free from reptiles. stoneheart soon saw a shadow thrown across an angle in the path, and immediately afterwards a man appeared. stoneheart recognised him directly by his tall stature and long white beard. it was the tigercat. stoneheart whispered a few words in his companion's ear, and, drawing himself together, bounded at one spring into the middle of the path. the tigercat showed no surprise at this sudden apparition. "i was coming to look for you," he said calmly, as he halted. "then your task is finished," said stoneheart, "for here i am." "no, it is not ended; for, while you show yourself in my camp, i shall go to yours." "you think so?" said stoneheart, with a mocking laugh. "certainly. do you think to bar my passage?" "why not? is it not mine to settle affairs between us?" "for my part, i see no reason. you are not looking for me, i suppose?" "you are wrong, tigercat! i came here on purpose to seek you." "me, and another person." "you, first of all; for we have a long account to settle." "we are losing time," said the tigercat impatiently. "listen, and try to understand me. doña hermosa is close by; she expects you, for i have promised to bring you together. she has charged me with certain messages to her father; and on that account i must go to your camp. but first, i will lead you to mine--a sad one: of all my followers, but four are left; the rest are dead." "i know; i saw their bodies on the road. it is you who have slain them. why did you lead them here?" "never mind. what is done cannot be undone. but time presses; will you follow me? i wish to deal openly with you." "no! i do not trust you. why have you come into this fearful place?" "did you not guess, my son? merely to be sure that my prisoner was safe." "you made a mistake, for i am here." "perhaps i did. but enough of this. here, take my rifle. tell your friend, the barrel of whose rifle i see gleaming through the branches, to come from behind his bush. perchance you will not be afraid to follow me now, when i am unarmed, and you two to one." stoneheart reflected for a moment, and then said: "come forth, estevan!" his friend was at his side in a moment. "keep your rifle," said stoneheart to the tigercat; "no one must travel in the wilderness without weapons." "thanks, fernando," replied the old chief; "i see you have not forgotten the old rule: a backwoodsman never quits his rifle." the tigercat turned and led the way to his camp, the two others following exactly in his footsteps. in about an hour they reached it, pitched halfway up the voladero, in a spacious cavern. the chief had told the truth--only four out of all his men survived. "before going farther," he said, when they got there, "i have a condition to exact." "to exact!" said stoneheart ironically, emphasizing the words. the tigercat shrugged his shoulders. "at a sign from me, those men will stab doña hermosa to the heart without hesitation; you see, i have the power to exact." "speak, then," said stoneheart, trembling for her sake. "i will leave you here alone with doña hermosa. i, your friend, and my four comrades, will leave the voladero at once. in two days, and not before, you will quit the mountain, and come to your camp, where you will find me." "why do you impose this condition?" "you have nothing to do with that: is it so hard, that you will not submit to it? but, briefly, i do not choose to explain; answer--yes or no. except on this condition you shall not see doña hermosa." "how do i know whether she is still alive?" "what good would it have done me to kill her?" stoneheart hesitated for a moment. "i accept the conditions," said he at last; "i will stay here two days." "good! now go to her; as for us we will leave you." "one instant longer! my friend--will you be answerable for his safety? i know i can trust your word." "i swear to you, i will look upon him as my own friend as long as he remains with me, and you shall find him safe and sound in the camp." "enough. farewell, estevan; console don pedro, and tell him on what conditions his daughter has been restored." "i will tell them to him myself," said the tigercat, his mouth contorted with a strange expression. stoneheart and don estevan bade each other farewell; then the former rapidly approached the cavern, while the tigercat, his four followers, and the _mayor domo_, went down the path into the plains. on reaching the nearest trees, the tigercat halted for a moment, and turned to the cavern into which stoneheart had just entered. "aha!" he exclaimed, with a sinister smile, and rubbing his hands with delight; "at last i am sure of my revenge!" he followed his companion, and they were soon lost to sight, behind the intervening foliage. chapter xviii. el voladero de las ánimas. we have already said that don fernando carril, or stoneheart, had passed the greater part of his life in the wilderness. brought up by the tigercat in the perilous calling of a bee-hunter, chance had occasionally brought him, most unwillingly we confess, to the district in which he now found himself. thus he was well acquainted with the voladero de las ánimas, even to its inmost recesses. he had often sought shelter in the cavern where doña hermosa was now a prisoner, and found it again without difficulty, although the access to it was so well masked by certain features of the mountain, that any other would have been some time in discovering it. the cavern, one of the greatest curiosities of this part of the country; contains several chambers, extending far into the hill, and two broad passages, which terminate in two apertures, like gigantic windows, exactly under the peak of the voladero, where they hang at a height of a thousand feet over the plain; the conformation of the mountain being so singular that, looking down from them, nothing is to be seen but the tops of the trees below. stoneheart entered the cavern, which by another remarkable peculiarity, was lighted throughout its whole extent by innumerable fissures in the rock, admitting sufficient daylight to enable objects to be perceived at a distance of twenty or twenty-five paces. he was very restless; the conditions imposed by tigercat depressed his spirit to a degree he could not shake off. he could not help asking himself why the old chief had insisted on his remaining two days with doña hermosa on the mountain before he rejoined the camp. he suspected some treachery in these conditions; but of what kind? that was the riddle he could not solve. he walked slowly through the cavern, looking right and left in the hope of finding her; and, for more than half an hour, could see no indications of her presence. the sun was already disappearing below the horizon when stoneheart had issued from the forest; the cavern, sombre enough in the daytime, was at this hour in almost total darkness; so he retraced his steps, to obtain a light for the purpose of resuming a search which otherwise the obscurity rendered impossible. on reaching the entrance to the cavern, he availed himself of the last gleam of daylight to look about him. some torches of ocote wood were carefully arranged close to the entrance. producing flint and steel, he speedily procured a light; and, arming himself with a kindled torch, again made his way into the cave. he traversed several chambers without success: and had begun to suspect that the tigercat had duped him, when he perceived a faint glimmer at some distance in advance of him, which gradually approached, until its light was sufficient to reveal the form of doña hermosa. she too held a torch in her hand. she was walking with a slow and unsteady step, her head sunk on her breast, in an attitude of poignant sorrow. doña hermosa came nearer and nearer, till she was within fifty paces of stoneheart. uncertain how to attract her attention, he was on the point of calling to her, when she chanced to raise her head. on seeing a man before her, she stopped, and haughtily demanded: "why have you entered this corridor? have you forgotten that your chief has forbidden anyone to enter it and annoy me?" "forgive me, señorita," replied stoneheart gently; "the order was unknown to me." "heavens!" cried she; "that voice! is it a a dream?" she dropped her torch, and hastened to approach stoneheart, who likewise rushed towards her. "don fernando!" she exclaimed; "don fernando here, in this horrible den! great god! what further evil is at hand? have i not suffered enough yet?" overcome by emotion, she lost all consciousness, and sank, fainting, into the arms of stoneheart. alarmed at the occurrence, and not knowing how to recall her to her senses, he hurried her back to the entrance to the cavern, hoping that the fresh air might restore her. he placed her carefully on a heap of dry leaves, and left her to herself. stoneheart was a man whose courage reached the verge of temerity. a hundred times he had looked death in the face with a smile; but when he saw the girl lying before him, her features rigid, and pale as death, he trembled like a child; a cold sweat broke out over his forehead, and tears--the first he had ever shed--rolled down his face. "my god, my god!" he exclaimed; "i have killed her!" "who speaks?" said doña hermosa in feeble accents, the current of air rushing into the cave having somewhat revived her. "do i really hear don fernando? can it be he?" "it is i; it is indeed i, hermosa. collect yourself, and forgive me for causing this sudden fright." "i am not alarmed," she answered; "on the contrary, your presence relieves me, don fernando, if your appearance in this dreadful place augurs no new misfortune." "calm yourself, señorita," he said, drawing gently near her; "i am no omen of evil; i bring good tidings." "why seek to deceive me, my friend? are not you too a prisoner of the monster in human shape who has kept me captive so long?" she rose; the colour returned to her cheeks. she extended her hand to stoneheart, who, kneeling, clasped it in both his own, and covered it with kisses. "now we shall no longer be alone; we shall suffer together," she said, fixing an earnest look upon him. "dearest hermosa, your sufferings are at an end; i do indeed bring you good tidings." "what is it you say, don fernando? your words are incomprehensible. how can you talk of good tidings, while we are both in the power of the tigercat." "no, señorita; you are no longer in his power." "free!" she exclaimed in ecstasy; "is it possible o my father! my father! i shall see you once more!" "you shall see him very soon, hermosa. your father is not far hence, with all you love--don estevan and ña manuela." doña hermosa fell on her knees, with an expression on her face impossible to describe. lifting her clasped hands to heaven, she uttered a long, silent, and fervent prayer. stoneheart gazed upon her with reverential admiration. the sudden transition from sorrow and despair to this excess of joy excited him infinitely. he felt intensely happy--happier than he had ever known himself before. when doña hermosa rose from her knees, she had regained her calmness. "and now, don fernando," she said in gentle accents, "as we are really free, let us sit down outside the cave. tell me all that has happened since i was torn away from my father." they left the cavern, and sat down, side by side, on the green turf, canopied by the night, which hung cool and odorous above them; and stoneheart began his story. it lasted a long time; for doña hermosa frequently interrupted him, to make him repeat details concerning don pedro, and night had sped away before the recital ended. "it is your turn, señorita," said stoneheart, as soon as he had finished. "you have now to relate what has happened to you." "as for me," she replied, with a charming smile, "the month has passed in sorrowful thoughts of those from whom i was torn. but i must be just enough to confess, that the man who bore me away treated me with respect--nay, on several occasions he sought to console me and alleviate my grief, by holding out hopes of my soon seeing those whom i love so dearly." "the tigercat's conduct is incomprehensible," said stoneheart thoughtfully. "why did he carry you off, when he has restored you to us again with so little demur?" "it is strange," said she; "what could his object be? but i am tree! thank heaven, i shall see my father again!" "tomorrow we will go to him." doña hermosa looked at him in surprise. "tomorrow!" she exclaimed; "why not today? why not at once?" "alas!" said he, "i have sworn not to leave this place until tomorrow! the tigercat would only restore you to liberty on this condition." "how singular! why should that man wish to keep us here?" "i will tell you the reason!" cried don estevan, suddenly appearing before them. "estevan!" they exclaimed, rushing towards him. "what happy chance brings you here?" asked stoneheart. "it is no chance, brother. god has permitted me to overhear words spoken by the tigercat, which have given me as clear an insight into his plans as if he himself had revealed them." "explain your words, estevan?" "yesterday, when i left you, fernando, you turned your steps to the cavern, while we retraced ours to the forest. i know not why, but my heart was heavy, and i felt loth to quit you. i could not help fancying that the tigercat's urbanity covered some deadly purpose against you. so i went slowly down the hill. i happened to turn when i reached the forest, and saw that the chief had ceased to follow us. he had halted a few paces from me. he was rubbing his hands with ferocious delight; his eyes were earnestly fixed on the cave, and i distinctly heard him utter these words: 'at last i am sure of my revenge!' it was like a sudden gleam of light; the diabolical plan the monster had conceived started forth in all its hideousness. don fernando, you remember how we became acquainted?" "i do, estevan; the remembrance is too near for me to forget it." "you recollect your conversation on the island with the tigercat, which i overheard? the insinuations of the man? the implacable hatred to don pedro he openly avowed?" "i recollect it all, estevan; but to what does it lead?" "to this, fernando: the tigercat, despairing to reach don pedro himself, endeavours to strike him through his daughter. hence the long-concocted plan in which he has made you an involuntary accomplice. you love doña hermosa; you have done everything to save her; he proposes to restore her to you on the simple condition of remaining two days here in her company: do you understand me now?" "it is frightful!" indignantly exclaimed stoneheart. doña hermosa covered her face with her hands to conceal her tears. "forgive the pain i have caused you," continued estevan. "i wished to save you from yourselves; and i could only do so by bluntly laying his machinations open before you. the question is now, whence this inveterate hatred to don pedro? satan alone can tell. but let us not mind that; his plans are unmasked; we have nothing to fear from him." "thanks, estevan," said doña hermosa, holding out her hand. "but how were you able to return?" cried stoneheart. "easily enough. i had nothing to do but to tell the tigercat plainly that i did not choose to travel in his company any longer. our man was thunderstruck at my deliberate desertion; but found no words to oppose me. as for me, i had nothing more to say, so, at the first turn of the road, i left him." "it was a capital idea, estevan, and i thank you heartily. but now, what are we to do? i have given my word." "nonsense, fernando! you must be mad. are we obliged to keep promises which have only been extorted from us to do us harm? if you take my advice, you will leave this place instantly, to thwart any new plots this man may brew." "true, true!" cried doña hermosa. "estevan, you are right. we will follow your counsel, and go." "let us go," said stoneheart, "since you wish it. as for me, there is nothing i should like better than to leave this accursed cavern. but how are we to get doña hermosa through the forest?" "in the same way i crossed it before," she said firmly. "how was that?" cried estevan. "on a kind of litter, which ought to be here still. it was carried on men's shoulders. you know, the snakes do not spring very high." "and we will wrap you in a buffalo hide, so that you will be safe from all danger." don estevan went in search of the litter, and soon found it, while stoneheart got the buffalo hide ready. all was prepared in a few minutes. "we have not broken the conditions of the treaty," said estevan to his friend. "how so?" "did you not agree to meet the chief at the camp today, and not before?" "i did; and it would have been impossible to do so, had we remained here the stated time." "well, who knows whether the tigercat did not take that into account too?" replied estevan. this observation gave our three personages ample food for reflection; and they began their journey without any further attempt at conversation. chapter xix. the hand of god. we will now return to the hacendero and the mexican encampment. when don pedro awoke in the morning, ña manuela reported stoneheart's departure in company with her son. "i feared something of the sort," said don pedro sighing; "don fernando was so preoccupied last night. i am glad your son has gone with him, manuela, for it is a perilous expedition. god grant they may bring me back my daughter! yet i cannot help thinking it would have been better to have consulted me before they left. we have here twenty bold men, who would certainly have been able to do more than two unsupported men, however brave they may be." "i am of a different opinion," replied ña manuela. "surprises are the chief element of wars in the wilderness, and two men can often succeed by means of their apparent weakness, which allows them to pass unnoticed, when numbers would fail. however, they will not be long absent, and we shall have certain news of the _niña_." "please god they be good! manuela, if i should lose my daughter, in addition to my former woes, i could not survive it." "drive away these sombre thoughts, señor; providence watches over us all. i hope we shall not be abandoned in our affliction." "after all," said don pedro, "as we are forced to remain inactive, we must exert our patience till our stragglers return." the day passed without any incident worthy of record. el zapote, who had gone hunting at daybreak, returned with an elk. the next day, about ten in the morning, an unarmed indian presented himself before the sentries, demanding speech of don pedro. the latter ordered him to be brought forward. the redskin was an apache, of cunning features and reckless manner. brought into the presence of the hacendero, who at that moment was talking to the _capataz,_ he stood motionless and with downcast eyes, waiting with the cold impassiveness characteristic of his race, till they should speak to him. the hacendero scrutinised him attentively. the indian was perfectly indifferent to the scrutiny. "what does my brother want? what is his name?" asked don pedro. "el zopilote is an apache brave," replied the redskin; "the _sachem_ of his tribe sends him to the chief of the palefaces." "i am the chief of the palefaces. tell your mission to me." "hear what the tigercat says," replied the immoveable apache. "the tigercat!" exclaimed don pedro greatly astonished; "what can he want of me?" "if my father will listen, el zopilote will tell him." "i will listen. speak zopilote." "thus says the tigercat: a cloud has arisen between the tigercat and the chief of the palefaces, who have come into the hunting grounds of my tribe. as the beneficent rays of the sun disperse the clouds that obscure the heavens, so, if wise paleface will smoke the calumet of peace with the tigercat, the cloud between them will disappear, and the war hatchet be buried so deep, that it shall not be found again for a thousand moons and ten. i have said: i await the answer of my father with the beard of snow." "indian!" replied don pedro, in accents of sadness, "your chief has done me much harm, yet i know not the cause of his hatred to me. but heaven forbid i should reject his proposal, if he entertains the wish to end the difference existing between us. bid him come; and say i am ready to offer reparation for injury i may have done him without my will or knowledge." the apache listened with evident attention to the words of the hacendero. when the latter ceased, he answered: "_wagh!_ my father has spoken well. wisdom has taken up her abode in him. the chief will come; but who will insure his safety when in the camp of the palefaces,--he alone, with twenty _yarri_ (spanish) braves around him!" "my word of honour, redskin; my word of honour,--which is worth more than all your chief could give me," said don pedro haughtily. "my father's word is good; his tongue is not forked. the tigercat asks no more; he will come." having uttered these words with indian emphasis, the apache warrior bowed profoundly, and retired with the same quiet step which marked his coming. "what do you think of that luciano?" said don pedro, as soon as they were alone. "by heavens, señor! i think it conceals some indian devilry. i fear the white who changes his colour, and turns redskin, a hundred times words than the true indian. i never liked chameleons." "right, luciano! but we are placed in a difficult position. before all things i must have my daughter; for her sake i must overlook many things." "true, señor! nevertheless, you know as well as i, that the tigercat is a miscreant without faith or honour. do not trust him too far." "i am obliged to trust him. have i not given my word?" "you have," growled the _capataz;_ "but i have not given mine!" "be cautious, luciano; and, above all things, do not excite his suspicions." "make yourself easy on that score, señor. your honour is as dear to me as my own; but i dare not leave you without means of defence, though it please you to trust yourself with a wretch as determined as he." with these words, the _capataz_ cut short the conversation, and left the _jacal_, to prevent further remarks from his master. "ha!" said he, as he met el zapote; "you are the very man i want, my friend!" "me, _capataz!_ that is capital! what is to be done?" "come with me a while," replied the _capataz;_ "i must tell you the matter where we cannot be overheard." an hour later,--that is to say, a little after eleven in the morning,--the tigercat arrived at the camp, as el zopilote had asserted. the chief was dressed as a _gambucino_, and carried no weapons--at least, none were visible. as soon as the sentinels recognised him, they allowed him to pass, and led him to the _capataz_, who was walking backwards and forwards. the tigercat cast a scrutinising look around him the moment he entered the camp. everything seemed in its usual state, and the chief saw nothing to excite suspicion. he approached the _capataz_. "what do you want here?" asked don luciano roughly. "i wish to speak to don pedro de luna," quickly replied the tigercat. "good! follow me; he expects you." without further ceremony, the _capataz_ led him to the _jacal_. "enter," said he; "you will find don pedro there." "who is there?" said a voice from within. "señor," replied the _capataz_, "it is the indian who asked the favour of a conversation with the chief. come, enter!" he added, addressing the tigercat. the latter made no observation, but went into the _jacal_ with the _capataz_. "you asked to speak with me," began don pedro. "i did," said the chief in a gloomy tone; "but with you alone." "this man is one of my oldest servants; he has my entire confidence." "what i have to say must be told to no other ears than yours." "retire, luciano," said don pedro; "but remain near at hand." the _capataz_ cast a look of rage at the tigercat, and left the _jacal_ grumbling. "now that we are alone," said don pedro, "you can speak openly to me." "i intend to do so," said the chief in harsh accents. "are you come to speak of my daughter?" "of her and others," replied the tigercat in the same tone. "all this is a mystery, chief; explain!" "it will not be long before i do so; for i have longed, panted for the opportunity to meet you face to face. look at me well, don pedro; do you not recognise me?" "i believe i never saw you before you received me as a guest in the _teocali_." the chief laughed savagely. "have years changed me so much? has the name of tigercat obliterated my own so thoroughly that that too is forgotten? as don guzman de ribera became don pedro de luna, why should not don leoncio de ribera become the tigercat, brother?" "what words are these?" exclaimed don pedro, rising in terror. "what name have you uttered?" "i have said that which is," coldly answered the chief. "the name i utter is mine." don pedro gazed at him with pitiful regret. "unhappy man!" he sighed; "how have you fallen so low?" "you are wrong, brother," replied the tigercat, with a sneer; "on the contrary, i have risen to be the _sachem_ of an indian tribe. long, long have i waited for my revenge! twenty years i have watched; but today i have it--today it is complete!" "your revenge, miserable man!" answered don pedro indignantly; "what revenge would you against me?--you, who attempted to seduce my wife; you, who sought to slay me; and who, lastly, to crown your infamy, have borne away my daughter!" "you forget to name your son, whom i also carried away,--your sin, don fernando carril, in whom i have contrived to excite a passion for his sister, and who has been these two days alone with her at the voladero de las ánimas. aha! don guzman, what say you to that revenge?" "woe, woe!" exclaimed don pedro, wringing his hands in his despair. "brother and sister in love with each other; licensed by you, don guzman, and married by me! aha!" and he burst into a horrid laugh, that sounded like the howl of the hyena. "it is too horrible," cried don pedro, in the depths of despair. "it is a lie, wretch! bandit as you are, you dare not meditate a crime so terrible! you are but a boasting miscreant! your tale cannot be true; to believe it, would be to doubt the justice of heaven!" "you do not believe my words, brother?" replied the tigercat in a sarcastic tone. "as you please. here come your children; i hear them entering the camp; ask them." don pedro, half-mad with grief, was rushing out of the _jacal_ when stoneheart, doña hermosa, and don estevan appeared at the entrance: the unhappy father was stopped by the shock. "look!" said the tigercat, with his usual sneer; "look how he receives his children! is that his love?" doña hermosa had thrown herself into her father's arms, and tearfully embraced him; without seeing the tigercat. "my father, my father!" she cried; "god be praised that i see you once more!" "who speaks of god here?" said don pedro in a hollow voice, and shaking off his daughter, who tottered from him. doña hermosa looked round in affright. pale and trembling, she would have fallen, if stoneheart had not hastened to support her. "look, how they love each other!" sneered the tigercat. "it is touching! don fernando, throw your arms around your father;" and he pointed to don pedro. "he my father!" cried stoneheart, overjoyed; "oh, it would be too much happiness!" "yes," said the tigercat; "don pedro is your father, and here is your sister!" as he said this, he pointed to doña hermosa and again burst into a diabolical laugh. the two young people were thunderstruck. don pedro, whose nervous system had received a violent shock from the first revelation, felt his reason deserting him. he seemed neither to see nor hear, and to take no notice of the strange scene enacting around him. the tigercat exulted in his triumph. don estevan, alarmed at the hacendero's state, thought it high time to interfere. "don pedro," said he in a loud voice and forcibly laying his hand on the old man's shoulder, "collect yourself; this miscreant is a liar! your children are worthy of your name. i was with them at the voladero." don pedro seemed to make a mighty effort to resume his grasp on the senses which were leaving him. his body underwent a terrible convulsion. he turned his face towards stoneheart, and a heavy sigh burst from his heart; then tears flowed down his venerable cheeks, and he cried in feeble accents, as he fell on the breast of his son, "yours is the truth, estevan; the truth, the truth!" "i swear it, don pedro!" was the solemn reply. "thanks, thanks! i knew the miscreant lied. my children--" the two young people threw themselves into his arms, and loaded him with caresses. the tigercat, with his arms crossed on his chest, looked on with his sardonic leer, and said ironically: "they love each other, brother; let them marry." "they have a right to do so!" exclaimed a ringing voice. all turned in amazement. ña manuela had entered the _jacal_. "yes," said she, turning with an air of mockery to the tigercat, who stood appalled, he knew not why, at the sudden apparition; "the day of judgment has come at last! i have waited for it patiently; but justice shall be done, and it is i whom god has chosen to manifest his power!" all present gazed with admiration and respect at the woman, who seemed completely transfigured. her face was radiant; her eyes flashed lightning. with calm and imposing steps, she approached the hacendero. "don pedro! my much-loved master," said she in a voice scarcely intelligible from emotion; "forgive me! i have made you suffer, oh, how long! but god inspired me! it is he, and only he, who dictated my conduct. don fernando is not your son; he is mine! your son"--and she brought forward don estevan--"is here!" "don estevan!" cried all present. "a lie!" howled the tigercat "it is the truth," briefly replied ña manuela. "hatred is blind, don leoncio. you took away the poor nurse's child when you thought you had stolen your brother's. look at estevan, all you who knew his mother, and deny, if you dare, that he is her son." in truth, the likeness was striking. up to the time, estevan's position had blinded their eyes; there was no reason to seek for a resemblance to anyone: but now, when the veil had fallen, they recognised whence he sprung. "but you will always be my mother!" cried estevan, with much feeling. "mother!" exclaimed fernando, throwing himself into her arms. don pedro's joy knew no bounds. the tigercat, forced to confess himself foiled, uttered a howl like a wild beast. "aha!" cried he, beside himself with rage, "is it to be thus? but it is not over yet!" he drew a poniard from his garments, and threw himself with all his force on don pedro, who, in his joy, had forgotten his presence. but an eye watched him. don luciano had stolen into the _jacal_, and noiselessly placed himself behind the bandit, whose every movement he carefully watched. as the tigercat made his spring, he threw his arms around him, and pinioned him, in spite of the desperate efforts made by the miserable wretch. at the same moment, the _vaquero_ bounded into the _jacal_, knife in hand, and, before anyone could arrest him, plunged it up to the hilt in his throat. "not bad;" he exclaimed. "the opportunity was too good to lose! my _navajada_ was never given so fairly! i hope this blow will gain me pardon for the others." the tigercat remained standing a moment, swaying hither and thither, like a half-uprooted oak tottering to its fall. he rolled his eyes around him, in which rage still strove with the agony that made them haggard. he made one last effort to pronounce a terrible malediction, but his mouth contracted horribly; a stream of dark blood spouted from his yawning throat; he fell at his full length on the ground, where he writhed for a moment like a crushed reptile, to the inconceivable horror of the spectators. then all was still: he was dead; but on his face, distorted by the death pang, unutterable hatred survived the life which had just quitted him. "justice is done," said manuela, with trembling accents. "it is the hand of god!" "let us pray for him," said don pedro, falling on his knees. all present, impressed by this noble and simple action, followed his example, and knelt by his side. the _vaquero_, having finished his part in the scene, thought it prudent to disappear, but not without exchanging a glance of intelligence with the _capataz_, who smiled grimly under his gray moustache. file was produced from scans of public domain works at the university of michigan's making of america collection.) [illustration: mr. eastman in costume.] seven and nine years among the camanches and apaches. an autobiography. jersey city, n. j. published by clark johnson, m.d. 1874. entered according to act of congress, in the year 1878, by clark johnson, m.d., jersey city, n. j., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. contents. chapter. page. i. introductory 5 ii. the capture 18 iii. a strange adventure 22 iv. again a prisoner 30 v. the indian town 39 vi. the torture 47 vii. wa-ko-met-kla 57 viii. a new vocation 68 ix. the "mystery bag" 78 x. indian life 86 xi. mrs. eastman's story 95 xii. mrs. eastman's story continued 103 xiii. mrs. eastman's story continued 111 xiv. hopes and fears--an adventure 119 xv. treed by a grizzly 125 xvi. some curious customs 134 xvii. the buffalo dance 142 xviii. a strange history 150 xix. a strange history continued 159 xx. the buffalo hunt 171 xxi. mrs. eastman's story continued 184 xxii. feasts, fasts, and facts 192 xxiii. the war party 208 xxiv. my first scalp 222 xxv. the feast of the green corn 238 xxvi. danger ahead 242 xxvii. the escape 249 xxviii. a new departure 263 xxix. the "vigilants" 277 xxx. conclusion 290 [illustration: edwin eastman] seven and nine years among the camanches and apaches. chapter i. introductory. in making my bow to the public as an author, i feel it incumbent upon me to make a brief explanation of the motives that induced me to attempt this autobiographical sketch of nine years of my life. at intervals during the past decade, the country has been electrified by the recital of some horror perpetrated by indians on white travelers, and those, who, having journeyed to the far west, had settled, intending to make the wilderness blossom like the rose. through the medium of the press, the details of these heart-rending cruelties were widely disseminated, and aroused the just indignation of all peaceful and order-loving citizens. to such an extent did popular feeling rise at times, that farmers and drovers on the border, organized themselves into bands, and on the report of some fresh outrage hastened to the scene, pursued the perpetrators of the deed, and not unfrequently visited upon the indians a vengeance ofttimes of a very sanguinary character. in these forays of the savages, they frequently carried off to their mountain fastnesses women and children, who were never heard of more. thus, when our feelings were harrowed up by the report of butcheries, the tales of life-long suffering of the forlorn captives were scarcely ever known. snatched ruthlessly from the bosom of their families, they were mourned for a time and then they, by slow degrees, faded from the memory of their friends and relatives, and when thought of at all, it was as of those dead. in these chapters i will detail the trials and sufferings of such as these, believing that the experiences of my wife and myself, during our captivity among the camanches and apaches, will serve as a prototype of many similar cases. it was some time, and with not a little persuasion before i could be induced to overcome the diffidence i felt about making my private history public, and appearing in print. by those who have become authors, my feelings will be understood and appreciated; but to others who constitute the reading public it would be impossible to describe the trepidation with which the tyro puts forth his first literary venture, and had it not been for the earnest entreaties of my esteemed friend, dr. clark johnson, who used naively to say that what was a source of such pleasure to him must be entertaining to the public, i doubt very much if i should have ever put pen to paper in the capacity of an author. with this introduction, i will, as briefly as may be, relate my experiences, nothing extenuating, and setting down naught in malice. my family were originally from massachusetts, my father being a descendant of the puritans, he inherited many of the qualities of his ancestors, and, joined to a high integrity, he possessed a dogged will that at times amounted to stubbornness. from childhood he had led the life of a farmer, and my earliest recollections are associated with country life. my father's disposition might be characterized as restless; and after sojourning for a time in one place, he would evince symptoms of uneasiness which would result in the family moving to some new spot, and breaking ground in virgin soil on the confines of civilization. by these successive removals we soon found ourselves far to the west of the home of our ancestors, and at the time my father resolved to go to california, we owned a very nice farm in missouri, and as far as i could see were very comfortably situated. on returning from the county seat one saturday, my father electrified us with the intelligence that he thought seriously of going west. had a bombshell exploded in our midst it could scarcely have created greater consternation; on inquiring what had induced such a sudden determination on his part, he was fain to confess that he had met a gentleman in town who had but just arrived from the new el dorado, and who spoke so enthusiastically of this marvelous country, that he led my father's too diligent ear captive, and his mind was saturated with the desire to see, without further delay, this wonderful land. the rest of the family stoutly objected to such a hasty resolve, and we finally effected a compromise, and it was agreed that the stranger should be invited to spend a portion of his time at our house, and during his visit we could consult, argue, and finally conclude what action should be taken in the matter. i had serious misgivings that our fair home was doomed; knowing too well my father's character, and that any objections we might make to the proposed departure would only strengthen his determination to have his own way. such was his intense love for the unknown, that any plausible fellow could induce him to see the advantages of owning a thousand acres of wild land to his own well-tilled homestead. the following week mr. terhune made his advent among us. he was a fair type of the adventurer, and seemed a man who could be equal to any emergency circumstances might demand; of robust form, a complexion bronzed by exposure, and with an address so pleasing when he wished to exert himself, that he soon became a favorite, especially with the female portion of the family. he adapted himself to our mode of life with wonderful ease, and apparently was making preparations for a visit that should outlast our expectations. the beauties and advantages of a home in his adopted state was his constant theme; and so pleasantly did he talk, illustrating his arguments with anecdotes so amusing and apposite, that i felt myself being perceptibly influenced by his views, and used to dream of climbing trees of prodigious height, and gathering nuggets from their branches as if they were apples. when lending an assisting hand at our farm labors, he would descant on the fertility of the soil on the pacific slope, saying that crops grew almost spontaneously, and related what fortunes could be made raising sheep. by such means were we seduced into the conviction that a change of base was not only advantageous, but necessary, and it was finally decided to go. mr. terhune said he could negotiate an exchange, by which we could dispose of our farm for california real estate, whereby we would be the gainers; and one monday morning in april, he left us for st. louis, to complete the trade and purchase. our intentions becoming known in the vicinity, our neighbors seemed to take an especial interest in our movements, and many were the staid old farmers who called to offer us their advice and wishes for our future prosperity. being notified that all was in readiness, and that we could start as soon as it suited our convenience, we lost no time in packing what few articles we required, and bidding our friends adieu, we commenced our journey. arriving in st. louis, we were greeted by mr. terhune who escorted us to the planters' hotel, where we were temporarily to reside until the steamboat on which we were to embark was ready to leave. the few days spent in the metropolis of the west, was thoroughly enjoyed by our little party, as under the guidance of our friend we visited all the places of interest in the neighborhood. on saturday, april 30th, we embarked on the steamboat _prairie flower_, bound for independence, where we were to make the necessary purchases for our outfit in crossing the plains, and were also to join a train that was being formed, and of which we were to become part and parcel. after an uneventful journey we reached independence, only to find that the train we expected to join had left two days previously; here was a dilemma, and we were at a loss what to do. i was in favor of waiting until another train could be formed, but father objected, stating as his reasons, that it would consume both time and money; neither of which did we possess in vast quantities. meantime we had become the centre of attraction to quite a motley crowd, who stood looking on, and seemed to take a lively interest in us, criticising our appearance and indulging in various remarks which were not always of a complimentary character. noticing an old weather-beaten frontiersman, who stood some little distance off, and thinking he could perhaps suggest a way out of our difficulty, i made up to him, and after the usual salutations and a proffer of some tobacco, to which he helped himself in rather large quantities, i asked him his opinion, and what he thought we had best do under the circumstances. drawing his lank form out of the entanglement it seemed to have been in, he delivered himself in somewhat the following manner: "wal stranger, pears to me, i would jist git rite arter that ere party, quicker'n greased lightning, kase you see, they haint been gone long, and if you drive yer animiles rite smart, you will ketch up in jist no time." this advice struck me as excellent, and returning to our party i communicated it to them. we resolved to adopt it at once, only wondering we had not thought of it before. having come to this determination, we busied ourselves with the necessary preparations, and on the third day after the departure of the train, we bade adieu to the few acquaintances made during our brief sojourn at independence, and struck out upon the almost trackless prairie. our equipment was that in general use among prairie travelers, and consisted of a "concord" wagon, covered with white canvas, and drawn by six mules, in the management of which rather intractable animals my father was an adept. in the wagon were stored our few household goods and scanty supply of provisions, and in it rode my wife and mother. my brother and myself figured as a mounted guard, and presented a not unpicturesque appearance in our tunics of dressed deerskin, and leggings of the same material; our revolvers in our belts, and rifles slung over our shoulder, or resting on the pommels of our mexican saddles. everything seemed propitious; the wagon moved off smoothly, the morning was clear, and the great red disc of the sun just rising in the east had scarcely dispelled the haze that enveloped nature as in a fleecy mantle. we little dreamed, alas, of the dreadful fate soon to overtake us. that fate which was to dissever a loving and united family, causing three of its members to pass through the valley of the shadow of death, and subjecting the survivors to suffering that often made them cry out in the bitterness of their hearts "why was i spared to suffer such torture, when death would have been such a welcome relief!" chapter ii. the capture. we were now fairly started on our journey, and but for a singular feeling of depression which weighed down my spirits and seemed a presentiment of evil to come, i should have had little doubt of our ability to overtake the train and travel safely with it to our destination. this feeling, however, caused me to become taciturn and apprehensive, so much so, that i was frequently rallied upon the subject by my companions. for many days, however, we followed the trail without special incident; the tracks of wagons giving us an easy guide. we found grass, wood and water in abundance, and traveling light and unimpeded by others, felt confident that we were gaining upon the train and would undoubtedly overtake them shortly. we crossed several rivers and streams, most of them fordable, but one or two we found wide and deep and were compelled to float our wagon across. we saw some game, antelopes and deer, and shot a few, forming a welcome addition to our larder; but they were generally shy and kept out of reach, without wandering too far from the track. for two days we had been journeying through an entirely different country from that which we had passed. it was almost a barren desert, treeless, without game, and, but little water; on its hard surface the wagon wheels made scarcely an imprint, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we could take up the trail. the evening of the second day found us still on the road, as we could find no water, without which we could not camp. before sunset we had noticed a low fringe along the horizon which looked like timber, and knowing there must be water there, determined to push on and reach it, if possible, before camping for the night. after a weary march we reached the edge of the desert plain, and found a small stream, clear but shallow; its banks lined with tall cottonwood trees. here we rested, and our tired animals fully appreciated the cool water and the luxuriant "gramma" grass which abounded. while standing watch, a precaution we never neglected, i fancied i heard a distant rifle shot, and roused my father and brother, fearing indians might be near at hand, for we were now in very dangerous country and father declared that he had seen "injun sign" the day previous, but a scout through the cottonwood grove revealed nothing, and as the sound was very faint and was not repeated, we concluded it was only fancy; father muttering as he crawled under his blanket that i was getting too almighty scarey for a backwoodsman. this incident however aroused those apprehensive feelings that had before troubled me, but which had been quieted for a time by the uneventful nature of our journey. we were not again disturbed that night, but at sunrise we made a discovery that filled us with dismay--_we had lost the trail!_ this we were convinced was the result of our night journey, and father was confident that we could recover it; but, when after several hours spent in a fruitless endeavor to find where it crossed the stream, i urged that we should take our own trail back to the point at which it diverged from that of the train, he positively refused to do so; declaring that he wasn't a greenhorn to get scared at so small a matter, and that he should push on in a southwesterly direction, and take his chance of intersecting the trail, he asserting that we must have strayed to northward of it. my brother and myself protested against so rash an undertaking, but in vain; and we finally started on what was destined to be our last day's journey together. our route now lay across a verdant and apparently boundless prairie. far as the eye could reach it was a level plain, without landmarks, trackless as the sea, covered with a living carpet of emerald green. at another time i could have spent hours in gazing upon its vast expanse, and fancying its changed appearance when its surface should be furrowed by the plow and its fruitful soil reward the farmer's labor; but the presentiment of evil which i found it impossible to shake off, oppressed my spirits rendering me anxious and fearful. a few moments took us out of sight of the cottonwood grove, and but for the aid of father's pocket compass we could have had little idea of our direction, but by its assistance we traveled steadily in a southwesterly coarse, father being confident that we had strayed north of the trail and that by taking this course we must sooner or later regain it. until nearly noon we kept steadily on, seeing nothing to indicate that we were near the trail. just before noon we halted to rest and feed the animals and prepare a meal for ourselves. the morning had been sultry and we were all sufficiently fatigued to find a brief rest very acceptable. refreshed by half an hour's rest, we were preparing to start, when my brother who had moved off in advance, suddenly exclaimed, "father's right after all, there are mounted men ahead, it must be the train!" animated by the hope that our solitary wanderings were nearly over and our perils past, we pushed ahead, urging our animals forward with all possible speed. the distant horsemen were moving parallel to our route, and apparently had not perceived us. we shouted and fired our rifles, a commotion was visible among them, they halted, wheeled, and a number suddenly galloped towards us with the speed of the wind. my brother, who had ridden far ahead of us swinging his cap and hallooing loudly, suddenly pulled up his horse and with a cry of terror rode back to us with his utmost speed. we were not long at a loss to understand the meaning of this proceeding; as he neared us his warning shout of indians! indians! was borne to us upon the breeze. but it needed not that to apprise us of our peril; ere he reached us the advancing horsemen had approached so near that we could plainly, see instead of the friends we sought, a horde of hideous savages, naked to the waist, besmeared with war paint in many strange devices, their tall lances waving, their ornaments glittering in the sun--on, on they came, giving vent to the most blood-curdling yells it had ever been my fortune to hear. in this desperate strait my father alone preserved his coolness; the warlike spirit of the old frontiersman was roused in an instant. with lightning-like rapidity he had unhitched his team and so disposed them with our horses and the wagon as to form a sort of square, the horses and mules were tied together and to the wagon, thus avoiding the danger of their being stampeded. inside this square we placed ourselves, and levelling our rifles across the backs of our living bulwark awaited the attack. my poor mother and wife, terrified almost to the verge of insensibility, we compelled to lie down in the bottom of the wagon, and so arranged its cargo as to protect them from any stray shot which might strike it. at first it seemed that the savages intended to ride us down by sheer force of numbers, which they might easily have done; but our determined aspect and the three shining tubes aimed at them, each ready to send forth its leaden messenger of death, evidently changed their determination; for before getting within range, their headlong gallop became a moderate lope, then a walk, and they finally halted altogether. a short council followed, during which we had an excellent opportunity to observe our foes, and concert our plans for defence. father cautioned us to hold our fire until absolutely certain of our mark, and that, if possible, but one must fire at a time, as it was of the utmost importance to be prepared for a sudden dash. we examined the loading of our rifles and pistols, put on fresh caps, and with wildly beating hearts and nerves strained to their utmost tension, awaited the onslaught. our enemies now seemed to have arrived at some determination, for their consultation was at an end--an old indian who, from his dignified bearing and authoritative manner appeared to be their chief, made a sign with his hand, and spoke a few words in a loud tone. the incessant jabbering which they had kept up from the moment they halted instantly ceased, and one after another a number of young warriors, perhaps twenty, rode out in single file upon the prairie. after gaining a distance of about one hundred yards from the main body they increased the intervals separating them to some fifty paces, and then inclining the course so as to form a sort of half circle, they increased their speed and came on with the evident intention of circling round us. these manoeuvres had not escaped our notice, but neither my brother nor myself understood their import. that my father did so, however, was evident. "surround!" he muttered, the instant the movement began. "i thought they'd try it, blame their ugly picters." "now boys," he continued, "keep cool and keep your eyes skinned, don't throw away a shot, and don't fire 'till i give the word." he then explained the method of this peculiar stratagem of indian warfare. the twenty picked men were about to ride around us in a circle, at top speed, delivering flights of arrows as they passed, their object being to disconcert us and draw our fire; our guns once empty, the main body whom we observed held themselves in readiness, would ride in, and by a sudden dash, end the skirmish by our death or captivity. father's warning was delivered in far less time than it has taken to write this--and it was barely concluded before the attacking party were circling round us, uttering their vengeful war cries, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer. standing back to back, we watched their every movement, my brother and myself expecting every moment to have an opportunity to tumble one or more of the bold riders from their horses; but a few seconds showed us the futility of this. as they came within range, each indian _disappeared behind the body of his horse_. a hand grasping the withers of the horse, and a foot just showing above his back, were all that could be seen--perhaps a painted face would be seen for an instant under the horse's neck, but instantly disappearing--while the hiss of an arrow would tell that the rider had sped the shaft to its mark; the horse all the while going at full gallop. at no moment could any one of us have fired with any chance of hitting an indian. the horses we could have shot without difficulty, but this was just what our enemies wanted. could they but induce us to waste our fire upon the horses, we would soon be at their mercy. so, with an effort, we restrained our inclination to risk a shot, and watched their every movement with the cat-like vigilance of men who knew that their lives were trembling in the balance. round and round went the circle of the hunt, flight after flight of arrows whistled past us, or spent their force against the wagon, still we were unharmed; although our escapes were narrow and incessant. the mules and horses were struck repeatedly, but so tightly were they bound together with leathern thongs that not even death could separate them. as our tormentors came around for the fifth time, one of the horses stumbled and fell and rolled completely over, pitching his rider headlong upon the prairie. before he could regain his horse, father's rifle cracked and the unlucky equestrian rolled prone upon the ground with a bullet in his brain. [illustration: the capture.] "that's one less," muttered father, grimly. "i thought i'd fetch ye, ye painted varmint." "don't fire for your lives, boys," he continued, "'till i'm loaded." they were the last words he ever uttered. simultaneously with their utterance came the hiss of an indian arrow, and with a deep groan he sank to the ground. terror stricken, and with anguished hearts we raised him in our arms. alas, the deadly aim had been too true; the shaft, entering his right eye had penetrated the brain, and we saw at a glance that our dear father was no more. racked by contending emotions, we had almost forgotten our imminent peril; as we turned to confront the foe, we saw that our hesitation had been fatal; the red warriors were upon us like a living tide, and for a few seconds a wild melee followed; we battled hand to hand with the desperation of fiends; it was but for an instant; my brave brother fell covered with wounds, and his death shriek was still ringing in my ears, when i received a blow upon the head which stretched me senseless upon the ground. i seemed to experience the sensation of falling from a vast height, then came a sudden shock and all was blank. chapter iii. a strange adventure. when consciousness returned, i found myself lying on the ground, tied hand and foot with thongs of buffalo hide; i felt very sore and intensely thirsty. i had not quite yet collected my senses, and when my mind reverted to the scenes i had but just passed through, it was with a sickening sense of their horror that made me yearn for insensibility again. if i could only know what had been done with my wife; had she met the same fate as my father and brother, or was she spared--spared, and for what--to be subjected to a captivity even worse than death, perhaps? it would have been a great relief to have moved even so much as a finger, but being bound so tightly it was impossible to stir, and the thongs had in a great measure impeded the circulation, so that as i lay on my back, gazing pathetically at my feet, it seemed as if they were the appendages of another person, and that my tortures had begun by my being deprived of all that part of my body below my knees. by dint of much turning, i managed to get myself partly on my side, which proved a great relief, besides affording an opportunity to look around me and gain an idea of the state of affairs. day was just breaking, and my captors were, with the exception of the sentinel, asleep. we were on the prairie, and i at once concluded that we must have left the scene of the fight and capture; a small fire had been built, and the warrior who mounted guard was sitting with his legs crossed beneath him, seemingly gazing into the smouldering embers; there was just enough light to discern his features, and i shuddered at their repulsiveness; the hideous war paint was streaked most fantastically across his cheeks and forehead and over his body, for, with the exception of a pair of abbreviated leggings he was quite nude. his scalp-lock was adorned with a profusion of eagles' feathers, and his wrists and arms were set off with bracelets. dangling from his girdle was an object that thrilled me with anguish, as the long white hair covered here and there with dark red splashes, i knew at once to be the scalp of my dear, murdered mother. i had read of the noble red man, and like most romantic people, conceived a very touching picture of his manly beauty and majestic air. one needs but to be among them to have any such illusion dispelled. in my long residence with the tribe, i found some admirable traits, of which i will speak anon, but they had so many counterbalancing vices, that i do not think their best friends can say anything in their praise. this book is a true narrative of my capture and sufferings, and if my readers do not find running through these pages, that sentimental gush about the noble red man, that we have been taught to believe was as much their attribute as they considered scalping their prerogative, it is because i have been disabused of these ideas, by the stern reality of an existence among them. i trust this digression will be excused, but when i stroke my chin, and feel the traces of their delicate attentions, my feelings are apt to get the better of my desire to entertain. soon, however, the camp was stirring, and my friend at the fire roused himself and advanced toward me; whipping out a knife from its sheath, he cut the thongs by which i was bound, and grasping my shoulder jerked me to an upright position and motioned me to follow him. i had not proceeded far, when, emerging from the coppice on the opposite side of the bivouac, i beheld my wife advancing towards me in the custody of an indian. reader, if you can imagine meeting the being you loved best, after having supposed her cruelly butchered, you may have a faint conception of my feelings. with a little cry of joy she rushed into my outstretched arms; sobbing like an infant. this demonstration of affection seemed not to the taste of our guards; and with an ugh, we were admonished to follow them, and we were soon in the midst of a group who were dispatching their breakfast. food was offered us, of which i ate voraciously, after my long fast; not so my wife, however, who could not as yet accustom her palate to the dried buffalo meat. meantime preparations had been making to resume our journey. the horses were brought up, and in a shorter time than it takes to relate it we were under way, the party moving off in single file. i was allowed to ride my own horse, my wife following behind me on one of the mules. we were, as near as i could judge, about the centre of the party. in this fashion we proceeded during the forenoon. the prairie at this point was a succession of gentle undulations, covered with a rich velvety verdure; and, had not my present circumstances been of such a depressing character, the scene would have been inspiriting. away to the far west, as far as the eye could see, this vast billowy plain extended, broken here and there by a grove of the stately cottonwood tree, whose long trunks, and silvery foliage was a pleasing contrast to the vivid green of the prairie. at intervals i had discerned dark objects on the horizon, but, being unaccustomed to note signs with that care and attention that is characteristic of those whose life is spent on the plains, i had paid no particular attention to them. soon, however, i did observe a commotion at the head of the column, and after a brief halt and consultation among the chiefs, our speed was accelerated, and we struck into a canter. this "lope" as it is called, seems to be a gait peculiarly adapted to the mustang, as they will break into, and keep it up the entire day; evincing no more distress than our ordinary horse does in trotting leisurely. that something important was about to transpire, i felt certain, from the energetic way in which our captors spoke and gesticulated; i was not long left in doubt, as on reaching a slight eminence, a sight disclosed itself that i shall never forget; and my blood thrills even now with the remembrance of my first buffalo hunt. it may seem odd to talk of my first buffalo hunt, as the question would naturally be asked, how could a prisoner participate in a hunt; the sequel will explain. the chiefs had halted, and the rear coming up, we were soon clustered in a group on this rising ground. directly in front of us, at the distance of about three miles, i should judge, was an immense herd of buffaloes. the plain was positively black, so numerous were they. all unconscious of their foes, they were quietly grazing, while here and there a watchful old bull seemed to have stationed himself as an outpost, being in readiness, if needs were, to instantly communicate the signal of danger to the herd. it was a glorious sight; even the horses shared in the excitement, and evinced as great a desire to participate in the hunt as did their masters. presently a warrior rode out from the main body a few paces and tossed the feather. this is done to note the direction of the wind, for such is the keenness of scent possessed by these animals, that they will take the alarm and become aware of the approach of an enemy at great distances. if the drove had discovered us at this distance, our visions of fresh hump steak for supper would have resolved themselves into the dried meat of the morning. the wind being favorable, we commenced the advance; slowly at first, but gradually increasing our speed, until the horses were straining every muscle in their headlong race. lances were slung, and bows and arrows got in readiness with an ease and expertness that was truly wonderful, considering our rapid riding. the bridles were dropped on the necks of the mustangs, the riders using their knees both as a steering apparatus and a means of holding on. as near as i could understand, our guard was to keep as close to the hunters as was consistent with our safety, without joining in the fun. everything went on smoothly, and we had approached to within a half mile of the herd before they noticed us. soon, however, the old bulls scented the party, and with a snort and plunge they tore headlong towards the head of the drove, communicating the alarm as they ran. with a yell the savages dashed on, horse and rider worked up to the highest pitch of excitement; arrows began to fly, and here and there a cow would fall, or an enraged bull goaded to fury by a wound rush madly at his enemy, evidently bent on revenge of a most sanguinary character. our little party kept on the flank of the advancing drove, and our escort seemed to find it very irksome doing duty as guards, as with oft-repeated ughs! plainly expressive of disgust, they deprecated the luck that had singled _them_ out to perform such womanly duty. suddenly, and with kaleidoscopic rapidity, the aspect of affairs was changed; for some unknown reason and without apparent cause, the buffaloes made a flank movement, and in a twinkling were dashing right toward us; the mustangs, warned by experience, turned and ran as if their lives were at stake, as they certainly were; and the mule on which my wife was mounted, with an imitation that did her great credit, followed their example. my horse, being unused to such scenes, seemed to lose his senses, and stood looking at the advancing animals in the most abject terror. realizing at a glance my position, and feeling that instant action was demanded, i turned his head, and by word and heel urged him to run. on came these black brutes, sweeping over the ground like an animated hurricane. my poor horse was laboring fearfully, and i knew that our destruction was a matter of a few moments time only. suddenly my horse stumbled and flung me headlong to the ground, then all was bewilderment. i have an indistinct notion of lying on the prairie, and then like a great black wave, this surging mass of buffaloes seem to hover over me; i was conscious of a sharp and severe pain in my side, and then of being suddenly lifted into space. when sufficiently collected to note my position, i found myself on the back of a huge buffalo bull, who, unaccustomed to this strange weight, was making frantic endeavors to clear himself of the herd, which were wedged together with as much compactness as if they were one animal. if i had chosen to fall to the ground, it would have been impossible to do so; but as such a feat would have been almost instant death, my readers will easily understand i had no intention of trying the experiment. i turned my attention exclusively to seating myself firmly on my novel steed, and grasping my hands into the shaggy hair which covered his shoulders, braced myself for the most thrilling ride i had ever experienced. after a few violent plunges the bull cleared the herd, and tore at tremendous speed; on, on until objects lost their character, and all seemed to be an indistinct haze. the buffalo had by this time carried me some distance from the main body, and was beginning to show signs of fatigue. if i was going to leave him, this was my opportunity; and quietly loosening my hold, i slipped off his rump on to the ground, and betook myself in an opposite direction as fast as i could go, and it was with feelings of relief and thankfulness that i had escaped so luckily from my first and only buffalo ride. chapter iv. again a prisoner. footsore and weary i wandered over the prairie, straining my eyes in every direction in the vain hope of beholding the white-topped wagons of the train. my late involuntary journey had borne me far to the southward; and, although my rapid progress had given me but little opportunity for observation, still i was convinced that the direction in which i had traveled was likely to bring me in the track of the prairie caravans. i was not without apprehension of again falling in with my late captors, and hardly knew whether i dreaded or desired it; fully realizing that i had nothing to look forward to in that event but torture and death. still i felt that to see once again the sweet face of my beloved i would risk every peril, even though i was helpless to aid her, and to witness her sufferings would only add to the poignant anguish that tortured me. racked by these thoughts, and with a despairing heart, i walked steadily on. the day was now far spent, and i was beginning to experience the pangs of hunger, for i had eaten nothing since early morning; but i suffered far more from thirst, and for hours searched eagerly for water; scanning the horizon in every direction for a sight of the fringe-like foliage, of the cottonwood trees. stiff and sore from my confinement of the night previous, and suffering intensely from the wound on my head, which had been entirely neglected, my progress grew slower, and when night settled over the prairie my search was still unsuccessful; and without food, water, or shelter, i sank exhausted to the earth. after a time sleep gave me a welcome oblivion; but my rest was disturbed by troubled dreams, and the dawn found me but little refreshed. it was barely daylight when i again started. i felt weak and dizzy; and the conviction, forced itself upon me that i must find food and water before many hours, or perish--my life depended on my finding water--and notwithstanding my intense suffering, it was absolutely necessary to push forward in my search. my thoughts were momentarily diverted by a number of graceful animals that were advancing towards me; when within about two hundred yards, they became affrighted and wheeling around scampered away, running toward a clump of trees not far distant; entering this grove, they disappeared from sight. i had heard many tales about this graceful little animal, the antelope; and among other things remembered, that to the weary and thirsty hunter traversing these boundless plains, their presence was a sure indication that water was not far distant; if these tales were true, why then there was every probability that i might slake my burning thirst, which now had become agonizing torture, from some rivulet within the recesses of that wood; animated by this thought i limped on with renewed energy. what had seemed so near to my vision was in reality quite distant, as i found in my endeavor to reach it; for the sun had begun to decline behind the horizon when i reached the belt of timber. entering this leafy solitude, i had not advanced many steps when my ears were gladdened by the sound of running water. with an exclamation of joy i ran to the banks of the arroyo (as by this name these little streams are called), and, falling on my knees, was drinking with that intense eagerness that is known only by those who, like myself, have felt the delirium of thirst. i was about to rise refreshed, when my gaze was riveted by a reflected image on the bosom of the creek that curdled the blood in my veins, and paralyzed me with terror; it was the image of a hideous indian, bending over me with uplifted hand grasping a long, gleaming knife. i jumped up with a terrified scream, only to find myself in the rough grasp of a brawny savage, and completely at his mercy. with a malicious leer he motioned me to accompany him. feeling sick at heart, and drooping under the weight of my new misfortune, i was led through the tangled undergrowth, and after a walk of about fifteen minutes, we emerged into a small clearing, where i found myself in the midst of a large party of indians. my advent created no little excitement, and i was soon the centre of a circle of curious savages, who were more persistent than pleasing in their attentions. i saw at once that i had again fallen into the hands of the same party by whom i was first captured; for among those who clustered around me, i recognized the old chief who had directed the attack upon us. he approached me in a menacing manner, and uttered some words in the indian tongue. from his gestures i could guess at his meaning, and understood that he was threatening me for my supposed attempt to escape. he then gave some order, and i was instantly seized and conducted to the foot of a large tree; my guards then bound me with a lariat and left me to my own reflections. my first thought was of my wife; and as i had managed to place myself in a sitting posture against the tree, i was enabled to observe all that was passing, and to scan closely the groups around the camp fires. a few moments satisfied me that if in the camp, she was not visible; and left me a prey to many horrid imaginings. the savages were mostly seated around the fires, roasting meat over the embers and eating it greedily, an occupation of which they never seemed to tire; some were renewing the paint upon their bodies, and the grotesque striping and mottling showed in fantastic hues in the red and glaring light; some were smoking curious looking pipes of carved stones; all were chattering, laughing and gesticulating like so many children. for a brief period i contemplated this wild scene with interest; but it soon grew monotonous, and my mind painfully reverted to my perilous position. in satisfying the greater desire for water, i had for a time forgotten my craving for food, but it now returned upon me with redoubled force. the indians had evidently forgotten that even prisoners must eat, and i concluded that it was best to call their attention to my necessities; by a shout i attracted the attention of one of the warriors who was passing near me, and when he approached, i succeeded by gestures in making him understand my wants. uttering a guttural ugh! and slapping his stomach he walked away, but returned in a few moments with a huge chunk of half cooked buffalo meat which he threw down before me, and unbinding my hands motioned me to eat. i did not need a second invitation, but fell to at once, and devoured it with such voracity, that my indian friend seemed both astonished and amused. when i had finished he brought me water in a gourd, and again securing my hands, bound me fast to the tree and left me once more to myself. fatigued by the hardships of the last two days, i soon fell asleep, and knew no more until i was awakened by a rough hand grasping my shoulder, and on opening my eyes saw that it was daybreak, and the band were preparing to move. ten minutes later i found myself mounted on a wiry looking mustang, securely tied, and my horse led at the end of a lariat by the same indian who had brought me food the evening previous. looking about me, my eyes were soon gladdened by the sight of my wife, mounted behind an indian warrior; she saw me at the same instant, and with a cry of joy strove to break her bonds and rush to my embrace; it was a vain effort, and only resulted in her receiving a blow from her savage custodian, which cowed her into silence. my feelings at this juncture can be better imagined than described; but i could do nothing but endure as best i might, and hope that a day of reckoning would yet come, in which i should bitterly avenge all the wrongs i had experienced at the hands of the brutal savage, called in books, the "noble red man." for the present, there was nothing but submission and hope. i now saw to my surprise that we were not alone in our misfortune, many other captives, principally women and children, were with the party. from their costume i saw that they must be mexicans, and at once concluded that the indians had been on one of their periodical raids upon the mexican frontier, and were on their return when they had accidentally fallen in with our little party. evidently but a part of the band had taken part in our capture, for the attacking party were less than one hundred in number, while i now counted over four hundred warriors. the chances of escape seemed more unlikely than ever; and my heart sank as i observed their formidable array. i must pass briefly over the incidents of our journey for several days following. we passed through a widely diversified country, and in spite of my mental and physical sufferings, i was greatly interested in its strange scenery. we passed over wide stretches of prairie, dotted here and there by mottes of timber, rising like islands from the sea-like plain; we threaded tortuous defiles of the mountains; and crawled, rather than rode, through terrific _caã±ons_, whose perpendicular walls of many colored rock, rising to the height of thousands of feet, shrouded the narrow pass in majestic gloom. at times we suffered greatly for food and water; making one stretch of sixty miles across the desert, and reaching its border in a state or utter exhaustion. on the seventh day after my recapture we climbed a low mountain range, and on reaching the crest saw before us a deep valley, walled in on every side by towering cliffs of milk-white-quartz; its surface was level, or nearly so; through its centre a crystal line indicated the presence of a small stream. a dense forest of pine fringed it on three sides; vast herds of horses and cattle roamed over the plain, and cropped its luxuriant herbage. the valley was elliptical in form, and measured perhaps twelve miles in length by four or five in width; at its upper extremity a group of strange looking structures were visible, of many forms and sizes; one towering far above the rest had the appearance of a huge pyramid. from the joyful exclamations of the indians i felt confident that our journey was nearly at an end. the tired mustangs were urged forward, and half an hour later we entered a defile, passed round the face of the cliff on a narrow ledge of rock, where two could not ride abreast, and emerged upon a platform from whence an easy descent led to the plain below. on reaching its grassy surface, the indians set forward at full speed, uttering loud yells of delight and exultation; and we could perceive many forms hastening down the valley to meet us. the intervening space was quickly passed, and we soon stood among the strange barbaric structures which form the chief town of the camanches. the captives were halted before the pyramidal building, which, from its great size and peculiar appearance, i supposed to be the council house, or the dwelling of the chief. i afterwards learned that it was the temple, where they worship and sacrifice to the sun-god; for, like all the southern indians, descendants of the ancient aztecs, the camanches worship the sun and fire. but little time however, was given me for observation or reflection. i was rudely jerked from my horse, and with the other male captives led into one of the smaller lodges. descending a rude ladder, we were placed in an underground apartment, and after being supplied with a scanty allowance of food, were again bound and left to silence and darkness. again separated from my wife, and knowing but too well what treatment she would be likely to receive at the hands of the red demons, flushed with victory and spoil, i abandoned myself to the most gloomy reflections, which continued for many hours, until tardy sleep relieved me for a time from my self-imposed torture. chapter v. the indian town. how long i should have lain in this semi-comatose state i know not, had i not been aroused by the indian who seemed to have been appointed my particular guard. bringing me a portion of _tasajo_ and an _olla_ of water, he placed them on the ground beside me, and removing the thongs from my wrists left me to dispatch my unpalatable food as best i might; at noon, and in the evening, he repeated the performance. with the exception of this interruption i was left to my thoughts. my reflections were of the bitterest and most gloomy nature. from my previous knowledge of the habits and characteristics of my captors i was assured that my fate was sealed; and my death only a matter of time. these savages only captured male prisoners the better to enjoy their destruction. what astonished me most was that they had not put me to the torture on their arrival at the village. the fate of my poor wife was the profoundest mystery to me, as i had not seen or heard of her since our parting on entering the indian town. while i was being conducted to my prison she was hurried off to the other end of the village. the darkening gloom of my chamber informed me of the approach of night; and recognizing how important it was for me to secure all the repose possible, i prepared to retire. the preparations were of the simplest character; my feet being bound it was only necessary to stretch my form along the ground and i was in bed. i courted sleep with persistent endeavor; but my mind was a prey to such agonizing reflections that the drowsy god held himself aloof. i counted backwards, rolled my eyes from side to side in their sockets, and resorted to all the devices known to me, but with indifferent success. all through the night the howling of the village dogs, the wild note of the swan, and the dismal whoops of the gruya, could be heard; and it is very difficult even under circumstances more favorable than those in which i was then placed to sleep with these noises ringing in one's ears. later, when a long residence with the tribe had made me familiar with these sounds, and their causes, i was not unfrequently startled by them. my imagination was constantly dwelling on my approaching fate; and i am sure i suffered enough mental agony to suffice for a score of physical deaths. the next morning my keeper made his entry, this time without any food for me, and i was at once struck by his altered looks; he was oiled, and streaked with paint, from the crown of his head to his waist; his head dress was composed of eagles' plumes stained red, and his limbs were encased in buckskin leggings, the seams of which were fringed with long locks of hair, which attested to his prowess, as they were composed of scalp-locks taken from the heads of his enemies slain in battle; the feet were encased in moccasins, embroidered with beads and the quills of the porcupine dyed in various colors; from his neck was suspended a collar, made of the tusks of the javali; his tomahawk hung gracefully from his waist, and a fine robe of jaguar-skins draped his back. such a costume i felt sure was only worn on state occasions; and his presence filled me with apprehensions. i was not long held in suspense, for stooping over me he quickly cut my fastenings, and motioning me to rise i was presently conducted up the ladder and out into the village street. emerging from the darkness into the bright sunlight, i was at first unable to distinguish objects, but as soon as my eyes became accustomed to the glare, i was struck with astonishment at the scene of bustle and activity that met my gaze. indian women, children, dogs and braves, were hurrying to and fro, seemingly intent on business of a most pressing and important character. my appearance was the signal for a succession of howls and yah! yahs! from the assembled crowd. the women clustered around me and gave expression to their hate in kicks, pinches and jeers; even the dogs snapped at my heels. after a walk of a few minutes, we cleared the skirts of the village, and shaping our course towards the river that ran through the centre of the valley, i was soon among a crowd of other captives. they were composed of mexicans, chiefly, and all bore evidence of the struggle they had passed through, before yielding up their liberty; their clothes were torn, disclosing here and there ugly gashes, from which the blood had not yet ceased to ooze. one man among them especially attracted my attention. he was dressed in the costume of the mountain trapper, and his fur cap, fitting closely to his head, was a fit accompaniment to his tunic and leggings of dressed deerskin; his face had a peculiar expression which i could not account for, until i discovered that he had only one eye. at this time an indian advanced toward us, bearing in his arms a quantity of small stakes; i was at loss to understand what was to transpire, when i heard my one-eyed companion mutter under his breath, "drat 'em, they be a goin' to stake us." sure enough this was their intention; seizing us one by one, they stretched us on the turf in three files, the heads of one file resting between the feet of the row above him; driving the stakes firmly into the ground, they fastened thongs of raw hide to our wrists and ankles, and passing them around the pins, drew our feet and arms out to their utmost tension, making our joints fairly crack. pinioned in this way, our heads were the only moveable parts of our bodies, and our upturned faces had the full benefit of the sun's rays, being subjected at the same time to attacks of swarms of insects. this torture was so very painful that many fainted, but the women soon brought the victims to consciousness by dashing an olla of water in their faces, and with yells of delight witnessed the renewal of the poor fellows' agonies. i was so completely disguised in dirt, that the flies seemed to pass me by in despair; and being thus in a measure relieved, i turned my attention to my companion on my right, the trapper. he seemed to be taking things very quietly, and evinced great patience and fortitude under his trials. the squaws were particularly attentive to him; and at the time i turned my head in his direction, two hags were amusing themselves sticking sharp pointed sticks into his body; he bore it manfully, but i saw tears of agony streaming from under his eyelids. presently the air was filled with yells and whoops; our tormentors rushed off pell-mell, the guards only remaining. i asked what was the meaning of this new outbreak; to which the trapper replied that he supposed it was caused by the arrival of a new lot of those "gosh darned red niggers." deeming this a good opportunity, i questioned him as to the intentions of our captors; to which he replied that we would be kept staked out in this barbarous way until the games and feasting, with which they always celebrated successful forays, had been completed; and then we would be put to torture and death. "how will they kill us?" i asked. "o, darn 'em, the varmints have as many ways as i have fingers and toes, to knock the life out of a chap; they most allus makes us run the gantlet, leastwise the kimanch does; but ye see, they air such mighty unsartin niggers, they does a'most enything but what yer expect them ter." "will we have to remain in this position until the indians are ready to torture us?" i asked. "'spect so," briefly answered my neighbor. the guard was now nearing us, and we remained silent. the feasting and festivities had now begun. we were unfastened and removed to the centre of the village, where a dance was about to begin. our feet were still bound, but we could assume a sitting posture; thus situated, i saw for the first time the _mamanchic_. the young girls only take part in this celebration; they go through a number of graceful and intricate evolutions, finishing by forming in a semi-circle around the chief and his queen, who are seated on a terrace of the temple. i was so much more interested in trying to discover my wife among the numerous lookers on, that i paid no special attention to the dance. the performance having come to an end, we were again staked out, and our captors returned to their feasting, slaughtering fresh cattle to satisfy the demands of their appetites. our wants were not so well supplied. the next morning the games were renewed; this time we were taken out on the prairie to witness the feats of horsemanship, performed by the braves and their visitors. these were very fine, and for the time being i forgot my own position in the interest excited in the daring feats of these children of the plains. they rode their horses at top speed; vaulting on their backs and discharging arrows with as much apparent ease as if they stood still. they went through all the evolutions of indian warfare, and ended with a mock battle; their yells alone would have dismayed an ordinary adversary. thirsty and tired, i and my companions were led back to our old position and again securely fastened. turning to black, i said that i supposed they would open the festivities to-morrow with our torture and death; to which he replied that he "'spected they would." at least i thought, it will only be another species of torture, and we would be quickly released from it by death. our guard now brought us some water and burnt meat, of which we were allowed to partake. the thongs are again tightened; our guards move among us to see that all is secure; and the sentinel for the evening watch having been detailed, we are left to silence and our own thoughts--thoughts of our approaching doom, and perhaps of the loved ones far away in some mexican border town, whose unavailing prayers are being offered up for our safety. filled with these emotions, some poor fellow would give expression to his pent-up feelings in a long drawn sigh; the only sound that broke upon the stillness of the night. the moon's beams penetrated into the valley; the argent rays shedding a soft and subdued light, as they pierced the mist that was rising from the river. i knew that death was our portion, but little did i dream that on such scenes such awful morn should rise. chapter vi. the torture. another morning dawned; again we were brought forth, and from the information gained from the old trapper, i knew that our time for action had come. lying in a group on the green sward, we watched the movements of our enemies with painful interest. our hands and feet were bound, but we were not otherwise secured, and were therefore enabled to sit up and look around us; we saw that the indians were divested of every superfluous article of dress or ornament, that their movements might be light and unimpeded. we saw them enter the woods and return with clubs freshly cut from the trees, an ominous indication of the fate in store for us. to the number of several hundred the savages had gathered upon the plain, and were arranging the preliminaries for their fiendish sport. we watched their preparations with a peculiar interest; at length all seemed in readiness--two rows of indians stretched along the plain for a distance of about three hundred yards--all were armed with clubs, and stood facing each other; an interval of three or four paces separating the ranks. between these lines we had to run and receive blows in passing, from all who were quick enough to hit us. we were told that if any of our number achieved the apparently impossible feat of passing the entire line, and could reach the foot of the cliff without being overtaken that our lives would be spared. i asked the old trapper if he believed this. "not by a durn sight," was his reply; "its all a cussed injun lie, just to make us do our puttiest; they'll roast us all the same, blast 'em." i was satisfied that the promise was of no value, even if they should adhere to it; for the fleetest runner could never pass the lines. several of the warriors now approached us, and untied one of the mexicans; he was to run first. although an athletic and active specimen of his race, he was quickly disposed of; running barely ten paces before he was stretched senseless, and brought back helpless and bleeding, while the air resounded with the wild yells of the savage bystanders. three of the other captives soon met the same fate, and then it came my turn; i was unbound and led forward and stood awaiting the signal to begin the terrible race. within a few moments a wild scheme had formed itself in my mind, and although fully realizing its desperate nature, i had determined to make the effort, even if i perished in the attempt. i had noticed that, with the exception of those forming the lines between which i was to run, the indians all stood _behind_ me; and for a considerable space around me the ground was entirely clear. my plan was to start as if with the intention of entering the lane of savages, but to suddenly diverge to the right or left, as might seem most expedient, and run directly down the valley, with the hope that i might be able to reach the dense and tangled forest which fringed it, and conceal myself in its recesses until i could find some way out of my rock-environed prison. as i look back at it _now_, i can only wonder that i should have had the hardihood to attempt it. not an indian among the hundreds around but knew well all the paths and windings of the wooded borders of the valley, even supposing that i were fortunate enough to reach it; but that was improbable. among so many it was likely there would be several able to outstrip me in speed, fast runner as i deemed myself; and if overtaken, i could expect nothing but more cruel treatment than i had yet experienced. besides, although i did not know it at the time, the valley had but two entrances, and these were constantly guarded by a watchful picket. but at the time i thought of none of these things--"drowning men will catch at straws," says the old adage--and my hastily formed plan seemed to me to promise success. having formed my resolution i was necessitated to put it in practice at once. the indians were already impatient for another victim, and the signal being given i started on my race for life at the top of my speed. at first i ran directly for the living lane, where my enemies waited with poised clubs each eager to strike the first blow, but as i neared it i made a sudden break to the right, and gathering all my energies for one mighty effort, i broke through a group of old men and idlers who were watching the sport. despite their efforts to intercept me i cleared them in an instant, and ran down the valley with the whole yelling mob at my heels. some half dozen of my pursuers being swifter of foot forged ahead of their comrades, but they did not seem to gain upon me, and for a time it seemed that i would distance them entirely; but i had overestimated my strength, and to my alarm found myself growing weak, and running heavily and with painful effort. i had now, however, nearly reached the timber, and strained every nerve to gain its welcome shadow; looking back, i saw that one of my pursuers was within two hundred yards of me, and gaining rapidly; straining every nerve, i kept up my headlong pace, but when within fifty paces of the woods and with my enemy but little further behind me, i tripped and fell, and had barely time to spring to my feet before he was upon me; he was entirely unarmed, having thrown away his club during the chase. as he rushed upon me, i met him with a blow from my fist, delivered with all the force of which i was capable. striking him directly under the chin, it knocked him completely off his feet, and he measured his length upon the grass. i turned with a spring, and was about to plunge into the thicket, when the dense undergrowth parted directly before me, and i stood face to face with an indian of gigantic size and most singular appearance. for a moment i was completely paralyzed; not so my new opponent. realizing the situation at a glance, he sprang upon me, and bore me to the ground with scarcely an effort. emerging from the lethargy which had enthralled me for a moment, i struggled frantically to free myself, but in vain. several others had now come up, and my fallen antagonist, who had been stunned for a moment, recovered himself, with his temper not at all improved by the rough handling he had received, and snatching a knife from the belt of one of the new comers, aimed a blow at me which would have ended my life on the instant, and prevented this narrative from being written. my captor seized his arm, and rebuked him so sternly, that he slunk away abashed. i was then allowed to rise to my feet, and my hands being bound, the huge indian, who seemed to be in authority, and of whom the others evidently stood in awe consigned me to the custody of two warriors, and dismissing the rest with a wave of his hand, again disappeared in the thicket. led between my two guards, i was soon taken back to the village, followed by an excited crowd of indians, who showed a disposition to handle me pretty roughly, but their unwelcome attentions were prevented by my conductors who pushed rapidly through the crowd, and soon reached the lodge in which i had previously been confined. i was soon reinstalled in my gloomy prison, and after tying me in the usual manner, my attendants left me to solitude and misery. bitterly disappointed by the failure of my daring scheme at the very moment when it seemed to promise success, my thoughts were the reverse of pleasant; and when my mind reverted to the fate of my wife, i suffered such mental agony, as i pray that you, kind reader, may never know. another night passed, and remembering the words of the old trapper, i awoke filled with the conviction that it was to be my last day on earth. the usual scanty meal was supplied to me, and about an hour later i was again brought forth upon the plain. i was soon among my companions in misfortune, and like them securely tied to stakes; but allowed to sit upright, as if the red demons wished us to fully observe the preparations now going forward. [illustration: the torture.] upon the level plain facing the temple, and at a short distance from it, scores of brawny savages were busily engaged planting firmly in the ground a row of massive posts; they were arranged in a semi-circle, and were about twenty in number. we saw many of the indians go to the woods, tomahawk in hand; we heard the sounds of chopping, and saw them return with bundles of faggots; we saw them fastening curiously fashioned chains of copper to the posts; we observed them painting their faces and bodies in hideous stripes of red and black. it was a scene of fearful import, for we knew but too well that it was the prelude to the torture. what were my companions' reflections i knew not, for they spoke but little. but the set and stern expression that showed itself on every face, told me plainly that they fully realized the terrible drama in which they were to be the principal actors. the appearance of all was ghastly in the extreme. travel-stained, covered with dust, and with spots of dried blood, some showing fresh and bleeding wounds--souvenirs of yesterday's rough sport--our clothing torn and disarranged, we were indeed objects of pity, calculated to excite commiseration in the breasts of any others than the brutal and sanguinary wretches who were about to put us to a terrible death. as for me, my brain was on fire; and could i but have freed myself from my bonds i would gladly have sought instant death at the hands of the nearest savage, rather than to longer endure the ever present torture of mind, and the not more acute physical suffering which i was soon to undergo. at last their preparations seemed completed, and the audience assembled. camanches and apaches alike gathered before the temple, forming a vast semi-circle. the terraces of the temple were occupied by the older men, and upon its summit were seated a group of men in strange costumes, the priests of quetzalcoatl. directly in front of the temple a sort of throne had been erected, and upon it sat the aged chief, with his subordinates grouped around him. an old indian of most repulsive aspect, seemed to direct the proceedings, assisted by about a hundred of the younger warriors. a number approached us, we were released from our fastenings and led forward; our ragged garments were soon stripped from our bodies, and with dextrous rapidity we were bound singly to the stakes already prepared for us. to the hour of my death i can never forget that scene. for years it haunted me, and even now, at times i start from my sleep with a cry of terror as i fancy i see again that mob of yelling, painted demons, the crowded terraces of the temple gay with the bright colors of barbaric costumes, the little band of doomed captives, the fagots, stakes, and all the terrible instruments of death. back of all, the snow white cliffs, fringed with the dark green foliage of the pines, and heaven's sunshine falling over all, as if in mockery of the awful tragedy about to be enacted. i wake--and shuddering, thank god that it is only a dream. but it was all too real then. at a signal from their leader the savage executioners heaped the fagots around us, placing them at a sufficient distance to insure the prolongation of our sufferings, so that we might die slowly, and afford them ample time to fully enjoy our agonies. the fires were lighted, and the smoke rolled up in volumes, and threatened to suffocate us and put a speedy end to our torments. in a few seconds however, as the wood got fairly blazing, the smoke lifted, and as we began to writhe in agony, a yell of delight went up from more than three thousand savage throats. the heat grew more intense; my skin was scorched and blistered; dizzy and faint, i felt that the end was near, and longed for death as a speedy escape from such terrible pain. some of my companions, rendered frantic by their sufferings, gave vent to screams of anguish; others endured in silence. mustering all my fortitude, as yet not a sound had escaped me; i had closed my eyes, and was fervently praying for the relief which i knew death must soon give me, when i was startled by a wild cry, followed by a yell of astonishment from the savage spectators. opening my eyes i saw the same gigantic indian who had recaptured me on the day previous, making his way rapidly through the crowd, who fell back to right and left with precipitate haste. rushing directly towards me he scattered the blazing brands, released me as quick as thought, and dragged me to the front of the temple, while the air resounded with the yells and exclamations of the indians. raising his hand he hushed them into silence, and uttered a few words in the camanche tongue; their meaning was lost upon me; i could only distinguish the word "quetzalcoatl," which i knew to be the name of their god. but the revulsion of feeling, and the terrible ordeal through which i had passed, proved too much for my exhausted frame; i swooned and sank insensible to the earth. [illustration] chapter vii. wa-ko-met-kla. the indian to whom i owed my life a second time, and who had braved the wrath of the fiends to snatch me from a death, in comparison to which all others pale into insignificance, the tried friend, whose friendship stood as a shield between me and petty persecution during my captivity, i shall ever hold in grateful remembrance. to him i owe the only hours of contentment that were vouchsafed me during seven years of existence; seven long years of toil and mental anguish. how can i picture to the imagination of my readers the noble qualities of head and heart with which this child of nature was endowed? he was a rough diamond, and it was only by the attrition of constant intercourse that his best qualities displayed themselves. physically he was perfect; his movements were instinct with that grace and ease that are the attributes of those alone whose lives have been spent in the cultivation of all exercises that look to the development of the muscles. how vividly his image presents itself to my mind as i write; his body, which was nude to the waist, except on occasions, when religious observances demanded peculiar attire, was streaked most fantastically with different colored pigments. the head-dress, that consisted of two war eagles' plumes, one dyed vermilion, the other its natural hue, served only the more to distinguish a head that would have been conspicuous in any company. suspended from his neck by a massive chain hung a disc of beaten gold, on which was rudely engraved the figure of a tortoise, the symbol of priesthood. pendants of gold depended from either ear, and his arms were encircled above the elbow with broad gold bands. the limbs were encased in leggings of dressed fawn skin, ornamented along the seams with a fringe of scalp-locks; a guarantee of his personal bravery. moccasins worked into grotesque designs with beads and porcupine quills covered his feet. pervading all like an intangible essence was that ever present frank bearing and dignified courtesy, that at once marked him as a chieftain and ruler among men. such was the medicine man of the camanches and the high-priest of quetzalcoatl, wakometkla. with returning consciousness, i found myself extended along the sward, the indian kneeling by my side and holding in the palm of his hand some crushed bark, of a peculiarly pungent and aromatic odor. clustered around me were a group of savages, who, judging by their menacing looks and excited gestures were not wholly pleased with the new turn which affairs had taken. one among them, emboldened perhaps by the unconcern of the chief, approached more nearly, and unsheathing his knife, raised the long, glittering, and murderous looking blade in mid air, preparatory to burying it hilt deep in my unresisting body. in a moment wakometkla was on his feet, his proud form dilating with wrath. grasping the culprit by the throat, he hurled him from him with tremendous force, sending him reeling through the crowd and to the ground; then turning to those that remained, he administered a sharp rebuke and motioned them away; they dispersed without delay, leaving me alone once more; the priest, meantime having entered the temple. i could distinctly hear the crackling of the fagots and the agonizing wail of some poor victim, as the greedy flames, leaping higher and higher devoured his quivering flesh. intermingling with the groans of the dying captives could be heard the triumphant yells of the blood-thirsty savages, which were echoed by the women that everywhere filled the terraces of the lodges and temple; their bright-hued robes forming a striking contrast with their dark complexions. over this scene of butchery shone the sun, which had now reached its zenith, in all its unclouded brilliancy; the mountainous walls of milky quartz that enclosed the valley, catching his beams and reflecting them in myriad prismatic hues, that gave one the impression that he was in some enchanted domain. the priest soon returned accompanied by a young girl, who bore in her arms a quantity of roots and strips of long bark, and placing them on the ground at my feet commenced applying them, first the leaves, then the bark, to my limbs. soon i was swathed and bandaged like a mummy; which operation being performed, i was taken in their arms and carried inside the temple. descending a ladder we entered a darkened chamber, the walls of which were hung with robes and curious devices; passing through this room i was conducted to an inner apartment which was partitioned off by a curtain of buffalo robes. in the corner of this room was a couch on which i was placed. after giving the girl some brief directions, the priest left us, the girl following him, after having brought me an earthen vessel filled with a dark liquid, which i understood by her gestures i was to drink. such was the magical effect of the leaves in which my burned limbs were bound, that i no longer felt any pain, and taking a deep draught of the liquid, i was soon asleep. i must have slept many hours, for on awakening i found that it had grown quite dark, the only light being supplied by a small bluish flame that was dimly burning on a tripod in the center of the room. my attention was attracted by the peculiar furniture--if such it might be called--of this strange place. the walls are hung with hideous shapes and skins of wild beasts; in which ever way i turn, i am attracted by odd shapes, such as the fierce visage of the grizzly bear, the white buffalo and panther; while interspersed among the horns of the cimmaron, elk and bison, are grim idols carved from the red claystone of the desert. all these, i feel sure, are the symbols of a horrid and mystic religion. the fumes of the charcoal begin to affect me, my head grows hot; the pulse beats quicker; i fancy i hear strange noises; i think there are animals moving on the stone pavement; the fitful flame discloses a shining object, whose sinuous and gliding movements betrays the presence of the dreaded _crotalus_; it approaches my bed; its bead-like eyes glittering with a baleful light. my terror and excitement have now become agonizing; the veins stand out upon my forehead like whip cords; i am bathed in a cold perspiration. making a mighty endeavor, i free my feet from the thongs that bind them, and springing from the bed, rush wildly towards the center of the room. once the sacred fire is reached, i can partially protect myself by scattering the glowing coals on the floor, and fight the reptiles with what they dread the most. in leaving the couch my foot becomes entangled, i give a sudden jerk, and to my horror and dismay, pull down a section of the fur-covered wall; a sight discloses itself that curdles the blood in my veins and thrills my frame with a paralyzing honor. _i have disturbed a nest of huge serpents!_ they move; uncoil themselves, and join the _crotalus_; suddenly the room seems alive with the venomous creatures. i hear the dreaded rattle and the sibilant hiss; rushing toward the fire, i seize the tripod and dash it to the ground, scattering the glowing embers in every direction. my fright becomes terrible, and i imagine the monsters are crawling over my body. with the frenzy of despair i rush to the door that leads out of this chamber of horrors, all the while uttering the most fearful shrieks. in a twinkling i am confronted by indians, bearing lighted torches; taking in the situation at a glance, they enter the apartment, chase the serpents back to their hiding places, while i am hurried away to less disagreeable quarters. i have passed through many thrilling adventures, but for unparalleled horror, this one was without its peer. the following morning, i was taken into the presence of the priest. that something of unusual moment was about to transpire, i felt sure, from the general air and appearance of those in the room. wakometkla was seated on a throne, around him were grouped a number of chiefs in all the bravery of war paint, plumes and robes. it was the council chamber, and i was about to go through the ceremony of adoption into the tribe. it might have been interesting had i understood their tongue, but as it was, i played the part of a puppet. the profoundest silence reigned throughout the apartment, and the gray dawn, stealing in through the door of the lodge, pervaded the room and made it colder and more desolate than before. a chief advanced to my side, and muttering something in which i could only distinguish the words "americano" and "quetzalcoatl," led me to the foot of the dais. wakometkla arose and addressed me at length; then the warriors formed in a circle and moved around me, accompanying their movements with a wild sort of chant. a young boy and girl, standing on one side supplied the music, using for this purpose an indian drum, which produced a monotonous but rhythmic sound. this ceremony over, i am again led out and my clothes stripped from my back; substituting in their stead leggings and moccasins only. my body is then besmeared with paint and oil. my hair is shaved with _scalping knives_, leaving only a small ridge on my head, that ran from my forehead to my neck. thus disguised and regenerated, i am again led into the presence of the chief, who embraces me, and waving his arm a young warrior advances with a necklace, shield, bow and quiver, tomahawk and lance; these are given to me in addition to a tobacco pouch filled with _k'neck k'nick_, the indian substitute for tobacco. thus accoutered, i am once more placed in the center of a circle, this time outside of the lodge; a small piece of turf is removed and the savages again commence their incantations. the dance is exceedingly grotesque, and consists of a series of yells, jumps and jarring gutterals, which are sometimes truly terrifying. every step has its meaning, and every dance its peculiar song. when one becomes fatigued by the exercises, he signifies it by bending quite forward and sinking his body towards the ground, then withdraws from the circle; when all have retired in this manner the dance is ended, and all that remains to make me one of them is _branding_. during these ceremonies, i often wondered why i should have been singled out for adoption, when there were others who would, in my opinion have answered their purposes so much better; the mexicans, for instance, with whose language they were familiar, would have been more serviceable; again, why should they take anyone into the tribe? later, all this was explained. it seems that the medicine man is averse to initiating any of his _own_ people into the secrets and hocus-pocus of his art, as the apprentice, with the knowledge thus gained, might in time become a formidable rival. by adopting a captive this risk is obviated, as under no circumstances could he aspire to the honors of priesthood. in the event of his escape, the only damage would be the loss of an experienced assistant. from this time i was always addressed by my new name tah-teck-a-da-hair (the steep wind), probably from the fact that i outstripped my pursuers in my vain effort at escape. i was allowed to roam at will through the village, but i noticed that wherever i went, watchful eyes followed my every motion. i was actuated in my rambles solely by the desire to see my wife; vain effort. i entered lodge after lodge, climbed from terrace to terrace, but my patient and loving endeavor was unrewarded. fatigued, and with a desponding heart, i retraced my steps towards the temple. morning once more dawns; it is the hour of worship; groups may be seen at the doors of the different lodges; they separate, some incline their course to the river, where sparkling waters are just discernible, as the blue mist, that during the night had hung over the valley, rises upward. filling their _ollas_ they return, carrying the earthen vessels on their heads. others may be seen wending their way to the temple; i, among others ascend; arriving at the top, i find a number already congregated there; they make way for me, showing a deference as new as it is unexpected. i have a fine view of the village, and what an odd look it has; what strange structures meet my view; some are one, others two, three, and even four stories in height; they resemble pyramids with a piece of the top cut off; each upper story is smaller than that below it; the lower one serving as a terrace for the one above, and thus up to the top. the clay of which they are built is of a yellowish tinge. leaning against each terrace is a ladder, that serves as stairs to the story above; no windows are to be seen, but doors lead into the lodge from every terrace. those lodges occupied by warriors and chiefs are ornamented by long poles projecting from the top of the structure, from which float pennants, bearing various devices; the temple looms up over all. the corrals, in which the cattle are secured during the night, are near the houses of their owners. close to the staff of the temple stands an altar, on which a fire is burning; and huddled in a small group near its base are a group of female captives; their forms are almost shrouded in the long striped indian blankets. impelled by a resistless force i near them; one turns towards me, it is my wife; opening my arms i rush wildly forward, overturning men and women by this sudden and precipitate movement. my wife is apparently as much frightened as the others; then recognizing my voice she breaks from the group and is soon in my arms. we were not long allowed to remain in each others arms; recovering from their surprise, the indians seized and parted us. during the remainder of the time spent on the top of the temple, mrs. eastman was kept guarded and separated from tahteckadahair, the indian brave. there is a commotion, the crowd part, and wakometkla advances to the altar. the drum beats, all prostrate themselves; the drum again beats, and the initiatory ceremony is concluded; the crowd is motionless; all face to the east. the quartz wall that shuts in the valley, and whose pinnacles point heavenward in needle-shaped spires, brighten; the points sparkle like diamonds; a ray penetrates into the valley; the mountain suddenly seems on fire, and, as if by magic, the god of light flashes on our upturned faces, bathing the surrounding objects in a flood of glory. all nature seems jubilant. the birds carol forth their blithest songs; the river sparkles and dances in the sunlight; the drum is heard once more; the devotees prostrate themselves and bend in submissive adoration before the coming of the fiery god, quetzalcoatl. chapter viii. a new vocation. this ceremony over, the priests and worshipers withdrew; my wife was led away by her guards, and i was left for a moment alone with wakometkla; he stood gazing toward the distant mountains and seemed lost in reverie. at length he roused himself, and turning towards me, approached and taking me by the arm, conducted me once more to the lower part of the temple. we descended to the subterranean apartments, and passing through several, at length entered a room of good size, but so littered with the various utensils of his profession as to be almost impassable. huge earthen cauldrons, set upon blocks of stone, were ranged across one end, and these were filled with a thick liquid of a dark brown color. bundles of dried herbs were suspended from the walls and ceiling; the plants seemed to be of many species, but were all strange and unknown to me. a large block of stone standing in the center of the room served as a table, and upon this were a number of piles of bark and small lumps of a thick resinous gum; in one corner, were two or three smaller stone blocks, each with a cavity in the center, and evidently used for the same purpose as a druggist's mortar. [illustration: mrs. eastman in costume.] i viewed the strange apartment and its contents with much interest, for i saw that in this place the old man compounded such simple remedies as he had been taught by experience, were necessary for the treatment of the ailments to which his tribe was subject. on entering, he had motioned me to a seat, and i had accordingly placed myself upon a fragment of rock and sat quietly observing his proceedings and reflecting upon the strange situation in which i found myself. my companion, for sometime paid no attention whatever to me; divesting himself of his robes and ornaments, he enveloped himself in a sort of tunic made from the skin of some wild beast; to what particular kind of animal it had once belonged i was unable to form an idea, as the hair had been removed and the surface painted in many colors, with curious designs; it was without sleeves, showing his muscular arms bared to the shoulder, and with bracelets of roughly beaten gold upon the wrists. taking a piece of wood, shaped something like a paddle, he commenced stirring the contents of the cauldrons and tasting the mixture, occasionally adding small portions of a transparent liquid of a pale yellow color, which he poured from a small earthen vessel. for some time he continued his employment while i watched and meditated, but at length he ceased his labors and beckoned me to approach him. taking a portion of bark from the table he placed it in one of the stone basins, and seizing a stone utensil, similar in shape to a large gourd, began crushing the bark, motioning me meantime to watch him, and working with great energy. he continued in this manner for some minutes, until he appeared to conclude that i had become sufficiently familiar with the process, and then directed me by gestures to take his place, and i soon found myself busily engaged reducing the bark to powder. at first the change from my hitherto enforced idleness was a pleasant relief, but i soon found that it was hard and exhausting labor; the perspiration rolled down my face in streams, and i felt a strong inclination to cease operations. my new master, however, plainly looked with disfavor upon such an intention, for the moment that i slackened in my toil, he would shake his head gravely and motion me to continue, and to work more rapidly, and i had no alternative but to obey. of one thing i was satisfied, my new occupation was likely to be no sinecure; there was evidently work enough to keep me constantly employed, and wakometkla would no doubt see to it that i wasted no time. for the remainder of the day i was kept hard at it, with the exception of the brief period allowed me for partaking of my food. so far as quantity was concerned, i had no reason to complain of the fair supplied me, but its quality was not so satisfactory, it was a species of _tasajo_, or dried meat, but of what animal it had originally formed a part, i was entirely unable to determine. in place of bread, i was given a sort of cake made from the _piã±on_ nuts, and not unpalatable, but a poor substitute for the food to which i had been accustomed. when my day's toil was over, wakometkla, motioning me to follow him, led the way into an adjoining apartment, and pointing to a rude couch of skins, indicated that it was to be my resting place for the night. wearied by my unaccustomed labor, i threw myself down without the formality of undressing, and was soon buried in deep and dreamless slumber. at an early hour on the following morning i was awakened by wakometkla, and found myself much refreshed by the first night's sound sleep i had enjoyed for many days. i was again conducted to the scene of my labors of the day previous and soon found myself at work again. this time, however, i was set at a different employment from that in which i had been hitherto engaged. seated upon the earthen floor, with a large flat stone before me, i picked over and separated the various strange herbs, sorting them into heaps; the medicine man stood by and directed my operations, uttering a grunt of approval when he saw that i comprehended his pantomimic instructions. at length, seeming satisfied that i could complete the task without further assistance, he left me, and for several hours i worked on alone. about the middle of the forenoon, i had nearly finished my labor, when wakometkla suddenly entered and motioned me to rise and follow him; we passed through several apartments and entered the mystery room. approaching a recess in one corner, my master drew back a curtain of skins and disclosed an aperture of considerable size; this he entered and disappeared for a moment, but quickly returned, bearing in his hand a metallic circlet which glittered in the light of the lambent flame that arose from the altar; as he approached me i saw that it was a rudely fashioned collar of silver, its surface covered with engraved lines and strange cabalistic characters; this he speedily fastened around my neck in such a way that i could not displace it, and again motioned me to follow him; leaving me entirely in the dark, as to the object or meaning of this singular proceeding. reaching the first terrace of the temple, we descended to the plain and passed through the main street of the village until we reached its outskirts. although wondering greatly what new experience i was about to meet with, i could not fail to notice the great respect with which my strange protector was treated, a respect seemingly not unmixed with awe. many curious glances were cast at me as we passed through the crowd of idlers and "dandies" who lounged about the open space before the temple, but no word was spoken as they drew back to make way for us. at the edge of the plain, and standing apart from the other structures, i had observed a small lodge; it differed in no respect from the others except in size. we walked directly towards this, and on reaching it wakometkla entered, motioning me to remain outside. laying down upon the green turf, i abandoned myself to rest and reflection. naturally, my thoughts were mainly of my wife; and the mystery as to her whereabouts and probable fate constantly occupied my mind. had i but known it, my suspense was soon to be at an end; but i little dreamed that i was soon to see her again, to meet only to part for years, and with the certainty that she would be subjected to every degradation; and had i known it, such knowledge would have only caused me additional misery. for over an hour i laid motionless; at times watching the movements of a party of indians who were engaged in ball play; at times lost in thought. at last my savage master, having finished his visit, the object of which i knew not, emerged from the lodge and signed me to rise. we retraced our steps until we reached the temple, when he indicated by gestures that i might remain without. i concluded from his manner that i was at liberty for a time at least to follow my own inclinations, and accordingly occupied myself in making a tour of the village, thinking it possible that i might see something of my wife. as i strolled about, i was surprised to find that i was entirely unmolested, although many of the red warriors looked at me with an expression that indicated a desire to "lift my hair." i afterward learned that the silver collar i wore was itself a safeguard which the boldest "buck" in the village would not dare to violate. my search was for the time unavailing; returning to the vicinity of the temple, i laid down upon the ground and awaited the summons of wakometkla, which i momentarily expected. it seemed, however, that he had either forgotten me, or was busied with something of more importance, as i was suffered to remain by myself for several hours. watching the various groups around, i saw many sights, both new and strange to me. a number were engaged in gambling for the various trinkets they had procured in their successful foray. their implements for this pastime were simple enough. several indians who sat quite near me were engaged in this amusement, and by watching them carefully, i was soon able to understand the game. they sat in a circle, with a heap of small stones in the center; one of them, grasping a handful of the pebbles would conceal them behind him, at the same time placing before him the article which he wished to wager. the player on his right would then stake against it any article which he deemed of equal value; and if the leader accepted the bet he would signify it; his opponent had then to _guess_ the number of pebbles taken by the first indian; and if his conjecture was correct, became the possessor of the articles wagered. if he failed to guess the right number, the holder of the stones was the winner; then the next savage seized the pebbles, and so it went round and round the circle, the winners venting their exultation in yells and laughter, while the losers clearly indicated by grunts, expressive of disgust, their disappointment when fortune went against them. suddenly my attention was attracted by a party of indians who came forth from one of the more pretentious lodges. among them were a number of the principal warriors including the head chief himself; with them were also several of the apaches, who seemed, by their dress and bearing, to be men of some rank. they were engaged in a very animated discussion, accompanied with as much gesticulation as if they had been a parcel of frenchmen. directly two of the camanches re-entered the lodge, and returned leading three women, white captives. without a moment's warning my wife was before me, and i sprang to my feet and ran towards her, scarcely knowing what i was about. my darling saw me at the same instant and stretched out her arms as if to clasp me in her embrace, but she was firmly held in the grasp of one of the savages and could not stir. seeing that i would not be permitted to approach her i halted, wondering what new scene of savage cruelty was about to be enacted. i was not long in doubt--from the gestures of the indians, and the exhibition of some gaudy ornaments by one of the apaches, i was convinced that a barter or trade of some sort was in progress, and a few moments sufficed to satisfy me that my surmise was correct, and to plunge me into still deeper wretchedness. the camanche head chief, and one who seemed to be the leader of the apaches conversed apart, the latter frequently pointing to my wife and evidently arguing with great persistence. at length the bargain seemed completed, and tonsaroyoo the head chief of the camanches led her to the apache chieftain and consigned her to his custody; the other women were also taken in charge by the apaches who delivered a number of ornaments and trinkets and two horses to their camanche friends. the leader of the apaches now uttered a peculiar cry, apparently a signal, for immediately the warriors of his party assembled from all parts of the village and ranged themselves before him. he seemed to give some order, for they ran instantly to where their horses were picketed, and with marvelous celerity prepared for departure. the being i loved best was about to be torn from me, probably forever, and subjected to the most terrible fate that could befall one of her sex. as the fatal truth impressed itself on my mind, i seemed paralyzed in every limb, and stood riveted to the spot, gazing hopelessly upon those dear features, as i then thought, for the last time. my poor wife was quickly mounted behind an apache warrior, and, as the cavalcade moved off, she uttered a despairing scream, which seemed to rouse me from my lethargy. i endeavored to reach her, animated by a wild desire to clasp her once again to my heart, and welcome death together; but at my first movement i was grasped by a strong arm, and with her cry of anguish sounding in my ears as the party rode away, i found myself drawn within the temple and firmly held by wakometkla; he did not relax his grasp until we entered the mystery chamber, then releasing me, he regarded me not unkindly, and muttered to himself in his own language. sinking under this last terrible blow, i threw myself upon the floor, and in the bitterness of my heart prayed for death. but death shuns those who seek it, it is said, and we were destined to suffer for years from the doubts and suspense occasioned by our sudden separation, neither knowing the fate of the other, and each scarcely daring to hope that their loved one could be yet alive. after a time wakometkla raised me to my feet and led me to the room in which i had slept previously; here he left me, and for hours i lay in a sort of stupor, sinking at last into a heavy but unrestful slumber. following, came many weary days, during which i paid little attention to things passing around me. absorbed in my sorrow, i took no note of time, until a change in occupation brought forth new plans in my mind, causing me to entertain hope for the future. but of this anon. chapter ix. the "mystery bag." several months had elapsed since i entered upon my new duties. at first i was stimulated to extra endeavor by that curiosity which impels all novices to take an especially active interest in their profession, but i soon found that pounding bark, and gathering herbs, could become as monotonous as other less novel employments. i envied the women their tasks, as it would have been a change, and consequently a relief. it was a treadmill existence, and day succeeded day with unvarying sameness. i arose before dawn and went to the river; after a plunge in the sparkling water i returned to the temple and renewed the paint on my person, which had been effaced by the water. constant exposure to wind and weather had tanned my body to the color of leather, and it did not require a great amount of art to enable me to imitate the true indian complexion. exposure and coarse wholesome food had made me very hardy, and i found that i could bear fatigue and work that i should have thought i was never capable of performing. to this training i was indebted for the strength that supported me in my arduous journey through the deadly jornada, when in quest of my wife. when my preparations were completed, it was time to ascend to the top of the temple and join in the morning's devotions. these over, i returned to the underground room and commenced the day's work. at first wakometkla would signify what he required by signs, and later, as i acquired a knowledge of the language, he would more fully detail his wishes, and ofttimes explain the effects and purposes of the drug. in this way i became as familiar with his materia medica, as himself; and from time to time offered suggestions that occurred to me, which seemed to please him. by constant and steady application i amassed a fund of knowledge concerning vegetable medicines that enabled me, on my return to civilization, through the co-operation of dr. clark johnson, to make my knowledge available in alleviating suffering humanity. in my excursions into the woods i was accompanied by the chief, who instructed me how to gather the medicine plants, and where to find them. after a day spent in this manner, we would return to the village each carrying a basket on his back, filled with the results of our labor. by far the most important part of my work, in the estimation of the indians at least, was the concoction of "medicine," or mystery in which my master and myself were supposed to be all potent the red men are slaves to superstition, and in order to gain control over them it is absolutely necessary to profess a thorough intimacy with everything that is mysterious and supernatural. they believe in the power of talismans; and no indian brave would for a moment suppose that his safety in this world, or happiness in the next, could be secured, did he not possess, and constantly keep about him his "mystery bag." a description of this article, and the manner in which it is made may not prove uninteresting. when a youth has arrived at the age of sixteen it becomes necessary for him to "make his medicine;" to this end he leaves his father's lodge, and absents himself for one or two days and nights; entering the woods, where he may be secure from interruption, he seeks some quiet nook, and stretching his length upon the ground, remains in that position until he dreams of his medicine. during this time he abstains from food and water. when in his dreams the bird, reptile, or animal, that is to act as his guardian angel through life appears to him; or rather he imagines it does. as soon as he has learned what to seek for, he retraces his steps and joins his family again, who receive him with demonstrations of great joy; a feast is made in his honor, and he is treated with marked consideration. the festivities having come to an end, he arms himself with bow and arrows, or takes his traps, whichever may be best adapted to secure the animal he seeks, and leaving the village once more goes in pursuit of his quarry, not returning until his hunt has been crowned with success. great care is to be observed in securing the "medicine" intact. the skin is then stuffed with wool or moss, and religiously sealed; the exterior is ornamented as the fancy of the owner may dictate; the decoration in most instances being of a very elaborate character. the bag is usually attached to the person, but is sometimes carried in the hand. feasts are made, and even dogs and horses sacrificed to a man's medicine, while days of fasting and penance are suffered to appease his medicine, when he fancies he has in some way offended it. the indian will not sell this charm for any price; indeed, to part with it is considered a disgrace. in battle, he looks to it for protection from death, and if perchance he is killed, it will conduct him safely to the happy hunting grounds, which he contemplates as his inheritance in the world to come. if he should lose it in the fight, let him battle never so bravely for his country, he suffers overwhelming disgrace, and is pointed at by the tribe as "a man without medicine," and remains a pariah among his people until the sacred mystery bag is replaced. this can only be done by rushing into battle, and wresting one from the enemy, whom he slays with his own hand. once this is accomplished, lost caste is regained, and he is reinstated in the tribe, occupying a position even higher than before he lost the charm. medicine thus acquired at the risk of life and limb is considered the best, and entitles the wearer to many privileges to which he could never have aspired before. when a brave has captured a mystery bag belonging to his opponent, he has performed a feat of great valor, far surpassing the glory of innumerable scalps. it is somewhat singular that a man can institute his medicine but once in a lifetime; and equally curious that he can reinstate himself by the adoption of medicine captured from the enemy. in these regulations are concealed strong inducements to fight: first, to protect himself and his medicine; and again, if the warrior has been unfortunate enough to lose the charm, that he may restore it and his reputation, while in combat with the foes of his community. i had been for a long time in the village before i was allowed to wander beyond its limits. indeed, i was kept so constantly employed that i had no opportunity to explore the valley, even if i had been permitted to do so. but the efforts i made to please my indian master were not without their effect. wakometkla soon began to place confidence in me, and allow me more freedom of action. i had, it is true, very little spare time, but occasionally my master would dispense with my services while he was occupied with the ceremonies of the temple, and at such times i found myself free to wander where i pleased. in this way, at odd times, i made myself familiar with the topography of the entire valley. at first i was not without hope, in my solitary rambles, that i might devise some plan of escape; for i had not by any means abandoned all hope of that nature, or resigned myself placidly to my fate. but i was not long in discovering that without a good horse, a supply of provisions, and some weapons of offense or defense, any such idea was entirely futile. the valley was of itself a prison, for it had neither entrance nor exit, except at its two extremities. the one by which i had entered i have already described in a previous chapter, and will not weary the reader by repeating it. the pass at the western end of the valley was simply a narrow caã±on cut through the mountain, during centuries perhaps, by the action of water; its precipitous walls rose to the height of over two thousand feet, and in its gloomy recesses it was always twilight; its length was nearly a mile; and at its outer extremity it debouched upon a barren plain. at each end a guard of two men was constantly posted, relieving each other at regular intervals, and being changed every third day. to pass these vigilant sentinels, afoot and unarmed, was plainly impossible; and i soon banished the idea from my mind. i had noticed that wakometkla sometimes left the village and was absent for two or three days, returning laden with various herbs and plant, freshly gathered. i concluded from this that they were of species which did not grow in the valley, and to procure which he was obliged to ascend the various mountain ranges that barred my vision in every direction. i was anxious to accompany him on some one of these expeditions, thinking that i might thereby gain an opportunity for flight; but many long and weary months were to pass before i was to be granted that privilege. my life at this time was monotonous in the extreme; and so severe was the labor required of me, that i was frequently too tired even to think. in his trips to the borders of the valley in search of the materials for his medicines, wakometkla often took me with him, and by these means i gradually became familiar with many of the ingredients used. it was a source of never-ending wonder to me that this untutored savage should have been able to discover and prepare so wonderful a remedy as i found it to be. i had many opportunities of observing its effects upon the indians; for the camanches, although naturally a hardy race, partly from their mode of life, and partly from the fact that few of them are of pure indian blood, are subject to very many of the same ailments that afflict more civilized communities. as the assistant of the great medicine man, i found myself treated with far more consideration than i would have supposed possible, and, in fact, it appeared after a time, as if the indians considered me one of themselves. this state of affairs was not without its advantages. it ensured my freedom from molestation and at the same time gave me complete facilities for becoming familiar with the indian character, their manners and customs, and mode of life. of these i shall treat at length in another chapter. at the time i was occupied in making the observations and investigations which i shall lay before the reader, i had no expectation of ever placing a record of my experiences before the public. hence in many things my knowledge of the subject is but superficial. of those things which interested me, or from their strange nature made a deep impression upon my mind, my recollection is clear and vivid. but many details which might be of interest to those who have never seen, or been among the prairie indians, have by the lapse of time and the many exciting scenes through which i have passed become in a measure effaced from my mind. but i shall endeavor to relate as fully as possible my checkered experiences; and this narrative, whatever its demerits, will have at least one attribute of excellence, it will adhere strictly to facts. chapter x. indian life. the camanches are supposed to be a branch or subdivision of the shoshone or snake nation, who, under various names or tribal appellations, dominate the entire area from the borders of british america to the rio grande. although these tribes are known by many different names, such as "shoshones," "bonacks," "utahs," "lipans," "apaches," "navajoes," "pawnee picts," "camanches," or "cayguas," they vary but little in their general habits of life. such differences as do exist are mainly the result of variations of climate. until within a few years, the camanches were undoubtedly the most warlike and powerful race of indians on the continent. with the apaches, navajoes, and lipans, they formed a sort of indian confederacy; rarely at war among themselves, but always with the whites; and when united, able to put a force in the field which would ride over the texan frontier like a whirlwind; and without hesitation penetrate hundreds of miles into mexico, desolating whole provinces, returning sated with slaughter, and burdened with plunder. the camanches are, or rather were at this time, divided into five bands, usually acting entirely independently of one another, but uniting in case of emergency; or for the purpose of making their annual raid on the mexican towns. this occurs at the season when the buffaloes have migrated to the north, and is jocularly termed by the savages the "mexican moon." it was on their return from one of these expeditions that the band of tonsaroyoo, the head chief of the nation, had intercepted our unlucky party. the band of tonsaroyoo (lone wolf) was the most numerous and powerful of the five, and hence was usually able to undertake their forays without the assistance of the other parties. twice only during my long residence among them was a general levy or muster of the whole nation deemed necessary; and it was a spectacle not easily forgotten. in the first instance a raid of greater magnitude than usual had been determined upon, and every warrior was assembled to take part in it. assembled at our village, they were joined by nearly five hundred apaches, led by mah-to-chee-ga (little bear), their second chief. thus, when they defiled through the western portal of the valley, tonsaroyoo rode at the head of nearly seven thousand warriors. with the camanches, as with most other tribes, the chief rank is held by hereditary descent. thus, the son of a chief usually succeeds his father in the rulership of his tribe or band; there are, of course, exceptions to this; but it is the general rule. the head chief and second chief of the nation, however, are chosen from among the chiefs of each tribe; the selection being made by the council. this body numbers twelve members, and are chosen by the whole nation; holding their positions during life, or until incapacitated by old age. among them are found the most distinguished warriors of the tribe, and the head priest is also included in their number. the installation of a new counselor is considered by the indians an occasion of great importance; and as it is a very interesting ceremony, i will briefly describe it. on the occasion in question, ar-ran-e-jah (bloody arm), had announced his determination to retire from the position of first counselor, which he had held for many years. calling together the chiefs and braves, he addressed them somewhat as follows: "brothers, warriors of the hietan; for many winters bloody arm has faithfully served you. he is no longer young, his body is weakened by the many wounds he has received in your defence, and he wishes for repose; and to be no longer burdened with the cares of the council. bloody arm's medicine is no longer good upon the war path; and he will enter the medicine lodge so that he will not be obliged to go to war, but can end his days in peace. we have many brave young warriors, who are deserving of promotion, let one of these be selected to fill my place; and may his medicine be good and his war-path be fortunate warriors, i now give up the office of first counselor i have done." tonsaroyoo replied as follows: "arranejah, our hearts are sorry that you have decided to cease to be our first counselor. you have served the nation long and faithfully; your counsel has been wise; under your guidance we have greatly prospered, and we would rather that you should still direct us. but you say that your body is weak, and that you desire repose. it is well--we know that you have received many wounds at the hands of our enemies; that you were always first in the charge, and never turned your back upon the foe. we honor you, for your bravery, and you will always possess the love and respect of your people. "now we must select a twelfth counselor. will you name him for us?" "no, tonsaroyoo," said the old man: "i never had an enemy among my warriors, and i will not begin to make them now. they are all brave, and i should not know whom to choose. let the nation decide who is to succeed me. i have done." the form of an election was then gone through with; two braves being named for the position by the counsel, and a vote taken in the following manner: two heaps of shells, one black, the other white, were placed upon the ground before the temple. each warrior selected one from either pile, as he preferred, and placed the shells so taken so as to form a third pile. when all had deposited a shell in this heap, they were counted by two of the elder counselors, and the first candidate, who was a protã©gã© of tonsaroyoo, was declared rejected, having received too many of the black shells; as the rule is that if more than a certain prescribed number (which varies according to the number taking part in the election), are cast against a candidate he must be withdrawn, and another presented for approval. on the second ballot, nau-ce-dah (strong shield), was chosen without opposition. he belonged to the band of ston-ha-won, and was selected as much because of the personal popularity of his chief as from any merit of his own; for, although a daring warrior, he was a reckless fellow, and scarcely fitted to command or advise. the ceremony of his installation followed, and was conducted within a medicine lodge, erected for that especial purpose. here were assembled the chiefs, priests, members of the council, and the leading warriors, with as many of the other braves as could possibly crowd into it. the new dignitary was then presented with a _white_ buffalo robe, and a head-dress of eagle's plumes, stained red, the insignia of his office. new arms and equipments were given him, and it was formally announced that naucedah was the twelfth counselor of the camanche nation; and that the next war party should be led by him. more speech-making followed, some of it decidedly eloquent, but with which i will not weary the reader. tonsaroyoo presented the new counselor with twenty horses and a magnificent white shield; the assemblage then separated. the remainder of the day was devoted to feasting in honor of the event; the younger warriors amusing themselves as usual with horse racing and ball play. naucedah failed to justify the wisdom of this selection, for his first war party resulted in disaster. starting with about eighty warriors on a raid into the utah country to steal horses, he led his unlucky band into an ambush, and barely twenty of them escaped; their leader being among the killed. the marriage relation can hardly be said to exist among the camanches. each chief or warrior, it is true, may have as many wives as he pleases, and they generally please to have a rather liberal number; but the tie is not a sacred one as with us; and no ceremony is required to legalize it. the commerce of the sexes is practically unrestricted. the camanche procures his wife, or more properly his slave, by purchase, by barter, or as in the case of the white captives, by force of arms; and he disposes of her in an equally summary fashion when wearied of her. one particularly horrid custom to which their white prisoners are frequently subjected is the following: it sometimes occurs that a dispute will arise as to the ownership of a white captive; in this event it is referred to the council for settlement; and should they be unable to agree upon a decision, she then becomes _common property_, the victim of _all_! the camanche has the same aversion to labor of any kind which characterizes all the aboriginal races. when not on the war path, or engaged in the pursuit of game, his time is about equally divided between eating, smoking, gambling, and sleeping. all the burdens of life fall upon the women, and they must endure them as best they may. their duty it is to plant and cultivate the maize, and the few fruits and berries which the indians deem necessary for food. they gather and prepare the piã±on nuts, and _cure_ the tasajo, and prepare the food for their brutal masters. in the dressing of skins, and the manufacture of leggings, moccasins, and the few other articles of apparel which are required for comfort or ornament, they are especially skilled; and despite their multifarious duties they manage to accomplish a great deal of this work. in the matter of diet the camanches are not by any means particular. buffalo meat is their staple, and they prefer this to any other food; but when this fails them, there are always horses in plenty; and i found "horse-beef" to be very good eating, although at first the very idea of tasting it was repulsive to me. before i had returned to civilization, however, i had partaken of so many queer dishes, and strange articles of food, that, if hungry, i do not think i would hesitate at anything short of cannibalism. a sort of stew, of which the flesh of young puppies forms the principal ingredient, is another camanche luxury, and i learned in time to consider it very palatable; but i fancy most people would rather take it for granted than put it to the test. however, if any of my readers feel disposed to try the experiment, i can assure them that they may do so without fear of unpleasant consequences. the camanches, in common with all the other "horse-indians," are much addicted to horse racing; and almost every afternoon some sport of this kind would take place on the plain before the village. these trials of speed were for some wager, and the younger warriors would frequently lose all their worldly possessions in backing some unlucky steed, whose powers of speed or endurance they had overrated. at such times the taunts and exultation of the victors would sometimes give rise to a quarrel; knives would be drawn and brandished, and a bloody fight seem imminent, but the "yau-pa-sai-na," or indian policemen, would usually succeed in quelling the disturbance before much harm could be done. if his efforts seemed unavailing, the appearance of tonsaroyoo, battle axe in hand, would be the signal for an immediate dispersion of the crowd; the intending combatants, especially, sneaking off with great precipitation. knowing the fiery temper of lone wolf, and the fact that he looked upon these brawls and affrays with great disfavor, and had strictly prohibited their occurrence, the quarrelsome young warriors fully apprehended that he would have no hesitation in braining the first offender who came within his reach. this warlike chieftain was a man of very marked ability, and governed his tribe with admirable skill and judgment. from his severity, however, he was feared rather than liked by his people, and although implicitly obeyed at all times, he did not possess a tithe of the popularity which stonhawon, the second chief, enjoyed. the latter was a bold, manly fellow; a really brave man and a sagacious leader; unusually successful in war, his parties never returned without either "hair or horses," as was frequently the case with others, and his invariable good nature and lavish generosity rendered him a universal favorite with his people. he was a pure-blooded camanche, and altogether, one of the finest specimens of his race i ever beheld. to him i am indebted for many acts of kindness, and but for his favor, the opportunity of which i availed myself for making my escape, might never have occurred. chapter xi. mrs. eastman's story. i had intended to relate the experiences of my wife in such a manner that they might serve as a sequel to my narrative; but on reflection, the better plan seemed to be to portray, as graphically as possible, the events that influenced her life, in separate chapters, so arranged that the account should be distinct, yet in point of time, contemporaneous. the scene of her captivity, and the treatment she received at the hands of her captors, have made such a vivid and lasting impression on my mind, that in speaking of them, i seem almost to have undergone the torture in my own person. in writing her story therefore, i shall speak in the first person. the reader will, i think, see the superiority of this plan at a glance. who has not felt his pulse quicken, and his heart go out in warmest sympathy at the recital of some tale of flood or field, as told by an eye-witness, when the same events related by a third party will only awaken a mild interest in the minds of his hearers. i crave the sympathetic attention of my readers, and this is my explanation for the plan i have adopted. * * * * * after the assault on our party had culminated in the death of my poor father and brother, the indians surrounded our wagon, and lifting the canvas flaps, discovered my mother and myself ensconced behind our bulwark of blankets and boxes. they bade us come out by gestures so menacing, and scowls so terrifying, that it had a contrary effect on us than the one they wished to produce; for instead of obeying the command, we only shrank back into corners more remote, vainly thinking that the bales and robes, with which loving hands had surrounded us, would form a sufficient protection against the dreaded savage. at this critical juncture, my poor mother swooned back into my arms, overcome by fright. seeing that their commands were not obeyed, the foremost indian climbed into the wagon, and rushing on us with uplifted knife, grasped me by the hair and dragged me over the obstructions and out onto the ground. i cried aloud in my anguish, which only seemed to afford them the more amusement; the savage who had performed the manly deed, displaying for the edification of his comrades, a quantity of my hair, which he still held in his clenched hand. the wagon and the plunder it contained seemed to be the center of attraction. a dozen had entered in as many seconds, and although the canvas top hid them from view, they could be heard quarreling over the division of the spoils. during these fearful scenes, the events of years seemed crowding into minutes. never have i suffered such mental or bodily torture before or since. my faculties succumbed to the severe strain, and i found myself falling into a kind of stupor, in which, though perfectly conscious of all that was transpiring, i seemed not to have been one of the principal actors, but an observer merely. suddenly i was made aware that something unusual was taking place; the indians crowded about the wagon, all the time gesticulating wildly, and yelling in a blood-curdling manner. i heard voices raised as if in altercation within the wagon. rising above the din i distinguished the loved tones of my mother's voice, as if crying for help, and entreating for mercy. the noise grows apace; wild with terror, nerved with the resolution of despair, i rushed towards the wagon; reaching it a sight meets my eyes that petrifies me with horror; i try to move, speak, act; my limbs and tongue refuse to obey my will; this is what i see: a couple of brawny savages, maddened by strong drink, stand over the kneeling figure of my mother, their eyes inflamed with satanic passion. holding together her torn garments with one hand, she parries with feeble and fast declining strength their revolting advances. with a mighty effort she reaches up and snatches a knife from the belt of the savage nearest her, and with the rapidity of thought plunges it into his body. he reels and falls against his companion. it is her last act on earth. with a yell of rage the tomahawk is lifted above her murderer's head, and descending is buried in her brain with a dull thud. a mist passes over my eyes; my brain reels, and the last thing of which i am conscious is the white tresses of my saintly mother, held high in air by this monster in human guise. god grant that it may never be my fate to pass through such scenes again. during the next twenty-four hours, my existence is that of an automaton merely. i know i am being conducted away from the spot where this awful tragedy was enacted. i am mounted behind my guard, to whose waist i am firmly bound by raw hide thongs. we encamp in a belt of cotton woods, near a small stream. fires are lighted, food prepared; some is offered me, but i turn away from it in disgust; the hand that proffers the smoking meat seems covered with blood. i am taken from my couch of skins at the foot of a tall tree, and led through the underbrush into an open space, where the main party are assembled. emerging into this clearing, my eyes fall upon my husband, who is approaching me from the other side of the encampment. it was as if i saw one who had arisen from the dead; with an effort i free myself, rush past the guard, and am in my husband's arms. leaning my head on his shoulder, i give expression to my feelings in tears; they are the first i have shed, and seem to break the spell which has encircled me like an iron band. i am not long permitted to remain in my husband's embrace, as the indian with an ugh! expressive of displeasure, grasps edwin by the arm, and rudely separates us; we are led to opposite corners of the enclosure, there to await our departure, preparations for which are being rapidly completed. the lariats are coiled, blankets adjusted, and at a signal from the chief we mount, and defiling through the wood, emerge on the open prairie, pursuing our journey in indian file. before starting, one of our mules is brought up, on which i am mounted, a warrior riding by my side and holding in his hand a hair rope that passes through the bit ring that is attached to my animal. all day we keep up the march. look in any direction and the eye meets one vast expanse of living verdure, the vision only interrupted by the horizon. north, south, east, and west stretches the prairie meadow, green as the sea, and in many respects not unlike the calm surface of the ocean. as the wind sweeps across its bosom, the silken blades bend in gentle undulations, and they are dappled into lighter and darker shades, like the shadows of summer clouds flitting across the sun. it was a scene of pure enjoyment, and i only realized, on being awakened from my day dreams how miserable was my lot. with slight interruptions, notably when my husband was lost in the buffalo hunt, and his recapture, we progressed steadily towards the village. on arriving i was taken at once to the temple, where i found myself among some eight or ten more female captives, who had but recently arrived. they were mexican women, and, not understanding their language, i felt somewhat constrained. i was attracted to one fragile looking girl, whose age could not have been more than fifteen. she appeared utterly heartbroken and cast down by her misfortunes. i suffered enough, god knows; but my heart yearned towards this little stranger with tender sympathy; and in comforting her i seemed to lessen my own burdens. although the others were kind to her to a degree, yet she seemed to evince a fondness for my society that was very flattering. the others addressed her as "zoe," and in this way i learned her name. henceforth we became inseparable; and as she accompanied me in my captivity, the reader will learn more of the sad history of this heroic girl, whose impulses, both of head and heart, added to her splendid courage, were the salient points in a character of surpassing sweetness. we were not allowed to leave the temple, although we were free to wander from terrace to terrace. food and water was supplied us by the indian women, who seemed to have us under their sole control. how can i describe the scenes of the next few days; the games, festivities, and most horrible of all, the torture; when we were compelled to stand on the lower terrace, and witness the agonies and death struggles of fathers, husbands and lovers; not even the poor consolation of indulging our grief undisturbed was permitted us; the indian women who surrounded us seemed lost to all feelings of pity and humanity, and when one of our number was suffering tortures of mind, little inferior to the physical pain undergone by the object of her devotion, the fiends would give vent to derisive cries and jeers that were maddening to the poor creature. one of the mexicans, whose father and lover were burned to death before her eyes, suffered such poignant anguish that her reason gave way, and she was borne inside the temple a raving maniac. after the events just related, nothing of moment occurred to break the monotony of our captivity. we were confined to our quarters under a surveillance that did not relax for a moment. it was understood that we were awaiting the announcement that was to decide what our future lot should be. the mexicans learned from our attendants that the chiefs had decided to share the female captives with their apache visitors; the selection to be made by lot. i had not seen my husband but once since we entered the village, and that sight was fraught with the most painful emotions. i knew, however, that for the present he was safe; the future i confided to him whose loving care would protect and aid us in our trials. during this time my mind was in a state of complete despondency; no bright visions of future liberty and happiness came to relieve the dreary forebodings that oppressed me. in my wildest imaginings of the suffering that might be my portion, i did not approach the realities of my future existence. those dark days of toil and degradation which succeeded each other in unvarying monotony, with blows for a welcome, and kicks as an incentive to labor. even at this remote period i cannot recall the experiences of those times without a shudder; when the horizon of hope was environed by the dull blank of despair; and as each year dragged its weary length along, it almost seemed as if i was, "the world forgetting, and by the world forgot." chapter xii. mrs. eastman's story continued. one morning we were aroused quite early, our guard informing us that the lots had been cast and the captives disposed of. we were divided into equal numbers, the home tribe retaining one half, while their visitors appropriated the remainder. we quickly descended to the ground floor of the temple, and clustering about the door leading into the village street, awaited the final word from the chief, that was to deliver us into the hands of our new masters. on occasions like the present, the whole community was in a ferment of excitement, and crowded around us in great numbers, each more anxious than the other to have a view of the bartered captives. the apaches seemed to be particularly anxious to take stock of their new acquisitions, and not a few scrimmages occurred between them and the camanche women on this account. the men elbowed and the women bit and clawed at a furious rate. it might have been very amusing, but unluckily we came in for our share of the blows and objurgations. the mob pushed us against the walls of the temple so violently that we were in imminent danger of suffocation. to escape, and free ourselves from this unpleasant situation, it became necessary to exert ourselves and deal blows at the surging crowd, and in this way keep them back. of course, such measures on our part met with a ready response, and soon we were in the midst of a row that threatened to assume large proportions. a chief who happened to be passing at the time, dashed into the crowd and soon quelled the rioters. had it not been for this timely assistance we should certainly have been crushed to death. after a time we were left in comparative quiet; most of the idlers betaking themselves to the various groups scattered over the plain. some of these parties attracted quite a number of spectators, and judging from their animated gestures, something of a very interesting character was taking place. one of the indian women informed me that they were probably gambling. my attention was attracted to a small lodge, about one hundred yards to our right. something of unusual moment seemed to be taking place. warriors were seen to enter, and others would emerge and go in different directions, as if in great haste, and on urgent business. pennants were flying from poles on the roof, and altogether the place presented a gala appearance. on inquiry, i learned that this was the council lodge, and that at the present moment, the final negotiations for our barter were being consummated. a short time afterwards, the chiefs and their attendants defiled into the street and approached us. meantime, the number of horses that had been agreed upon as an equivalent for the captives, were brought up and delivered over to their purchasers. just as i was brought forth to be delivered over to the apache chief, my glance was arrested by the figure of my husband, who stood upon the outskirts of the circle. the recognition was simultaneous, and with a cry of joy i sprang towards him, but was instantly grasped by a savage and thrown violently back among my companions. the apache chief put a small whistle to his lips, and blowing a shrill blast, soon assembled his party. i struggled to free myself from my tormentors and rush to my husband, but my efforts were of no avail. half fainting, and wild with the agony of this rude parting, i was taken out on the plain, where the bulk of the party were making their preparations to depart. the pickets were drawn, lariats coiled, and the horses brought up. every warrior had provided himself with an extra horse on which to mount his newly acquired property, but for some reason we were mounted on the horses ridden by our captors, and it was not until the next day that we made use of the "extra" horses. the indians rode without saddles, as is their custom when on the war trail, but the women were provided with saddles; these saddles were peculiar contrivances, and the best description of them that occurs to me, is to have the reader picture to himself an ordinary saw-buck with the top cut off, so as to leave an inverted v. there were two of these fastened together by parallel strips of wood about eighteen inches in length; this was placed on the mustang's back, and a buffalo robe thrown over it, and fastened by a girth. stirrups depended from the lateral sticks that kept the v's in position. the horse's bridles were mostly composed of hair, in some instances, however, they were of leather worked and stamped into elaborate designs; these were, no doubt, the fruits of their foray among the mexican _pueblas_. we were mounted man fashion, each riding by the side of the indian who claimed us as his property. farewells having been exchanged, lances were poised, bows and quivers slung, and amid a fearful uproar of voices, intermingled with the howling of dogs, we took our departure. as we passed through the village i strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of my husband, but even this poor consolation was denied me. passing up the valley we entered the caã±on, traversing its rocky bed for a distance of several hundred yards; on entering this gloomy pass, we formed into single file, each captive falling into line immediately in the rear of her guard; this order was henceforth maintained throughout the journey. leaving the caã±on we debouched upon an arid plain, and continued our line of march along the bank of the stream. the first day's journey was devoid of interest; we traversed long stretches of sandy plain, with scarcely any signs of vegetation, save here and there a clump of sage brush, or the wild pita plant, whose stalk towered into the air like a sign-post to guide the wanderer over these sandy wastes. the cactus and fetid creosote plant lined our path, the latter giving forth a most disagreeable odor as it was crushed beneath the horses' hoofs. towards night we approached the base of a mountain, and entering a grove of willows and cottonwoods, halted, and dismounting, made preparations to encamp. the horses were staked out on the prairie and allowed to crop the gramma grass. the long lances were firmly planted in the soil, and bow, quiver, and shield, deposited on the ground in close proximity, together with the buffalo robes and bear skins. after watering the stock at the small stream that ran through the grove, wood was collected and fires built. around these fires clustered the dusky warriors cooking the evening meal, which consisted of tasajo, and the nuts gathered from the piã±on, which were roasted in the ashes. long into the night the feasting was kept up, and as the fires languished fresh fuel was thrown on until they were blazing and crackling more cheerily than ever. the flames caused the forms of the savages to stand out in bold relief against the dark background of the surrounding gloom, and lighting up their faces displayed in all its fantastic repulsiveness, the war paint with which their bodies were bedaubed. early the next morning the march was resumed. towards noon the heat became so intense as to be hardly endurable, still we pushed forward with unvarying speed. after journeying in a southerly direction for a few hours we defiled into the bed of a river and followed its course for several hundred yards, when, striking a new trail, our course was laid in a westerly direction. the character of the country underwent a complete change; instead of the sandy desert, we were now passing over a prairie clothed with verdure. at intervals we would enter dense thickets of chaparral, and then emerge into glades, that were veritable flower gardens. at evening a halt was called, but only long enough to water the horses, and partake of a hasty meal; and continuing the march we forged ahead with increased speed. i judged by the animated gestures of the indians that we were nearing our destination; my conjectures were not ill-founded, as about midnight we entered a valley, and passing through green fields, came in view of the lodges of the apache encampment. our approach was heralded by the barking of dogs, and soon we were surrounded by a vast multitude of women and children, who greeted the returning braves with great enthusiasm. we halted in the center of the village, and presently a large fire was blazing in front of the chief's lodge, around which the warriors assembled. the captives were placed in a row to one side, and except to be stared at by the women no further attention was taken of us. each brave seemed bent on feasting himself, and while we were left to suffer the pangs of hunger and thirst, our masters indulged in gluttony of a most riotous and bestial nature. as the night advanced more fuel was added to the fires, until they crackled and blazed with tremendous fury. it was not long before the remains of the feast were cleared away, and the indians reassembled, each with tomahawk in one hand, and a rattle in the other; then began the scalp dance, with which these tribes always celebrate their successful forays. a number of young women are selected who step into the ring, and holding up the recently taken scalps, begin a low chant. the braves circle round, brandishing weapons of various kinds, whilst they distort their faces and bodies into the most horrid shapes. simultaneously jumping into the air, they come down on both feet with a blow and thrust of their weapons, while it would appear as if they were indulging in the most horrible butchery. darting about their glaring eye-balls, as if actuated by the most fiendish passions. as the dance continues the excitement grows apace; the bystanders wave their torches and urge the actors on to renewed endeavor. the scene becomes one wild orgy, in which the lowest and most blood-thirsty passions are excited. the drums continue beating, the women shriek, men yell, dogs bark, and the whole scene becomes wild and terrible in the extreme. no description can do justice to this remarkable performance, but once seen it leaves a vivid impress on the mind that time can never efface. the dance was continued until the stars gradually disappeared, and the gray streaks of dawn ushered in the new day. tired, and trembling with nervous excitement, i was conducted within the lodge; and throwing myself on the ground, i sought that repose that my body and mind so much needed. chapter xiii. mrs. eastman's story continued. years have dragged their slow length along; once again i am surrounded by friends, and a husband's love shields me from the persecutions of a cruel captivity: yet, scenes and incidents of that terrible time recur to my memory with a vividness only too real. the capture, torture, and fatiguing marches, have left their imprint on my memory in ineffaceable characters. these were, however, but the overture to the drama. my intense sufferings commenced, and were comprised in the nine years of my life among the apaches. i had passed a restless night; my couch was haunted by dreams of ill omen, and it was with a sigh of relief that i saw the morning's rays peeping through the crevices of our lodge of skins. i was enabled to look upon my surroundings, and take stock of my future home. the lodge was circular in form, measuring a circumference of about fifty feet at the base, narrowing as it extended upwards, until a space of about six feet was left open at the top; the framework consisted of poles driven firmly into the ground, and held in position by a covering of dressed buffalo skins. the floor in the center of the lodge was depressed sufficiently to form a fire-place, in which a few glowing embers could yet be seen. ranged around the walls were the beds, seven in number, which were occupied by the chief and his six wives. i, of course, was included in the number. some of the beds were tastefully draped with curtains of dressed skins, ornamented in various styles. the bed of the chief was perhaps the most gorgeous; on it could be seen the labor of five jealous women, each more anxious than the other to propitiate her lord by some extravagance of decoration, which would deflect the sunshine of his favor on her head to the envy and exclusion of the remaining members of the family. suspended from stakes driven into the ground near the head of his couch rested the implements of warfare; lance, shield, bow, and quiver, together with the deadly tomahawk and murderous scalping knife. extended along a line that bisected the wigwam, at a distance of perhaps twelve feet from the floor, were the scalps of his enemies. judging from the great quantity of these ghastly trophies, my master was a man of immense valor and shocking brutality. soon there was a movement, the curtains of one of the beds parted, and the head, shoulders and body of a tawny savage appeared. leaving the lodge for a short time, she again returned with an armful of brush which she threw upon the fire; then falling upon her knees she blew the smoldering embers into a bright flame. the noise of the crackling wood aroused the others, and soon all the women were engaged in their household duties; one busied herself in preparing the morning meal; another was collecting into one pile a number of queer looking instruments, with whose use i was to become acquainted only too soon; still another, was devoting her attention to a young babe. thus all were occupied. i was not long allowed to remain in undisturbed possession of my quarters. the woman in charge of the cauldron placed over the fire called for assistance, all were too busy to lend her aid, and one suggested that i should be aroused. this remark was received with general approbation, and soon i was on the floor, lifting kettles, fetching fresh fuel, and in fact, doing the bidding of my task-makers as best i might. this was the commencement of a life of unceasing toil. i was the pariah of our little community; having no rights that compelled respect, and being looked upon with feelings of suspicion and distrust by the indian women, i was driven to perform the menial tasks and endure the ill-treatment of those who were only too happy, to visit on my unoffending and unresisting body, the ill-treatment _they_ had to endure from higher quarters. breakfast being ready, the chief was aroused and the family clustered around the fire, attacking the contents of the kettle. to have seen them eat, one would have supposed that they had been strangers to food for a very long period; food was not eaten, it was devoured. after having partaken of the cakes of maize and tasajo, the work of the day began. mahtocheega, of course, did nothing but smoke his k'neck k'nick and lounge about the lodge. his favorite pastime was to lie at full length in front of the door, and like any dog, bask in the rays of the sun. it was now the planting season, and from morn till night we were in the field, breaking the ground and sowing the grain. the implements used, were of a very rude character, the hoes being fashioned from the shoulder bone of the bison; the earth was broken by these, and all the cultivation that was required was performed with the aid of this article. such was the great fertility of the soil, that maize and squashes grew almost spontaneously when planted. all through the day, we were compelled to stoop and bend over the ground, while the sun's rays becoming more and more intense, made life intolerable. did we lag but for a moment, the ever vigilant eye of some adjacent indian would note the movement, and swooping down on us would urge us to renewed exertion, by word or blow. my first day's experience in this species of farming, was excruciating agony. being unskilled in the use of a hoe, i bruised myself severely, for, instead of breaking the soil, i came down with full force on my own limbs and feet; at such times a groan of agony would escape me, which, instead of eliciting sympathy, would only excite laughter. maimed and bleeding, i toiled on, and wishing, oh! so fervently, that the next blow might be on my head, instead of the inferior parts of my body. towards evening, my torture became unendurable, and throwing my tired body on the ground, i determined not to work longer, let the consequences be what they may. this conduct was so entirely unexpected, that it took my captors by surprise, and finding blows of no avail, they desisted, and left me to suffer alone. i had to be carried home, much to the disgust of those whose duty it was to bear the burden; arriving at the lodge, ointment was prepared from the juice expressed from the leaves of the pita plant, and being applied to my bruised limbs, soon allayed the inflammation and soreness. a brief description of this remarkable plant may not be without interest to the reader; what the _zamias_ is to the east indian, the pita plant is to the southern indian--it is food, medicine, stimulant, and clothing. it is to be found in the greatest abundance along the great american desert, near the base of the rocky mountains. in places where it would seem impossible for living plants to thrive, there may be found the _lechuguilla_, its stalk rising to the height of twenty feet, and its thorny leaves branching out in clusters along its length; its fiber is made into rope; the sap expressed from its leaves, when boiled to the consistency of honey is an admirable dressing for wounds, causing light cuts to cicatrice almost immediately, and even ugly gashes will yield to it in time. the juice distilled, produces the fiery _mezcal_, familiarly known among the trappers as "pass whiskey." it is made quite extensively at el paso, hence the _sobriquet_. the egg-shaped core, when cooked, yields a thick, transparent body, similar to jelly; it is very nutritious, and is used to a great extent by one branch of the apaches, who bake it with horse-flesh; this tribe is called by the frontiersmen, _mezcaleros_ on this account. without the aid of this plant, there are seasons when the lipans, apaches, and camanches would perish from starvation. too much cannot be said in praise of the wild aloe; it is one of the many striking instances in which an all-wise providence has furnished man with a medicine and food combined. the laboratory of nature is full of similar plants whose uses are as yet imperfectly known, and have perhaps never been applied to the relief of the suffering. during my sojourn among the indians i became familiar with the names and uses of many of these roots and plants, which i believe were never before known to civilized man. several months had elapsed, the corn was planted and had nearly ripened. as i became hardened by exposure and toil, my lot seemed somewhat softened; i say seemed mitigated; the work was none the less arduous, only my capacity to bear toil had been strengthened. one day, eeh-nis-kin (the crystal stone), intimated that i was to be branded; this intelligence filled me with terror. i had never seen any one marked in this manner, and i presumed the process was a painful one. after having finished the morning's work i had retired into the lodge, in order to complete some garments i was making, for eehniskin's little boy, when a messenger arrived, announcing that the medicine man wished to see me, and bade me follow him. arriving at the lodge in the center of the village, i joined a throng of captives, who like myself had been summoned to appear and receive the mark of bondage. presently the crowd gave way, and the "hush-sh" that was echoed from mouth to mouth, warned us of the approach of pa-nis-ka-soo-pa (the two crows), the high priest and great medicine of the nation. we were required to form a ring, leaving a space of some thirty feet in diameter. silence reigned supreme; nothing was heard save the light tinkling of the rattles upon his dress, as he cautiously and slowly moved through the avenue left for him. he neared us with a slow and tilting step, his body and head entirely covered with the skin of a yellow bear, the head of which served as a mask to his own, which was inside of it; the huge bear's claws were dangling on his wrists and ankles. in one hand he shook a frightful rattle, with the other he brandished his medicine spear, to the rattling din of which he added the wild and startling yells and jump of the indian, and the appalling grunts and snarls of the grizzly bear. after prancing around us for a short time, he built a small fire, and threw into it some bits of bluish clay, which turned black when subjected to the fierce heat; these were then pounded into fine powder. taking a sharp-pointed stick, he pricked our chins in semi-circles with the point of this stick dipped in a lotion of the powdered clay and a blackish gum, which he poured from a stone vial. the sensation was as if one was sticking needles into your face. soon after the operation was performed the skin began to burn and the punctured portion inflame; it then became very painful, but an application of the never-failing aloe soothed the inflammation. this was the ceremony of branding, and i carry the scar, and will continue to wear it to my latest hours. returning to the lodge, i was greeted with jeers and derisive laughter by the women of my household; the dogs joined in the uproar, barking, perhaps, because others pointed the finger of scorn at me, and to be in sympathy with their masters. even the filthy little children raised their tiny voices, accompanying their laughter with volleys of stones and sticks, thus "catching at little bits of fun and glee, that's played on dogs enslaved, by dogs that's free." chapter xiv. hopes and fears--an adventure. for over two years my life was one unvarying monotony; a ceaseless round of toil. day after day i was occupied with my duties in the laboratory, or in gathering roots and herbs for the preparation of the medicine. the daily life of the village presented a wearying sameness after i had become accustomed to its more novel peculiarities. there was little of excitement or interest in my surroundings. at first the arrival and departure of war parties, or the bands, who at regular intervals went forth to hunt, or to steal horses, attracted much of my attention; but eventually all these became tiresome; for when you have seen one of these gatherings, you have seen all, so little do they differ. many times i accompanied wakometkla in his trips beyond the valley, in search of those ingredients for his medicine, which could not be procured within its limits. i had not yet abandoned the idea of escape, should an opportunity offer, and i had hoped that in those expeditions beyond the valley, i might find the occasion for which i longed. but in this regard fortune did not favor me; i was always too closely watched to make the attempt with any hope of success; and it was not long before i satisfied myself, that even if i should succeed in getting clear of the valley, there was very little chance of my finding my way back to civilization. gazing from the summit of one of the "spurs" of the mountain range east of the valley, i found my path to liberty barred by the desert, which stretched for many miles to the north and east. southward, the prospect was scarcely more inviting; the country was almost equally barren, although more broken, and affording a better chance for concealment. but i knew that the expert indian "trackers" would find my trail, no matter what course i might take; and an attempt to escape on foot could only result in my being overtaken, brought back, and probably tortured; for not even the influence of the high-priest himself would avail to save me, if detected in an effort to escape. with a good horse, success was possible; although it was an open question, whether i would be able to find my way through a country of which i knew so little. it seemed far more probable that i would either perish in the desert, or only survive its dangers to fall into the hands of other savages, more cruel and relentless than the tribe of which i had become an unwilling member. so i reluctantly concluded that the idea of flight must be abandoned, unless unforeseen circumstances should arise, giving me a far better opportunity then had as yet offered. that i should ever meet with such an occasion, however, was altogether unlikely; and in time, the very thought of escape was almost entirely banished from my mind. in the autumn of the second year of my captivity, the monotony of my existence was broken by a rather exciting adventure; and as it is the only experience of the kind i ever met with, i will briefly narrate it. in company with wakometkla, i had gone in the early morning to the lower end of the valley to procure an herb, called by the camanches "iakara," which grew in great abundance along the sides of the cliffs. hitherto we had been able to gather it at a short distance from the village, but having used it in large quantities, we had stripped the shrubbery on both sides of the valley of all that was fit for use, and were every day compelled to go to a greater distance, in order to obtain it in sufficient quantities. hence on this occasion we had reached a distance of nearly ten miles from the village, before we were able to collect enough for our purpose. by this time we were considerably fatigued by our exertions, and sat down at the base of the cliff to rest and partake of such simple fare as we had brought with us. while thus occupied, my attention was attracted by an animal which suddenly appeared upon a ledge far above our heads. a singular animal it was, and would naturally excite the curiosity of any one who beheld it for the first time; to me, however, it was no stranger, as i had frequently seen others of the same species upon the cliffs bordering the valley, although i had never before had so favorable an opportunity for a close examination. commonly known as the "big horn" or "rocky mountain sheep," and found inhabiting all the mountain ranges which divide the continent, it seems a sort of cross between goat and sheep, having much of the appearance of the latter, with more of the habits of the former. standing upon a rocky ledge which jutted out from the face of the cliff, it surveyed me with great apparent curiosity, and without any signs of fear. as soon as i perceived it, i sprang to my feet, and seizing my bow, in the use of which i had become quite expert, i quickly sent an arrow through the unsuspecting animal, and it tumbled headlong from its lofty perch and fell dead at my feet. wakometkla, who had been rather taken by surprise by the suddenness of my movements, now came up to me, and praised my skill and quickness; he then condescended to assist me in skinning and cutting up the carcass. we then packed in the skin, such portions of the meat as we could carry with us, and hung the rest upon a tree, high enough to be out of the reach of the wolves and coyotes, so that we could return or send for it if we chose to do so. i supposed that we were to return at once to the village, but my companion directed me to remain, as he wished to proceed down the valley a short distance, in search of a species of bark for which we had been looking during our ramble, but had been unable to obtain. telling me that he would return in a few minutes, he started off and was soon lost to view in the thicket. reclining upon the ground i filled my pipe with the "k'neck k'nick," or indian tobacco, and proceeded to make myself as comfortable as possible. wakometkla's absence was prolonged far beyond what i had expected, and i was considering the advisability of starting in search of him, when a sound reached my ears as of some one breaking through the undergrowth, and concluding that it was my master returning, i laid back and abandoned myself to the contemplation of the blue smoke wreaths that curled above my head. as the sounds came nearer, i began to doubt whether it could be wakometkla after all, for _his_ progress through the thick undergrowth that skirted the valley, was usually comparatively noiseless, but i was so absorbed in my own reflections, that i did not give it a second thought, but lazily awaited the appearance of the new comer, whatever he or it might be. in a few moments the mystery was solved, and in a manner the reverse of pleasant. emerging from the dense undergrowth through which he had forced his way, the new arrival entered the little clearing near whose center i was reclining, and on turning to discover what had occasioned the noises i had heard, i beheld an object that sent a thrill of terror to my heart, and for a moment rendered me incapable of motion. the object in question, was a large animal, which i at once recognized as the _grizzly bear_; the most dreaded of all creatures that inhabit this region. chapter xv. treed by a grizzly. the bear was one of the largest of his kind, but it was not so much his size that impressed me with fear, as the knowledge of his fierce nature. it is true, that personally i knew but little of the habits of the animal, although this was not my first introduction to "old ephraim," but from the tales of the indians, i had learned enough to cause me to feel certain that i was in deadly peril. when my eyes first rested on the monster, he had just emerged from the thicket at the same point at which wakometkla had entered it. on reaching the open ground he advanced a pace or two, and then halting, reared himself up and stood upon his hind legs, at the same time uttering a sound which resembled the "blowing" of hogs when suddenly startled in the forest. he remained in this upright attitude for some moments, rubbing his head with his fore paws and playing them about like a monkey; in fact, as he stood facing me, he looked not unlike a gigantic ape. he was of a yellowish red color, with legs and feet nearly black, but color is no characteristic among these animals, scarce two of them being alike in this particular. to say that i was not terrified by the arrival of this unwelcome intruder, would be to state an untruth. i was frightened, horribly frightened, and with good reason. to suppose that he would not attack me would have been absurd; i knew that in nine cases out of ten, the grizzly bear is the assailant; that no animal in america will willingly engage in combat with him, and that man himself shuns the encounter, unless well mounted, and even then, the prudent hunter always gives "old ephraim," as the "mountain men" call him, a "wide berth," and rides on without interfering with him, unless the ground is perfectly open, so that his horse is not likely to be impeded. the white hunter considers the killing of a grizzly bear a feat of prowess equal to the destruction of _two_ indians; while to the indian, the destruction of one of these animals is one of the greatest feats in his life's history. among indian braves, a necklace of bear's claws is a badge of honor, since they can only be worn by a man who has himself slain the animals from which they have been taken. on the contrary, the grizzly bear fears no antagonist; he attacks the largest animals on sight. the moose, the elk, the buffalo, or wild horse, if caught is instantly killed. a blow from his paw will lay open the flesh as if gashed with an axe, and he can drag the body of a full grown buffalo, to almost any distance. he rushes upon man without the slightest hesitation, and frequently a dozen hunters will retreat at his approach. nearly twenty bullets have on some occasions been fired into the body of a grizzly, without killing him, and only a shot through the brain or heart is certainly mortal. with such sanguinary fierceness of disposition and extraordinary tenacity of life, it is no wonder the grizzly bear is a creature to be dreaded. had he the swiftness of the lion or tiger, his haunts would be inapproachable by man, and he would be a far more terrible assailant than either. fortunately, however, he is slow compared with the horse, although he can easily outrun a man, and there is another peculiarity about him, which detracts somewhat from the danger of an encounter with this savage beast, he is not a _tree climber_, and many a life has been saved by this circumstance; for although he does not affect the forest, there is usually some timber in the vicinity of his haunts, and in many instances his intended victim has saved himself by taking refuge in a tree. knowing well, by hearsay, all these facts, you can easily imagine my feelings, at finding myself face to face with one of these fierce animals, alone and without weapons, save my bow and arrows and knife. it is true, there was abundance of timber near at hand, but unfortunately the bear was decidedly nearer to me than any tree of sufficient size to promise a safe refuge. on lying down, i had, without thought, placed myself in the very center of the clearing, and i found myself at least one hundred yards from any of the larger trees; the bear had approached before halting, to within about eighty yards, and stood watching me, apparently surprised at our rencontre. without doubt he would overtake me before i could reach and ascend a tree, and i was fairly bewildered by the utter helplessness of my situation. these reflections occupy many minutes of your time to _read_; i _thought_ them in as many seconds. indeed, i had not time to form a plan of either defense or escape, when my antagonist, evidently concluding that i was fair game, dropped upon all fours, uttered a loud roar and rushed upon me with open mouth; simultaneously, i turned and fled with all my speed. before i had covered half the distance that separated me from the tree towards which i had directed my flight, he was almost at my heels, and i had about determined to stop and engage in the desperate conflict that seemed inevitable, when his attention was attracted by an object in his path, and although the halt he made was but momentary, it enabled me to gain some ground, and i ran on with redoubled speed. the object in question was none other than the carcass of the "big horn," which lay fresh and bloody, rolled up in the skin, directly in my line of flight. the bear pawed it over, snatched a hasty mouthful, and then resumed the pursuit; but his brief hesitation had been my salvation, and i had reached the tree which i had selected before he could overtake me. my climbing experience gained during my expeditions with wakometkla, now stood me in good stead, and i "shinned" up the tree with the agility of a monkey. i had no time to spare, however, for my ursine friend reached the base of the tree before i had ascended far enough to be entirely out of reach, and rearing up, succeeded in getting a slight hold of my right foot. i clung to the tree with the desperation of despair, and the moccasin giving way, i soon drew myself above his reach, with no other injury than a severe scratch. in a few seconds i was safely ensconced among the branches, about thirty feet from the ground, while my baffled antagonist was walking round and round it, uttering growls of rage, and stripping the bark from the tree with his terrible claws. during my hasty flight i had slung my bow across my back, and had fortunately preserved it safely. my quiver, well filled with arrows, being attached to my person by a belt, i was well supplied with ammunition; and thinking it about time to commence offensive operations, i secured myself to the tree with strips of leather cut from my shoulder belt, and commenced trying my skill as an archer, with the bear as a living and movable target. owing to my cramped position in the tree, my aim was necessarily uncertain, and many of my shafts went wide of the mark; still, i did succeed in hitting the brute several times, but with no other effect than to increase his rage and apparent determination to watch until he should tire me out, and overcome by fatigue or sleep, i might fall from the tree, and thus become an easy victim. seeing this, i desisted after a while, and settled myself down to wait as patiently as i might for him to tire of his watch, or for relief of some sort to arrive. perhaps an hour had elapsed when i heard a noise on the opposite side of the clearing, and on looking in that direction i saw wakometkla just emerging from the woods. the bear saw him at the same instant, and abandoning his post of sentinel, rushed towards his new enemy. the old indian waited long enough to discharge three or four arrows with great rapidity, and then ascended the nearest tree with a rapidity quite surprising in a man of his age and build. two of his shots had taken effect--that is, they had hit the bear; but they caused no diminution of his energy or fierceness. he rushed to the base of the tree, and vented his rage in stripping the bark from its trunk. finding that his intended prey had escaped him, he soon desisted from this occupation, and returning to the carcass of the "big horn," began devouring it, at the same time keeping a constant watch upon our movements, so as to preclude the possibility of our slipping away. in spite of the uncomfortable nature of our position, i could not help laughing at the ludicrous picture we presented, perched in the trees like a couple of monkeys, hardly daring to move lest we might lose our hold and tumble into the clutches of our unpleasant neighbor. the bear soon finished his repast, indeed it was but a mouthful to an animal of his size and appetite, and he commenced walking back and forth between the two trees in which we were severally ensconced, evidently trying to form some plan by which he could get at us. but his cogitations apparently resulted in nothing; and in fact, we were not at all disturbed as to the probability of his being able to reach us. we knew that we were perfectly safe in our lofty retreat, but how long we might have to remain there was another matter, and _i_ for one was decidedly wearied of my airy prison. i knew that no search would be made for us for several days, as we frequently remained absent two or three days at a time when on these expeditions. our only hope was that our self-appointed jailor might weary of the task he had set himself, or be compelled to go in search of food or water; and in that case we could improve the opportunity, and get out of reach without difficulty. for hour after hour, however, he kept up his sentinel-like tramp from tree to tree; at times varying the monotony of his proceedings by frantic attacks upon their trunks. the tree to which i had retreated was not more than eighteen inches in diameter, and i was not without fear at one time that he would succeed in demolishing it altogether, and bringing me "down by the run." i was not destined, however, to find out whether he was able to accomplish that feat or not, for after tearing away at it for a while, and making the splinters fly in a rather alarming manner, he seemed to tire of it, and resumed his patrolling between the two trees. the day had worn away to near its close, and i was contemplating the unpleasant prospect before me of passing the night in my very uncomfortable quarters, when the sound of hoof-strokes reached my ears. looking out through the opening, upon the plain, i saw a party of about a dozen indians riding leisurely up the valley, evidently one of the hunting parties on their return. they were nearly a mile from our position, but in these elevated regions sounds can be heard at almost incredible distances, and i at once shouted at the top of my voice, to attract their attention. wakometkla did the same, and we were evidently heard, for they halted for a moment, and after a glance in our direction, galloped towards us. as they neared us i expected to see the bear take himself off without ceremony, but to my surprise, he showed no signs of such an intention. on the contrary, when they had passed about half the distance at first separating us, he advanced to the edge of the plain and stood as if inviting attack. the indians rode up to within a few rods of the grizzly, and then seeing us in our haven of safety they realized the situation at a glance, and burst into uproarious laughter. this seemed to irritate the grizzly, for he uttered a roar of rage and rushed fiercely at them; then ensued an exciting and amusing scene. the indians at first used only the lasso, and in a few seconds three or four of them had "roped him," and by spurring up their horses, he was dragged first one way and then another, making frantic efforts to free himself, and growling savagely all the while. meanwhile the other horsemen rode up as near as safety would permit, and fairly riddled him with arrows. overcome by superior numbers, "old eph," at length succumbed to his fate, and a few lance thrusts soon put an end to his existence. wakometkla and myself quickly descended from our tree fortresses and joined the party, who greeted us with exclamations expressive of satisfaction, at having rescued us from our unpleasant predicament: the bear was soon skinned and cut up, and we returned to the village with our rescuers. as far as i was concerned, i felt fully satisfied with my experience as an interviewer of grizzly bears, and had no desire to repeat it, for although hunting the bear may be a pleasing pastime, it is not quite so pleasing when the bear _hunts_ you. however, "all's well that ends well," and if this narrative affords my readers any amusement, i shall never regret my day spent in a tree top. chapter xvi. some curious customs. the winter had been unusually severe, in several instances snow had fallen; a thing of rare occurrence in these latitudes. not having prepared for such weather, by laying in an unusual supply of provisions, we were reduced to the verge of starvation, having recourse in our dire extremity to roots and berries, which we dug from the ground. during one week, i lived solely on the juice expressed from the cactus leaves, which i procured by stripping the plant of its thorny excrescences and paring the leaves with my knife. the juice yielded was thick and gummy, and of a sweetish taste. this diet could not sustain life for any length of time. fortunately i had the good luck to discover some mesquite berries, that had been secreted by one of the tribe. this discovery proved my salvation, as without this timely addition of food, i should certainly have perished. during this season of hardship, many died of starvation. when a death occurred, the family of the deceased would yield themselves up to the most heart-rending grief. their lamentations would succeed in attracting a crowd of sympathizing mourners who would join the family, and by indulging in yells, groans, and screeches, convert the whole scene into the most hideous travesty, which did violence to all those feelings of awe and solemnity, that are experienced by viewing the last sad rites of christian burial. when an indian dies, his body is painted, oiled, and dressed in its best attire, a fresh buffalo skin (if it is to be had), and failing this, a blanket is wound tightly around the body, and bound with thongs, then other blankets are soaked in water until they become very soft and elastic, when they also are wound around the body with great care and exactness, so as to exclude the air. this done, the dead warrior's arms are placed by his side and a liberal supply of food (when the article is plenty); placed on the scaffold. these scaffolds are constructed by placing three upright posts in the ground in the shape of a parallelogram, and connecting them by lateral bars. over these bars are placed a number of willow rods, on which the body rests, in such a position that the feet will be towards the rising sun. the scaffolds are placed high enough to be out of the reach of dogs and wolves, yet not so high as to be inaccessible to the family, some portion of whom visit it daily, bringing food and water, which they place near the head of the corpse. the spirit is supposed to be in need of this sustenance on his journey to the happy hunting grounds. once there, his spear, bow, and arrows will enable him to kill game in plenty. when the scaffolds decay and fall, the relatives collect the bones and bury them. the skull, which by this time has become perfectly bleached and purified, is taken and placed among a number of others which form a circle, the faces turned inward and facing a large shaft, around which is heaped a quantity of buffalo skulls. in this position they are preserved for years, the objects of religious veneration. the scaffolds of the chiefs are distinguished from the others by pieces of red or blue cloth which are thrown over the bodies. a party had been dispatched in search of food, and were expected back hourly. how anxiously we awaited their arrival none may know, who have not suffered the pangs of hunger. at last they made their appearance, bringing with them a quantity of berries called by the indians oth-to-toa. this berry was pleasanter to taste than the mesquite. the juice, when extracted and mixed with water, tasted very much like the orange. in one of my strolls i had observed some blackbirds, and in the hope of finding their nests, i was induced to wander to a greater distance from the village than i had been at any previous time. my search was rewarded by a quantity of eggs, and filling my indian shirt with as many as i could carry, i retraced my steps. in struggling through the tangled underbrush, i lost my way, and after wandering about for some time in the hope of finding the path, i came to a small spring that was bubbling up from a crevice in the rock. the night had closed in rapidly, and, finding it was too dark to prosecute my journey further, i concluded to remain here for the remainder of the night. gathering a few dried leaves, i soon had a fire lighted, and then securing enough brush to last me until dawn, i set about preparing my supper, which was merely roasted eggs. this frugal meal was soon dispatched, and heaping more wood on the fire, i selected a dry spot, and stretching my tired limbs, was soon in a sound slumber. how long i slept i know not, but i was awakened by peals of thunder and flashes of the most vivid lightning. these sounds were unusual in this country, as rain rarely fell in these latitudes. should a storm of any magnitude pour its waters through the gorge in which i then was, i felt my position would be perilous in the extreme. i gathered up my supplies, that were collected at such an expenditure of labor, and scrambled over rocks and through sand towards the side of the mountain. i had not gone far when the rain commenced--first in large drops, and then in a steady patter; before many minutes the storm burst upon the mountain in all its fury. the rain fell in sheets, and literally deluged surrounding objects. my resting place was becoming untenable, and my life was momentarily imperiled by huge masses of falling rock, which had been loosened from its bed and came tearing down the mountain side, carrying all before it. shielding myself behind trees and boulders, i climbed upwards, in the hope of finding a more permanent shelter than that afforded by the stumps of trees. the rain continued to pour down with increasing fury, and anon the vivid flash quickly followed by the startling roar of the thunder, and the noise of the seething flood, which by this time was bounding through the caã±on, conspired to make the scene more terrible. almost despairing, and thoroughly drenched, i was about yielding myself up to the fury of the tempest, when my eye fell upon what appeared to be a crevice in the rock. hastily making towards it, i entered. the deeper i penetrated the larger it became, and i found myself at last snugly ensconced within the recesses of a vast cave. congratulating myself on this good fortune, i was about preparing to resume my rudely interrupted slumber, when i was startled by the sight of two glaring eyes that were peering at me from the depth of the cave. here was a dilemma. i had certainly intruded on some wild animal, and penetrated its lair. my situation became unpleasant in the extreme. turn in whichever direction i might, those fiery eyes followed me, and at last i found that i was being subjected to the influence of a horrible fascination. my unpleasant experience with "old eph" recurred to me with more force than pleasure; and the thought that i might have to deal with a grizzly, made doubly ferocious by being bearded in his den, caused the cold perspiration to stand out in beads upon my forehead. suddenly i was startled by a roar that echoed through the cave. those piercing eyes approached nearer. mad with fright, i rushed to the mouth of the cave, and began a headlong descent down the steep banks of the cliff. in my wild scramble i dislodged stones and brush, which came tumbling precipitately after me, and i also heard another noise which struck terror to my heart; it was the foot stroke of the infuriated animal that was pursuing me! not knowing whither i was going, but actuated by the sole desire to escape from this new danger, i very shortly found myself nearing the swollen river that was bounding through the caã±on. there was no alternative, and, bracing myself for a final effort, i plunged into the swollen stream and breasted the waves, hoping to reach a rock that raised its head above the water, about an hundred yards down the stream; struggle as i might, i felt the rapid current sweeping me on with the rapidity of an avalanche. should i reach it or be borne down the torrent, and be dashed to pieces against some hidden boulder? nerving myself for one grand effort, i breasted the current, and, to my joy, found i was nearing the rock; striking out with the strength of despair i reach the refuge--the waves dash me against its sides--i clutch at the jagged ends that project out of the water, and by their aid clamber out of the reach of immediate danger! finding myself safe, i look about me. the first object that attracts my attention is the lithe form of my pursuer who is running up and down the bank lashing his tail in fury, and occasionally breaking forth in the most savage roars. in its yellow coat and cat-like movements i recognize the dreaded cougar--the tiger of the western mountains--an animal that, when once aroused, will not hesitate to attack man or beast. he seemed to be deliberating whether to follow me into the stream. it was plain he disliked entering the water, and after pacing to and fro for some little time, turned abruptly and left the bank. thinking i had achieved a victory, and finding that now i was safe, my courage was assuming a very bold front; i picked up a stone and threw it in the direction of the beast. foolish action! it hit the cougar, and turning, he now rushed to the bank, and, bellowing with rage, plunged into the river. my position now became critical in the extreme. once the rock was gained, i would certainly be mangled by the fierce creature. i could not take flight by water, as he could easily overtake me. my terror was extreme, and i lost the power of will. fright had made me imbecile, and i rushed about the crest of the rock like a crazy man. all this time the enraged brute drew nearer; his paws touch the base of the rock; he is in the act of drawing his dripping limbs out of the water. mouth open, tongue extended, and eyes inflamed with rage, the cougar prepares for the deadly spring. but look! the surface of the rock moves, gives way, and slides with a gentle motion towards the river. he makes a desperate effort to free himself from this natural trap, but in vain; the rock moves faster every moment, and with one grand rush this land slide is engulfed in the turbid waters. instantly the body is thrown back into the seething flood, and my last view of him is as he turns a bend and disappears forever. after waiting several hours for the waters to subside, i am enabled to wade to the opposite shore, and, discovering my own trail by accident, wend my way back to the village. my adventure is related to wakometkla, and soon spreads throughout the village. from this time forth i am regarded in the light of a hero, but on what grounds i was never able to satisfactorily determine, as i could scarcely consider running away from a danger heroic. chapter xvii. the buffalo dance. the buffalo being the main dependence of the camanches for food, it naturally follows that they are fully alive to the importance of securing an abundant supply of meat during the season in which these animals migrate to the southern prairies. the superstition which forms so large a part of the indian character is especially noticeable in the ceremonies in which they engage every year for the purpose of securing a successful hunt. this ceremony, although not peculiar to any special tribe, is a very novel one, and may be of interest to the reader. like all other tribes, the camanches lead lives of idleness and leisure, and consequently devote a great deal of time to their sports and amusements, of which they have a great variety. of these dancing is one of the principal, and may be seen in a variety of forms. among these are the scalp dance, the boasting dance, the buffalo dance, and a dozen other dances, all of which have their peculiar characters and meanings or objects. [illustration: the scalp dance.] these exercises are extremely grotesque in their appearance, and to the looker-on, who knows not their meaning or importance, they are an uncouth and frightful display of starts, jumps, and yelps, and jarring gutturals, which to a stranger are truly terrifying. but when one gives them a little attention, and becomes initiated into their mysterious meaning, they become a subject of the most intense and thrilling interest. each dance has its peculiar step, and every step has its meaning. each dance also has its peculiar song, and that is frequently so intricate and mysterious, that not one in ten of the young men who are dancing and singing it know the meaning of the song they are chanting over. none but the medicine men are allowed to understand them; and even they are generally only initiated into the secret on the payment of a liberal stipend for their instruction, which requires much application and study. there is evidently a set song and sentiment for every dance, for the songs are perfectly measured and sung in exact time with the beat of the drum; and always with a uniform set of sounds and expressions, which plainly indicate certain sentiments, which are expressed by the voice, though sometimes not given in any language whatever. they have other dances and songs which are not so intricate or mysterious, and which are understood by every person in the tribe, being sung in their own language. some of these have much poetry in them, being perfectly metred, but without rhyme. it is of the buffalo dance, however, that i propose to treat in this chapter, and of which i will try to give the reader as clear an idea as is possible from a mere description; but no words of mine can enable you to fully realize the strange tumult, scampering, grunting and bellowing with which my ears have been so often assailed. the buffalo is essentially a wandering creature, congregating at times in huge herds, and roaming from north to south or from east to west, apparently without any directing impulse, but in reality in search of forage. although their movement to the southward usually takes place at a stated season of the year, it varies greatly in the number who take part in it. hence it sometimes happens that the camanches are unable to procure their necessary supply of meat, and in some cases, when the migration occurs at a later period than usual, the indians find themselves practically without food, and disastrous seasons of famine ensue. this involves the sending forth of expeditions in search of the tardy herds. these hunting parties, having to pass through the country occupied by other tribes, are almost certain to be assailed and harassed by them, and sometimes compelled to return with the loss of many of their number, and without accomplishing the object of the expedition. hence the indians are loth to undertake these hunts, and prefer to depend upon the means which their superstition leads them to believe will have the effect of bringing the buffaloes within their hunting grounds. this is nothing more than the buffalo dance, and when the emergency arises, every indian musters and brings out his mask (the skin of a buffalo's head, with the horns on), which he is obliged to keep in readiness for this occasion. then commences the buffalo dance, which is held for the purpose of making "buffalo come," as the indians term it, or, in other words, of inducing the buffalo herds to change their feeding grounds, and direct their course towards the vast prairies to the eastward of the camanche villages, where the young braves can shoot them down, and the tribe be enabled to procure an abundant supply of food. during the greater part of the year the hunters can find the buffaloes within twenty miles of the village, and entirely within their own territory; but in some seasons the young men range as far about the country as they can safely venture on account of their enemies, without finding meat. when this intelligence is brought back to the village, the chiefs, medicine men and counselors sit in solemn council until they have decided upon the most practicable expedient for overcoming the difficulty, and they rarely fail to decide upon the old and only expedient, which has never failed. the chief issues his orders to the runners or criers, who quickly proclaim it throughout the village, and in a few moments all are assembled to take part in the dance, which at once begins. the place where this strange performance is carried on is the public area in the center of the village, directly in front of the temple. about ten or fifteen indians join in the dance at a time, each with the skin of the buffalo head, with the horns on, placed on his head, and armed with his lance or bow, with which he is accustomed to kill these animals. i have said that this dance always has the desired effect of making "buffalo come." it never fails, from the simple reason that when it is once begun it cannot be stopped, but is kept up incessantly night and day until the welcome herds are descried by the watchful look-outs. drums are beaten and rattles shaken, songs and yells are continually shouted, and lookers on stand ready, with masks on their heads and weapons in their hands, to take the place of each dancer who becomes fatigued and falls out of the ring. a chain of look-outs is established connecting the hills surrounding the village with those to the eastward, and the moment buffaloes are discovered by the distant watchers, they speedily pass the signal from one to anther until it reaches the village. it is instantly understood by the whole tribe, and the joyful intelligence is received with shouts of thanks to their strange god and to mystery men and the dancers, who have been the immediate cause of the successful result. during my residence in the camanche village, these dances were sometimes kept up for two or three weeks without intermission, until the buffaloes made their appearance. hence the buffalo dance can never fail, and the indians consider it an infallible means of bringing the herds into their country. every man in the tribe is obliged to be provided with the mask of the buffalo, which he can use whenever he is called upon to dance to make "buffalo come." the mask is put on over the head, and has a strip of the skin hanging to it of the whole length of the animal, with the tail attached to it, which passes down over the back of the wearer and drags on the ground. when one of the dancers becomes wearied of the exercise, he indicates it by leaning forward and sinking his body to the ground. one of the lookers-on then draws a bow upon him and hits him with a blunt arrow, and he falls like a buffalo and is immediately dragged out of the ring by the bystanders, who brandish their knives about him, and, having gone through the motions of skinning him and cutting him up, they release him, and his place is at once supplied by another who dances into the ring with his mask on. by thus relieving one another the dance is kept up day and night until they reach the desired end, and make the "buffalo come." when the signal is given that the buffaloes have made their appearance, the dance is discontinued at once, and a scene of great excitement ensues. the masks are quickly thrown aside; the indians prepare for the hunt with marvelous rapidity, and mounting their horses, gallop wildly down the valley to pass the eastern entrance. in the village, where all had been enduring the utmost privation, with starvation staring them in the face, a scene of feasting and carousal would follow. each would bring out their private stores, and the provisions that might in an emergency have lasted for several weeks would be consumed in a day. even the dogs were not forgotten, but received a liberal share of the refuse portions of the feast. the usual games and amusements followed, and from the deepest gloom and despondency all seemed to pass at once to the other extreme, and joy and exultation to reign supreme. from the distance required to be traversed, the hunting parties would usually not return until the third day after their departure. then came another scene of feasting, but this time on a far larger scale. the choicest pieces are sacrificed to appease their mysterious god, without which ceremony the indians believe that all their future hunts would be unsuccessful. the largest portion of the meat is cured and made into tasajo, so that the proceeds of one successful hunt will often provide the entire community with food for many weeks. [illustration: the buffalo dance.] when i first saw the buffalo dance, i viewed it with much interest, but when continued for days and weeks, it becomes excessively wearisome from the perpetual howling din and clamor kept up, keeping the village in a continual uproar, and usually causing me to offer up most fervent prayers that the buffalo would "come," if it was only to be relieved from the noise and confusion which are occasioned by this curious ceremony. unlike the northern indians, the camanches resort to the buffalo dance only on rare occasions, but when they do undertake it, their persistence is admirable; and for this reason, the other tribes have a saying, or sort of proverb, that when the camanches dance for "buffalo" it is a good moon to hunt, but a bad moon on the war-path. their meaning probably is, that the buffalo are sure to "come," when the camanches dance for them, but that the camanches are equally sure to "go for" any other tribe who encroach upon their hunting grounds at such times. such is the buffalo dance; one of the most curious of the many strange customs of the prairie indians. chapter xviii. a strange history. one of the most noted warriors of tonsaroyoo's band was a pure blooded mexican. a man of medium size, but athletic and well-proportioned, and not more than thirty years of age; he was distinguished even among these savages for his cruelty, nay, even ferocity of disposition, and lust for bloodshed. his position in the tribe was that of a sub-chief, and he had attached to himself a chosen body of about sixty warriors, all men of bad standing and little character in the tribe, but all noted as desperate fighters. with this party "hisso-de-cha" (the spanish serpent), might be said to be on a perpetual war-path, for he was never contented to remain idly in the village for any length of time, but was continually instituting private forays in all directions. in these operations he was in no wise particular as to the objects of his attacks. plunder and slaughter being apparently his only motive, he would attack any party he met with that was not too numerous, and in this way had several times embroiled the camanches in war with friendly tribes, despite the stern reproofs he received from tonsaroyoo for his lawless conduct; his uniform good fortune in these enterprises, however, had thus far prevented him from falling into entire disrepute with the leaders of the tribe. "success covers a multitude of sins," says the proverb, and so it proved in his case. notwithstanding his evil nature, i was for various reasons strongly attracted towards this man. chief among these was the fact that he spoke english--not very fluently, it is true, but sufficiently to be able to carry on a conversation without much difficulty. then, from the time of my first entry into the village he had treated me with uniform kindness; why this was so i know not, but the fact remains that he did so, and it was by his assistance that i was enabled to perfect myself in the indian language, and also to gain some knowledge of spanish, which afterwards did me good service. much of my spare time, when he was not absent with his band, i spent in his company, and in our talks i had gained considerable knowledge of his past history. what i had heard, however, only made me more curious to hear the whole, and one evening i importuned him to give me some account of his past life. after some hesitation he consented, and filling our pipes, we reclined upon a buffalo robe before the entrance to his lodge, while he told me his story. the renegade's history. "my real name is pedro vargas--_carrai_! it sounds strange enough in my ears now, for it is many years since i have heard it uttered. "i was born on the banks of the del norte, where my father was a _vaquero_ on the estate on don ramon d'echeverra. i remember but little of my childhood, except that my life was a hard and unhappy one, for i was one of eleven children, and we were miserably poor. when i reached my eighth year, i was considered old enough to assist my father in his daily duties; under his tuition, i was able in a few months to ride like a camanche, to fling the lazo with unerring aim, and to perform with credit most of the drudgery which fell to my share. in this manner the time passed until i was about eleven years of age, when the events occurred which separated me from home and friends, and indirectly made me what i am--the boldest warrior of the hietans--"hissoo-de-cha," the renegade, the terror of the frontier. "the estate of don ramon was situated so far down the river as to be out of the track of the indian raiding parties, and for a generation the red-skinned warriors had never troubled that region. but in the autumn of the year of which i speak, a large party of camanches had entered chihuahua, and penetrating almost to the very center of the province, had there met with a severe reverse, and were compelled to retreat without plunder, scalps or captives. not daring to return to their village empty-handed, for, as you know, the very squaws would have hooted them, they recrossed the grande above san vicente, made a wide detour, and coming down the pecos, again entered mexican territory, and made a flying raid upon the river towns. "from its remoteness from the usual scene of these indian forays, the inhabitants of this region were resting in fancied security, and had made no preparations to resist such an attack. as a natural consequence, they fell an easy prey to the savage invaders. "the rancheria of don ramon was one of the first attacked, and the proud old don and his three sons, with most of their rancheros and vaqueros, were surprised and slaughtered. of my own family, my sister conchita, a girl of sixteen, and myself, alone escaped death; and we, with many other captives, were hurried off in charge of a small detachment of camanches. of the journey to this village i need not tell you, as you have, perhaps, passed through a similar experience. "on our arrival here, my sister soon became the wife of a chief, and to this circumstance i was indebted for much better treatment than usually falls to the lot of a captive. and here let me tell you that your own escape from torture and death was little less than miraculous. in my long experience with the tribe, i have never known of a similar incident. but wakometkla is a very singular man, and so greatly is he reverenced by his nation, that he can do many things which tonsaroyoo himself would hesitate to undertake. "_carrambo_, but this story-telling is dry work. see if there be not a flask of mezcal within the lodge. _caval_--you have found it? so--that is better;" and my strange companion, having swallowed a copious draft of the fiery liquid, resumed his narrative: "the first two years of my captivity were comparatively without incident, but at the beginning of the third year i was formally adopted into the tribe. as you yourself have gone through the ceremony, it is unnecessary to describe it, but as the circumstances in my case were somewhat different from yours, i found myself on an equality with such of the young braves as had never been on the war-path. "a few months later i joined a war party led by one of the subordinate chiefs, and during the expedition i was fortunate enough to take two scalps. this at once constituted me a warrior, and, liking the excitement and adventurous life, i soon became noted among the young men of the tribe. i joined every war party, and, being singularly fortunate, soon gained distinction as well as scalps and plunder. by the time i was twenty years of age, i was admitted to be one of the first warriors of the nation, and had attracted to myself a number of the more reckless spirits, who would follow anywhere that i would lead. "i had long been desirous of taking the command of a war party, thinking thereby to gain notoriety, and if fortunate enough to be unusually successful, i might thereafter be entrusted with the leadership of expeditions of more importance. "i had frequently importuned tonsaroyoo, then as now the head chief of the nation, to allow me to undertake such an enterprise, but up to this time he had persistently refused to do so. "finding that i could not obtain his permission, i determined to do without it, and secretly assembled those warriors on whose fidelity and silence i could rely. i made known to them my plans, and succeeded in inducing about thirty braves to take part in the rash undertaking. "leaving the village under the pretense of hunting, we crossed the "llano estacado," to the head waters of the pecos; and descending that stream nearly to its mouth, diverged to the west and crossed the rio grande. we traveled by night and remained concealed during the day, and by the exercise of the utmost caution, succeeded in evading the lipans and cayguas, through whose territory we had to pass. i had laid all my plans before leaving the village, and was quite confident that the raid would be a successful one. it was my intention to attack only the haciendas, and if possible to effect my object by surprise, for i knew that if i could return without the loss of a man, with a few scalps and a moderate amount of plunder, i would receive far more praise than if i had brought back twice as much booty, but with the loss of one or more warriors. "after crossing the river, the first hacienda within reach was that which had been my former home. it had passed into the possession of don rafael d'echeverra, the brother of don ramon, and presented much the same appearance as in former times. unfortunately for the success of my project, there was present at the hacienda a small party of american trappers, who had for some reason strayed into this region. these men had known don rafael, at santa fã©, where he had at one time resided, and they had accordingly been made welcome at the hacienda. "two of their number, while out on a hunt at a few miles distance, had crossed our trail, for i had led my party as near to the hacienda as i dared; and, having concealed ourselves in a dense chaparral, we were waiting for night, it being my intention to attack in the darkness, when the smallness of my force could not be easily discovered. scenting danger at once, the hunters returned by a circuitous route to the hacienda, and warned its occupants. as a natural consequence, when we made our assault some hours later, they were fully prepared for us, and instead of surprising them we were ourselves surprised and greeted with a withering volley from the rifles of the trappers. at the first fire i received a severe wound, and fell from my horse with a broken leg. panic-stricken at the fall of their leader, and demoralized by the unexpected reception they had met with, my followers quickly retreated in confusion, and i was left wounded and a prisoner in the hands of the men i had sought to destroy. "upon discovering that i was a white man, so great was the indignation of the americans, that i should have been put to death on the spot but for the intercession of don rafael. finding that i was a native mexican his sympathy was excited, and at his entreaty my life was spared, and the don's own surgeon attended to my wounds. it was nearly two months before i had sufficiently recovered to be able to go about, and by that time every one on the estate knew my history, or rather that version of it which i saw fit to give them. i had represented to don rafael that i had been compelled to accompany the war party against my will, and concealed the fact that i had been the leader of the band. my story was easily credited because of my youth, and i was treated with great kindness. in another month i had entirely regained my health, and don rafael proposed to me to enter his employ as a vaquero. to this i assented, although i had fully determined to return to my tribe at the first opportunity. but i had first several objects to accomplish, and i was therefore compelled to bide my time, and wait for a favorable occasion. "accordingly i joined the vaqueros of the rancheria, and for two months performed my duties to the entire satisfaction of my master. my object in thus remaining, when i might have made my escape at any time without difficulty, was twofold. in the first place i knew that it would not do for me to return to the indian village empty-handed. my ill-considered and unauthorized foray having resulted in defeat and disaster, i could not expect a very cordial reception on my return, unless i performed some very daring feat in making my escape, or returned with a more than ordinary share of booty. the last i could not hope to accomplish, but the former was quite possible. "my second design was of an entirely different nature, and its successful accomplishment promised to be a very difficult matter. "don rafael's immediate family consisted of a wife and daughter, the latter a girl of fifteen, and one of the most rarely beautiful women it has ever been my fortune to behold. her i had resolved to possess, and it was this reason more than any other which impelled me to the execution of the bloody deed i am about to relate. "guadalupe, as she was called, evidently viewed me with marked disfavor, but this only intensified the passion i felt for her. i was consumed with desire, and determined that no obstacles should prevent me from accomplishing my purpose. "it was not long before the opportunity i sought presented itself, and the events took place which rendered me doubly an outcast from those of my race and color." chapter xix. a strange history continued. "the hacienda of don rafael was a stone building, or rather a collection of buildings, forming a square. like nearly all mexican dwellings it was but one story in height, but covered a large extent of ground. it was flat roofed, with a parapet, breast high, running around the edge. there were few external windows, and these were mere slits in the wall, guarded by heavy iron bars and massive wooden shutters. the interior of the square formed a large court-yard, entrance to which was gained by two archways, one at each extremity. these were closed by great jail-like doors--in fact, the whole structure had some resemblance to a fortress, a style of architecture peculiar to this region, and rendered necessary for security against the annual raids of the indian warriors. "on entering the _patio_ or court-yard, you saw the real front of the house. here the windows had glazed sashes reaching to the ground, and opening on curtained verandahs. the surface of the _patio_ was paved with brick, and in the center stood a fountain, surrounded by orange trees. "since the attack which had resulted in my becoming an inmate of the hacienda, more care had been taken to guard against future attempts of a like nature. the great gates were closed at sundown, and some attempt was made at keeping a regular watch or guard during the night. at first the sentinels were tolerably vigilant, but the lazy rancheros soon wearied of their unaccustomed duties, and before long the detail of a guard was omitted, and affairs subsided into their accustomed quiet. "the american trappers had departed, and all seeming favorable for the accomplishment of my plan, i was not long in putting it into execution. i had taken pains to become familiar with the internal arrangements of the mansion, and knew exactly where the different members of the household slept. selecting a night when there was no moon, i picked out two of the fleetest mustangs from the corral, and secured them, fully prepared for flight, among a clump of trees at a short distance from the hacienda. "during my residence among the camanches, i had become familiar with a certain herb possessing strong narcotic properties. this i had searched for and found without difficulty, and with it i had managed to drug a portion of the food prepared for the evening meal, so that at a comparatively early hour, the entire household was wrapped in profound slumber. my preparations were all completed, and when i deemed that the proper hour had arrived, i descended from the _azotea_, where i had been lying in wait; and noiselessly entered the apartments of the family. reaching that occupied by don rafael, i sought his bedside, and placing one hand over his month, i stabbed him to the heart, and he died with scarcely a struggle. quickly transferring his scalp to my belt, i proceeded with my bloody work, passing from room to room, until eight victims had perished beneath my blows, and eight bleeding scalps garnished my waist. "knowing that i had but little time to spare, i now prepared for flight. hastily collecting such articles of use or ornament as would be likely to seem of great value in the eyes of the indians, and such as i could easily carry, i made them into a pack of small compass, and returning to the _azotea_, i lowered them to the ground with a lariat, which i had previously placed there. i then sought the apartment of guadalupe. entering it without noise, i beheld her, by the dim light of a night lamp, reclining upon her couch, buried in profound sleep. i quickly bound her hands and feet, and gagged her in the indian fashion, with a pear-shaped piece of wood secured by a strip of leather. i then raised her to my shoulder, and bore her to the roof, and by the aid of the lariat, which i had secured to the parapet, i easily descended with her to the plain below. a few seconds rapid walking enabled me to gain the horses, and a few minutes later i had fastened her to the saddle, and we were riding at full speed to the northwest. knowing the route well, i lost no time, and at daybreak had nearly reached the point at which i intended to cross the rio grande. "day was just breaking when i rode through a belt of chaparral, and emerging upon the prairie beyond it, came suddenly upon a horseman, whom i at once recognized as one of the mexican hunters attached to the hacienda d'echeverra. before he could recover from his astonishment at our unexpected meeting, i had literally ridden him down, and brained him with a single blow of my steel mace, one of the weapons which i had taken from don rafael's armory, and the same one you have frequently seen me carry. adding his scalp to those i had already taken, and rifling his person of whatever of value he possessed, i resumed my flight, and traveling steadily all day, found myself by nightfall practically beyond pursuit. "my fair captive had long since recovered consciousness, and i had removed the gag from her mouth. i will spare you a recital of her prayers and entreaties when she realized her position. suffice it to say that, after a perilous and wearisome journey, i reached this village in safety with my prize, and was greeted as one returned from the dead; for the survivors of my party had brought back the news of my fall, and i had been mourned by my wives and my poor sister as dead. now all was rejoicing; a feast was made, the scalp dance was performed, and i found that by my bold exploit i had fully recovered my standing among the warriors of the tribe. "guadalupe was added to the number of my wives, and until her death three years later, remained my favorite. about a year after my return my sister sickened and died, during my absence with a war party, thus leaving me without ties, save such as i had made for myself in my tribe. "i was now completely indianized, and began a series of expeditions which resulted so successfully as to cause my advancement to the position of a sub-chief, and to my being frequently entrusted with important enterprises. in fact, the more desperate an undertaking, the more certainly would i be called upon to achieve it. to this state of affairs i made no objection, for i coveted the sort of distinction or notoriety it gave me, and as i rarely failed of success, i steadily gained in prestige and influence. but i have never been able to attain a seat in the council, or to reach any higher rank than that i now hold. this i attributed to the influence of tonsaroyoo and wakometkla, both of whom regard me with ill-concealed dislike, although they are compelled to acknowledge me as one of the best warriors of their nation. "i have led my chosen band in many a daring adventure, and have never returned without some trophy of my prowess. among the many scenes of this nature through which i have passed, i will recount the following, which will prove to you that in what i have said of myself i have made no idle boast. "on one occasion stonhawon, the second chief, went with about two hundred warriors into the utah country, with a view of replenishing our stock of horses, as we had lost a large number through the polite attentions of the utahs and arapahoes. his party was gone some fifteen days, and returned with only eight horses, and with the loss of five men. this was considered a terrible disgrace, and many of the young warriors begged me to lead them, and by a successful raid remove the shame they felt at the defeat of stonhawon's party. "selecting barely fifty men, but those the most daring braves of the tribe, i left the valley by the eastern entrance, and crossing the desert, struck southward into the lipan country. with this tribe we were at the time at peace, but i cared little for that, and the warriors of my party were equally unscrupulous. i sent forward a dozen spies, and moved forward cautiously with the main body. my reputation was committed to my present success, and i took more than ordinary pains to sustain it. every man of my band was well armed and mounted, and i had full confidence in our ability to overcome double our number. one of the spies now returned and informed me that they had discovered a lipan village of seventeen lodges, situated on the banks of a small stream. i directed them to return and watch them closely, and to apprise me of any movement they might make. the spy went back, but soon returned and informed me that they had moved down the creek, which was a tributary of the pecos, had passed through a small caã±on, and were encamped near its mouth. i ordered him to send in all the spies except three, and direct these to keep a sharp look-out. "i then determined to follow them down the caã±on, and attack them at its mouth, thus cutting off all chance of their retreating into the caã±on; but a spy now brought me word that they had moved further down and encamped on the edge of the timber, with the evident intention of remaining there. i then made a wide circuit, and crossed the ridge lower down with the largest division of my party but left about twenty warriors ambushed in the caã±on. "from the summit of the hill i had an excellent view of the enemy's position, and my plans were quickly formed and executed with almost equal rapidity. under cover of the timber i led my party until we gained the rear of the encampment. then spreading out widely, we advanced to the edge of the timber, and shouting our savage war-whoop, rushed upon the lipans. they were so completely surprised that we were among the lodges before they could make scarcely a semblance of defense, and many of them were cut down as they emerged from the lodges. "those who escaped the first attack retreated towards the caã±on, but on attempting to enter it were met by my detached party and repulsed with considerable loss. they then retreated to the west and gained the shelter of the woods, while we hastily collected our plunder and prisoners and retraced our steps towards our village, our spoils consisting of thirty-nine scalps, forty-eight captives, women and children, and over two hundred horses; and this notable victory was gained without the loss of a warrior, although we had twenty-three wounded. "the lipans gathered reinforcements from other bands, and followed our trail, but did not succeed in overtaking us before we reached our village; and here we are too strong to be attacked. great was the rejoicing upon our return; the scalp-dance was performed, feasts prepared in our honor, and i found myself looked upon as a greater brave than ever. "this expedition was but the prelude to a series of similar ones, and as my luck did not desert me, i soon found that more than half the tribe were anxious to accompany the war parties which i led. it suited me better, however, to operate with comparatively small parties, say of fifty or sixty men, and to take only those who would render unquestioning obedience to my authority. for this reason i selected men of no great prominence in the tribe, but whom i knew to be good fighters, to accompany me on these expeditions, so the victories we achieved might redound mainly to my credit. "one day i started out to hunt, accompanied by only five young warriors. after five days journey, during which we found no game, we ascended a slight eminence, and saw before us a large prairie. at some distance out a party of about thirty indians were engaged in killing buffaloes. we could also see their village at about four miles distance. here was an opportunity not to be lost. we passed along behind the crest of the hill until we had gained a position between them and their village, and then passed through a gully and concealed ourselves in the path they must necessarily take. we were able to discover by their costume that they were pawnee picts, a tribe with whom we were generally at peace, but i considered that fact of no importance. "the unsuspecting hunters, having finished butchering and dressing the buffaloes they had killed, began to approach us in straggling parties of four or five, their horses loaded with meat which they were bearing to the village. when the first of them came abreast of us, i made a signal, and five of them fell before our arrows. as the next party came up we brought down three more, and then rushed from our hiding place, and some began scalping the dead, while the remainder were cutting the lashings of the meat in order to secure the horses. having taken eight scalps, we sprang upon the horses we had freed from the packs, and retreated precipitately, fearing to be overpowered by numbers. we made direct for the timber, and having secreted our horses, took refuge in a rocky place in the mountain, where we felt protected for a while from their attacks. to attack us in front they had to advance right in the face of our fire, while to reach our rear they had to take a circuitous route of several miles around the base of the mountain. "the enemy had now gathered in force, and displayed the utmost bravery, for they made repeated assaults nearly up to the position that sheltered us. their arrows showered around us without injury, but we could bring one man down at each shot. to scalp them, however, was impossible. one of the enemy, who seemed to be a great brave, charged right into our midst and inflicted a severe wound on one of my party. before he could retire, i cut him down with one stroke of my battle-axe, and added his scalp to those we had already taken. by this time the enemy had nearly surrounded us, which led me to believe that retreat would be our safest course; so when night came we evacuated our fortress unperceived by our enemies. "they, deeming our escape impossible, were quietly resting, intending to attack us with their whole force in the morning, and take our scalps at all hazards. moving with the stealth of the cougar, we proceeded along the summit of a rocky cliff until we came to a ravine, through which we descended to the plain below, which was here covered with heavy growth of timber. we reached the spot where we had concealed our horses without difficulty, and made the best of our way home. in order to avoid hostile war parties we were obliged to take a roundabout course, and it was not until the eighteenth day after our departure that we reached the village. the tribe had given us over for lost, but when they saw us returning with nine scalps and with but one of our party hurt, their grief gave way to admiration, and we were greeted with shouts of applause. "the years i have spent among the camanches are filled with such exploits as these, but their recital would weary you, and i will not further prolong my story." as the renegade finished his narrative, we sat and smoked for some time in silence. then a sudden thought struck me and i said to him: "hisso-de-cha, i have often thought that i should like to go on the war path. why can you not take me with you when you next go forth with a war party?" "that i would willingly do," he replied, "but it would never be permitted; or at all events, i never could gain wakometkla's consent to such a thing; but perhaps you can induce stonhawon to let you accompany him, and i think he could manage it. he is now preparing to go on an expedition of some sort, as he is anxious to surpass my recent success against the arapahoes. but come, it is time we were asleep, and if you are not tired of listening to me, i am decidedly tired of talking; so permit me to bid you a _bueno noche_;" and so saying, the renegade arose and retired to his lodge. i was not long in following his example, but sleep did not close my eyelids until nearly dawn. reflecting upon the strange story of my still stranger companion, and seeing in imagination the many bloody scenes through which he had passed, my mind gradually turned to the subject which had so long lain dormant--the hope of escape from my hated bondage. at last there seemed a chance that my intense longing for freedom might be gratified; and i determined to spare no effort towards inducing stonhawon to consent to my forming one of his war party. hastily formed plans and wild schemes of all descriptions chased one another through my brain, and it was nearly morning before i fell into a troubled sleep, haunted even in my dreams by visions of blood and slaughter. chapter xx. the buffalo hunt. the season was now approaching when the buffalo might be expected in great numbers on the plains to the east of us, and all the warriors were making the most extensive preparations for their grand buffalo hunt. they had commenced the ceremonies by song and dance, as related in another chapter and now, all that was necessary for their happiness, was the actual appearance of the bison. young men left the camp daily, and scoured the plains, in order to get the first news of the herd; while others stationed themselves on high cliffs, and patiently waited the advent of the animal which was to supply them with food. a signal had been agreed upon, by which the village would be made aware of their presence as soon as the buffaloes were in sight. meantime every indian was busy, perfecting his arrangements for the chase. lances were re-pointed, arrows headed, and bows strengthened. most of the time, however, was employed in training the ponies, and the plain, in front of the village, presented a very animated appearance as the horsemen were seen dashing along at top-speed, throwing the lasso, or rushing headlong up to another warrior, who personated a buffalo, go through the motions of killing him. these scenes fired me with a desire to see a buffalo hunt myself. i had reason to believe that the indians trusted me sufficiently to permit of my accompanying them on the proposed expedition; but then i was totally inexperienced in the management of their weapons, on horseback, never having had occasion to use them when mounted. however, i determined to try, and going to wakometkla, i made known my wishes. he concurred quite heartily in my request, and even went so far as to offer me his own lance and spear. my determination to accompany the party was soon bruited throughout the village, and many were the offers of advice, ponies, and implements of the chase, that were pressed upon my acceptance. after some hesitation, i selected a pony that pleased me, and arming myself with bow and arrows, sallied forth upon the plain, to put into practice the hints that had been imparted to me in regard to hunting the bison. at first it was up-hill work; and my frantic endeavors to slide on the side of my pony and discharge an arrow from under his neck, caused my instructors no small merriment. after a severe fall--and i had many such--i would be assisted to my horse's back, and recommended to try it again, with as much coolness as if i had merely fallen from a chair. [illustration: the buffalo hunt.] notwithstanding the many times i came to grief, in trying to wield bow and arrow, or lance, effectively, i kept persistently at it, and in a week's time i had become a somewhat expert horseman, and could shoot an arrow with tolerable accuracy. i now wished that buffaloes would be signaled as approaching, quite as ardently as did the warriors; but in the meantime, i persevered in my practice. one day it occurred to me that i should like to learn to throw a lasso, and procuring one, i coiled it, mounted, and went in search of some object on which to practice. by some mutability of fortune a donkey had strayed into our midst, and had remained with the tribe for many years. no one used him, but all considered it their privilege to tease the poor brute. he bore it calmly and with that fortitude which is a distinguishing trait of his species. deeming him a very fair substitute for a buffalo, i gave my pony a sharp cut with the whip, and dropping the rein upon his neck, prepared to throw my lasso. my imaginary buffalo seemed to suspect that all was not right, and acting on his suspicions galloped away, not giving my intentions the benefit of the doubt. it was of no avail, however, for, urging my pony to increased speed, i was soon within range, and twirling the lasso around my head a few times, i launched it, directing its course, as nearly as my poor skill would permit, towards the donkey's head. it would certainly never have touched him had he pursued the direction in which he was then running. but his evil genius prompted him to turn, and, shaping his course so as to bisect mine at right angles, he raised his head, and, giving vent to one of those musical neighs (?) for which the animal is somewhat famous, rushed on in his mad career. poor brute! the noose hovered over him a moment, like some bird of prey about to swoop down on its quarry, and then settled over his head and shoulders. my horse knew more about the use of this peculiar instrument than i did, for no sooner had the lasso passed over the head of the donkey than he planted his fore feet firmly on the ground, and braced his body to receive the shock. before i was aware of anything, i felt a sharp jerk at my wrist, and the next moment i was sailing over my pony's head, and going in the direction of the donkey at a more rapid rate than was agreeable. i soon struck _terra firma_, but with such force that the concussion caused me to see more stars than i thought the heavens were capable of containing. to add to my embarrassment, the rope had become fastened to my wrist, and in such a manner that i could not free myself. the donkey, recovering from the effect of the shock, started off at headlong speed, dragging my unresisting body after him. how long this novel journey would have continued i have no means of knowing had i not fortunately been rescued by a passing indian. after an examination, i found that with the exception of torn clothing and a few scratches, i had come out of this adventure safely; but i never more had any desire to run amuck with donkeys. the indian then explained the manner in which the lasso was thrown, and under his tuition i became somewhat of an adept in this novel art. the following morning the signal from the look-out announced that the herd were in sight. then there was hurrying to and fro, and mounting in hot haste. indians were seen rushing frantically in every direction, whilst the greatest hilarity prevailed among the squaws. horses were driven into the corrals and quickly bridled, whilst those who were to participate in the hunt were busy divesting themselves of all superfluous clothing. some armed themselves with a bow and a few arrows, while some depended on their lances only. the party had by this time assembled in front of the lodge where tonsaroyoo was standing giving the final instructions to the band. these were very brief, and as soon as he had finished speaking, everything being in readiness, we mounted our horses, and were off like a whirlwind. passing up the valley, we climbed the cliff and defiling around the narrow ledge of rock that guards this entrance to the village soon deployed upon the prairie. as we swept along over the plain on this glorious morning, my spirits rose, the blood coursed through my veins in rapid pulsations, and i felt as if i could have destroyed a herd of buffaloes single handed. in these latitudes such is the purity of the air that one seems to be taking in at every breath the veritable elixir of life. your spirits are buoyant, and all nature seems to be smiling and gay. as we journeyed we overtook the scouts, who were returning to apprise us of the exact location of the buffaloes. after making their report, they would wheel into line and sweep on with the main party. we had proceeded about twenty miles, when we reached a level stretch of prairie, and directly in front of us, at a distance of perhaps two miles was the herd quietly grazing, all unsuspecting of the danger that menaced them. it was not a very large drove, and they kept quite close together. it was the season when the buffaloes wandered off from the main herd in small bands, and the prairies were dotted for miles with these black clumps, like great dark splashes on a carpet of emerald. the plan of attack was decided upon in council, and the band disposed of in a manner that would insure the complete and speedy extermination of our game. we were about to make a "surround." the warriors were divided into two columns, and taking opposite directions, drew themselves gradually around the herd at a distance of about a mile from them. we continued to deploy in this manner until a complete circle was formed, and then, at a given signal, we closed in upon the buffaloes, keeping our impatient steeds at a moderate pace. the herd soon got the wind of the advancing enemy, and fled in a body in the greatest confusion. to the point where the buffaloes were aiming to cross our line, the horsemen were gathering, and forming in column, brandishing their weapons and yelling in the most frightful manner, by which means they turned the surging mass. seeing themselves baffled at this point, they would rush off in an opposite direction, when they would again be met by a formidable column and again repulsed in utter confusion. by this time we had closed in from all directions, forming a continuous line that circled the throng like the deadly coils of the cobra. the buffaloes had become completely demoralized, and were eddying about in a crowded and confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each other. now was the time for the onslaught. tonsaroyoo, by whose side i was riding, placed the whistle to his lips and gave the signal. then followed a scene of wild confusion. the horsemen dashed upon the bewildered buffaloes with the rapidity of thought almost, using their lances and arrows with murderous effect. in the turmoil a cloud of dust was raised which in part obscured those of the band who did not immediately surround me. the excitement was intense, and soon all became one immense blur, in which hunters and buffaloes were indiscriminately mixed. i could see the indians galloping their horses around the animals and driving the whizzing arrows or long lances to the hearts of their quarry. my own pony had penetrated deep into the herd, and with a sagacity that a long experience alone could develop, was laying his course straight for an enormous bull that was flanking the herd. had _my_ taste been consulted, i should certainly have declined to try conclusions with such an ugly customer, but there was no avoiding the encounter, and, selecting an arrow, i drew my bow and waited a favorable opportunity to send it through the bison. on sped the pony, and in a few moments i was brushing the flank of the buffalo. at a glance i saw that he had been wounded and was tearing along, blind with rage. i let fly my arrow, which pierced his neck; its effect was only to increase his fury, and, wheeling round, he rushed on me with savage desperation. never can i forget the sight as he bore down upon us. infuriated with the wounds already received, his shaggy mane partly concealing his bloodshot eyes, and bellowing fiercely, he poised his head for a final charge. my horse tried to escape the onslaught, but we had penetrated into the main body, and our actions were impeded by the other buffaloes. i concluded our destruction was inevitable, but, as a last resort, i had determined to leap to the ground and trust to luck to lead me out of this dilemma. as i was preparing to dismount, a lance lying upon the ground caught my sight, and i instantly changed my resolution. if i could secure the weapon all might yet be well. i determined to make the effort at all hazards, and throwing my arm into the sling that depended from the neck of my horse, i swung lightly from his back, and hanging by my arm and foot, made ready to grasp the lance with my disengaged arm. as we swept along i succeeded in securing it, and reseating myself, prepared to drive it deep into the side of the enraged bull. i had scarcely time to poise the instrument when the buffalo charged down on us like a whirlwind. bracing myself as best i might, i pulled violently on the reins and threw my steed to one side, just in time to prevent his being gored to death, at the same time lunging out savagely at the animal. the shock was terrific, and i went whirling from my horse's back some twenty feet on the prairie. i was not so violently stunned but that i was quite conscious of the danger i was in of being trampled to death by the hoofs of the demoralized herd, and, gathered myself up in time to grasp the trailing lasso that was fastened to my pony, i was dragged far out on the prairie. badly bruised, my skin lacerated and in places bleeding profusely, i felt in no condition to take an active part in the hunt; in fact, my unique experience was, i thought, sufficient to last me a lifetime. riding at some distance from the _melee_, i had an excellent opportunity to watch the progress of the hunt. the slaughter continued with unabated fury. the plain was covered with dead and dying buffaloes. horses could be seen galloping over the prairie riderless, while their dismounted masters were flying for their lives before the infuriated animals. sometimes the serried ranks would open, and the blinded horsemen, so intent upon their prey, amidst the cloud of dust, were wedged and hemmed in among the crowding beasts, over whose backs they were obliged to leap for security, leaving their horses to the fate that might await them in the results of this wild and desperate war. many were the bulls that turned upon their assailants and met them with desperate resistance, and many were the warriors who were dismounted and saved themselves by their superior running abilities. some who were closely pursued by the bulls, would wheel suddenly around, and snatching the part of buffalo robe from their waists, throw it over the horns and eyes of the maddened animal, and darting to one side, drive an arrow or lance to its heart. others dashed upon the prairies by the side of the affrighted beasts which had escaped from the throng, and closely escorting them for a few rods, bring down their hearts' blood in streams, and their huge carcasses upon the enameled turf. in this way the whole herd was quickly annihilated. the war lasted perhaps thirty minutes, and resulted in the total destruction of the herd, which, with all their strength and fury, were doomed, like every beast, to fall before the destroying hands of mighty man. i had sat trembling on my horse, and witnessed this extraordinary scene. although i was not enabled to accurately estimate the number killed, yet i am sure several hundred buffaloes fell in this grand onslaught. after the battle the scene was curious in the extreme. the hunters were moving about amongst the dead and dying animals, leading their horses by their halters, and claiming their slain by the private marks upon their arrows, which they were drawing from the wounds in the animals' sides. a few buffaloes had the good fortune to escape, but, after wandering off on the prairie for some distance, they would stop, stand a while, looking around as if in bewilderment, then turning, as if bent on their own destruction, return to the herd, and mingling with the dead and dying, swell the slaughtered throng with their numbers. when all was finished, and the arrows had been claimed, a general council was held, the indians seated in a circle on the ground. the pipe was passed around, each taking a few whiffs. it was decided to wait until the women and extra horses had arrived from the village, a messenger having been despatched to announce our success, and ordering the squaws to repair to the scene and carry the meat back to the encampment. we had not long to wait for the arrival of the women. they came in a gang, making the air resound with their yells of rejoicing. as soon as they came up they were greeted with disdainful silence by the assembled warriors, and tonsaroyoo having issued a few directions, they fell to, and were soon deep in the mysteries of skinning and butchering the slain buffaloes. as soon as a carcass had been cut up, it was placed in a covering of the hide, and placed upon the pony's back waiting to receive it. as soon as one was loaded, an indian boy took him in charge and led him off to the village. the plain presented a peculiar appearance, dotted here and there with the ladened ponies returning to camp, and reminded me of a caravan on the african deserts, such as i had seen in books, more than anything else. the warriors soon rode off, leaving the women, boys, and dogs to complete the destruction. our entry into the village was an ovation. conquering heroes could not have been more graciously received. during the next week all hands were engaged in a round of feasting and dancing, interspersed with religious ceremonies, and in some instances of self-immolation. no scene of the long series in which i was both actor and spectator, gave me a better idea of the indian character. to fight, slaughter, prey, eat and sleep, seemed to be the end and aim of their existence. to outnumber his adversary and hence consummate his destruction, was the highest possibility of prowess. to bear torture without evincing the weakness of physical suffering was the sublimity of courage; and when death finally overtook them, to go to the happy hunting grounds well supplied with the implements that would produce carnal enjoyment was the apotheosis of enjoyment! chapter xxi. mrs. eastman's story continued. i had now been five years among the indians, and during that time my life was chiefly trials and hardships. rest, a word unknown in my vocabulary. it would appear that i owed allegiance to no particular individual, but on the contrary, i was called upon to perform the most arduous tasks by man, woman, and child. my labors in the field having come to a conclusion, i was inducted into the mysteries of curing and dressing skins of various animals, making moccasins and gathering berries for the winter stock. during a period of three months rain had not fallen, and this fact gave rise to a peculiar ceremony, which i will briefly relate. the crops were suffering severely from the drought, and it was decided in council that the "rain makers" should invoke the clouds, and by a series of conjugations cause the heavens to open their floodgates. the women had become clamorous and implored the medicine-men to intercede for rain, that their corn patches, which were now turning pale and yellow, might not be withered and they be deprived of the customary annual festivity and the joyful occasion of the "roasting ears" and the "green corn dance." the plaints of the women were entertained, but these wise (?) men discreetly recommended caution and deliberation, lest by undue haste the great spirit might become incensed and defeat their endeavors. this stratagem was very pellucid, because the longer they delayed the formalities, of course the greater would be the chance of success; but the importunities of the women became daily more persistent, and the council was at length convened. the medicine-men assembled in all the bravery of their grotesque trappings, and the fires being lighted, a large quantity of wild sage and other aromatic herbs was thrown upon the flames, that their savory odors might ascend as a peace-offering to the great spirit. some twelve or fifteen young warriors volunteered to try their medicine and see if the clouds could not be made to yield their vapor by the charm of their eloquence. it was a dreadful alternative, as, failing to produce any result, they suffered everlasting disgrace at the hands of the entire tribe. the preliminaries having been arranged, the candidates were drawn by lot and a day assigned to each one to lift his voice on high and persuade the rain to descend. the celebrant took up his position on the top of the council lodge, while below the worthy doctors continued to burn their incense, and with song, prayers, and incantations, commanded the clouds to obey them. wah-kee (the shield), ascended the wigwam at sunrise and made elaborate preparations to frighten the clouds into obeying him. after indulging in war-whoops, brandishing his lance, shield and tomahawk, and going through various other absurd performances, he subsided and betook himself to counting his mystery beads. the whole village had assembled, and were howling lustily for his success. not a cloud appeared--the day was calm and hot; and when the sun declined behind the mountains, he descended from his exalted position, and withdrew with a crestfallen air. he returned to his lodge a sadder if not a wiser man, disgraced and with no prospect of ever attaining to the dignity of a medicine man. the next morning the performance was repeated, om-pah (the elk), saying that his importunities would certainly be heard. he was quite nude, and his body besmeared with yellow clay. a beautiful shield was displayed on his left arm, and his right hand grasped a long lance. the skin of a raven adorned his head. shield and lance were flourished, but in vain. not a cloud obscured the brightness of the noon-day sun. the squaws were crying, and the corn was withering at its roots. war-rah-pa (the beaver), was the next, but he, like the others, spent his time in vain; and wak-a-dah-me took the stand the next morning. he was much more gaily attired than any of his predecessors. in addition to a shield ornamented with "red chains of lightning," he carried in his left hand a bow and single arrow. the concourse was as great as on any previous day. striking an attitude, he tossed up a feather to ascertain the course of the wind, then turning to the mob below, began a lengthy harangue, something after the following manner: "apaches! children of the sun!--you behold me here a sacrifice. i shall this day relieve you of your distress and bring joy to your lodges, or i shall live among the dogs and old women for the remainder of my days. my friends, you saw which way my feather flew. i shall hold my shield in that direction, and the lightning will draw a great cloud, and this arrow, which is feathered with the quill of the white swan will make a hole in it. "warriors! this opening in the lodge at my feet shows me the medicine-men. they are seated in a circle and are crying to the great spirit above who commands the sun and clouds. three days they have sat there. have they done aught to relieve your distress? om-pah tried and failed, because on his head was the raven. it flies _above_ the storm. war-rah-pa is the beaver, and he lives _under_ the _water_. how could he succeed? my friends, i see you are in great distress, and nothing has yet been done. this shield belonged to my father, the mad bull. it was taken from a black cloud, which will come over us to-day. i am the son of my father, and will surely bring you relief. i have done." thus flourished wakadahme, alternately addressing the clouds and the people. it so chanced that as he was speaking, a small cloud appeared on the horizon, and as it approached grew larger, until the heavens were overcast. then drawing his bow to its utmost tension, he let fly the arrow, which sped up into the gathering blackness, and was lost to view. presently the sky was illumined with a vivid flash, and peal upon peal of thunder followed in rapid succession. the crowd dispersed, running to their lodges in the greatest confusion; but the great warrior who had brought about this happy state of things remained at his post, strutting around the apex of the lodge in all the might and majesty of his new made glory. even rain could not drive him away from the scene of his triumph. there he stood, the moist cynosure of all eyes. after this all was joy and gladness. wakadahme was loaded down with honors, and every chief in the tribe was anxious to have him select one of his daughters for a wife. he accommodated six of them, but prudential reasons interposed between him and the seventh. from this time forth he was an honored and puissant warrior, chief, and mystery man. numerous amusements were indulged in by the tribe, and all had for their end and aim some gambling operation. the youths had an exhibition of arrow shooting which they called the "game of the arrow." those most distinguished in this exercise assembled on the prairie a little distance from the village, and each one having paid his "entrance fee," such as a shield, robe, pipe, or other article, would step forward to the mark, and, selecting ten arrows, proceed to shoot them in the air in rapid succession. the one who could get the greatest number up before the _first_ fell to the ground claimed the "pool" and went away in the best of spirits, displaying his gains as he journeyed through the village. the older braves passed their time in horse racing. this species of sport varies but little among the indians from that which obtains among civilized communities. a track is mapped out upon the level prairie, and a couple of lances, from which pennants are streaming, are planted firmly in the ground at a point which denotes the goal. the riders start from the upper end of the course, and plying the whip with all their vigor, come thundering down the course with the speed of the wind. a judge is appointed whose decision is irrevocable, and grouped around him are the spectators intent on making their bets and watching the progress of this tournament of speed. occasionally sham fights are inaugurated, when brave meets brave in all the fierceness of battle array to go through the motions of indian warfare, circling around the foe, or bunching together, come down on the enemy with startling suddenness, discharging a cloud of arrows, then, wheeling short around, retrace their steps and prepare to receive the shock of their enemy's advance. one day a messenger brought the news that buffaloes had made their appearance on the plain, and a numerous party was at once formed to go in their pursuit. after having been gone about two days they returned laden with the fruits of victory, and throwing the meat down in one pile, issued their orders to have it cured at once. this arduous task was delegated to the women, and in a very short time poles were planted in every direction. the meat was dressed and then cut in long strips of about a quarter of an inch in thickness, and, being hung over the lines, was left to dry in the sunshine. when it is cured the buffalo meat becomes _tasajo_, and in this state may be preserved for a great length of time. it is cured without salt; in fact, the indians rarely if ever use this condiment, which is so essential to the civilized white. this seems to be accounted for by the fact that they use very little vegetable food. hence, during my captivity, i became quite reconciled to the absence of salt, and for months after my return to the whites did not feel any desire to use it. so strong is the force of habit. it had been announced that during the annual religious ceremonies soon to commence, we would have the pleasure of entertaining a band of "club" apaches, who would participate in the festivities, and preparations of the most elaborate character were made for their reception and entertainment. of all my experience in the character of a captive, these were, perhaps, the most shocking. never shall i forget the terrible ordeal of that bloody week, when human gore ran like water, and it seemed a miracle that such a band of fiends were not swept off the face of the earth! chapter xxii. feasts, fasts, and facts. this chapter is to be a faithful description of mystery, hocus-pocus, _vou-doo_, and indian superstition, concrete and abstract. the entire ceremonial of indian worship has for its groundwork the basest and most groveling superstition. all events in any way out of the ordinary run of human affairs are directly traced to the good or evil spirit. if their affairs are in any way confused, or do their war parties come to grief, the misfortune is laid at the door of o-kee-hee-de (the evil spirit), and when fortune smiles upon them, and bountiful harvests, game, scalps, and victories are theirs, it is directly attributable to the influence of the great spirit. an infant's knowledge begins by the inculcation of this proposition, and during its lifetime, existence is enjoyable or the reverse, according as the good or evil spirit smiles on him. in this fact is displayed the resemblance between a savage _fetich_ and the ideal christian religion. it is the distinction that exists between the bud and full-blown flower,--a wild, barbarous groping after the perfected civilized idea. the indian has his ideas of a heaven and a purgatory, but they are carnal and material. as he lives in this world, so he proposes to exist in the world hereafter. the happy hunting grounds are merely a repetition of his present life, only in those blissful elysian fields a good spirit wills that game shall always be in abundance, and hunting facilities inexhaustible. contrary to the faith that obtains among christians, the indian maintains that the good spirit inhabits the realms of the evil spirit, while his opposite, the evil one, haunts the domains of the blest. this curious, not to say absurd state of affairs, is accounted for in the following manner: it is maintained that an indian suffers for his crimes only for a length of time commensurate with the sins committed. hence, while professing their conviction in a future administration of rewards and punishments, they also maintain that a very judas of his tribe will, after expiating his sins, enjoy the fullest delights of his more upright companions. thus it becomes very necessary, in their opinion, that the good spirit should meet them in purgatory, and by word and act increase their sufferings and bring them to a realizing sense of the power of him whom they have offended; while, on the other hand, the bad spirit roams through their paradise still tempting the happy. those who have gone to the regions of punishment, they believe will be tortured for a time proportioned to their offences, and then, being transferred to the land of the happy, they are again liable to the temptations of the evil spirit, and answerable again at a future time for their new offences. it will be seen that this scheme of salvation is rather crude and not as satisfactory in its details as one might desire. in regard to the topographical positions of these two places--heaven and hell--little can be ascertained. as near as i could learn, the offenders inhabited a county lying far to the north, where snow and ice were the minor concomitants of a bleak and barren land; whilst they suppose the happy hunting grounds to be in the region of perpetual sunshine, where every prospect is of the most charming character, and only the keenest enjoyment is experienced; where buffaloes and other indian luxuries abound. to such lengths was superstition carried, that the young warriors of the tribe deemed no tortures, however brutal or sanguinary, too severe that would by their endurance gain them the admittance to this favored region; and to this end, annual feasts and religious ceremonies were instituted, that the appalling cruelty of the rites might well make the stoutest heart tremble, and the most valiant spirit quake with fear. the apaches were now on the eve of one of these festivals, and those who aspired to be considered as braves, and to establish a reputation for endurance under pain and suffering, were making minute and careful preparations to endure the infliction creditably. there was to be a series of performances under the sole supervision of one grand master of ceremonies. this worthy was the head medicine of the nation, and was looked up to with a species of veneration verging upon adoration. the rites were to be inaugurated by a grand dance in the open air. the ground selected for this performance was immediately in front of the medicine lodge, and embraced an area of about half an acre. previous to the inception of the ceremonies, a number of the women were set at work with large wooden mallets, pounding the turf, which was done in order to make the ground hard, smooth and level. as soon as this was accomplished, a curb was erected in the centre of the space by driving stakes in the ground in the form of a circle, just leaving sufficient space between each one to admit of a free passage of air. the curb rose to a height of about three feet, the top being covered by stretching a buffalo robe over the stakes. within this enclosure was placed a small stone altar, on which burned the sacred flame. under no circumstances was the flame allowed to be extinguished. in the event of its ceasing to burn, it would have been considered an ill omen, and in order to propitiate the good spirit, it would have become necessary to sacrifice a female captive. all was now in readiness, and on the following morning mahtocheega and the chiefs of the nation assembled in the medicine lodge preparatory to commencing the "death dance." sixteen young men participated in the dance. they stood to one side in a group, isolated from the crowd. they were decked out in the most gorgeous trappings, each one personating some animal which they imitated as closely as possible, both in action and sound. beginning by circling around the curb in a measured tramp to the sound of the indian drums and rattles, they gradually accelerated their pace until they were going at full speed, meanwhile indulging in the most frightful yells, groans, whoops, and cries. this was kept up without intermission for, perhaps, fifteen minutes, when the medicine man sounded a shrill blast on his whistle, and, as if by magic, the performers dropped upon "all fours" and began to practice the distinctive peculiarity of the animals they personated. their actions were a source of considerable amusement to the bystanders, and each actor was applauded vociferously when by some particular gesture, or trick, he faithfully portrayed the habits of the animal he represented. some of these actions were of a very gross, not to say revolting character. in the heat of the excitement a wild scream startled the bystanders, and soon the women were rushing in every direction, seemingly in the most abject terror. pursuing them was a hideous monster entirely nude, his body being blackened with charcoal and bear's grease until it shone like ebony; his face was marked with a profusion of white rings about an inch in diameter, and around his mouth were frightful indentures which closely resembled canine teeth. in addition to his hideous appearance, he gave the most frightful shrieks as he dashed through the crowd. this unearthly creature carried in his hand a staff of about six feet in length, with a red ball at the end of it, which he pushed along the ground in front of him as he ran. all eyes, save those of the braves engaged in the dance, were upon him as he dashed on in pursuit of the women. they fled in the wildest disorder falling over each other in their frantic endeavors to elude the monster's grasp. the master of ceremonies now interfered, and advancing from his position beside the chief, ran up to where the women were struggling with the demon, and, thrusting his medicine pipe before the black monster, held him immovable under its charm. this action enabled the females to get safely out of his reach, and when free from danger, although their hearts still beat with the excitement, they soon became calm, and, seeing that he was ignominiously subjugated by the charm of the all-potent pipe, indulged in the most extravagant laughter, and shouts of applause at his sudden defeat, and at the ridiculous posture in which he was held. they presented a striking picture as they stood there face to face--the old man standing erect, his face tremulous with suppressed emotion, while his eyes gleamed with rage and hatred. the evil spirit on the other hand, cowed, and trembling, seemed transfixed with terror. at intervals he would make an effort to break the spell, and darting to one side attempt to break off in the direction of the prairie; but the ever-vigilant chief was at his side in a twinkling and holding the potent charm _to his nose_, reduce him to instant obedience. thus they stood, the one with his body painted black and representing the evil one, frowning everlasting vengeance on the other, who sternly gazed him back with a look of exultation and contempt, as he held him in check and powerless under the influence of his magic charm. when the superior power of the chief had been fully tested and acknowledged, and the women had been allowed ample time to remove themselves to a safe distance and place innumerable barriers between themselves and this fiendish monster, the pipe was gradually withdrawn from before him, and he was once more allowed to follow the dictates of his low and bestial mind. no sooner did he feel himself free from this constraining influence than he dashed into the center of the group of dancers, and attacking one of the young men who was dressed in the guise of a buffalo, _hivung ee a wahkstia chee a nahks tammee ung s towa; ee ung ee aht ghwat ee o nungths tcha ho a tummee osct no ah ughstom ah hi en ah nohxt givi aht gahtch gun ne_. after this performance he visited three others in succession, and indulged in antics of a light character, that elicited shouts of laughter and rounds of applause. the indians considered the strict observance of this particular ceremony as highly important, and calculated to be of great benefit in attracting game to their vicinity in the coming season. during the scene okeehede had become quite exhausted by his exercise, and seemed to be anxiously looking around for some feasible means of escape. the women had by this time overcome the fear which his entrance had caused, and now gathered about him in shoals, poking him with bits of stick, throwing stones at his body, and giving expression to their dislike in various ways that suggested themselves on the spur of the moment. at length, one more courageous than the rest gathered a handful of yellow clay, and drawing quite near, awaited her opportunity when the fiend's attention was directed to another quarter, then dashing up to him, emptied the contents of her hands over his body. the change was magical; the yellow clay was attracted and held by the grease with which his body was besmeared, turning his color from black to bright yellow. he seemed to become quite heartbroken at this signal disgrace, and losing control of his feelings, commenced crying vehemently, when, as quick as thought, a fearless young maiden made a frantic clutch at the magic, ball-tipped wand. she was successful beyond her most sanguine anticipations, and flew through the crowd, bearing the trophy high above her head. the other women gathered around her, beseeching her to let them break the wand, and thus end the spell. their entreaties were at last acceded to, and the stick was broken into fine bits, which were hurled at their whilom owner. his power was now gone; his strength also, and, gathering his energies for one grand and final effort, he plunged headlong towards the prairie with a howling mob of women at his heels. as he struggled along his movements were impeded by every known device, and at each fall he was set upon by the enraged and triumphant females, who exulted in his ignominious downfall, supplementing their jeers with blows from sticks, stones and whips, until he at length escaped by diving into the underbrush that grew at the base of the hills, and disappeared from view. the dance had by this time come to an end, and preparations were made for the commencement of the cruelties which were about to take place within the lodge. the medicine chief, who acted as master of ceremonies, approached mahtocheega, and made a requisition for musicians, and after a brief consultation he gave orders to have two of the female captives perform this arduous and monotonous task. zoe and myself were chosen, and we were at once ushered within the sacred precincts of the lodge. we were the only women who were permitted to view the scenes which i am about to relate. would to god i had been spared the revolting spectacle! as we entered, the candidates for the cruelties were about taking their places in spaces assigned them, as also the chiefs and doctors of the tribe, whose duty it was to look on, bear witness to, and decide upon the comparative degree of fortitude with which the young men sustain themselves in this most excruciating ordeal. the chiefs situated themselves on one side of the lodge, and opposite them were seated the musicians. the medicine chief took up his position in the center of the circle, near a small fire, with his big pipe in his hands. gravely filling it with k'neck k'nick, he lighted it at the flame, and began puffing great clouds in the faces of the aspirants, that the great spirit might give them strength to bear their tortures manfully. directly under the aperture in the roof of the lodge was a curious arrangement of buffalo and human skulls, which were divided into two parcels. placed over them at an elevation of about five feet was a delicate scaffold made of four posts, not larger than a willow rod. in the crotches of these poles were placed lateral rods of about the same thickness, and resting on these transversely were a number of still more delicate sticks. on the center of this frame was a small stone altar, from which issued the sacred fire. immediately under the frame on the ground was placed a knife and a bundle of splints, which were kept in readiness for the infliction of the cruelties which i shall endeavor to explain. from the top of the lodge depended a number of cords, which, passing through the roof, were held by men on the outside, who, on a given signal, were to suspend the victims between heaven and earth. an attendant now advanced to our side of the structure, bearing in his arms two curious looking objects, which, on investigation, proved to be sacks containing in each about two gallons of water. these were articles of superstitious regard, and held in great veneration by the indians. they were constructed of the skin of the buffalo's neck, and most elaborately sewed together in the form of a large tortoise, with a bunch of eagle's quills appended to act the part of tail. accompanying each was a drumstick, and, with a few directions how to use it, he left us. after a brief incantation, accompanied by more vigorous puffs at the big pipe, the order was issued to remove the scaffold. the skulls were placed on posts at the back of the lodge, and two stalwart savages took up their positions in the center of the open space, one with the knife in his hand, the other holding the splints. one by one the candidates advanced; their frames were greatly emaciated by the fasting, thirsting, and wakefulness to which they had subjected themselves during four days. placing themselves on their hands and feet, or otherwise, as was best suited for the performance of the operation, they were grasped roughly by the attendants, and an inch or more of flesh taken up between the thumb and finger of the man who held the knife. the knife had been ground sharply on both sides, and then notched, so that the effect of pushing it through the skin might be made as painful as possible. as soon as the incision was made, the attendant ran a skewer through the still quivering flesh. the cord was then lowered from the roof and fastened to the splints, when, the signal being given, the cords were tightened and the victim was suspended in mid-air. more splints were passed through his shoulders, arms, thighs, and legs. in some instances, they remained upon the ground until this painful operation was completed. the time consumed in preparing the victims for suspension was about five minutes. as the body dangled in mid-air, and while the blood was streaming down the victim's sides, the bystanders would grasp at the body, and hang upon the splints each man's shield, bow, and quiver. in some instances, a buffalo's skull was attached to his lower limbs, to prevent the struggling which would otherwise have taken place, to the disadvantage of the sufferer. when these were adjusted, the body was raised higher until the weight swung clear. in this plight they became a fearful sight to look upon. the flesh, to support their bodies with the additional weights attached thereto, was raised some eight inches by the skewers, and their heads sinking forward on their breasts, or thrown backward in a much more frightful condition, was a sight that made one's blood curdle, and the heart turn sick at the ghastly, bloody spectacle. the fortitude with which the victims bore this torture almost surpasses belief. as the knife was thrust through the flesh not a muscle moved, and some even called attention to their faces, and challenged the judges to detect the first symptom of weakness or faint-heartedness. truly it was a fearful sight, and as the knife _ripped_ through the flesh, it was more than i could bear, and, throwing down the drumstick, i give way to the most violent grief. it was not until i was severely admonished to continue my task, that i could sufficiently control my emotion and resume the horrid thrum thrum of the monotonous music. as soon as a victim was thoroughly suspended, a number of demons in human guise clustered around him, devising means that would make this exquisite agony more intense. one would advance with a long pole in his hand and commence turning the bleeding body, slowly at first, but the motion would be gradually accelerated until the victim would cry out in bitterness of spirit and in tones the most lamentable and heart-rending that the human voice is capable of producing; appealing to the great spirit and beseeching him not to forsake his servant in this, his hour of severest agony. he is turned faster and faster. there is no hope for escape; not the slightest respite, until by fainting he is relieved from his tormentors, and left to hang, apparently a lifeless corpse. when it has been ascertained that he is, as they term it, "entirely dead," his torture ceases, and there hangs suspended by cords, all that remains of a form that a few hours since was instinct with life and vigor. his medicine bag, which he has clung to all through the trying ordeal with the tenacity of despair, has dropped to the ground. even this potent charm deserts its owner in his hour of greatest need, when, if at any time, its supposed supernatural protection should be most felt. the signal is now given to the men on the outside of the lodge to lower the body, and he is gently laid upon the ground. in this helpless condition he lies, looking like some mass of putrefaction that has just been removed from a charnel-house. during this time he is said to be in the keeping of the great spirit, whom he trusts will protect, and finally give him strength to get up and walk away. after lying some time on the ground, an attendant removes the splints from the breasts and shoulders, thereby disengaging him from the cords by which he has been suspended, but the others, with the weights attached, are suffered to remain imbedded in the bleeding wounds. as soon as consciousness returns he attempts to move. no one is allowed to assist him or offer him aid, as he is now in the enjoyment of one of the most exalted privileges that apaches can lay claim to--that of trusting his life to the keeping of the great spirit. presently he crawls away, dragging his weights after him, which, as they clatter over the hard earthen floor of the lodge, make a mournful accompaniment to his groans and sobs. he creeps to another part of the lodge; where a savage sits in grim silence awaiting his coming. in his hand is a hatchet, and immediately in front of him is a dried buffalo skull. the sufferer draws near, and, holding up the little finger of his left hand, makes a short speech, and calling upon the great spirit to witness his self-sacrifice, unflinchingly lays the doomed finger on the skull. one quick, sharp stroke by the indian who wields the hatchet and the finger drops from the hand--a sacrifice to a fanatic's zeal. no bandages are applied to the fingers, nor are any arteries taken up; in fact, no attention whatever of a surgical character is paid to the wounds, lacerations, and bruises. they are left for the "great spirit to cure." it is rather remarkable that the bleeding is not so profuse as might be expected from the severity of the torture, and soon ceases, probably from the fact of their extreme exhaustion and debility; the want of sustenance and sleep, checks the natural circulation, and is at the same time an admirable preparation for the tortures, and enables them to bear the infliction without the same degree of pain that might, under other circumstances, result in inflammation and death. during these cruel scenes, the chiefs and dignitaries of the tribe are looking on unmoved, and by taking mental notes of the way in which the victim bears this terrible torture, decide who are the hardiest and stoutest hearted, who can hang the longest by his flesh without fainting, and who will be the soonest up after he is cut down. in this way they judge of the physical capacity of the young braves to bear hunger, fatigue, and suffering; and to those who acquit themselves the most worthily is entrusted the leadership of "forlorn hopes," war parties resolved on desperate enterprises, etc., etc. this scene was enacted during a whole day, and in that time some forty or fifty young men went through the agonies of suspension and amputation. all the while the din and clatter was undiminished. did we but relax our efforts for a moment, a brawny savage was at our side, and by word and blow commanded us to recommence. what with the physical and mental fatigue caused by this continuous and seemingly everlasting thrumming, joined to the horrid sights, sounds and emotions to which we were subjected, and the revolting and bloody nature of the drama, it seemed as if we were under the influence of a horrid nightmare. as if we had suddenly been wafted away in the arms of some hideous genii to realms of darkness, and were maliciously compelled to be the unwilling spectators of scenes which even at this day, the bare remembrance of, causes the blood to chill with horror and the frame to vibrate with agony at their recollection. god grant that such cruelties may soon disappear off the face of the earth, _together with the actors and instigators of these horrible rites!_ chapter xxiii. the war party. the following morning found me entirely occupied with my new plan of escape, and i lost no time in gaining such information as i could, concerning stonhawon's intentions respecting his projected expedition. by making a few cautious inquiries of some of the warriors whom i knew to be favorably disposed towards me, i learned that the party would probably depart within three days. the first point necessary to the success of my plan was to obtain the consent of wakometkla, and this i feared would be no easy task. after considering the matter fully, i concluded that my best course would be first to get stonhawon's permission to accompany the party, and, if possible, induce him to intercede for me with the old medicine man. to the lodge of this redoubtable chief i accordingly bent my steps, and, on approaching it, found him seated without, engaged in conversation with several of the older warriors. not daring to interrupt their conference, i remained at a little distance until the interview was ended. from the few sentences i overheard i concluded that the chief was unfolding his plans or some portion of them to the principal warriors of his party. directly the council seemed to be over, and the warriors separated, leaving the chief seated as before at the entrance to his lodge. i was about to approach him and proffer my request, when hissodecha, the renegade, suddenly made his appearance, and walking directly up to stonhawon addressed him as follows: "my brother is going on the war-path?" "yes, hissodecha," said the chief; "i am weary of this idleness, and my young men are impatient and clamor to be led against the arapahoes, who have invaded our territory and cut off several of our hunting parties. i have therefore determined to take out a strong party and strike a blow that will teach these cowardly horse thieves a lesson!" "stonhawon," said hissodecha, "it is my wish that we should be friends, and that the ill-feeling which has existed between us and our young men should cease. for this reason i have come to offer you my services on your expedition as a volunteer, and if you accept my offer, i will join your party with my entire band and serve under your orders. let my brother speak. i await his decision." while hissodecha was speaking, i observed a gratified expression upon the countenance of stonhawon, and i saw that he would gladly avail himself of the renegade's offer. but why hissodecha should make so unusual a proposition puzzled me extremely, and i waited anxiously to hear the remainder of their conversation. as the renegade ceased speaking, stonhawon arose in silence, filled and lighted his pipe and passed it to hissodecha, who took a few whiffs and returned it to the chief. the latter followed his example, and then, emptying the pipe, he returned it to its case of fawn skin, gaily decorated with the quills of the porcupine stained in bright colors, and spoke as follows: "hissodecha, your words are good; you are a great brave, and you shall ride with me on the war-path. with your aid i shall surely be successful, and when we return in triumph, who shall deny to the friend of stonhawon a seat in the council? i know my brother's wish, and it shall yet be gratified. now, let us assemble our warriors and make ready for departure, as i wish to start before sunrise to-morrow." to this the renegade yielded a ready assent, adding that his party could be ready to leave in an hour if necessary. he then said: "i must ask my brother one favor, and that is that tahteckadahair may accompany our party." "why does hissodecha ask this?" said the chief, looking at me in surprise; for, on hearing my name mentioned, i had drawn nearer. "does my brother not know that no one but wakometkla can grant his request?" "because," said hissodecha, "if stonhawon asks the medicine chief, he will not refuse; but were i to make such a request, it would be in vain." stonhawon reflected for a moment and then addressed me so abruptly that for an instant i was confused and unable to make a reply. "tahteckadahair," said he, "why do you wish to join the war party which i am about to take out?" i was endeavoring to frame a reply when the renegade answered for me. "the young man is tired," he said, "of being left in the village with the squaws and old men while the other young braves are going to war or to hunt and winning scalps and plunder. he thinks that he should be given the same privileges as others since he has been regularly adopted into the tribe, and i think his request is a reasonable one and should be granted." i now added my persuasions to those of hissodecha, and stonhawon finally said that if wakometkla's consent could be gained he would have no objection to my forming one of his party. he also said that he would speak to the medicine chief and use his influence to get his consent to my making my first appearance as a warrior. he was as good as his word, and a few hours later i saw him enter the temple, evidently in search of the old man. hissodecha was confident that his request would be granted, and i accordingly busied myself, under his direction, in preparing to make my _debã»t_ as a camanche brave on the war-path. the renegade easily supplied me with the necessary weapons and equipments from his own stock, and i soon found myself provided with a long steel-pointed lance, adorned with a crimson pennon, and a sort of battle-axe of an ancient pattern, evidently the spoil of some mexican hacienda. besides these a war bow, a quiver of arrows, their points dipped in the subtle poison used by the camanches, and a tomahawk and scalping-knife were given me. these completed my offensive equipments. for defense, besides all these, i received a circular shield made of the tough hide of the buffalo bull stretched upon a wooden frame, and dried and hardened until it was almost of the consistency of iron. to provide me with a horse was the next thing in order, and this did not promise to be very difficult, as more than two thousand mustangs were grazing upon the plain. the renegade, however, was not easily suited in his choice of a horse. thorough horse jockeys as all the camanches are, hissodecha seemed the sharpest of the tribe in this particular. of this fact i had become aware long before, for in the races which the indians so frequently indulged in, he was almost invariably the winner, thus showing that he possessed rare knowledge and judgment of the points of a good horse. on this occasion i began to think that he would exhaust the supply before he found one to his mind, but after rejecting about forty for one fault or another, most of which blemishes i was entirely unable to discover, he fixed upon a large piebald mustang as the one who should have the honor of bearing me upon my first war-path. leading the horse back towards the village, we soon reached the spot where the warriors who were to form the expedition had already picketed their horses for the night, so as to be ready for an early start on the morrow. staking my new acquisition out upon the plain, we returned to the lodge, and my strange friend, handing me a hair bridle and a buffalo robe and leathern girth, told me to get some food and return to his lodge in an hour, and he would "paint" me for the war-path. i was too much excited to eat much, and my simple meal was soon dispatched. on entering the temple, i had looked around apprehensively, expecting to meet wakometkla, and rather dreading to encounter him, feeling uncertain what sort of a reception i would meet with. the old medicine man, however, was not to be seen, and i wandered through the various apartments with which i had become so familiar during the long years of my captivity, wondering if this was really to be my last look at them, or if my desperate scheme was to result in failure, and end in my being brought back, perhaps to torture and death. it was now time for me to return to hissodecha, and i started to leave the temple for that purpose. crossing the mystery chamber, i was about to ascend the ladder, when a tall form suddenly emerged from the obscurity of a recess in the wall, and wakometkla stood before me. the old man seemed strangely moved for one of his stern nature and practical stoicism. taking me by the hand, he led me to the center of the room, where the light of the sacred fire enabled him to more plainly discern my features, and gazed upon me for a moment without speaking. at length he spoke in a low tone, unlike his usual sonorous accents: "so my son is not content to remain in peace and safety with me here, but longs to go forth in search of adventure, and to emulate the deeds of the foolish young braves, who imagine that they are already great warriors?" i was at a loss what to reply, but managed to mutter a few words expressive of my desire to take part in at least one war party, and assured him that i would be certain to return in safety. "you cannot be sure of that;" said the old man, in what seemed to me a sad tone, "we cannot control our fate; but as you wish to go you shall have your wish. at stonhawon's request i have given my consent, and i shall sacrifice to quetzalcoatl for your speedy and safe return. now go and complete your preparations, for you have no time to lose." so saying, he turned and left the apartment without another word. at this moment, despite my ardent longing to escape from an existence that was loathsome to me, and return to my own people, i could not avoid a feeling of regret at the idea of parting from this noble specimen of his race, to whom i was indebted for my life, and for the many acts of kindness which had rendered my captivity endurable. but the measure of regret i felt was not sufficient to turn me from my purpose, and remembering my appointment with hissodecha, i hastened to fulfill it. in crossing the open square before the temple, i met stonhawon, who informed me that the party would start at daybreak, and warned me to be in readiness. assuring him that there was no danger of my forgetting it, i hurried to the lodge of the renegade, whom i found in no very amiable humor at my delay. on explaining the cause of my detention, his ill temper was abated, and he quickly proceeded to prepare me for my appearance in my new rã´le of an indian warrior. stripping me entirely, he invested me with a new pair of leggings and mocassins; leaving me naked to the waist. producing a number of little packets containing pigments of various colors, he commenced operations by painting my face, neck and breast blood red, and my arms and the rest of my person that was exposed in alternate bands of black and yellow. upon my breast he delineated with considerable skill the figure of a grizzly bear; upon my forehead a star, and across my face narrow stripes of black. my arms he encircled with black and white rings at regular intervals, and then laying aside his colors, held up before me a small mirror, that i might view the picture i presented. my contemplation of myself satisfied me that i made about as hideous looking a savage as any in the village--but of that the reader can judge for himself from the accompanying picture, which is a very accurate representation of me as i then appeared. hissodecha finished his work by saturating my hair, which reached nearly to my waist, with a mixture of oil and some black coloring, which rendered my appearance more savage then ever. he then bound about my head a narrow fillet or band of scarlet cloth, and placed in it two feathers or plumes stained blue. he then stood off and viewed me for a moment, and pronounced my toilet complete, with the exception of a few ornaments. these he soon provided in the shape of a pair of bracelets of roughly beaten gold. my necklace of silver, which wakometkla had placed upon my neck when he first took me in charge, i still wore, and the renegade, surveying his work with some complacency, remarked that no young brave of the party would present a finer or more warlike appearance from the indian point of view than myself. he then presented me with a fine _serape_ for protection against the weather, and advising me to get what sleep i could, dismissed me for the night, bidding me lie down in his lodge upon some skins. my excitement, however, was so great, that i found it impossible to sleep, i was impatient for the dawn, that i might be in motion, and leaving my hated valley prison, as i fondly hoped, for the last time. the hours dragged wearily away, and it seemed as if the morning would never come; but at last a faint glimmer of light in the east showed that the time for action had come. i started up, and taking my simple horse furniture, made my way to where the horses were picketed. i found many of the warriors already astir and lending their horses to the water. joining them, i had soon attended to the wants of my charger, bridled him, and snapping the buffalo robe upon his back, i mounted him and rode back to the lodge of hissodecha. at the same time he emerged from the lodge in all the full glory of his war paint. his horse had already been brought up by one of his band, and advising me to eat as hearty a meal as possible, he mounted and rode down to where the warriors were assembling. hastily devouring a few mouthfuls of tasajo, i speedily followed him, and although but a few moments had elapsed, found the party almost ready to start. the entire population of the village had by this time assembled to see us off, and i found myself the subject of some very flattering remarks as i rode through the throngs of women, children, and dogs, while immediately surrounding the war-party were grouped all the male members of the community who were not of the expedition. the renegade had directed me to attach myself to his band, and i accordingly did so, being received with great cordiality by the younger braves, who complimented me on my warlike aspect and fine equipments. stonhawon, who had been holding a hurried consultation with tonsaroyoo, who stood aloof as though not wishing to compromise his dignity by evincing any interest in an expedition which he did not lead, now rode up and gave the signal for departure. instantly the band, numbering about five hundred warriors, wheeled, and forming with the rapidity of thought in single file, the only formation used on the march by the prairie indians, rode off at a rapid pace down the valley, amid the shouts and yells of those we left behind. by this time the sun had fully risen, and on looking back i could see upon the summit of the temple the usual group of priests and their assistants, and among them i could plainly distinguish the tall figure of wakometkla. i fancied that i could see him wave his hand as if in adieu, but it may have been only fancy, for the distance was too great to decide with certainty. as we rode rapidly along, i noted every object rendered familiar by my long residence in the valley with a peculiar interest, for i hoped that i was looking upon the well-known scene for the last time. it was a glorious morning, and the exhilaration of the rapid motion, as my horse bore me along with proud, springy step, seemed to increase my strength, and i experienced a buoyancy of spirits and a vigor of body i had never known before. i felt strangely hopeful and exultant--in fact it seemed as if i were already free. riding rapidly we soon reached the valley's lower extremity, and passing around the face of the cliff upon the narrow ledge described in a previous chapter, we crossed the crest of the mountain range, and descended by a zig-zag trail to the plain below. our route lay directly across the desert to the eastward, and it was well into the afternoon before we had passed it and reached the great grass prairie beyond. on reaching the prairie our course was deflected to the north, and about sundown we halted at a spring known as the "_ojo caliente_," which the leaders of the party had evidently selected as our camping ground for the night. the order to halt once given, we went into bivouac with marvelous celerity. our horses were picketed in a wide circle far out upon the plain, as the gramma grass there is longer and more luxuriant than in the immediate neighborhood of the springs. stripping our animals of their equipments, we bring them to within about a hundred yards of the spring. each man strikes his spear into the ground, and rests against it his shield, bow and quiver. he places his robe or skin beside it. there is his tent and bed. the row of spears are soon aligned upon the prairie, forming a front of several hundred yards, and our camp is complete. no drilled troops in the world can equal the rapidity with which these indians form or break camp; and yet every movement is executed without orders, and as if by intuition. fires were soon kindled, and strips of tasajo brought forth and cooked. pipes were lighted, and the warriors sit in groups around the red blaze, recounting their adventures, and laughing and chattering incessantly. the paint glitters upon their naked bodies in the glare of the fires; it is a wild and savage scene, and yet grotesque in its very savageness. for two hours we remain about the fires, some cooking and eating, others smoking, others freshening the hideous devices of the war paint with which all are besmeared. then the horse-guard is detailed, and marches off to the caballada, and the indians, one after another, spread their robes upon the ground, roll themselves in their _serapes_ or blankets, and are soon asleep. for a time i found it impossible to sleep, although wearied with the unaccustomed exercise of the journey. reclining upon my robe in a half sitting posture, i watch the scene around me. the fires have ceased to blaze, but by the light of the moon i can distinguish the prostrate bodies of the savages. white objects are moving among them; they are dogs, prowling about in search of the remains of their supper. these run from point to point, growling at one another, and barking at the coyotes that sneak around the outskirts of the camp. out upon the prairie the horses are still awake and busy. i can hear them stamping their hoofs and cropping the rich pasture. at intervals along the line i can see erect forms standing motionless; these are the guards of the caballada. at length i begin to grow drowsy, and lying down upon my robe, i wrap myself in my _serape_, and in a few moments am asleep. chapter xxiv. my first scalp. i was roused before dawn by the stir and bustle around me. on rising to my feet, i found the party preparing to march. every warrior ran out for his horse; the pickets were drawn, and the animals led in and watered. they are bridled; the robes are thrown over them and girthed. we pluck up our lances, sling our quivers, seize our shields and bows, and leap lightly upon horseback. our line is already formed, and, wheeling in our tracks, we ride off in single file to the northward. from conversation with my companions the night previous, i had discovered that only the leaders of the party knew our destination. the rank and file were as ignorant of the intentions of their commanders as is usually the case among the armies of more civilized peoples. the young braves who were my chosen companions on the march and in the camp, neither knew nor cared whither we were bound. they expected the expedition to result in our return with an abundance of scalps and plunder, and that was all they cared about. during the forenoon we passed over a "_motte_" of prairie or park. its surface was nearly level, but it was studded here and there with clumps and coppices of cottonwoods and other trees and shrubs. to the north the horizon was shut in by a lofty mountain chain which seemingly barred our pathway, although at a great distance, and between us and this barrier was a range of much less elevation, such as are called "foot hills" in this region. about noon we came upon a small stream which crossed our line of march, running off to the eastward. upon its banks we halted for a short period, watering and feeding our horses, and satisfying our own appetites from our supply of dried meat. this done we resumed our march. we now found the timber islands became less frequent, and in half an hour's ride we left them altogether behind, and rode for several miles over an open plain. we saw timber ahead of us, and had approached within about a mile of it when one of the runners or spies, about fifty of whom were scouting ahead, came back and reported to the chief that they had discovered a small herd of buffalo grazing upon a small prairie or sort of natural clearing beyond the belt of woods. although we were well provided with dried meat, the prospect of fresh buffalo steak was not unpleasing, and a hunt was at once determined upon. halting the party stonhawon directed the renegade to take his own band and join the scouts ahead. together the bands would constitute a hunting party of about one hundred warriors, quite large enough for the destruction of the small herd before us. as i had attached myself to the band of hissodecha, i found myself destined to take part in the enterprise, and anticipated no little amusement and sport. riding forward cautiously until we reached the timber, which was a not very dense chaparral, we rode slowly and silently through the bushes until we encountered a number of scouts _cached_ in the thicket, and evidently waiting for us. "what is it han-na-ta-mauh?" asked hissodecha of the leader of the scouts as they rode up. the scout replied that they had found the fresh tracks of a small herd of buffaloes, and on following them up had found the animals feeding upon a small prairie beyond the chaparral in which we were concealed. the renegade dismounted, and telling me to accompany him, walked forward with the scout to the edge of the thicket. peering cautiously through the leaves, we had a full view of the open ground. the buffaloes were upon the plain. it was, as hanatamauh had said, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chaparral. near the center was a _motte_ of heavy timber growing up from a dense underwood. a spur of willows running out from the timber denoted the presence of water. "there's a spring there," said the renegade, turning to me; "i have been here before, and know the ground. how can we get at them?" he continued, turning to the scout; "do you think we can approach them?" "no," said hanatamauh, "there is not cover enough; and besides, they are getting further away from the bushes as they feed." "what then?" asked hissodecha; "we can't run them; they would be off through the thicket in a moment, and we would lose them all." "yes," replied the scout, "that is certain; but we can get them for all that. i never saw a better place for a 'surround,' and it will take but a short time to get your braves in position." "true," said hissodecha, "if the wind is right. how is it?" "there is none," said the scout taking a feather from his head-dress and tossing it in the air. "you see it falls direct." "i see," said hissodecha; "let us divide the men. we have enough to pen them in completely. you can guide one-half of them to their stands. i will go with the rest. you, tahteckadahair," he continued, "had better bring up your horse and stay where you are. it is about as good a stand as you can get. you will have to wait patiently, as it may be an hour before all are placed. when you hear the signal, which will be the hunter's whistle, you may gallop forward and do your best. if we succeed we shall have plenty of sport and a good supper, and i suppose you are ready for that by this time." the renegade now left me, followed by the scout, and went back to the rest of the party. their intention was to separate the band into two equal parties, and each taking an opposite direction, to place men at regular intervals around the prairie. they would keep in the chaparral while on the march, and only discover themselves when the signal was given. in this way, if the buffaloes did not take the alarm, we should be almost certain of securing the entire herd. as soon as hissodecha left me, i selected my hunting arrows, which, unlike those used for war, are not poisoned. then i brought up my horse, and having nothing else to do, i remained seated upon his back watching the animals as they fed on, unaware of their danger. the screaming of birds who flew up from the thicket showed that the hunters were proceeding to their stands. now and then an old bull, standing like a sentinel on the outskirts of the herd, would snuff the wind and strike the ground violently with his hoof as though suspecting that something was wrong; but the others did not seem to mind him and kept on cropping the luxuriant grass. suddenly an object made its appearance, emerging from the _motte_ in the center of the prairie. it looked like a buffalo calf proceeding to join the others. as usual, a pack of coyotes were sneaking around the herd, and these, on perceiving the calf, made an instant attack upon it. to my surprise, it seemed to fight its way through them, and soon joined the herd and was lost to view among them. i thought no more of it, and was wondering how much longer i would have to wait for the signal, when i noticed that the buffaloes were lying down one after another. in a few minutes eight or ten were stretched upon the turf, and i observed that they fell suddenly as if shot, and some of them appeared to kick and struggle violently. i had heard of a curious habit of these animals known as "wallowing," and concluded this must be it. as i had never witnessed this manoeuvre, i watched them as attentively as possible, but the high grass prevented me from seeing much. at all events, i thought, the "surround" will be complete before they get ready to move, and i waited patiently for the signal. the buffaloes still continued to lie down one after another, and at length the last one of the herd stretched himself upon the prairie. at this instant the shrill notes of the indian whistle reached my ears, and a wild yell arose from all sides of the prairie. i urged my horse forward; a hundred others had done the same, all yelling at the top of their voices as they shot out of the thicket. filled with the wild excitement incident to such a scene, i galloped forward with my bow strung and arrows ready, intent upon having the first shot. to my surprise the buffaloes did not stir. the indians closed in, yelling as they came, and we pulled up our horses in the very midst of the prostrate herd. i sat upon my horse as if spell-bound, looking about me in consternation and wonder. before me lay the bodies of the buffaloes, and i seized with a superstitious awe when i perceived that every one of them was dead or dying. blood flowed from their mouths and nostrils, and from wounds in the side of each the red stream trickled down. the prairie carpet was dyed with it. my companions seemed at first as much surprised as myself, but some of the more astute quickly divined the mystery and commenced looking about with keen scrutiny. suddenly the renegade urged his horse forward, and on turning to see what he had discovered, i saw the buffalo calf, whose existence i had for a time forgotten. the calf had been concealed behind the carcass of one of the buffaloes, but now appeared to be endeavoring to make off into the timber. hissodecha rode up to it, evidently intending to pierce it with his lance, when the animal suddenly reared up, uttering a wild human scream. the shaggy hide was thrown aside, and a naked savage appeared, holding up his arms as if pleading for mercy. his appeal was a vain one, however, for the ruthless renegade pinned him to the earth with a thrust of his lance, and, springing from his horse, finished him with his tomahawk. he then scalped him, and, remounting his horse, directed some of the warriors to scour the prairie, as they might find another "calf" concealed in the long grass. with the rest of the party he rode up to the _motte_, and they quickly formed in a circle, around it. familiar as i had become with indian cruelty, i felt a sensation of horror and disgust at this cool shedding of blood, and i halted irresolutely by the body of the dead indian. he lay stretched upon his back, naked to the breech clout, the red stream flowing from the lance wound in his side. his limbs quivered, but it was in the last spasm of departing life. the hide in which he had been disguised lay near him, where he had flung it at the moment he was discovered. beside him were a bow and several arrows. the latter were covered with blood, the feathers steeped in it and clinging to the shafts. they had pierced the bodies of the buffaloes, passing entirely through. each arrow had taken many lives. i was still contemplating the dead man, when a yell from the _motte_ attracted my attention, and i rode thither. i reached the spot just in time to see the body of another indian dragged out from the thick undergrowth, and his fortunate slayer, who happened to be one of the younger braves, took the scalp with great complacency, as it was his first trophy of the kind. the indians evidently believed that another of the _coyoteros_ or wolf apaches, for to this tribe the two dead savages were declared to belong, was concealed in the thicket, for they were formed in a sort of irregular circle around the copse, peering into it from every direction. hissodecha now ordered the warriors to close in from every direction and search the thicket. in this manoeuvre i found myself compelled to take part, as otherwise i would have incurred the stigma of cowardice. we dismounted from our horses and pressed into the thicket from all sides. for a few seconds nothing could be heard but the cracking of the undergrowth as we forced our way through it. suddenly a yell arose from the side opposite to my position, and almost instantly a third _coyotero_ sprang from a dense clump of willows near the spring, and made for the opening. it chanced that i was directly in his path, and he was rushing upon me with upraised knife. strong as might be my repugnance to taking human life, the instinct of self-preservation was still stronger, and before he could reach me i had pierced him with an arrow, and he fell dead almost at my feet. in an instant the warriors had gathered around me, and i was being congratulated upon my bravery and skill. not feeling particularly proud of the achievement, i was about to remount my horse, when hissodecha reminded me that i had neglected to scalp the fallen foe; so i was compelled to perform that operation, which i did rather clumsily. a thorough search through the thicket and over the prairie having satisfied my savage companions that no more of the _coyoteros_ had been present, we returned to the dead buffaloes and began skinning and cutting them up. stonhawon soon arrived with the remainder of the band, and as it was nearly sundown, we encamped upon the spot; the spring furnishing water, and the grass of the prairie an abundance of rich food for the horses. as for ourselves, we feasted in true savage fashion, finding the fresh steaks, tongues, and hump ribs a decided improvement upon the tasajo which had previously been our diet. i was compelled to listen to many encomiums upon my courage and dexterity, and some of the young braves ventured the opinion that tahteckadahair would soon be as great a warrior as hissodecha. painfully impressed by the scene of slaughter in which i had been an unwilling participant, i held myself aloof as much as possible from the merry groups around the camp fires, and at an early hour wrapped myself in my blanket, and wearied by the fatigue and excitement of the past two days, i was soon buried in a heavy and dreamless sleep, which continued until the dawn of another morning again compelled me to come forth; and this time it was not as an inexperienced brave, but as an acknowledged warrior; for i had slain an enemy and taken my first scalp. i cannot say, however, that my increase of notoriety was a source of satisfaction to me, but quite the contrary. somewhat to my surprise we remained by the _motte_ spring for three days. this was necessary in order to convert the buffalo meat into tasajo, as we had not a sufficient supply for our purpose. on the evening of the third day, the meat being sufficiently "cured," we "struck camp" and rode off to the north until we had reached the chain of mountains which crossed our path. here we turned to the eastward, and journeyed along their base intending to cross at a well known pass about twenty miles above. reaching it at nightfall we again encamped, designing to pass the mountain range the next morning. chapter xxv. the feast of the green corn. the fields, or more properly speaking, the patches of corn were quickly ripening, thanks to the arduous efforts of wakadahme and his wonderful arrow, and the whole tribe was waiting impatiently the time when the signal should announce that the feast of the green corn was about to commence. next to fighting, your indian likes eating; about one half of his time is employed in catering to the cravings of his stomach. when not engaged in fighting his enemies, or marauding in the vicinity of the mexican border-towns, he occupies his energies in the hunt or chase. at the time of my enforced residence among the apaches, they were not restricted and confined to reservations as at present. they considered themselves masters of the country which they inhabited, and were free to roam in any direction their fancy might dictate. when in search of game, they would scour the plains to the northward, and on some occasions would penetrate deep into the country of their enemies, the crows and blackfeet. numerous encounters would result from this intrusion on the rights of others. at times they would meet and repulse their opponents, and continue the hunt, return laden with the fruits of the chase, and girdles plentifully garnished with their victim's scalps. at such times, their return home partook of the character of an ovation; fires would be lighted, food prepared in abundance, and high revelry be the order of the day. gathered around the council fires, with an eager and attentive multitude of old men, women and children, constituting themselves an audience, the braves would indulge in the most fantastic and highly colored narratives of their deeds of valor and heroic bearing in the presence of an enemy. seated in a circle around the blazing fire, and smoking their clay pipes, each one in turn would relate the incidents of his particular case, reciting the most improbable deeds of valor, and ending up, usually, with the oft-told tale, of how he gained his _sobriquet_. his listeners had doubtless heard the same story on many similar occasions, but repetition has no horror for an indian, and judging from the flattering silence with which his speech is received, and the many complimentary expressions with which he is greeted at its close, one would at once conclude that the remarks were new and original. boasting is an indian's weak point; given a listener, and the amount of bombast and mock heroics which he will inflict on one, simply staggers belief. if, on the contrary, the hunting party has not been successful, but defeat and misfortune has been their portion, then the scene is changed. in place of feasting and revelry, they are greeted with a death-like silence, and, as the remnant of the party defile through the village, they are objects of the closest scrutiny by anxious mothers and wives. if the keen eyes of love, search in vain for the form of him, who a few weeks before left the village in the glory and vigor of manhood, a heart-rending wail goes up, which is instantly echoed by the assembled women, until the welkin resounds with mournful cries. as on more joyful occasions, a rush is made in the direction of the council lodge, and it then becomes the painful duty of the survivors to relate their mishaps, and how such and such an one met the enemy with his accustomed bravery, and foremost fighting, fell. in these recitals, the party in question always meet a foe who vastly outnumbers them, and according to their account, their opponents always suffer terribly in slain, and would have eventually been overcome, and completely routed, had not some trifling accident--which could not be foreseen--occurred to mar the effects of their stunning prowess. i have never seen an indian fight, and am not able to judge of their actions on the field of battle, but, if observations of the red man in his home, is any criterion, i should venture the opinion that an apache would fight valiantly under one condition, namely: when his party were numerically stronger than the opposing force. i think they have a just appreciation of the falstaffian method of conducting warfare, and are firmly convinced that "he who fights and runs away," has better opportunities for glory, rapacity and booty, another day. as these pages are being written, the country is again startled by the news of fresh indian outrages, this time, against the constituted authority of the country, and close on the heels of the news of the reopening of indian hostilities, comes the thrilling intelligence that a general has been shot in cold blood, and whilst under the protecting and sacred influence of a flag of truce. such dastardly and treacherous conduct, thrills one with a righteous indignation, and we are more than ever impressed with the belief that measures, the most rigorous, should be instituted, and that the government should put to one side any feelings of mawkish sentimentality, and mete out to these red-handed savages the retribution their desserts merit. the case under consideration is only one among many. how many immigrant trains dragging their slow length over the trackless and boundless prairies, have met a similar fate; and their misfortune never so much as heard of. whole villages on the borders have been attacked, captured and pillaged; their inhabitants murdered in cold blood, or carried off into a captivity that was worse even than the knife of the savage. who can count the lonely victims who have been waylaid on their toilsome journey, by a party of howling savages, and being surrounded, before they were aware almost of the presence of an enemy, set upon and brained in the most cruel manner, and their bodies left weltering in their own gore, a repast for wolves and coyotes--horrible reflection; to think of the numbers who have suffered this fate, and died unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown; while their murderers were these same gentle red children, of whose interests the government has exercised such a watchful care, guarding them against the rigors of winter by a plentiful supply of food and blankets, and during the spring furnishing them with powder and the most improved fire-arms, that they might thereby be enabled to steal forth from their reservation, prey on helpless travelers, and returning covered with the blood of their white brothers; praise their great father at washington, and thank him, through their agent, for the many inestimable gifts he has placed in their hands, by whose judicious use they have gratified their dominant passions, and turned many a happy home into a chamber of mourning. out upon such a policy! war, to the bitter end, is the only "policy" that should be for a moment entertained, in dealing with these fiends; and when they are at last exterminated off the face of the earth, it may, perhaps, be safe for a man to undertake to travel through his own land. my readers may think i speak with undue heat on this subject, but the memory of my sufferings and trials, during the time that i remained among the apaches, make it almost imperative that i should speak freely and without reserve. those who are at home, and surrounded by the protecting influence of a father's or husband's care, cannot fully appreciate the perils and degradation consequent upon a life of bondage, and i sincerely trust that it may never be their misfortune to undergo similar experiences. i must apologize for this lengthy digression, and will hereafter endeavor to keep more closely to the thread of my narrative. as before stated, the indians always made the most extensive preparations for the feast of the green corn; and it was looked forward to with the most eager anticipations. several weeks before the corn had fairly ripened, the head chief and medicine men met in conclave, and decided on what measures were to be pursued during the festivities. in most instances, a few of the older women of the tribe were selected, and appointed to watch the patches of corn attentively. every morning they were required to pick a few ears of corn, and without dividing the husk, bring it to the medicine chief; eeh-tohk-pah-shee-pee-shah (the black moccasin), who would examine it, and if it was not deemed sufficiently ripe, they would be dismissed with an injunction to appear again on the following morning, with another handful of freshly gathered corn. this performance was continued until the samples examined were considered to have arrived at a stage of sufficient ripeness, when the fact was announced by criers, who went through the village proclaiming the joyful intelligence. for several days previous to the announcement of this gratifying news, the indians had subjected themselves to a thorough purgation, using for this purpose a decoction of various bitter roots and herbs, which they termed _asceola_ (the black drink). this course of treatment enabled them to attack the corn with ravenous appetites, and to gorge themselves until they could scarcely move. on the appointed day the tribe are all assembled, and in the center of the lodge a kettle is hung over a fire, and filled with the coveted grain. this is well boiled, and offered to the great spirit as a sacrifice. this is an imperative ceremony, and must be performed before any one can indulge the cravings of his appetite. during the time that the cauldron is boiling, four chiefs and mystery men dance around the steaming kettle. they are painted with white clay, and in one hand they hold a stalk of the corn, while with the other they grasp the rattle. as they move around the fire, they chant a weird song of thanksgiving, taking particular pains to remind the great spirit that they are doing all this in his honor, and restraining their appetites that he may be pleased, and propitiated, to the extent of furnishing them with a bountiful supply during the ensuing season. whilst the medicine men are performing in this manner, a number of others form in a circle, outside of the inner one, and with stalks of corn in each hand, go through a somewhat similar ceremony. wooden bowls are placed on the ground immediately under a tripod, formed by joining together three poles, of about twelve feet in length, which are also ornamented with ears of corn. in each of the bowls is placed a spoon, made of the horn of the buffalo, or mountain sheep, in which the feast is to be served. the dance is continued until the chiefs decide the corn is sufficiently boiled; when, at a given signal, the dance is stopped for a few minutes, and again resumed, this time to a different tune. then the master of ceremonies removes the smoking vegetable and places it upon a small scaffold of sticks, which they erect over the fire. having done this, the _first_ fire is removed, and the ashes are gathered and buried. a new fire is then made in the place occupied by the old one. the new one is started by a very painful process. three men seat themselves on the ground, facing each other, and procuring a hard block of wood, commence drilling violently with a stick, by rolling it between the palms of the hand. each one catches it in turn from the other, without allowing the motion to stop, until smoke, and at last, a spark of fire is seen, and caught in a piece of punk, whereat there is great rejoicing among the bystanders. when this fire is kindled, the kettle is again placed over the fire, and refilled with the vegetable. now the feast begins, an onslaught is made on the contents of the pot, and the indians rush off in all directions to devour the corn. soon fires are blazing in every lodge, and all are indulging in the grossest gluttony. this feast lasts until the corn is exhausted, or becomes too hard to eat with any degree of comfort. when an indian has gorged himself to the fullest capacity, he has recourse to his _asceola_, and is soon in a condition to recommence with as much vigor as at first. these scenes filled me with disgust, and i often thought how happy those brutes would be if they were only endowed with the wonderful attributes of that little sea monster, the polyp, who, when his body is cut in half, suffers no inconvenience, but gormandizes as much as ever, with this advantage, that the food, instead of remaining in his stomach, passes out at the other end; thus allowing him to indulge in the pleasure of gluttony, without the inconvenience of being gorged. chapter xxvi. danger ahead. we started again at early dawn, and commenced the passage of the defile through the mountain. the pass was tortuous and rugged, but as we rode in single file we experienced but little difficulty, and after about three hours of alternate ascents and descents, we gained its outlet and debouched upon the plain beyond. it was a timber prairie, studded with _mottes_ of tall cottonwoods, and bisected near its center by a small stream. a heavy belt of timber fringed the northern horizon, and towards this we directed our course. as we were now liable to come in contact with hostile parties of other tribes, stonhawon exercised great caution. nearly a hundred runners or spies were sent in advance, while the main body advanced slowly; the chief receiving frequent reports from the scouts. about ten o'clock we halted on the banks of the _arroyo_, and while watering our animals, one of the scouts returned and made some communication to our leader. in a few moments it became known to the entire band that a large war party of arrapahoes had been discovered ahead. beyond the belt of timber was a large grass prairie, a favorite haunt of the buffalo and upon this the arrapahoes had halted to hunt, and after getting a good supply of meat, were engaged in converting it into tasajo, preparatory to an extended raid upon the tribes to the southward. it is probable that we, ourselves, were intended to receive their polite attentions, but if this had been their object it was frustrated by the fact that we were out upon the same errand as regarded themselves. at the eastern extremity of the prairie, a mountain rose from the plain; it was an isolated peak of small altitude, its height being but a few hundred feet, and in shape almost a perfect "sugar loaf." the belt of timber which formed the southern boundary of the prairie, extended to the mountain, and fringed its base. near the foot of the mountain the arrapahoes were in bivouac, their horses grazing upon the plain. long rows of stakes and lines were erected, and upon these the buffalo meat was hung in strips, and was fast blackening in the hot sun. evidently a few more hours would complete the process of its conversion into tasajo. a number of fires were kindled near the base of the mountain, and around these were grouped the arrapahoe warriors, engaged in the usual indian pastime of eating. a more favorable opportunity for attack could not be wished, provided we could approach near enough to take them by surprise; but to effect that, promised to be difficult, as we would certainly be seen the instant we passed the timber; and in that case, surprise would, of course, be out of the question. our leaders, stonhawon and hissodecha, stood apart, apparently holding a sort of "council of war." their conference, however, was quickly ended; the renegade made some proposition to which stonhawon seemed to assent, for he signed us to mount, and we instantly resumed our march. in a few minutes i was able to fathom their design from the course taken. skirting the belt of timber, and screened by it from the views of the arrapahoes, we directed our course towards the lone peak. the timber belt was perhaps two hundred yards in width, and filled with a dense undergrowth. in its shadow the spies crept along its northern margin, moving parallel to our course, and keeping a close watch upon the enemy. the renegade's plan seemed to be to approach them as closely as possible under cover of the forest, and then make a sudden dash, taking them by surprise, and effecting their utter rout. as events showed, i had judged correctly of the intentions of our leaders, or at least partially so; but there was one detail of the plan, which i had not thought of, which was presently put in execution. after riding slowly for about two hours we reached the point, trended off to the north, and encircled the mountain. here stonhawon halted the main body, but the band of hissodecha, which numbered about sixty warriors, was reinforced by about the same number detailed from the chief's party and sent round the mountain to attack the enemy in the rear. i was about running off with this party, when stonhawon beckoned to me, and on my riding up to him, directed me to remain with him. i was quite surprised at this, and looked towards hissodecha, expecting that he would urge that i be permitted to accompany him; but to my still greater surprise, he did not seem to notice me at all, and with his band soon disappeared behind a spur of the mountain. i had little opportunity, however, to reflect upon this circumstance, for our party was quickly put in motion, and passing through the wood, were soon ranged along its outer margin, sheltered from view by the thicket, and awaiting the signal to charge upon the foe. [illustration: massacre of whites on the western frontier.] we were barely two hundred yards from their position, and could plainly distinguish the varied hues and designs of the war paint upon their persons. their number was about equal to our own, and with the advantage of a surprise, it seemed probable that we might utterly destroy them. like hounds held in the leash, we awaited the signal--at last it came--the shrill notes of the war whistle pierced the air, and it was instantly followed by the wild intonation of the camanche war whoop as we burst forth from the timber and charged with headlong fury upon the foe. for a moment i thought that the surprise would be complete, for our sudden appearance seemed likely to completely demoralize the enemy. but the arrapahoes, although greatly surprised and alarmed at our sudden onslaught, showed no signs of panic, indeed, it is next to impossible to really surprise an indian. a few of those that were nearest to us were ridden down, transfixed with lances, or brained by blows from our war clubs and battle axes; but the larger number, hastily plucking up their lances and seizing their other weapons, rushed for their horses, and before we could reach them were mounted and forming to receive us. riding at a headlong pace, a few seconds brought us upon them, and we closed at full speed. a confused and deadly _melee_ followed, the combat being mainly hand to hand. blows and lance thrusts were exchanged, arrows whistled through the air, ghastly wounds were given and received; the air resounded with the groans of wounded and dying men, and the wild war cries of the contending warriors. exactly what i did i hardly know, so great was the excitement and confusion. i know that i gave and received blows, and mechanically defended myself from the attacks made upon me; but the incidents of that brief yet terrible struggle seem like a dream to me now. the impetus of our first charge had carried us entirely through the enemies line. we then wheeled and charged them anew; and this manoeuvre was repeated many times. our adversaries seemed to be getting decidedly the worse of the conflict, and we could see unmistakable signs of an inclination on their part to take refuge in flight, when something seemed to suddenly change their determination, and they again assaulted us with renewed fury. we were not long in discovering the cause; during the fight we had many times changed positions with our adversaries, and we were now facing towards the mountain. attracted by a noise in our rear, we glanced in that direction, to behold a sight that filled us with dismay. approaching us at fall speed was a party of fully one hundred arrapahoes, evidently a detachment from the band we were fighting. coming from the north, they had got within a quarter of a mile of us before we had discovered them, the tumult and confusion of the conflict preventing us from perceiving them sooner. as hissodecha and his party, from some unaccountable delay, had not arrived upon the ground, our position was a perilous one. in a moment, the new enemies would be upon us, and without doubt we would be overwhelmed. instant action on our part was imperative, and our leader, with ready perception of that fact, gave the signal to close in together and charge upon our immediate opponents. with a wild yell we rushed upon them, breaking through their line, and retreating rapidly towards the base of the mountain. here a number of large rocks had fallen upon the plain from the cliffs above, and laid in such positions as to form a sort of natural breastwork. indeed, the masses of rock, from their peculiar formation and grouping, had a striking resemblance to the ruins of some vast building. behind these rocky bulwarks, we sheltered ourselves, and prepared to receive the attack which we felt sure the arrapahoes, strengthened by their opportune reinforcement, would certainly make upon us. indeed, we could see that they were preparing to do so, and i, having by this time had quite enough of fighting, was awaiting the assault with dread, when i was suddenly called by stonhawon. hastening to his side, as he sat on his horse, he directed me to accompany one of the young braves who was standing by him, and had apparently received his instructions. these the chief repeated for my benefit. we were to ascend the mountain, with all possible speed, and send up from its summit a "signal smoke," to hasten the arrival of hissodecha and his party, still unaccountably delayed. leaving our horses and most of our weapons with the party, we set off at once; the wild yells of the arrapahoes, as they advanced to the attack, ringing in our ears, and being echoed by the defiant war-cry of the camanches, as the latter prepared to receive the onslaught. chapter xxvii. the escape. turning in the direction of the mountain, we put our horses into a hard run, and in a few moments were tearing our way through the mezquite bushes that fringed its base. the undergrowth became denser as we advanced, and it was found advisable to abandon the ponies and forge ahead on foot. the safety of our party depended in a great measure on the celerity of our movements. hastily dismounting, and tying the cattle to some sturdy sage bushes, we continued our ascent, and it was not many minutes before we had reached a portion of the mountain that shelved out over the ravine, thus forming an admirable position for the signal operations. my companion briefly explained the method of smoke signals, which were made by gathering a quantity of very dry underbrush for the fire, and green twigs, boughs of pine, balsam, and hemlock, being placed upon the blazing wood, covers the flame and throws off a dense smoke that may be seen at great distances. after ascertaining his views, and receiving my instructions, i plunged into the wood and busied myself collecting materials for our telegraph operations. it was not long before we had a sufficient quantity of material gathered, and placing the dry wood in such a manner that it might be easily ignited, my companion produced his tinder apparatus, and was soon at work drilling the block of hard wood, and frantically endeavoring to coax a spark that might set the pile in a blaze. as few, if any, of my readers understand the method by which indians light their fires, i will hastily describe it. the indian is unfamiliar with the use of matches; even the more primitive flint and steel is a sealed book to him; hence he resorts to a very simple but laborious contrivance. each indian supplies himself with two dried stalks of the mexican soap plant, about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. one is made flat on one side; near the edge of the flat surface a small indentation is made to receive the point of the other stick, and a groove cut from this down the side. the other stick is made with a rounded end, and placed upright upon the first. placing the stick with a flat surface between the feet, the point of the other is placed in the hole made to receive it, and turning it between the palms with a backward and forward motion, and pressing the point forcibly into the lower stick, a fine powder is made, which runs through the groove and falls on the ground. by constant and rapid motion the wood begins to smoke, and at length the fine particles take fire; the spark is soon nursed into a flame, and the brushwood ignited. in this manner our fire was lighted, and heaping up the pine and hemlock boughs, the surrounding atmosphere was one dense cloud of smoke. stealing to the very edge of the cliff, i peered over and anxiously scanned the plain below. i could see stonhawon's band fighting desperately with their foes, who, by their superior numbers, were overpowering the camanches. immediately behind the belt of timber, and to the left of the contending factions, was the party comprising the band under the leadership of hissodecha. they were moving cautiously around the timber, and had not as yet observed the signal. once more the signal was worked, this time sending up a denser cloud than before. it was observed by the ambushed party; they drew rein, and after a hasty consultation, turned and retraced their steps. the movement was not executed any too soon, as the main party were retreating before the successful assault of the enemy, and endeavoring to gain the friendly cover of the wood. hissodecha pressed rapidly forward, and emerging on the plain, swooped down upon the flank of the victorious arrapahoes. this sudden movement entirely changed the aspect of affairs. the arrapahoes fell back precipitately in the direction of the ravine, hoping by this means to gain shelter, and if the worst came to the worst, disband and scatter over the mountain. it was a thrilling scene, and i almost wished i was one among them. our mission was accomplished, and my companion intimated that we should descend the mountain and join the war-party. as we descended, the camanche preceded me, pushing his way through the bushes with a rapidity only acquired by long practice. suddenly the thought flashed across my mind that now, if ever, was my golden opportunity. what would there be to prevent my braining the indian in his tracks and then escape? it was a savage and brutal alternative, to be sure; but it was my only chance, and i might wait years in vain before another opportunity would present itself. as i revolved the scheme in my mind, my hand went instinctively to my belt and grasped the tomahawk. i trembled with excitement, and as if to keep pace with my thoughts, my steps quickened, and a few strides brought me close upon my victim. my quick and labored breathing must have attracted his attention, as, suddenly wheeling, he confronted me, and evidently read the murderous intention in my eye, he sprang lightly to one side, and unsheathing his knife, stood as if expecting an attack. simultaneously with this action, i drew my tomahawk and rushed upon him, aiming a blow at his head. he adroitly parried it with his arm, but in so doing received a severe wound in the shoulder. darting at me, he clutched my arm, and twining his limbs about my person, made a desperate endeavor to bring me to the ground. the tomahawk was of no use now; i allowed it to fall from my grasp, and with the disengaged hand clutched my knife. my antagonist's superior strength began to tell. i felt powerless, and his eyes gleamed with fiendish triumph. he raised the shining blade preparatory to sheathing it in my body, when i suddenly felt the ground giving way beneath my feet, and in less time than it takes to relate it, we were rolling over a precipice with a sheer fall of about ten feet. the savage clung to me with a death-like grip, and encircling my neck with his arm, grasped my throat _with his teeth_. those were fearful moments. i struggled to disengage my hand from his vice-like grip. the blood gurgled from my mouth, my tongue protruded, and i was gasping for breath in the last throes of strangulation, when we came to the ground with a terrific shock. the savage gave one yell that curdled my blood, and instantly relaxed his hold, falling limp and lifeless by my side. i was not many minutes in disengaging myself from my antagonist, and in doing so i was made aware of the cause of the sudden turn of events that had saved me from a horrible death. it would appear, that during the struggle and fall, the hand that grasped my knife was encircled around the body of my foe, and when we struck the ground, my body being uppermost, the knife had been driven to the hilt into his back by the force of the concussion. everything now depended on the celerity of my movements. the remainder of the party would no doubt wonder at our long absence, and despatch runners to seek the missing "signal" makers. it would require but a glance at the prostrate form of their comrade to enable them to realize the true state of affairs, and to make instant preparation to follow, overtake the fugitive, and mete out to him the reward of his perfidy. hastily possessing myself of what few arms i needed, and taking the bag of parched corn that was suspended from the girdle of the fallen savage, i made my way to where the ponies were _cached_, and springing on my animal, urged him forward at the top of his speed, leading the indian's pony by the lariat attached to his bridle. my plan was to strike out over the prairie in a southerly direction, and by traveling without cessation, endeavor to put a wide gap between pursuer and pursued, and thus be enabled to reach in safety some of the mexican frontier towns. i was certain that this plan was feasible, from the conversation i had heard from time to time among the warriors of our band. indeed, it was proposed by hissodecha, to raid on some one of the _pueblas_, if they were unsuccessful in their attack on the arrapahoes, as by this means they would avoid the ignominy of returning to the lodges of their people, without being able to display the fruits of a successful foray; such as scalps, horses, captives, etc. by riding my pony until he dropped from exhaustion and then availing myself of the fresh lead horse, i could travel an immense distance without drawing rein. it was growing dark when i started, and i had not traveled far before the night closed in, and i had to trust to the instinct of my horse to carry me safely over the prairie. my course was shaped by a certain star that would keep me on the right trail if i held it steadily in view. about midnight i halted at a small stream to water the horses, and hastily prepare for myself a small portion of the parched corn, which was done by mixing a handful in a gourd filled with water. this corn is invaluable to those who wish to traverse long distances, without being hampered with unnecessary luggage. with a sack or gourd of this article, containing about an half bushel, one can travel fifteen or twenty days without other sustenance. on we sped, the animals straining every muscle and nerve, their flanks heaving and flecked with foam. no sound broke upon the stillness of the night, save the rapid hoof-strokes of the mustangs, and occasionally the yelp of a coyote that was startled in his midnight prowlings by our sudden and rapid advance. directly in my coarse loomed up a huge mound, and further on the dark forms of a range of low hills were outlined upon the horizon. i concluded to push on and gain their shelter. once within their protecting shadow, i could pursue my course more leisurely, and without the fear of immediate detection. my grand anxiety was to hide or blind the trail, and by this means baffle the sleuth hounds, who were by this time in full pursuit. i had not proceeded far when the pony came to a sudden halt, which almost unseated me. i tried to urge him forward by word and action, but it was of no avail; he refused to move, and stood trembling like an aspen. leaning forward and peering over his neck, i discovered, to my dismay, a wide chasm, which fully explained why the mustang had refused to be urged forward. the banks on either side were quite level, and no indentations or ruggedness marked the line of separation. one could ride up to its very brink without being aware of a break in the prairie level. i had thus come upon one of those _barancas_, the result of volcanic action, that are so frequently met with in this country. there was no alternative but to ride along its edge until i came to a point where its sides were depressed to the level of the plain. this, of course, involved a long detour, and a consequent loss of valuable time. my only consolation was in the reflection that my enemies, in following the trail, would be compelled to resort to the same tactics. i had journeyed down its banks about three miles, before i found an opportunity to cross. as i reached the opposite side, i turned and looked back. away to my right, and in the direction from whence i came, i discerned a number of dark specks on the horizon, which filled me with the direst apprehensions. these dark objects were, doubtless, the forms of my pursuers, who had, it would seem, traveled with a celerity almost equaling my own. the chase now assumed a desperate aspect; before me lay life, hope, and freedom; behind was a nemesis that represented captivity, torture, and death. i plied the whip vigorously to the flank of my jaded steed, in the frantic endeavor to reach the cover of the mountain. i had not proceeded far on my course, when my pony showed unmistakable signs of giving out. indeed, i had not made more than a mile on my course, when the animal stopped abruptly. i could feel him tremble under my weight; and dropping on his knees, i had scarcely time to leap to the ground before he fell, and drawing a deep sigh, he turned on his side and died, being absolutely ridden to death. i had no time to waste in mourning the brave little animal that had carried me thus far so faithfully. my robe was quickly transferred to the other horse, and the flight resumed. reaching the base of the hills, i was so fortunate as to find water; and throwing myself at the foot of a tall cottonwood, with the lariat of the mustang attached to my wrist, i determined to snatch an hour's rest, of which both my mustang and myself were very much in need, after our long and arduous ride. i was awakened by a violent pulling at my wrist, caused by the horse, in trying to reach fresh grass. in a few moments i was up, mounted, and away once more in the direction of the mexican towns. towards evening i came to a river of some magnitude. it was now the dry season, and the stream was only a rivulet compared to what i judged it must be, when swollen by the rains and melting snows from adjacent mountains. i had, during the latter part of my journey, been casting about in my mind a series of plans, which would enable me to blind my trail, when lo! here was an opportunity that surpassed my most sanguine expectations. to urge my horse into the stream was the work of a moment, and then turning his head with the current, i continued the journey. at times the water would brush the animal's flanks; again, it would suddenly shallow, and scarcely cover his fetlocks; occasionally i would strike a deep hole, and be obliged to swim the animal some rods, before reaching _terra firma_. these irregularities in the river-bed were due to its quicksand formation, which was constantly shifting, shallowing here, deepening there, and it would have been sure destruction to horse and rider, if we stopped for a moment in our tracks. after journeying in this manner for about a mile, i entered a caã±on, whose walls ascended to a height of thousands of feet, perpendicularly. on emerging from this gloomy pass, a sight met my gaze that made me shout for joy. gaining the bank of the stream, i saw extended before me, waving fields of grain, and in the background, the modest spire of a little church, which was surmounted by a gilt cross, that fairly scintillated under the rays of the noon-day sun. i had arrived then, at last, within the confines of civilization, and my career as a savage, was about to be abruptly terminated. as i pushed forward, along the road that skirted the grain fields, and the familiar sounds of former days fell upon my ears--the tinkle of the cow bells, the busy hum, that filled the air like the whisper of early recollections, wafted down through the airy halls of time--made the scenes, trials and sufferings, appear but as a horrid dream, and i seemed to be just waking to reality. a glance at my tattooed and painted form, however, soon brought me back to a realizing sense of my position, and set me to reflecting how i should explain my presence in this hostile guise, to any chance inhabitant whom i might meet. * * * * * after much cogitation on the subject, i concluded it would be best to ride boldly into the village, and seeking the _alcaid_, explain my situation in as good spanish as my limited knowledge of the tongue, would permit. i had not gone far, when i was encircled by a crowd of bewildered and frantic mexicans, who were shouting, "_indios!_" "_los indios!_" at the top of their squeaky voices; while i made a running accompaniment to their remarks, by holding up my hands, with the palm outstretched towards them, and shouting in my turn, "_amigo!_" reaching the _plaza_, i dismounted, entered the _cantina_ and called for a basin of water. stripping the plumage from my head, and relieving my body of its meretricious adornment, i plunged into the bath prepared for me, and came out, an entirely different looking individual. the news of my arrival had collected an eager and enthusiastic multitude, who filled the _patio_. i said enthusiastic, but all due allowance must be made for the natural and inherited indolence of the mexican. on emerging from the inn, i was greeted with several shouts, and fifty people were asking me questions in one breath, all bent on having them answered in less than no time. i finally succeeded in relating my history, adventures and escape, and wound up with an appeal to their charity; setting forth my utterly destitute condition, in the most glowing terms my execrable spanish would permit. it was an animated scene; the men in the checkered serape, or stripped blankets, conical sombreros, with broad brims, calzoneros of velveteen, with rows of shining buttons, and a sash of gaudy color, encircling their waists. the women were no less conspicuous; draped in the graceful sebazo, the short vogna, and the finely embroidered chemisette. my appeal was not met with that spontaneous generosity that i could have wished; in fact, they contributed nothing, and as a last resort, i was compelled to offer my horse for sale; which venture was more successful, and i soon disposed of him at a very fair price. i was now enabled to buy the few articles of clothing that i was most in need of, and after lingering a few hours in the village, i concluded to push on towards santa fã©, in the hope of falling in with some party of traders, or miners, and then trust to the chapter of accidents for the rest. fortune favored me in my designs, as i soon had an opportunity to join a party of mexicans, who were _en route_ for the capital of new mexico, on trading schemes intent. i accompanied them in the capacity of muleteer. arriving in santa fã©, i immediately repaired to the largest inn, being attracted thither by a number of uncouth characters, in hunting shirts, and slouch hats. i entered unobtrusively, and took a quiet survey of the scene. the room was the _cantina_, and all were indulging in potations, more or less deep, of el paso whiskey. the atmosphere was redolent of the fumes of tobacco, and commingled with the shouts and coarse language of the men, was the shrill treble of the women, who darted here and there, through the throng, like sunbeams. i was attracted by one rude specimen, who seemed bent on getting up a fight. this great rough fellow, of six feet and over, called a trim little _poblana_ to him, with, "hyar, my little muchacha! vamous, and git me some of that'er pass, good now, and clar!" then, as the liquor was produced, he offered the waiter a quantity of money, which was unhesitatingly accepted, with a "_mucho bueno, seã±or_." "hooraw for you! come along, let's licker up all round, and have a dance; you're the gal for my beaver; bully for old missouri!" suddenly, a pistol was discharged in a remote corner of the room, and there was an instantaneous rush in that quarter, succeeded by loud cries, oaths, blows, shooting, din, and confusion. sick and weary of such scenes, i left the _cantina_, and sallying forth into the _plaza_, wandered down the street, not knowing where to go, or what was to become of me. i cared less. chapter xxviii. a new departure. glad to escape from such a scene of riot and violence, i walked rapidly along the narrow street, without any definite idea of where i was going. i soon passed the low and squalid looking rows of _adobe_ buildings, which compose the greater part of the famous "cuidad de santa fã©," and came out upon the open plain beyond. my attention was attracted by a small group of wagons parked upon the plain a short distance off, and i walked towards them, thinking perhaps, to fall in with some of my own countrymen, of a different class from the brutal roughs i had lately met. the wagons were but four in number, and the party to which they belonged comprised only twelve or fifteen persons. they were mostly americans, and from their dress and manner i took them to be a party of miners. all were stout, hardy looking men, with an air that bespoke familiarity with hardships and adventure. they had just struck camp, and were evidently preparing for departure. one, who seemed to act as their leader, was directing operations, and apparently exercised a degree of authority unusual among men of this class. he was a stout, broad-shouldered man, with a good natured expression of countenance, and from his voice and features, easily distinguishable as an englishman. the others addressed him as "harding," or "ned." one or two giving him the familiar appellation of "hard pan," which seemed a sort of _sobriquet_ by which he was known. there was something in his appearance which inspired me with the belief that in him i might find a friend; and impelled by this feeling i approached him, and addressed him as "mr." harding, explained that i was a stranger and destitute, in what was to me a strange land, and implored him to give me employment of some kind with his party, so that i might in time be enabled to return to my home in the distant east. "where do ye come from, lad?" said he, looking at me with some interest, and noticing the ineffaceable marks upon my face--my legacy from the camanches, and which i am destined to carry to my grave. in as few words as possible i told him my story, interrupted by many exclamations of wonder and sympathy from my simple-minded listener. as i concluded he slapped me on the back, and declared that i should join his party, and should never want for a bite or sup while ned harding was to the fore. by this time the other men of the party had gathered around, and i was compelled to repeat my tale, which excited both pity and interest in the breasts of the kind-hearted miners, who declared that the "cussed kimanch ought to be wiped out." "aye, every mother's son of them," added ned, "for playing such tricks upon travelers, the bloody-minded heathen." it was soon agreed upon that i should accompany the party, who were on their way to the old spanish mine of san ildefonso, formerly noted as one of the richest in the province of new mexico, but for many years deserted by the mexicans from terror of the savage apache and navajo. the men composing the party of which i had now become a member, were not to be deterred in their search for a golden harvest by any fears of such a nature, and had determined to visit the old mine and "prospect" in its vicinity, with the hope of finding a paying lead. they had with them all the necessary utensils for their purpose, were well-armed, and with an abundant stock of provision, and seemed one and all to be confident of success in their enterprise. i will spare the reader unnecessary details, and merely state that we started within an hour on our journey, and after a wearisome and uninteresting trip of eighteen days, reached the scene of our future operations, and which was destined to be my abiding place for nearly two years. a suitable spot was selected, convenient to both wood and water; a few rude huts were erected, and the town of "harding" sprang into being. after getting fairly settled, and resting somewhat from the fatigue incident to our journey and our labors in preparing our camp, we divided in parties of three and four, and went to "prospecting" in various directions for the precious metal, which was the object of our expedition. in this we were moderately successful and we soon had our mining operations in full blast. i always worked in company with "ned," as i had learned to call him, and although he favored me to a degree, assigning to me all the lighter portions of the work, i soon found that it was the most severe labor i had ever undertaken, although i had been inured to toil and hardship of almost every kind daring my long residence with the camanches. the old mine was situated at the base of a precipitous cliff of quartz rock. a number of rude shafts pierced the mountain side. some had penetrated to a considerable depth; others more shallow, showing that the _lead_ had proved unprofitable, and been speedily abandoned. on the banks of a little stream which wound around the base of the cliff, stood the old smelting house and ruined ranches of the mexican miners. most of them were roofless and crumbling to decay. the ground about them was shaggy and choked up. there were briers, mezcal plants, and many varieties of cactus; all luxuriant, hirsute, and thorny. these we speedily cleared away, and selecting one of the largest of the old smelting houses, we soon put in order for work. besides our "quartz" mining in the old shafts and in new ones which we opened we also engaged in "gulch" and "surface" mining in the vicinity. as some account of the different modes employed to get at the precious metals, with which the rocks and soils of the far western states are so richly stored, may not be uninteresting to the reader, i will briefly give it. mining for gold alone is divided into two general classes: that which seeks the metal from the solid rock or quartz, and that which finds it in sand, gravel, or soil. the former process is the universal and familiar one of all rock mining, following the rich veins into the bowels of the earth with pick and powder, crushing the rock and separating the infinitesimal atoms of metal from the dusty, powdered mass. the theory of the geologists is, that this is the original form or deposit of the precious metals; that the gold found in gravel, sand, or soil, lying as it does almost universally in the beds of rivers, or under the caves of the mountains, has been washed or ground out of the hard hills by the action of the elements through long years. washing with water is the universal means of getting at these deposits of the gold. but the scale on which this work is done, and the instrumentalities of application vary from the simple hand-pan, pick, and shovel of the original miner, operating along the banks of a little stream, to grand combination enterprises for changing the entire course of a river, running shafts down hundreds of feet to get into the beds of long ago streams, and bringing water through ditches and flumes, and great pipes for ten or twenty miles, and withall to wash down a hillside of golden gravel, and extract its precious particles. the simple individual pan-washers are the first in the field, but it soon ceases to be profitable to this class of operators, and they soon move on in search of richer "diggings." the other means are employed on greater or less scales of magnitude, by combinations of men and capital. all the forms of gold-washing run into each other, indeed; and companies, sometimes consisting of only two or three persons, with capitals of a few hundred dollars merely, buy a sluice claim, or seize a deserted bed, and with shovel and pick, and a small stream of water, run the sands over and over through the sluiceways, and at the end of the day, or week, or month, gather up the deposits of gold in the bottoms and at the ends of their sluices. from this, operations ascend to a magnitude involving hundreds of thousands, and employing hundreds of men as partners or day laborers for the managers. sometimes, too, the enterprise is divided, and companies are organized that furnish the water alone, and sell it out to the miners or washers, according to their wants. the raising of auriferous sands and gravel from the deeply covered beds of old streams, by running down shafts and tunnels into and through such beds, is called "deep diggings," or "bed rock diggings;" and in their pursuit, the bottoms of ancient rivers will be followed through the country for mile after mile, and many feet below the present surface of the earth. the miners in this fashion go down until they reach the bed rock along which the water originally ran, and here they find the richest deposits. the other sort of heavy gold washing, employing powerful streams of water to tear down and wash out the soil of hillsides that cover or hold golden deposits, is known as "hydraulic mining." this is the most unique and extensive process, involving the largest capital and risk. the water is brought from mountain lakes and rivers, through ditches and flumes, sometimes supported by trestle work, fifty or one hundred feet high, to near the scene of operations. then it is let from the flumes into large and stout iron pipes, which grow gradually smaller and smaller. out of these it is passed into hose, like that of a fire engine; and through this it is discharged with terrific force into the bank or bed of earth, which is speedily torn down and washed with resistless separating power into narrow beds or sluices in the lower valleys; and as it goes along these, the more solid gold particles deposit themselves in the rifts or slight barriers placed for that purpose across its path. usually, in large operations of this kind, the main stream of water is divided in the final discharging hose into two or more streams, which spout out into the hillside as if from so many fire engines, but with immensely more force. one of these streams would instantly kill man or animal that should get before it; and fatal accidents frequently happen from this source. sometimes a water company taps lakes fifteen or twenty miles off in the mountains, and turns whole rivers into its ditches. there are in some localities supposed rich gold banks and beds, which only require water for development, but to get which would require an outlay for ditches of many hundred thousand dollars. it is probable that it would be richly paying investment, however, and the principal reason why it is not undertaken is the lack of certain laws, regulating mining claims, and the conflicts and doubts that are occasioned by the neglect of the government to establish the terms of ownership in mining lands. as it is now, possession is the principal title to mining properties; prospectors and miners have established a few general rules for determining the rights of each other, and they can occupy the properties that they discover or purchase to a certain limited extent. no one person is permitted to take up more than a certain amount in feet or acres. the government so far has done nothing with these mineral lands, whose real ownership is still in itself, and derives no revenue from them. whenever difficulties arise and are brought before the courts, the regulations of the miners of the district where the properties are located has generally been sustained. but the apprehension that the government will yet assume its rights and establish different rules for the possession and use of these lands, and the uncertainty and controversies growing out of the present loose ways of making and holding claims, are a serious obstacle to large enterprises, and a hindrance to the best sort of mining progress and prosperity throughout all the western mining country. the profits obtained in some cases of extensive deep diggings and hydraulic mining are very great. a thousand dollars a day is often washed out by a company holding rich soil and employing a large force; and a run of several weeks, averaging from fifty to one hundred dollars a day for each man employed is frequently recorded. a single "cleaning up" after a few weeks' washing in a rich place has produced fifty thousand dollars in gold dust and nuggets; and in some cases, even one hundred thousand dollars has been reported. these are the extreme cases of good fortune, however; other enterprises are run at a loss, or with varying result; but the gold washing, as a general thing pay good wages, and a fair return to the capital invested. it is hardly possible to imagine, and wholly impossible to describe the ruin and wreck to be seen everywhere in the path of the larger gold washing operations. streams naturally pure as crystal, become changed to a thick, yellow mud, from this cause, early in their passage out from the hills. many of them are turned out of their original channels, either directly for mining purposes, or in consequence of the great masses of soil and gravel that come down from the gold washings above. thousands of acres of fine lands along their banks are ruined forever, by deposits of this character. the mining interest respects no rights but its own. a farmer may have his whole estate changed to a barren waste, by a flood of sand and gravel from some hydraulic mining up the stream. if a fine orchard or garden stands in the way of the working of a rich gulch or bank, orchard and garden are doomed. they are torn down, dug out, washed to pieces, and then washed over side hills. where the process of hydraulic mining has been, or is being carried on, the country presents an appearance of devastation and ruin that is scarcely imaginable; forming a frightful blot upon the face of nature. for this sort of mining on a large scale, we had no facilities, so we were compelled to work in a very small way, and be satisfied with correspondingly small results. news of our successful establishment of the old mine, in some way reached santa fã©, and, rushing to the conclusion that we had found a new eldorado, all the floating population of that decaying city swooped down upon us, and we soon found quite a populous settlement growing up around us. a very decided change in our situation resulted from this, and some rather exciting events transpired, but these i will leave for another chapter. soon after the accessions to our community had become so numerous, my friend and partner, ned harding, fell ill. this put a sudden stop to our mining operations, and for several weeks i was compelled to remain by the side of his rude couch, attending to his wants, and doing all that i could to facilitate his recovery. among the new arrivals at our "diggings" was a mexican, who had followed the profession of a _medico_ in former times, but who was now an inveterate gold hunter; one of the sort who are perpetually on the move from place to place, seeking placers of fabulous richness, but never working any claim long enough to fairly develop it. perhaps they have no sooner commenced operations in one place, when a rumor comes of rich finds at some far distant point, and off they go, to repeat the same performance indefinitely. when ned was first taken sick, i thought of this mexican doctor, and at once went in search of him. with some difficulty i persuaded him to get out of the hole in which he was working, and go to see my friend. we had a few simple medicines among our supplies, and from some of these the ex-doctor prepared a potion for ned, which he declared would be "_mucho bueno_," and that the patient would be all right in "_tres dias_," at the most. the result, however, failed so justify his expectations, for ned became no better, although there was no marked change for the worse. it went on in this way for several weeks; i continuing to give the medicines prescribed by the mexican physician, but without any apparent result. ned seemed to be in a kind of low fever, and to constantly lose strength. the stomach seemed to entirely refuse its office, and it was almost impossible to give him any food, however light, that he could keep down much longer than while eating it. he complained greatly of pain in the back and head, and a constant feeling of nausea at the stomach, or, as he expressed it, "i tell ye, lad, theare's something thear as wants to come up and can't." finally, seeing no signs of improvement from the treatment pursued by our mexican friend, and becoming greatly alarmed at ned's condition, i was sitting one day, in great despondency, upon a stump in front of our hut, when it suddenly flashed upon my mind that i had never tried the indian remedy, in the preparation and administration of which i had spent so great a part of my life. for some reason it had never occurred to me to use it, and indeed, i did not know whether it was possible to procure the necessary ingredients, in my present location, although i judged it probable that i might do so. at all events, i determined to make the attempt, and accordingly i went "prospecting" for the required herbs, roots, etc., that very day. after two days spent in this way, i succeeded in procuring all the ingredients which i had so many times compounded under wakometkla's direction, and lost no time in preparing the medicine. i then commenced giving it to my patient in small doses, at intervals of four or five hours, through the day, and was soon gratified to find an almost immediate improvement in his condition. the second day after commencing this treatment, the fever left him; he broke out into a profuse perspiration, and fell into a deep sleep, which lasted for many hours. when he awoke he complained of feeling very hungry; and when i prepared some food he ate quite heartily, and retained it on his stomach without difficulty. encouraged by these favorable indications, i continued the medicine, and with surprising results. his recovery was so rapid that it seemed almost miraculous. in eight days he declared himself entirely well, and almost overwhelmed me with expressions of gratitude, declaring that i had saved his life. i told him that his thanks were due not to me, but to wakometkla, the strange old medicine-man of the camanches, or, more properly, to that higher power, which had enabled this uneducated savage to discover and prepare from the simple growths of the forest and mountain, so wonderful a remedy for "all the ills that flesh is heir to." ned was so universal a favorite among the miners, that his illness had excited great sympathy and commiseration. as he went about, trumpeting forth my praise as a medical practitioner, i soon found that i had gained considerable notoriety. the miners dubbed me "doctor," and called for my services in all cases requiring medical assistance. with wakometkla's remedy alone as my entire pharmacopoeia, i battled with many forms of disease incident to our rough and exposed life, and met with almost unvarying success. in fact, in that region i expect i shall never be known by any other title than "doctor," although i do not claim or fancy such a designation. it would be well for the people if the old school mineral physicians, who are rapidly ruining the health of the entire nation by the free use of deleterious and poisonous drugs, would take a leaf from the book of nature, and re-study their profession in the same school from which i graduated--the school of nature. chapter xxix. the "vigilants." with the influx of population to our settlement came adventurers of all classes; desperadoes, gamblers, broken down professional men, _nymphs du pave_ of the coarse and vulgar sort, gentlemen who "had interests" in "wild-cat" mines in half the counties of the pacific states, _greasers_, or mexicans, indians (_pueblas_)--in short, a conglomerate mass of humanity; or, judging by later events, one might rather say _inhumanity_--such as is nowhere to be seen but in the mining towns of the far west. under the instructions of ned harding, we had on our first arrival "located" all the "claims" that there was any probability of our working, and we were therefore secured against interference on the part of the new comers, who went prospecting all over the adjacent country, locating claims by the hundred. as the process of "locating" claims may be new to the reader, i will give a brief description of it. the first thing is to find your "lead," for this precious metal is not found indiscriminately in every rock or ledge you may chance upon. it is found only in the quartz rock, a ledge of which, say twenty feet in thickness, may run like a curbstone set on edge for many miles across hills and in valleys. it may be a mile in depth, and maintain a nearly uniform thickness, being perfectly distinct from the casing rock on each side of it, and keeping its distinctive character always, no matter how deep or how far into the earth it extends. wherever it is bored into, gold and silver are found; but none in the meaner rock surrounding it. this peculiar rock formation is called a "lead;" and one of these you must first find before you have anything to "locate" a claim upon. when your prospecting has resulted in the discovery of a "lead," you write out and put up a "notice" as follows: notice. i (or we), the undersigned, claim one (or more, according to the number of the party) claim of three hundred feet, and one for discovery, on this silver--(or gold) bearing quartz lead, or lode, extending east and west from this notice, with all its dips, spurs, and angles, extensions and sinuosities, together with fifty feet of ground on each side for working the same. then you file a copy of the same with the mining recorder in the town, and your claim is "entered." in order to secure it, however, you must, within ten days, do a certain amount of work upon the property, or any one may re-enter it at the expiration of that time. among the most important citizens in every mining community are the assayers, of whom there are generally a swarm to be found about every new strike; some of them the veriest charlatans that ever disgraced an honorable profession. when you have located your claim, the next thing is to select some specimens and subject them to the test of the "fire assay." for this purpose it is customary to select the richest lump you can find, and take it to the assayer. on the result of his assay, he will predicate that a ton of such ore would yield hundreds, perhaps thousands of dollars; and in this way many a worthless mine has been sold for a large price. in fact, i think, as a rule, the speculators made far more than the miners themselves. we had at one time an assayer in our camp, who obtained such rich results from every specimen of rock brought to him, that he soon had a virtual monopoly of the business. no matter what specimen might be brought to him, he would demonstrate that it contained so large a portion of gold or silver, that the development of the mine could not fail to be profitable. some of his rivals in the trade, becoming jealous of his superior success, conspired together and concocted a plan for his overthrow. one of them procured somewhere an old lapstone, and breaking it into small fragments, selected one as the specimen to be subjected to the intended victim for testing. they let several of the principal miners into the secret, and as there had been some doubts of the reliability of the reports of the assayer in question, they readily assented to assist in proving the truth of the matter. so one of them brought him the "specimen" and left it for assay. the result was encouraging in the extreme; for in the course of an hour the assayer sent in his report, from which it appeared that a ton of rock equal to the sample, would yield $1,324.80 in silver, and $214.58 in gold. the whole matter was at once made public, and the discomfited charlatan immediately found that important business called him elsewhere, and departed between two days. it was well for him that he did so; for so great was the popular indignation, that it is probable he would have found a _permanent_ residence in the vicinity, could the excited miners have laid hands on him at this time. the town of "harding" had now developed into an embryo city. we had nearly two thousand inhabitants, representing every grade of civilization and barbarism, principally the latter. at night the place presented an animated spectacle; for about every third shanty was either a drinking den or a gambling hell. all were brilliantly lighted and wide open to the street, from which you could see the excited groups around the gaming tables, or before the bars. every man went armed to the teeth. fights and affrays were of almost daily--nay, hourly--occurrence. the crack of the pistol became a very familiar sound in my ears, and so frequent were the scenes of violence and murder, that i began to think that the men i was among were worse than the savages with whom my lot had been cast in former years. to such a pass did the insolence and brutality of these desperadoes come at last, that the better class of the miners began to talk among themselves of the necessity for doing something to check it; but none seemed disposed to take the lead, and things went on from bad to worse, until the arrival of a new actor upon the scene brought them to a climax, and disorder and violence culminated in a sudden and severe spasm of justice. the new arrival, who was destined to be the principal figure in the tragic scenes about to be enacted, was a kentuckian, named reid. he was some twenty-eight or thirty years of age, of medium size and finely proportioned, but very athletic. he had a frank and engaging expression of countenance, and nothing in his appearance would seem to indicate the hardened ruffian; yet he was reported to have slain thirty-two men in affrays or personal difficulties since he came into the mining country. from the very day of his arrival, this man became the acknowledged leader of all the lawless elements of our community; and as he seemed to be thirsting for notoriety, outrage followed outrage in rapid succession. among our own original party was a quiet, inoffensive german, named schaeffer, than whom a more peaceable man could nowhere be found. against him reid seamed to have a special spite from the moment he first encountered him; and finally, meeting him one evening in the "el dorado" saloon, he forced a quarrel on him, and then shot poor schaeffer dead, before the latter had time to make a movement in his own defense. he apparently supposed that this would be passed over in the same manner as his previous ill deeds; but for once he was mistaken. in killing schaeffer he had roused against him a determined and bitter enemy, none other than ned harding himself, who was now acting as mayor, or alcalde, of the town named in his honor. ned quickly gathered together our own party, and some twenty-five of the leading men in the place, and announced his determination to form a "vigilance committee," and rid the town of the desperadoes who infested it. the entire party acquiesced in the wisdom of the proposal, and the committee was organized then and there. after some consultation, a plan of operations was agreed upon, and at once put in practice. the next morning a neatly written note appeared posted in several prominent places in the camp, warning all objectionable characters to leave town within twenty-four hours, or their lives would be forfeited. this document was signed, "the vigilants," and naturally created considerable stir and excitement among the parties at whom it was directed, and many of them took the warning and departed; but some of the more desperate, in all about twenty in number, banded themselves together under the leadership of reid, and swore that they would never leave town, except of their own free will, and defied the vigilants to touch any one of their number. at the expiration of the twenty-four hours, we determined to arrest all the members of reid's party, and deal with them as they deserved. accordingly, we mustered our forces, and at the same time made known our intentions to most of the more prominent men in the camp. when all our arrangements were completed, we proceeded in search of our _game_, and in a couple of hours had caught and caged every member of the gang, with two exceptions. one of these had in some way become aware of our intentions, and he found it convenient to seek another locality without delay. the other man was no less a person than reid himself; and he went about boasting that no man dare arrest him, and threatening with instant death any man who should attempt it. this duty ned harding had reserved for himself, and when all was in readiness, he set out to accomplish it. as he was not known to be a "vigilant," and was noted as a man of very quiet and peaceable character, no suspicion attached to him of being concerned in the matter. arming himself, he went into the main street of the village, and entering one of the principal saloons, confronted the desperado. the latter must have seen in ned's eye that he meant mischief, for he made a motion as if to draw a weapon; but before he could do so, he was seized by the throat, and thrown to the ground with the full force of ned's muscular arm. other "vigilants," to the number of about twenty, closed in around the fallen man and his captor, with drawn revolvers, and guarded against any attempt at rescue. reid was securely bound, lifted to his feet, and placed in close confinement in one of the shanties belonging to our party, under the guard of two well-armed and determined men. two hours later all the prisoners were brought up for execution. the miners turned out in large numbers, and forming in solid column, armed to the teeth, they marched up the principal street and halted in front of the building where most of the prisoners were confined. the doomed men were quickly brought out, and informed of the fate in store for them, at the same time ned harding made his appearance, leading reid, and the same announcement was made to the latter. such a scene as ensued, i hope never to see again. these apparently fearless desperadoes, who had repeatedly imbrued their hands in human blood without an instant's hesitation, were transformed on the moment, into a pack of whining cowards; begging and entreating in the most abject manner, that their lives might be spared. reid, the ringleader of all, was the most utter craven of the whole number, and shrieks, curses and prayers for mercy rolled unceasingly from his lips, until the rope choked his utterance. just outside the camp, stood a considerable grove of trees; to this we repaired with our prisoners, and in ten minutes more they were run up, one after another, and each hung convulsed in the death agony, at the end of a lariat. to me, the utter cowardice displayed by these ruffians was surprising--but there is something about the desperado nature that is unaccountable--at least, it seems unaccountable, and it is this. the true desperado is gifted with splendid courage, and yet he will take the most infamous advantage of his enemy; armed and free, he will stand up before a host and fight until he is cut to pieces, and yet, when brought under the gallows, he will plead and cry like a child. the case of reid, was especially notable, from his bloody reputation, and the many instances of courage he had shown in his conflicts with other outlaws. yet, when brought face to face with death, in a different form, he seemed the veriest poltroon that ever walked. words cost nothing, and it is easy to call him a coward (as all executed men, who fail to die "game" are invariably called by unreasoning people), and when a man like reid, so exhausts himself by tears, prayers and lamentations, that he has scarcely strength enough to stand under the gallows, it seems hardly possible that he could be otherwise. yet he had frequently defied and invited the vengeance of banded rocky mountain cut-throats, by shooting down their comrades or leaders, and never offering to hide or fly; he had shown himself to be a man of unquestioned bravery, for no coward would dare do such things. we often read of the most brutal and cowardly murderers, who, when on the gallows, make their last dying speeches without a tremor of the voice, and are swung off, into eternity, with what seems like the calmest fortitude. hence, it seems clear, that in such low and degraded natures, it cannot be _moral_ courage that sustains them. but if moral courage is not the requisite quality, what is it that such men as reid, lack? bloody, desperate, reckless, and yet kindly mannered and urbane gentlemen, who never hesitate to warn their enemies of their intention to kill them on sight, when next they meet. it seems to me a question worthy of study and solution. the executions over, we returned to the town, first detaching a party to remove and bury the bodies. then the assemblage quietly dispersed, and that night our little community saw the first peace and quiet it had known for many a day. the condition of affairs in the new mining districts was peculiar. one reason why murder and outrage were so prevalent, was, that the rough element generally predominated, and among this class a person is not respected until he has "killed his man," as they express it. when any new arrival came into camp, no one thought of inquiring if he was honest or industrious, but, had he killed his man? if not, he was a person of small consequence, and unworthy of further notice; if he had, the cordiality of his reception, and his standing in the community was graduated according to the number of his victories. no man could rise to any position of influence, with bloodless hands, without long and weary labor, but if he were known to have killed half a dozen men, his worth was at once appreciated, and he became a man of note in the community. hence, it is not surprising that many men were killed without the pretext of provocation; so impatient were these persons to achieve distinction and emerge from their obscurity, and become shining lights among the fraternity of desperadoes. "there goes the man that killed jack smith," was the sort of celebrity mostly coveted by this class of people; and i know of several cases, where persons tried to "kill their men," for no other reason, and in some instances were successful, in others, got killed themselves for their pains. in such communities it is utterly impossible to convict a man of murder, arising from one of these public brawls or affrays, and it is only when patience ceases to be a virtue, and the long-suffering miners and others of the law-abiding classes, rise in their might, and by an indiscriminate execution of all persons of bad character, clear the atmosphere for a time, that such crimes are ever punished. the desperado stalked the streets with a swagger, graded according to the number of his homicides, and a nod of recognition from him, was sufficient to make an humble admirer happy for the rest of the day. the deference that was paid to a desperado of wide reputation and who kept his "private graveyard," as the phrase went, was marked and cheerfully accorded. when he moved along the sidewalk in his excessively long-tailed frock coat, shiny stump-toed boots, and with dainty little slouch hat, tipped over his left eye, the small-fry roughs made room for his majesty; when he entered the restaurant, the waiters deserted bankers and merchants, to overwhelm him with obsequious attention; when he shouldered his way to the bar, the shouldered parties wheeled indignantly, recognized him, and--apologized. they got a look in reply, that made them tremble in their boots, and by this time, a gorgeous barkeeper was leaning over the counter, proud of a degree of acquaintance that enabled him to use such familiarity as "how are yer jack, old feller; glad to see you; what'll you take? the old thing?" meaning his usual drink of course. the best known names in the mining towns, were those belonging to these bloodstained heroes of the revolver. governors, politicians, capitalists, leaders of the legislature, and men who had made big strikes, enjoyed some degree of fame, but it seemed local and insignificant, when compared with the celebrity of such men as these. there was a long list of them. they were brave, reckless men, and carried their lives in their own hands. to do them justice, they did their killing principally among themselves, and seldom molested peaceable citizens, for they considered it small credit to add to their trophies so small an affair as the life of a man who was not "on the shoot," as they termed it. they killed each other on slight provocation, and hoped and expected to be killed themselves, for they considered it almost disgraceful for a man not to die "with his boots on," as they expressed it. gradually their ranks were thinned by the ever ready pistol, but it was not so much this, as the change in public sentiment, that caused them mainly to disappear from the older mining communities. now, except in newly opened diggings, the genuine desperado is a thing of the past. chapter xxx. conclusion. about this time rumors were rife that the indians were contemplating a raid on the mine, and operations were temporarily suspended. meetings were called, and a committee of defence organized, with a view to taking such measures as would place the settlement in a position to successfully resist all, or any attempts of the savages. those who had had any experience in indian warfare were called to the council, and consulted on the best means to avert the impending calamity. the panic was more painfully apparent among those who had come upon the scene hampered with goods and chattels of various kinds. these worthies were brimful of wrath and whiskey, and gave free vent to the expression of their opinions regarding the outside world generally, and indians in particular. they were fertile in suggestion; and the many schemes they advanced for the total destruction of all who threatened their private interests would have reflected credit, not to say renown, on a don quixote. the thought of my enslaved wife was never absent from my mind. day and night, sleeping and waking, her image haunted me. i fancied her suffering every degree of misery; and the consciousness that i was powerless to snatch her from the toils of relentless captors, caused me the most poignant anguish. i had a vague, half formed notion of seeking her unaided, and by once more assuming my indian trappings and cognomen, advance in to the apache country, penetrate to their villages, and by a bold dash, seize my wife and bear her defiantly off in the very teeth of my adversaries. this would have been very spirited and chivalrous, no doubt, but unfortunately, the obstacles that opposed themselves to this plan were legion. no sooner did i convince myself of the impracticability of such a mode of procedure, than other plans would present themselves, which, in their turn would have to be relinquished when submitted to the rigorous test of practicability. this constant strain on my mind interposed stumbling blocks to my material prosperity, as i had no heart for my work, and wandered about the diggings aimlessly. i was rallied by my comrades on my morose temper, and recommended to try work as an effectual antidote for the causes that were preying on my health. one balmy afternoon, as i sauntered among the working parties, gazing abstractedly at their operations, my attention was attracted to a group, who seemed to be very much excited by some event. a few had gathered about an object lying upon the ground, while others were running frantically in different directions as if they were possessed. my curiosity being excited i approached the group, and found that the cause of this alarm was one of their comrades, who had been bitten by a snake. the poor fellow was moaning piteously; and so sure was he that his death was only a matter of a few hours time, that he had begun to make the few bequests that would dispose of all his worldly goods, including the little hoard of "dust," so long and patiently sought for. one of his friends knelt at his side, and was endeavoring to pour the contents of a flask of whiskey down his throat. the poison had taken immediate effect, and he doubtless would have been a corpse in a few hours. i was immediately recognized, and one of the miners accosted me with "hullo! eastman, just the man we want; now is your time to produce some of those marvelous herbs you have told us about, and see what you can do for this poor fellow." my sympathies were awakened; my mind threw off its semi-stupor; and hastily glancing about me on the ground, i sought for some of those simple herbs and plants, that i had seen so effectually used in similar cases. hastily gathering what i needed, i soon had leaves bandaged about the swollen parts, and then turned my attention to making a decoction of the herbs. this i forced the patient to take, and after caring for him assiduously during a few hours, i had the satisfaction of noting a marked change for the better. i was deluged with congratulations, and in a short time the fame of this new exploit in the healing art was noised abroad throughout the mine. my new friends were not miners, in the proper sense of the term, but a party of "mountain men," who had been allured hither by exaggerated reports of the immense wealth that was represented as scattered broadcast over the surface of the earth, and was only waiting for a claimant. arriving on the ground they had staked out a claim, and fell to work without any delay. it is needless to add that they did not realize the immense riches they had so fondly anticipated. the result was that they had sickened of their bargain, and many were for pulling up stakes and returning to the free and easy life among the mountains. a short time after the episode just related, there came to our camp one day, a trapper, who had but just returned from his traps, and was on his way to the nearest trading post, to exchange his peltries for powder, wearing apparel, etc. from him we learned that the indians were preparing for some extensive raid, as he had seen numerous parties who were in their war paint. among other items, he related how he had been captured by a hand of apaches, and had remained among them eight days before he succeeded in eluding the vigilance of his guard. from him i gained the first information concerning my wife. he had been captured by some of mahtocheega's band, and by the description he gave of the white captives at that time in the village, i felt sure that my wife was one of the number. learning that on his return he would proceed to the same locality in quest of "beaver plew," i determined to accompany him. about half a dozen signified their intention of following my example, and a party was soon made up. the trapper bade us adieu, promising to return as soon as his skins were traded for the supplies of which he stood in need. gathering together what little money i had, i purchased a horse, rifle and pistol, and prepared to go in search of my lost wife. we had not long to wait for our new friend; he returned in less than a week's time, and all being in readiness, we gathered up our traps, and took a final leave of the mine of san ildefonso. passing out at the northern end of the settlement, we struck the santa fã© road, and followed its sinuous windings for some days. we passed through the sleepy mexican towns, that were situated along the route, without disturbing in the least degree the habitual drowsiness of their inhabitants. on the fourth day we made a stretch of sixty miles through that terror of travelers in this section--the "jornado del muerto." after having crossed in safety, we rested one day to recuperate the animals, and soon after arrived in santa fã©, halting at the inn that had been the scene of the shooting affray on my former visit. our stay in the capital of new mexico was not of long duration, and once more we resumed our journey, striking out in a westerly direction towards the mountains. our first encampment was on the banks of one of the tributaries of the rio colorado. staking our horses out, as is the custom, we gathered around the camp fire, discussing our evening meal of fresh antelope steaks. many were the stories told of trapper life, and as we filled our pipes for a smoke before retiring, the subject of conversation was upon food. all had some anecdote to relate and after each had spun his yarn, harding, who up to the present had been silent, drawled out, "wal, i 'spect as how yer have had some tol'rable bad jints in yer time, but i think i kin jest lay over anything in this yer party in the way o' supper. howsumever, i will give yer a chance to hear how this nigger once got his supper up on the yallerstone, last season. "yer see, i had been in them parts arter beaver, which war plenty, an' no mistake; an' one day, when i had gone to _cache_ some skins, i left my rifle in the grass near my traps, like a gosh darned fool. who should came along but a party of them black niggers, the crows; and the first thing they sot eyes upon was my shootin' iron. in course, i seed it all, and jist had to lay low and cuss my tarnal stupidity, while them 'ere crows hopped around like mad at finding my rifle and things. they was so pleased, 'peared like they forgot theirselves, and didn't foller up my trail, but galloped off, carryin' my plunder along with them. he! he! they mount a did as well, and let ole harding alone." "i reckon that, too," remarked one; "'taint like they made much out of that spekalashun." "yer see, i war cleaned out, an' left with jest a pair o' leggins, better than two hunderd miles from anywhur. the company's post war the nearest, so i jest took down the river in that direcshun. i never seed varmint so shy. they wouldn't a been, blast 'em, if i had er had my traps, but there wa'n't a critter, from the minners to the buffler, that didn't take on as if they knowed how this nigger war fixed. i could get nothing for two days but lizard, an' scarce at that. i chewed up the old leggings, until i was as naked as pike's peak." "golly! was it winter?" "no, 'twur calf time, and warm enuff for that matter. i didn't mind the want o' garments in that way, but i kud a eat more o' it. i soon struck a town of sand rats, and i made snares of my hair, and trapped some on 'em, but _they_ grow shy, too, cuss 'em, and i had to give up that claim. this war the third day, and i wur gettin' powerful weak. i 'gin to think this child's time had come, and i would have ter pass in my chips. 'twur a little arter sun up, an' i war sittin' on the bank, when i seed something cur'ous like floatin' down stream. when it kim closer, i seed it wur the karkidge of a buffler, and a couple of buzzards floppin' about on the thing, pickin' its peepers out. 'twur far out, an' the water deep; but i said i was goin' to fetch it ashore, an' i did. i took to the water an' swum out. i could smell the animal afore i wur half way. i wur soon close up, and seen at a glimpse that the calf wur as rotten as punk. the birds, they mizzled. i wa'n't agoin' to have my swim for nothin', so i tuk the tail atween my teeth, and wagged my flippers for the shore. i hadn't made three strokes when the tail pulled out. i then swum round and pushed that 'ere thing afore me, until i had got it high and dry on a sandbar. 'twur like to melt when i pulled it out o' the water. 'twa'n't eatable nohow. i see the buzzards still flying about, and fresh ones comin', an' i took a idee that i might get some, so i laid down close to the buffler, and played possum. i wa'n't long there 'fore a big cock com a floppin' up, and lit on the karkidge. i grabbed him by the leg. the cussed thing wur nearly as stinkin' as the other; but it wur die dog, buzzard, or buffler; so i skinned the buzzard." "and ate it?" inquired one. "no-o" slowly drawled the trapper, "it ate me." a general laugh followed this remark. "the rest o' the birds got shy, and kept away on t'other side. 'twa'n't no use tryin' _that_ dodge over again. jest then i 'spied a coyoat comin' lopin' down the bank, an' another follerin' upon his heels, an' two or three more on the same trail. i know'd it would be no joke grippin' one o' them by the leg, but i made up my mind to try it, an' i laid down jist as afore, 'side the calf. 'twur no go! they smelt a rat, an' kep' cl'ar. then i tuk a fresh idee in my head. i went for some o' the driftwood an' made a pen around the buffler; an' in the wink o' my eye i had six o' the varmints in the traps." "then you had 'em, eh, old boy?" said one. "you bet; i jest took a lot of stones, clomb up on the pen, an' killed the hull kit o' them. such a jumpin' an' yowlin, as when i peppered them varmints; he! he! he! ho! ho! arter this i had some 'at to eat; an' in a few days reached the company's post." "did you ever see any of those redskins again?" i inquired. "wal, you jest better believe i did. yer see those five notches on this ere rifle? wal, they stand for crows, they do." a general laugh followed this yarn, and all averred that his experience in the eating line was unequalled. after the trapper had finished his story, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and were with the exception of the horse guard, soon in a deep slumber. the next morning we were up and moving at sunrise; and after a march of twenty miles, came to a small stream heading in the piã±on range. it was fringed with cottonwood trees, and there was grass in abundance for our horses. we made a halt for an hour, and then proceeded on our journey. we had not gone far when we made a discovery that changed all our plans. harding had been riding about a hundred yards ahead of the main party, when we observed him suddenly stop, bend down, and then throwing up his hands, beckon us on. we were soon up to the spot, asking in a breath what was the matter. he pointed to the ground, and sententiously replied, "_fresh injun sign_." a consultation was held, and after an interchange of opinions, it was agreed that the trail was made by apaches, and that from the trampled nature of the ground, it indicated the presence of a large party. we had no doubt as to their intentions. they were evidently bound south on their annual foray. now was my time beyond peradventure. never could i have had such another opportunity; perhaps even if i waited patiently for years. i briefly related to my companions the circumstances of my capture, captivity, and subsequent escape, and asked their aid in rescuing my wife. each grasped me cordially by the hand, and expressed their willingness to "see me through;" and after a few moments more spent in consultation, we agreed on the following plan: to push on at once and as speedily as possible for the indian village, secrete ourselves in the adjacent mountains until nightfall, and then leaving the horses concealed in the bushes that fringe the base of the mountain, advance on foot to the chief's lodge. once within its portal, it would be the work of a moment to seek out my wife, apprise her of what was transpiring, and quietly leading her out, hasten to our animals, mount, and ride away. this plan seemed feasible, and as moments were precious, we resumed the march. about noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of "openings;" small prairies bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. these prairies were covered with tall grass; and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. we saw their "roads," "chips," and "wallows." these signs filled us with pleasurable anticipations; as who has not longed for the delicious "hump ribs," which, when once tasted in all their juicy richness, are never to be forgotten. the full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. we plucked the pears of the pita-haya, and ate them greedily; in short, we dined on fruits and vegetables of many varieties, indigenous only to this wild region. but our stomachs longed for the favorite food, and we pushed on through the openings. we had ridden about an hour among the chaparral, when harding, who was riding in advance, pointed downward, and intimated by signs that he had struck fresh buffalo tracks. very soon after the animals came in view, and by using the bushes as cover, we made a very effectual "surround," killing some three or four. that night we regaled ourselves on buffalo, and the following morning pushed on with renewed vigor, and in the best of spirits. near evening on the fourth day following, we arrived at the foot of the sierra; and directly in front of us, about midway up the valley, or pass, more properly speaking, lay the apache village. an exclamation of joy escaped my lips. at last, then, the hopes and longings of nine weary years were about to be satisfied. my reflections were abruptly terminated by harding remarking that it was highly important that we seek cover and approach the village cautiously, if we expected our efforts to be crowned with success. all felt the justness of this observation, and seeking the cover of the mountain, we proceeded on our journey. in a short time we had advanced as near as we deemed it prudent, until the night should close in. our reins were tightened, and we sat on our weary horses, looking over the plain. a magnificent panorama under any circumstances lay before us; but its interest was heightened by the peculiar circumstances under which we viewed it. the lodges were dotted over the plain in picturesque profusion, the smoke curling gracefully up in their dreamy spirals. one lodge stood apart, and from its size and decorations, we at once guessed it to be the abode of the chief. harding confirmed our conjectures. several droves of horses were quietly browsing on the open prairie. the sun was setting. the mountains were tinged with an amber colored light; and the quartz crystals sparkled on the peaks of the southern sierras. it was a scene of silent beauty. we remained for some time gazing up the valley, without any one uttering his thoughts. it was the silence that precedes resolve. an hour has fled; the sun sinks below the horizon, and the mountains take on a sombre hue. it is night. we urge our horses forward once more, keeping close to the mountain foot; conversing in whispers, we crawl around and among the loose boulders that have fallen from above, and after an hour's ride we find ourselves opposite the town. the night passes slowly and silently; one by one the fires are extinguished, and the plain is wrapped in the gloom of a moonless night. the swan utters its wild note, the gruya whoops over the stream, and the wolf howls on the skirts of the sleeping village. dismounting, we gather in a little knot, and consult as to what plan we shall pursue. it is finally determined that harding and myself shall penetrate into the village, enter the chief's lodge, abduct my wife, and hastily rejoin our comrades, who will hold themselves in readiness to cover our retreat, and, if the worst comes to the worst, keep our pursuers at bay until we have made good our escape. hastily divesting ourselves of all unnecessary accoutrements, we started out on the plain, and cautiously approached the chief's lodge, which loomed up in the darkness like some hideous genii. an indian dog that was lurking about the door gave the alarm, but harding's knife entered his vitals ere he could repeat it. now was the critical moment. drawing the flap aside that served as a door, i peered cautiously in; all was silent; a small fire was burning in the center of the lodge, its fitful gleam dimly illuminating the interior. a number of low couches were ranged around the wall. but at this juncture a dilemma presented itself. here were a number of women, one of when was certainly my wife; but how was i to ascertain in which of these couches she reposed. if i should trust to chance, advance to the first one and peer in, and by so doing startle its inmate, even though that inmate were my wife, the peculiar nature of the visit would so startle her that she would not be enabled to recognize the intruder. however, i determined to approach the first bed and trust to the chapter of accidents for the rest. advancing noiselessly to the side of the couch, i lifted the curtain of dressed buffalo hide. the fire cast a dim light over the face of the sleeper, and, oh, joy, it was the loved features of my wife. i tried to speak, whisper her name; my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. i trembled like an aspen, and had to grasp the bed for support. this movement awakened the sleeper, and with an half-suppressed exclamation, she sprung to a sitting posture. to breathe her name, clasp her in my arms, and rush for the door, was the work of an instant, and hastily snatching a robe that was suspended from the side of the lodge, i enveloped her in it, and rapidly gained the cover of the mountain. in a few moments our party was in full gallop down the valley. leaving the indian village, we started with all speed on our return. i did not anticipate pursuit, and we made no attempt to conceal our trail. indeed, my mind was so occupied with the grand fact that i had recovered my long-lost darling, that i thought of nothing else. as we rode along, each recounted to the other the story of their toils, trials, and sufferings; a thousand question were asked and answered; and in the joy of the present and hope for the future, we were for a time happy. about the middle of the forenoon we approached a thick chaparral, and were just entering it, when a party of about sixty apaches suddenly rushed out from its leafy coverts, and with the rapidity of thought we were surrounded and captured. my wife was able, by her influence with the leader of the party, to save us from indignity, and a lengthy parley followed. i made known to the chief my desire to recover my wife, and endeavored to arrange some terms of purchase or barter. in this i was, after a time, successful, and, after an interminable siege of pipe smoking and discussion, relative to the price, we came to terms, and in a few minutes i had _purchased_ my wife at the cost of all my _worldly_ possessions. but i cared not for this; on the contrary, i was only too glad to recover my wife at any cost, and felt no regret at parting from the accumulations of two years of toil and hardship. resuming our journey, we reached santa fã© in safety, in a few days, and commenced making preparations for our return to the east. the kind-hearted mexican women overwhelmed my wife with attentions, and she was soon provided with apparel more suitable than the barbaric, although beautiful, indian costume. my principal difficulty was the want of money, and i was much perplexed to know how to secure a sufficient sum to enable us to return to our friends. it is probable that had i freely stated our circumstances and narrated our sad story, generous hearts might have been found among the many american miners and trappers sojourning in the town; for many a noble heart beats beneath a rough and unpromising exterior; but my pride shrank from appearing in the character of a mendicant, and i finally came to the conclusion that we must remain at santa fã© for a time, until i could find some employment by which to earn sufficient means to enable us to return to our former home. i had forgotten the fact that i possessed a warm friend in ned harding, or, if i had thought of him in this connection, it was not with any idea that he could aid me. in this i was mistaken, as the sequel will show. on the third morning after my return, ned called me out under pretence of taking a walk, and after strolling about for a time in silence, he opened his mind as follows: "well lad, what are ye goin' to do next? i suppose you don't intend to stay here in this 'ere god forsaken hole, that these yaller-bellies calls a city; the lord forgive their ignorance; if they could only see lunnon, once--well, as i was a sayin', you can't stay here, and you can't take your little girl back into the mining kentry, very well; so what do you mean to do? let old ned know, and don't go round, keepin' as close as an ister, and never sayin' nothin' to nobody." thus admonished, i forgot my reserve, and fully explained to him my dilemma. he listened in silence until i had finished, and then broke forth with--"why, lord bless ye, lad, yer gettin' foolish, certain, ho! ho! yer little woman has turned yer head, sure; why, you forgot all about the mine, and i reckon there's vally enough to that to send ye home like a nabob, if you like to travel that way." "the mine!" i exclaimed in surprise, "why ned, i thought we had abandoned it altogether, you don't mean to tell me that i can realize anything from the claim?" "you bet, i mean just that;" said harding, his features expanding into a broad grin as he marked my look of utter astonishment. "why lad, if we were all agreed on the thing, i've got a party here that'll give us five thousand apiece for our claim--i ain't such a fool as i look, and it wa'nt for nothin' that i left pete there a holdin' possession, and there he'll stay till he hears from me--so now if you're willin' to take five thousand for your sher, just say the word, and we'll have it settled in no time." further inquiry elicited the information that during the two days previous, while i had spent my time in unprofitable cogitation, ned had been "kinder prospectin' round among the speckilaters," as he termed it, and had found parties willing and anxious to buy the claim held jointly by ned, pete jackson, and myself, for fifteen thousand dollars in cash. ned had brought with him some specimens of the quartz which he had shown to the intending purchasers, and some of which they had subjected to assay, and the result of this had determined them to buy the claim if everything could be satisfactorily arranged. it did not take me long to decide, in fact, i fairly jumped at the offer. the sum mentioned seemed a princely fortune at the time, and, in fact, to one in my situation it really was so, for wealth is but comparative, after all. the following morning the trade was arranged, the necessary papers drawn up, and ned left the same afternoon for the mine in company with the buyers, to deliver the property and complete the transaction. in a few days he returned, and i soon found myself in possession of five thousand dollars in gold coin, the largest amount of money i ever owned. i now hurried the preparations for our departure, and a few days later we joined an eastward bound train, and journeyed with it towards the rising sun! with the details of our journey i will not weary the reader, suffice it to say that we made the trip without trouble or molestation of any sort, and reached st. louis in safety. how strange it all seemed, to walk about the streets of the great city of the west, and as the residents fondly term it "the future great city of the world;" everything seemed so unreal, after the long years of my captivity and wild life among the mountains, that i used sometimes to fancy that it was all but a dream and i would presently awake to find myself again in the temple with wakometkla, in that strange and far off land hidden among the mighty mountains of the sierra madre. we remained but a few days in the metropolis of the west, and then journeyed to a point further eastward, where my wife had relatives living, or at least supposed that some might yet be surviving. on our arrival we found such to be the case, and a joyful reunion was the result; we being received as two risen from the dead. and now our cup of happiness was indeed full; reunited after so long a separation and such bitter suffering we had returned at last to friends and home! in conclusion, i can only express my thanks to those kind readers who have followed me patiently through all my wanderings, and listened to my simple, yet i hope not uninteresting narrative of the hardships and perils through which i have passed. if the story of our captivity has proved a source of entertainment to the reader--if it haply excites a feeling of sympathy and interest for the many wretched captives who yet remain in a servitude worse than death among the rude tribes of the west--if it renders the general public more familiar with a region of which so little is known--if should chance to afford to those officials of our government, to whom the subject is relegated, any new views in reference to the proper method of dealing with the indians--if it accomplishes any of these ends, i shall be more than repaid for my labor in its preparation. my thanks are also due to my kind friend, dr. clark johnson, without whom opportune aid this book would never have been written. and now kind reader, for the present at least, _farewell_. the end. to the public. as there has been considerable inquiry concerning the remedy to which allusion is herein made, i will, by way of explanation, make the following statement, which will relieve me from a large amount of correspondence with anxious inquirers. the remedy is the most remarkable purifier of the blood that i have ever known; it is a tonic, a diuretic, a nervine, and a gentle laxative. is is alterative, sudorific, soporific, and deobstruent. these qualities, harmoniously blended into one single remedy, make one of the very best combinations which can possibly be taken into the human system. it is a very remarkable remedy in disease of the stomach. dyspepsia cannot exist any length of time if the remedy be taken as directed, _instantly_ after eating. all diseases of the liver and bowels readily succumb to its magic influence, while all nervous diseases and all diseases of the blood are speedily eradicated by the peculiar elements in its composition, which act directly upon such difficulties. we have thousands upon thousands of certificates from persons who have been afflicted with various maladies, and who have been cured by the use of this remedy; and i am, myself, frequently made surprised to learn what wonderful results follow the use of this medicine. the remedy, dr. clark johnson's indian blood syrup, is sold by agents in nearly every post-village in the united states; but wherever it happens that i do _not_ have an agent, i shall be glad to make one, and would invite honorable persons to communicate with me upon the subject of an agency. _i require no money from agents except as the medicines are sold._ trusting that the afflicted will make a trial of this remarkable remedy, which has providentially fallen upon my notice, i am, with respect, yours, truly, c. johnson, _jersey city, n.j._ _july 1st, 1873._ +----------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | inconsistent spelling in the original document | | have been preserved. | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page 10 temporarly changed to temporarily | | page 29 by changed to my | | page 34 gutteral changed to guttural | | page 64 gutterals changed to gutturals | | page 68 rythmic changed to rhythmic | | page 70 discernable changed to discernible | | page 73 hugh changed to huge | | page 86 shoshoness changed to shoshones | | page 94 stanhawon changed to stonhawon | | page 95 removed repeated word "the" | | page 109 orgie changed to orgy | | page 114 tassajo changed to tasajo | | page 116 use changed to uses | | page 118 apalling changed to appalling | | page 120 unforseen changed to unforeseen | | page 122 cascass changed to carcass | | page 136 otb-to-toa changed to oth-to-toa | | page 153 vanqueros changed to vaqueros | | page 168 circuituous changed to circuitous | | page 176 buffoloes changed to buffaloes | | page 234 conlcude changed to conclude | | page 235 occaions changed to occasions | | page 235 foreseen changed to foreseen | | page 236 goverment changed to government | | page 236 deseerts changed to desserts | | page 239 wierd changed to weird | | page 242 is changed to it | | page 244 stonawon changed to stonhawon | | page 247 imperitive changed to imperative | | page 249 "tying the cattle" should read "tying | | the horses" | | page 259 by changed to my | | page 260 meritricious changed to meretricious | | page 260 encirling changed to encircling | | page 264 soubriquet changed to sobriquet | | page 266 deleted extra word "under" before | | "undertaken" | | page 267 mental changed to metal | | page 269 rifs changed to rifts | | page 270 goverment changed to government | | page 291 praticability changed to practicability | | page 296 buzzarts changed to buzzards | | page 297 buzzart changed to buzzard | | page 297 buzzarts changed to buzzards | +----------------------------------------------------+ [illustration: the fight in the cañon] an apache princess _a tale of the indian frontier_ by general charles king author of "a daughter of the sioux," "the colonel's daughter," "fort frayne," "an army wife," etc., etc. illustrations by frederic remington _and_ edwin willard deming new york the hobart company 1903 copyright, 1903, by the hobart company. * * * * * contents chapter i the meeting by the waters, chapter ii scot versus saxon, chapter iii moccasin tracks, chapter iv a stricken sentry, chapter v the captain's defiance, chapter vi a find in the sands, chapter vii "woman-walk-in-the-night," chapter viii "apache knives dig deep," chapter ix a carpet knight, indeed, chapter x "woman-walk-in-the night" again, chapter xi a stop--by wire, chapter xii fire! chapter xiii whose letters? chapter xiv aunt janet braved, chapter xv a call for help, chapter xvi a return to command, chapter xvii a strange coming, chapter xviii a stranger going, chapter xix besieged, chapter xx where is angela? chapter xxi our vanished princess, chapter xxii suspense, chapter xxiii an apache queen, chapter xxiv the meeting at sandy, chapter xxv rescue requited, chapter xxvi "woman-walk-no-more," chapter xxvii the parting by the waters, _l'envoi_ * * * * * illustrations frontispiece "now halting, dropping on one knee to fire," "blakely led 'em across no. 4's post," the fight in the cañon, "indian signals beyond possibility of a doubt," "then slowly, they saw her raise her right hand, still cautiously holding the little mirror," "they hustled her pony into a ravine," "natzie wrenched her hand from that of blakely, and with the spring of a tigress bounded away," * * * * * an apache princess chapter i the meeting by the waters under the willows at the edge of the pool a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day was nearly done. all in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though the cliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance of slanting sunshine. not a cloud tempered the fierce glare of the arching heavens or softened the sharp outline of neighboring peak or distant mountain chain. not a whisper of breeze stirred the drooping foliage along the sandy shores or ruffled the liquid mirror surface. not a sound, save drowsy hum of beetle or soft murmur of rippling waters, among the pebbly shallows below, broke the vast silence of the scene. the snow cap, gleaming at the northern horizon, lay one hundred miles away and looked but an easy one-day march. the black upheavals of the matitzal, barring the southward valley, stood sullen and frowning along the verde, jealous of the westward range that threw their rugged gorges into early shade. above and below the still and placid pool and but a few miles distant, the pine-fringed, rocky hillsides came shouldering close to the stream, but fell away, forming a deep, semicircular basin toward the west, at the hub of which stood bolt-upright a tall, snowy flagstaff, its shred of bunting hanging limp and lifeless from the peak, and in the dull, dirt-colored buildings of adobe, ranged in rigid lines about the dull brown, flat-topped _mesa_, a thousand yards up stream above the pool, drowsed a little band of martial exiles, stationed here to keep the peace 'twixt scattered settlers and swarthy, swarming apaches. the fort was their soldier home; the solitary girl a soldier's daughter. she could hardly have been eighteen. her long, slim figure, in its clinging riding habit, betrayed, despite roundness and supple grace, a certain immaturity. her hands and feet were long and slender. her sun-tanned cheek and neck were soft and rounded. her mouth was delicately chiseled and the lips were pink as the heart of a bridesmaid rose, but, being firmly closed, told no tale of the teeth within, without a peep at which one knew not whether the beauty of the sweet young face was really made or marred. eyes, eyebrows, lashes, and a wealth of tumbling tresses of rich golden brown were all superb, but who could tell what might be the picture when she opened those pretty, curving lips to speak or smile? speak she did not, even to the greyhounds stretched sprawling in the warm sands at her feet. smile she could not, for the young heart was sore troubled. back in the thick of the willows she had left her pony, blinking lazily and switching his long tail to rid his flanks of humming insects, but never mustering energy enough to stamp a hoof or strain a thread of his horsehair _riata_. both the long, lean, sprawling hounds lolled their red, dripping tongues and panted in the sullen heat. even the girl herself, nervous at first and switching with her dainty whip at the crumbling sands and pacing restlessly to and fro, had yielded gradually to the drooping influences of the hour and, seated on a rock, had buried her chin in the palm of her hand, and, with eyes no longer vagrant and searching, had drifted away into maiden dreamland. full thirty minutes had she been there waiting for something, or somebody, and it, or he, had not appeared. yet somebody else was there and close at hand. the shadow of the westward heights had gradually risen to the crest of the rocky cliffs across the stream. a soft, prolonged call of distant trumpet summoned homeward, for the coming night, the scattered herds and herd guards of the post, and, rising with a sigh of disappointment, the girl turned toward her now impatient pony when her ear caught the sound of a smothered hand-clap, and, whirling about in swift hope and surprise, her face once more darkened at sight of an indian girl, apache unquestionably, crouching in the leafy covert of the opposite willows and pointing silently down stream. for a moment, without love or fear in the eyes of either, the white girl and the brown gazed at each other across the intervening water mirror and spoke no word. then, slowly, the former approached the brink, looked in the direction indicated by the little dingy index and saw nothing to warrant the recall. moreover, she was annoyed to think that all this time, perhaps, the indian girl had been lurking in that sheltering grove and stealthily watching her. once more she turned away, this time with a toss of her head that sent the russet-brown tresses tumbling about her slim back and shoulders, and at once the hand-clap was repeated, low, but imperative, and tonto, the biggest of the two big hounds, uplifted one ear and growled a challenge. "what do you want?" questioned the white girl, across the estranging waters. for answer the brown girl placed her left forefinger on her lips, and again distinctly pointed to a little clump of willows a dozen rods below, but on the westward side. "do you mean--someone's coming?" queried the first. "sh-sh-sh!" answered the second softly, then pointed again, and pointed eagerly. the soldier's daughter glanced about her, uncertainly, a moment, then slowly, cautiously made her way along the sandy brink in the direction indicated, gathering the folds of her long skirt in her gauntleted hand and stepping lightly in her slender moccasins. a moment or two, and she had reached the edge of a dense little copse and peered cautiously within. the indian girl was right. somebody lay there, apparently asleep, and the fair young intruder recoiled in obvious confusion, if not dismay. for a moment she stood with fluttering heart and parting lips that now permitted reassuring glimpse of pearly white teeth. for a moment she seemed on the verge of panicky retreat, but little by little regained courage and self-poise. what was there to fear in a sleeping soldier anyhow? she knew who it was at a glance. she could, if she would, whisper his name. indeed, she had been whispering it many a time, day and night, these last two weeks until--until certain things about him had come to her ears that made her shrink in spite of herself from this handsome, petted young soldier, this adonis of her father's troop, neil blakely, lieutenant of cavalry. "the bugologist," they called him in cardroom circles at the "store," where men were fiercely intolerant of other pursuits than poker, for which pastime mr. blakely had no use whatever--no more use than had its votaries for him. he was a dreamy sort of fellow, with big blue eyes and a fair skin that were in themselves sufficient to stir the rancor of born frontiersmen, and they of arizona in the days of old were an exaggeration of the type in general circulation on the plains. he was something of a dandy in dress, another thing they loathed; something of a purist in speech, which was affectation unpardonable; something of a dissenter as to drink, appreciative of "cucumungo" and claret, but distrustful of whisky--another thing to call down scorn illimitable from the elect of the mining camps and packing "outfits." but all these disqualifications might have been overlooked had the lieutenant displayed even a faint preference for poker. "the lord loveth a cheerful giver--or loser" was the creed of the cardroom circle at the store, but beyond a casual or smiling peep at the game from the safe distance of the doorway, mr. blakely had vouchsafed no interest in affairs of that character. to the profane disgust of bill hyde, chief packer, and the malevolent, if veiled, criticism of certain "sporty" fellow soldiers, blakely preferred to spend his leisure hours riding up and down the valley, with a butterfly net over his shoulders and a japanned tin box slung at his back, searching for specimens that were scarce as the scriptures among his commentators. even on this hot october afternoon he had started on his entomological work, but, finding little encouragement and resting a while in the shade, he had dozed away on a sandy couch, his head on his arms, his broad-brimmed hat over his face, his shapely legs outstretched in lazy, luxurious enjoyment, his tall and slender form, arrayed in cool white blouse and trousers, really a goodly thing to behold. this day, too, he must have come afoot, but his net and box lay there beside him, and his hunt had been without profit, for both were apparently empty. possibly he had devoted but little time to netting insects. possibly he had thought to encounter bigger game. if so his zest in the sport must have been but languid, since he had so soon yielded to the drowsy influences of the day. there was resentment in the heart of the girl as this occurred to her, even though it would have angered her the more had anyone suggested she had come in hope of seeing or speaking with him. and yet, down in the bottom of her heart, she knew that just such a hope had held her there even to the hour of recall. she knew that, since opportunities for meeting him within the garrison were limited, she had deliberately chosen to ride alone, and farther than she had ever ridden alone before, in hope of meeting him without. she knew that in the pursuit of his winged prey he never sought the open _mesa_ or the ravines and gorges of the foothills. only along the stream were they--and he--to be found. only along the stream, therefore, had she this day ridden and, failing to see aught of him, had dismounted to think in quiet by the pool, so she told herself, but incidentally to wait and watch for him; and now she had found him, neither watching nor waiting, but in placid unconcern and slumber. one reason why they met so seldom in garrison was that her father did not like him in the least. the captain was a veteran soldier, self-taught and widely honored, risen from the ranks. the lieutenant was a man of gentle breeding and of college education, a soldier by choice, or caprice, yet quite able at any time to quit the service and live a life of ease, for he had, they said, abundant means of his own. he had been first lieutenant of that troop at least five years, not five months of which had he served on duty with it. first one general, then another, had needed him as aide-de-camp, and when, on his own application, he had been relieved from staff duty to enable him to accompany his regiment to this then distant and inhospitable land, he had little more than reached camp sandy when he was sent by the department commander to investigate some irregularity at the apache reservation up the valley, and then, all unsoliciting, he had been placed in charge pending the coming of a new agent to replace the impeached one going home under guard, and the captain said things about his subaltern's always seeking "fancy duty" that were natural, yet unjust--things that reached mr. blakely in exaggerated form, and that angered him against his senior to the extent of open rupture. then blakely took the mountain fever at the agency, thereby still further delaying his return to troop duty, and then began another complication, for the contract doctor, though skillful in his treatment, was less assiduous in nursing than were the wife of the newly arrived agent and her young companion lola, daughter of the agency interpreter and his apache-yuma wife. when well enough to attempt light duty again, the lieutenant had rejoined at sandy, and, almost the first face to greet him on his arrival was one he had never seen before and never forgot thereafter--the sweet, laughing, winsome face of angela wren, his captain's only child. the regiment had marched into arizona overland, few of the wives and daughters with it. angela, motherless since her seventh year, was at school in the distant east, together with the daughters of the colonel then commanding the regiment. they were older; were "finishing" that summer, and had amazed that distinguished officer by demanding to be allowed to join him with their mother. when they left the school angela could stand it no longer. she both telegraphed and wrote, begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the long journey by way of san francisco, and so it had finally been settled. the colonel's household were now at regimental headquarters up at prescott, and angela was quite happy at camp sandy. she had been there barely four weeks when neil blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and still far from strong, went to report for duty at his captain's quarters and was met at the threshold by his captain's daughter. expecting a girl friend, kate sanders, from "down the row," she had rushed to welcome her, and well-nigh precipitated herself upon a stranger in the natty undress uniform of the cavalry. her instant blush was something beautiful to see. blakely said the proper things to restore tranquillity; smilingly asked for her father, his captain; and, while waiting for that warrior to finish shaving and come down to receive him, was entertained by miss wren in the little army parlor. looking into her wondrous eyes and happy, blushing face, he forgot that there was rancor between his troop commander and himself, until the captain's stiff, unbending greeting reminded him. thoughtless people at the post, however, were laughing over the situation a week thereafter. neil blakely, a squire of dames in san francisco and other cities when serving on staff duty, a society "swell" and clubman, had obviously become deeply interested in this blithe young army girl, without a cent to her name--with nothing but her beauty, native grace, and sweet, sunshiny nature to commend her. and everyone hitherto had said neil blakely would never marry in the army. and there was one woman at sandy who saw the symptoms with jealous and jaundiced eyes--clarice, wife of the major then commanding the little "four-company" garrison. other women took much to heart the fact that major plume had cordially invited blakely, on his return from the agency, to be their guest until he could get settled in his own quarters. the plumes had rooms to spare--and no children. the major was twelve years older than his wife, but women said it often looked the other way. mrs. plume had aged very rapidly after his sojourn on recruiting duty in st. louis. frontier commissariat and cooking played hob with her digestion, said the major. frontier winds and water dealt havoc to her complexion, said the women. but both complexion and digestion seemed to "take a brace," as irreverent youth expressed it, when neil blakely came to sandy and the major's roof. true, he stayed but six and thirty hours and then moved into his own domicile--quarters no. 7--after moving out a most reluctant junior. major plume and mrs. plume had expected him, they were so kind as to say, to choose a vacant half set, excellent for bachelor purposes, under the roof that sheltered captain wren, captain wren's maiden sister and housekeeper, and angela, the captain's daughter. this set adjoined the major's big central house, its south windows looking into the major's north gallery. "it would be so neighborly and nice," said mrs. plume. instead, however, mr. blakely stood upon his prerogative as a senior subaltern and "ranked out" mr. and mrs. bridger and baby, and these otherwise gentle folk, evicted and aggrieved, knowing naught of blakely from previous association, and seeing no reason why he should wish to be at the far end of the row instead of the middle, with his captain, where he properly belonged, deemed themselves the objects of wanton and capricious treatment at his hands, and resented it according to their opportunities. bridger, being a soldier and subordinate, had to take it out in soliloquy and swear-words, but his impetuous little helpmate--being a woman, a wife and mother, set both wits and tongue to work, and heaven help the man when woman has both to turn upon him! in refusing the room and windows that looked full-face into those of mrs. plume, blakely had nettled her. in selecting the quarters occupied by mr. and mrs. bridger he had slightly inconvenienced and sorely vexed the latter. with no incumbrances whatever, with fine professional record, with personal traits and reputation to make him enviable, with comparative wealth and, as a rule, superlative health, blakely started on his career as a subaltern at sandy with three serious handicaps,--the disfavor of his captain, who knew and loved him little,--the prejudice of mrs. bridger, who knew and loved him not at all,--and the jealous pique of mrs. plume, who had known and loved him, possibly, too well. there was little duty doing at sandy at the time whereof we write. men rose at dawn and sent the horses forth to graze all day in the foothills under heavy guard. it was too hot for drills, with the mercury sizzling at the hundred mark. indian prisoners did the "police" work about the post; and men and women dozed and wilted in the shade until the late afternoon recall. then sandy woke up and energetically stabled, drilled, paraded under arms at sunset, mounted guard immediately thereafter, dined in spotless white; then rode, drove, flirted, danced, gossiped, made mirth, melody, or monotonous plaint till nearly midnight; then slept until the dawn of another day. indians there were in the wilds of the mogollon to the southeast, and, sometimes at rare intervals straying from the big reservation up the valley, they scared the scattered settlers of the agua fria and the hassayampa; but sandy rarely knew of them except as prisoners. not a hostile shot had been fired in the surrounding mountains for at least six months, so nobody felt the least alarm, and many only languid interest, when the white-coated officers reported the result of sunset roll-call and inspection, and, saluting major plume, the captain of "c" troop announced in tones he meant should be heard along the row: "mr. blakely, sir, is absent!" chapter ii scot versus saxon three women were seated at the moment on the front veranda of the major's quarters--mrs. plume, miss janet wren, the captain's sister, and little mrs. bridger. the first named had been intently watching the officers as, after the dismissal of their companies at the barracks, they severally joined the post commander, who had been standing on the barren level of the parade, well out toward the flagstaff, his adjutant beside him. to her the abrupt announcement caused no surprise. she had seen that mr. blakely was not with his troop. the jeweled hands slightly twitched, but her voice had the requisite and conventional drawl as she turned to miss wren: "chasing some new butterfly, i suppose, and got lost. a--what time did--angela return?" "hours ago, i fancy. she was dressed when i returned from hospital. sergeant leary seems worse to-day." "that was nearly six," dreamily persisted mrs. plume. "i happened to be at the side window." in the pursuit of knowledge mrs. plume adhered to the main issue and ignored the invalid sergeant, whose slow convalescence had stirred the sympathies of the captain's sister. "yes, it was nearly that when angela dismounted," softly said mrs. bridger. "i heard punch galloping away to his stable." "why, mrs. bridger, are you sure?" and the spinster of forty-five turned sharply on the matron of less than half her years. "she had on her white muslin when she came to the head of the stairs to answer me." mrs. bridger could not be mistaken. it was angela's habit when she returned from her rides to dismount at the rear gateway; give punch his _congé_ with a pat or two of the hand; watch him a moment as he tore gleefully away, round to the stables to the westward of the big quadrangle; then to go to her room and dress for the evening, coming down an hour later, looking fresh and sweet and dainty as a dewy mermet. as a rule she rode without other escort than the hounds, for her father would not go until the sun was very low and would not let her go with blakely or duane, the only bachelor troop officers then at sandy. he had nothing against duane, but, having set his seal against the other, felt it necessary to include them both. as a rule, therefore, she started about four, alone, and was home an hour later. five young maidens dwelt that year in officers' row, daughters of the regiments,--for it was a mixed command and not a big one,--two companies each of infantry and cavalry, after the manner of the early 70's. angela knew all four girls, of course, and had formed an intimacy with one--one who only cared to ride in the cool of the bright evenings when the officers took the hounds jack-rabbit hunting up the valley. twice a week, when luna served, they held these moonlit meets, and galloping at that hour, though more dangerous to necks, was less so to complexions. as a rule, too, angela and punch contented themselves with a swift scurry round the reservation, with frequent fordings of the stream for the joy it gave them both. they were rarely out of sight of the sentries and never in any appreciable danger. no apache with hostile intent ventured near enough to sandy to risk reprisals. miners, prospectors, and ranchmen were few in numbers, but, far and wide they knew the captain's bonny daughter, and, like the men of her father's troop, would have risked their lives to do her a service. their aversions as to sandy were centered in the other sex. aunt janet, therefore, had some reason for doubting the report of mrs. bridger. it was so unlike angela to be so very late returning, although, now that mrs. bridger had mentioned it, she, too, remembered hearing the rapid thud of punch's galloping hoofs homeward bound, as was she, at 5.45. yet, barely five minutes thereafter, angela, who usually spent half an hour splashing in her tub, appeared full panoplied, apparently, at the head of the stairs upon her aunt's arrival, and was even now somewhere down the row, hobnobbing with kate sanders. that lieutenant blakely should have missed retreat roll-call was in itself no very serious matter. "slept through at his quarters, perhaps," said plume. "he'll turn up in time for dinner." in fine the major's indifference struck the captain as an evidence of official weakness, reprehensible in a commander charged with the discipline of a force on hostile soil. what wren intended was that plume should be impressed by his formal word and manner, and direct the adjutant to look up the derelict instanter. as no such action was taken, however, he felt it due to himself to speak again. a just man was wren, and faithful to the core in his own discharge of duty. what he could not abide was negligence on part of officer or man, on part of superior or inferior, and he sought to "stiffen" plume forthwith. "if he isn't in his quarters, shall i send a party out in search, sir?" "who? blakely? dear, no, wren! what for?" returned the post commander, obviously nettled. "i fancy he'll not thank you for even searching his quarters. you may stumble over his big museum in the dark and smash things. no, let him alone. if he isn't here for dinner, i'll 'tend to it myself." and so, rebuffed, as it happened, by an officer much his inferior in point of experience and somewhat in years, wren silently and stiffly saluted and turned away. virtually he had been given to understand that his suggestion was impertinent. he reached his quarters, therefore, in no pleasant mood, and found his sister waiting for him with duty in her clear and shining eyes. a woman of many a noble trait was janet wren,--a woman who had done a world of good to those in sickness, sorrow, or other adversity, a woman of boundless faith in herself and her opinions, but not too much hope or charity for others. the blood of the scotch covenanters was in her veins, for her mother had been born and bred in the shadow of the kirk and lived and died in the shadow of the cross. a woman with a mission was janet, and one who went at it unflinchingly. she had loved her brother always, yet disapproved his marriage to so young and unformed a woman as was his wife. later, she had deprecated from the start the soldier spirit, fierce in his highland blood, that tore him from the teachings of their gentle mother and her beloved meenister, took him from his fair young wife when most she needed him and sent him straightway into the ranks of the one highland regiment in the union army at the outbreak of the civil war. his gallant colonel fell at first bull run, and sergeant wren fought over his body to the fervent admiration of the southerners who captured both. the first war secretary, mourning a beloved brother and grateful to his defender, commissioned the latter in the regulars at once and, on his return from libby, wren joined the army as a first lieutenant. with genuine scottish thrift, his slender pay had been hoarded for him, and his now motherless little one, by that devoted sister, and when, a captain at the close of the war, he came to clasp his daughter to his heart, he found himself possessed of a few hundreds more than fell to the lot of most of his associates. it was then that janet, motherless herself, had stepped into the management of her brother's army home, and sought to dominate in that as she had in everything else from early girlhood. wren loved her fondly, but he, too, had a will. they had many a clash. it was this, indeed, that led to angela's going so early to an eastern school. we are all paragons of wisdom in the management of other people's children. it is in dealing with our own our limitations are so obvious. fond as she had become of angela's sweet young mother, it must be owned that whom janet loved in this way she often chastened. neighbors swore it was not grief, nor illness, half so much as sister-in-law, that wore the gentle spirit to the snapping-point. the great strong heart of the soldier was well-nigh broken at his loss, and janet, who had never seen him shed a tear since early boyhood, stood for once, at least, in awe and trembling at sight of his awful grief. time and nature played their part and brought him, gradually, resignation, but never genuine solace. he turned to little angela with almost passionate love and tenderness. he would, mayhap, have spoiled her had not frontier service kept him so much afield that it was janet who really reared her,--but not according to the strict letter of her law. wren knew well what that was and forbade. misfortunes came to janet wren while yet a comely woman of thirty-five. she could have married, and married well, a comrade captain in her brother's regiment; but him, at least, she held to be her own, and, loving him with genuine fervor and devotion, she sought to turn him in all things to her serious views of life, its manifold duties and responsibilities. she had her ideal of what a man should be--a monarch among other men, but one knowing no god but her god, no creed but her creed, no master but duty, no mistress but herself, and no weakness whatsoever. a braver, simpler, kinder soul than her captain there dwelt not in the service of his country, but he loved his pipe, his song, his dogs, his horses, his troop, and certain soldier ways that, during his convalescence from wounds, she had not had opportunity to observe. she had nursed him back to life and love and, unwittingly, to his former harmless habits. these all she would have had him forswear, not for her sake so much, she said, but because they were in themselves sinful and beneath him. she sought to train him down too fine for the rugged metal of the veteran soldier, and the fabric snapped in her hands. she had sent him forth sore-hearted over her ceaseless importunity. she had told him he must not only give up all his ways, but, if he would make her happy, he must put the words of ruth into his mouth, and that ended it. he transferred into another corps when she broke with him; carried his sore heart to the southern plains, and fell in savage battle within another month. not long thereafter her little fortune, invested according to the views of a spiritual rather than a temporal adviser,--and much against her brother's wishes,--went the way of riches that have wings, and now, dependent solely upon him, welcomed to his home and fireside, she nevertheless strove to dominate as of yore. he had had to tell her angela could not and should not be subjected to such restraints as the sister would have prescribed, but so long as he was the sole victim he whimsically bore it without vehement protest. "convert me all you can, janet, dear," he said, "but don't try to reform the whole regiment. it's past praying for." now, when other women whispered to her that while mrs. plume had been a belle in st. louis and mr. blakely a young society beau, the magnitude of their flirtation had well-nigh stopped her marriage, miss wren saw opportunity for her good offices and, so far from avoiding, she sought the society of the major's brooding wife. she even felt a twinge of disappointment when the young officer appeared, and after the initial thirty-six hours under the commander's roof, rarely went thither at all. she knew her brother disapproved of him, and thought it to be because of moral, not military, obliquity. she saw with instant apprehension his quick interest in angela and the child's almost unconscious response. with the solemn conviction of the maiden who, until past the meridian, had never loved, she looked on angela as far too young and immature to think of marrying, yet too shallow, vain and frivolous, too corrupted, in fact, by that pernicious society school--not to shrink from flirtations that might mean nothing to the man but would be damnation to the girl. even the name of this big, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young votary of science had much about it that made her fairly bristle, for she had once been described as an "austere vestal" by lieutenant blake, of the regiment preceding them at sandy, the ----th cavalry--and a mutual friend had told her all about it--another handicap for blakely. she had grown, it must be admitted, somewhat gaunt and forbidding in these later years, a thing that had stirred certain callow wits to differentiate between the misses wren as angela and angular, which, hearing, some few women reproved but all repeated. miss wren, the sister, was in fine a woman widely honored but little sought. it was angela that all camp sandy would have met with open arms. "r-r-robert," began miss wren, as the captain unclasped his saber belt and turned it over to mickel, his german "striker." she would have proceeded further, but he held up a warning hand. he had come homeward angering and ill at ease. disliking blakely from the first, a "ballroom soldier," as he called him, and alienated from him later, he had heard still further whisperings of the devotions of a chieftain's daughter at the agency, above all, of the strange infatuation of the major's wife, and these had warranted, in his opinion, warning words to his senior subaltern in refusing that gentleman's request to ride with angela. "i object to any such attentions--to any meetings whatsoever," said he, but sooner than give the real reason, added lamely, "my daughter is too young." now he thought he saw impending duty in his sister's somber eyes and poise. he knew it when she began by rolling her r's--it was so like their childhood's spiritual guide and mentor, mactaggart, erstwhile of the "auld licht" persuasion, and a power. "wait a bit, janet," said he. "mickel, get my horse and tell sergeant strang to send me a mounted orderly." then, as mickel dropped the saber in the open doorway and departed, he turned upon her. "where's angela?" said he, "and what was she doing out after recall? the stable sergeant says 'twas six when punch came home." "r-r-robert, it is of that i wish to speak to you, and before she comes to dinner. hush! she's coming now." down the row of shaded wooden porticos, at the major's next door, at dr. graham's, the scotch surgeon and wren's especial friend and crony, at the lynns' and sanders's beyond, little groups of women and children in cool evening garb, and officers in white, were gathered in merry, laughing chat. nowhere, save in the eyes of one woman at the commanding officer's, and here at wren's, seemed there anything ominous in the absence of this officer so lately come to join them. the voice of angela, glad and ringing, fell upon the father's ears in sudden joy. who could associate shame or subterfuge with tones so charged with merriment? the face of angela, coming suddenly round the corner from the side veranda, beamed instantly upon him, sweet, trusting and welcoming, then slowly shadowed at sight of the set expression about his mouth, and the rigid, uncompromising, determined sorrow in the features of her aunt. before she could utter a word, the father questioned: "angela, my child, have you seen mr. blakely this afternoon?" one moment her big eyes clouded, but unflinchingly they met his gaze. then, something in the stern scrutiny of her aunt's regard stirred all that was mutinous within her; yet there was an irrepressible twitching about the corners of the rosy mouth, a twinkle about the big brown eyes that should have given them pause, even as she demurely answered: "yes." "when?" demanded the soldier, his muscular hand clutching ominously at the wooden rail; his jaw setting squarely. "when--and where?" but now the merriment with which she had begun changed slowly at sight of the repressed fury in his rugged gaelic face. she, too, was trembling as she answered: "just after recall--down at the pool." for an instant he stood glaring, incredulous. "at the pool! you! my bairnie!" then, with sudden outburst of passionate wrath, "go to your room!" said he. "but listen--father, dear," she began, imploringly. for answer he seized her slender arm in almost brutal grasp and fairly hurled her within the doorway. "not a word!" he ground between his clinched teeth. "go instantly!" then, slamming the door upon her, he whirled about as though to seek his sister's face, and saw beyond her, rounding the corner of the northwest set of quarters, coming in from the _mesa_ roadway at the back, the tall, white figure of the missing man. another moment and lieutenant blakely, in the front room of his quarters, looking pale and strange, was being pounced upon with eager questioning by duane, his junior, when the wooden steps and veranda creaked under a quick, heavy, ominous tread, and, with livid face and clinching hands, the troop commander came striding in. "mr. blakely," said he, his voice deep with wrath and tremulous with passion, "i told you three days ago my daughter and you must not meet, and--you know why! to-day you lured her to a rendezvous outside the post--" "captain wren!" "don't lie! i say you lured her, for my lass would never have met you--" "you shall _un_say it, sir," was blakely's instant rejoinder. "are you mad--or what? i never set eyes on your daughter to-day--until a moment ago." and then the voice of young duane was uplifted, shouting for help. with a crash, distinctly heard out on the parade, wren had struck his junior down. chapter iii moccasin tracks when mr. blakely left the post that afternoon he went afoot. when he returned, just after the sounding of retreat, he came in saddle. purposely he avoided the road that led in front of the long line of officers' quarters and chose instead the water-wagon track along the rear. people among the laundresses' quarters, south of the _mesa_ on which stood the quadrangular inclosure of camp sandy, eyed him curiously as he ambled through on his borrowed pony; but he looked neither to right nor left and hurried on in obvious discomposure. he was looking pale and very tired, said the saddler sergeant's wife, an hour later, when all the garrison was agog with the story of wren's mad assault. he never seemed to see the two or three soldiers, men of family, who rose and saluted as he passed, and not an officer in the regiment was more exact or scrupulous in his recognition of such soldier courtesy as blakely had ever been. they wondered, therefore, at his strange abstraction. they wondered more, looking after him, when, just as his stumbling pony reached the crest, the rider reined him in and halted short in evident embarrassment. they could not see what he saw--two young girls in gossamer gowns of white, with arms entwining each other's waists, their backs toward him, slowly pacing northward up the _mesa_ and to the right of the road. some old croquet arches, balls, and mallets lay scattered about, long since abandoned to dry rot and disuse, and, so absorbed were the damsels in their confidential chat,--bubbling over, too, with merry laughter,--they gave no heed to these until one, the taller of the pair, catching her slippered foot in the stiff, unyielding wire, plunged forward and fell, nearly dragging her companion with her. blakely, who had hung back, drove his barbless heels into the pony's flanks, sent him lurching forward, and in less than no time was out of saddle and aiding her to rise, laughing so hard she, for a moment, could not speak or thank him. save to flowing skirt, there was not the faintest damage, yet his eyes, his voice, his almost tremulous touch were all suggestive of deep concern, before, once more mounting, he raised his broad-brimmed hat and bade them reluctant good-night. kate sanders ran scurrying home an instant later, but angela's big and shining eyes followed him every inch of the way until he once more dismounted at the upper end of the row and, looking back, saw her and waved his hat, whereat she ran, blushing, smiling, and not a little wondering, flustered and happy, into the gallery of their own quarters and the immediate presence of her father. blakely, meanwhile, had summoned his servant: "take this pony at once to mr. hart," said he, "and say i'll be back again as soon as i've seen the commanding officer." when downs, the messenger, returned to the house about half an hour later, it was to find his master prostrate and bleeding on the bed in his room, dr. graham and the hospital attendant working over him, the major and certain of his officers, with gloomy faces and muttering tongues, conferring on the piazza in front, and one of the lieutenant's precious cases of bugs and butterflies a wreck of shattered glass. more than half the officers of the post were present. a bevy of women and girls had gathered in the dusk some distance down the row. the wondering milesian whispered inquiry of silent soldiers lingering about the house, but the gruff voice of sergeant clancy bade them go about their business. not until nearly an hour later was it generally known that captain wren had been escorted to his quarters by the post adjutant and ordered to remain therein in close arrest. if some older and more experienced officer than duane had been there perhaps the matter would not have proved so tragic, but the latter was utterly unstrung by wren's furious attack and the unlooked-for result. without warning of any kind, the burly scot had launched his big fist straight at blakely's jaw, and sent the slender, still fever-weakened form crashing through a case of specimens, reducing it to splinters that cruelly cut and tore the bruised and senseless face. a corporal of the guard, marching his relief in rear of the quarters at the moment, every door and window being open, heard the crash, the wild cry for help, rushed in, with his men at his heels, and found the captain standing stunned and ghastly, with the sweat starting from his brow, staring down at the result of his fearful work. from the front captain sanders and his amazed lieutenant came hurrying. together they lifted the stricken and bleeding man to his bed in the back room and started a soldier for the doctor on the run. the sight of this man, speeding down the row, bombarded all the way with questions he could not stop to answer, startled every soul along that westward-facing front, and sent men and women streaming up the line toward blakely's quarters at the north end. the doctor fairly brushed them from his path and major plume had no easy task persuading the tearful, pallid groups of army wives and daughters to retire to the neighboring quarters. janet wren alone refused point-blank. she would not go without first seeing her brother. it was she who took the arm of the awed, bewildered, shame-and conscience-stricken man and led him, with bowed and humbled head, the adjutant aiding on the other side, back to the door he had so sternly closed upon his only child, and that now as summarily shut on him. dr. graham had pronounced the young officer's injuries serious, and the post commander was angry to the very core. one woman there was who, with others, had aimlessly hastened up the line, and who seemed now verging on hysterics--the major's wife. it was mrs. graham who rebukefully sent her own braw young brood scurrying homeward through the gathering dusk, and then possessed herself of mrs. plume. "the shock has unnerved you," she charitably, soothingly whispered: "come away with me," but the major's wife refused to go. hart, the big post trader, had just reached the spot, driving up in his light buckboard. his usually jovial face was full of sympathy and trouble. he could not believe the news, he said. mr. blakely had been with him so short a time beforehand and was coming down again at once, so downs, the striker, told him, when some soldier ran in to say the lieutenant had been half killed by captain wren. plume heard him talking and came down the low steps to meet and confer with him, while the others, men and women, listened eagerly, expectant of developments. then hart became visibly embarrassed. yes, mr. blakely had come up from below and begged the loan of a pony, saying he must get to the post at once to see major plume. hadn't he seen the major? no! then hart's embarrassment increased. yes, something had happened. blakely had told him, and in fact they--he--all of them had something very important on hand. he didn't know what to do now, with mr. blakely unable to speak, and, to the manifest disappointment of the swift-gathering group, hart finally begged the major to step aside with him a moment and he would tell him what he knew. all eyes followed them, then followed the major as he came hurrying back with heightened color and went straight to dr. graham at the sufferer's side. "can i speak with him? is he well enough to answer a question or two?" he asked, and the doctor shook his head. "then, by the lord, i'll have to wire to prescott!" said plume, and left the room at once. "what is it?" feebly queried the patient, now half-conscious. but the doctor answered only "hush! no talking now, mr. blakely," and bade the others leave the room and let him get to sleep. but tattoo had not sounded that still and starlit evening when a strange story was in circulation about the post, brought up from the trader's store by pack-train hands who said they were there when mr. blakely came in and asked for hart--"wanted him right away, bad," was the way they put it. then it transpired that mr. blakely had found no sport at bug-hunting and had fallen into a doze while waiting for winged insects, and when he woke it was to make a startling discovery--his beautiful geneva watch had disappeared from one pocket and a flat note case, carried in an inner breast pocket of his white duck blouse, and containing about one hundred dollars, was also gone. some vagrant soldier, possibly, or some "hard-luck outfit" of prospectors, probably, had come upon him sleeping, and had made way with his few valuables. two soldiers had been down stream, fishing for what they called tonto trout, but they were looked up instantly and proved to be men above suspicion. two prospectors had been at hart's, nooning, and had ridden off down stream toward three o'clock. _there_ was a clew worth following, and certain hangers-on about the trader's, "layin' fer a job," had casually hinted at the prospect of a game down at snicker's--a ranch five miles below. here, too, was something worth investigating. if blakely had been robbed, as now seemed more than likely, camp sandy felt that the perpetrator must still be close at hand and of the packer or prospector class. but before the ranks were broken, after the roll-call, then invariably held at half-past nine, hart came driving back in a buckboard, with a lantern and a passenger, the latter one of the keenest trailers among the sergeants of captain sanders' troop, and sanders was with the major as the man sprang from the wagon and stood at salute. "found anything, sergeant?" asked plume. "not a boot track, sir, but the lieutenant's own." "no tracks at all--in that soft sand!" exclaimed the major, disappointed and unbelieving. his wife had come slowly forward from within doors, and, bending slightly toward them, stood listening. "no boot tracks, sir. there's others though--tonto moccasins!" plume stood bewildered. "by jove! i never thought of that!" said he, turning presently on his second troop commander. "but who ever heard of apaches taking a man's watch and leaving--him?" "if the major will look," said the sergeant, quietly producing a scouting notebook such as was then issued by the engineer department, "i measured 'em and made rough copies here. there was _two_, sir. both came, both went, by the path through the willows up stream. we didn't have time to follow. one is longer and slimmer than the other. if i may make so bold, sir, i'd have a guard down there to-night to keep people away; otherwise the tracks may be spoiled before morning." "take three men and go yourself," said the major promptly. "see anything of any of the lieutenant's property? mr. hart told you, didn't he?" plume was studying the sergeant's pencil sketches, by the light of the trader's lantern, as he spoke, a curious, puzzled look on his soldierly face. "saw where the box had lain in the sand, sir, but no trace of the net," and sergeant shannon was thinking less of these matters than of his sketches. there was something he thought the major ought to see, and presently he saw. "why, sergeant, these may be tonto moccasin tracks, but not grown men's. they are mere boys, aren't they?" "mere girls, sir." there was a sound of rustling skirts upon the bare piazza. plume glanced impatiently over his shoulder. mrs. plume had vanished into the unlighted hallway. "that would account for their taking the net," said he thoughtfully, "but what on earth would the guileless tonto maiden do with a watch or with greenbacks? they wouldn't dare show with them at the agency! how far did you follow the tracks?" "only a rod or two. once in the willows they can't well quit them till they reach the shallows above the pool, sir. we can guard there to-night and begin trailing at dawn." "so be it then!" and presently the conference closed. seated on the adjoining gallery, alone and in darkness, stricken and sorrowing, a woman had been silently observant of the meeting, and had heard occasional snatches of the talk. presently she rose; softly entered the house and listened at a closed door on the northward side--captain wren's own room. an hour previous, tortured between his own thoughts and her well-meant, but unwelcome efforts to cheer him, he had begged to be left alone, and had closed his door against all comers. now, she as softly ascended the narrow stairway and paused for a moment at another door, also closed. listening a while, she knocked, timidly, hesitatingly, but no answer came. after a while, noiselessly, she turned the knob and entered. a dim light was burning on a little table by the white bedside. a long, slim figure, white-robed and in all the abandon of girlish grief, was lying, face downward, on the bed. tangled masses of hair concealed much of the neck and shoulders, but, bending over, miss wren could partially see the flushed and tear-wet cheek pillowed on one slender white arm. exhausted by long weeping, angela at last had dropped to sleep, but the little hand that peeped from under the thick, tumbling tresses still clung to an odd and unfamiliar object--something the older woman had seen only at a distance before--something she gazed at in startled fascination this strange and solemn night--a slender, long-handled butterfly net of filmy gauze. chapter iv a stricken sentry sentry duty at camp sandy along in '75 had not been allowed to bear too heavily on its little garrison. there was nothing worth stealing about the place, said plume, and no pawn-shop handy. of course there were government horses and mules, food and forage, arms and ammunition, but these were the days of soldier supremacy in that arid and distant land, and soldiers had a summary way of settling with marauders that was discouraging to enterprise. larceny was therefore little known until the law, with its delays and circumventions, took root in the virgin soil, and people at such posts as sandy seldom shut and rarely locked their doors, even by night. windows were closed and blanketed by day against the blazing sun and torrid heat, but, soon after nightfall, every door and window was usually opened wide and often kept so all the night long, in order that the cooler air, settling down from _mesa_ and mountain, might drift through every room and hallway, licking up the starting dew upon the smooth, rounded surface of the huge _ollas_, the porous water jars that hung suspended on every porch, and wafting comfort to the heated brows of the lightly covered sleepers within. pyjamas were then unknown in army circles, else even the single sheet that covered the drowsing soldier might have been dispensed with. among the quarters occupied by married men, both in officers' row and sudsville under the plateau, doors were of little account in a community where the only intruder to be feared was heat, and so it had resulted that while the corrals, stables, and storehouses had their guards, only a single sentry paced the long length of the eastward side of the post, a single pair of eyes and a single rifle barrel being deemed amply sufficient to protect against possible prowlers the rear yards and entrances of the row. the westward front of the officers' homes stood in plain view, on bright nights at least, of the sentry at the guard-house, and needed no other protector. on dark nights it was supposed to look out for itself. a lonely time of it, as a rule, had no. 5, the "backyard sentry," but this october night he lacked not for sensation. lights burned until very late in many of the quarters, while at captain wren's and lieutenant blakely's people were up and moving about until long after midnight. of course no. 5 had heard all about the dreadful affair of the early evening. what he and his fellows puzzled over was the probable cause of captain wren's furious assault upon his subaltern. many a theory was afloat, duane, with unlooked-for discretion, having held his tongue as to the brief conversation that preceded the blow. it was after eleven when the doctor paid his last visit for the night, and the attendant came out on the rear porch for a pitcher of cool water from the _olla_. it was long after twelve when the light in the upstairs room at captain wren's was turned low, and for two hours thereafter, with bowed head, the captain himself paced nervously up and down, wearing in the soft and sandy soil a mournful pathway parallel with his back porch. it was after three, noted private mullins, of that first relief, when from the rear door of the major's quarters there emerged two forms in feminine garb, and, there being no hindering fences, away they hastened in the dim starlight, past wren's, cutler's, westervelt's, and truman's quarters until they were swallowed up in the general gloom about lieutenant blakely's. private mullins could not say for certain whether they had entered the rear door or gone around under the deep shadows of the veranda. when next he saw them, fifteen minutes later, coming as swiftly and silently back, mullins was wondering whether he ought not to challenge and have them account for themselves. his orders were to allow inmates of the officers' quarters to pass in or out at night without challenge, provided he "recognized them to be such." now, mullins felt morally certain that these two were mrs. plume and mrs. plume's vivacious maid, a french-canadian damsel, much admired and sought in soldier circles at the post, but mullins had not seen their faces and could rightfully insist it was his duty and prerogative to do so. the question was, how would the "commanding officer's lady" like and take it? mullins therefore shook his head. "i hadn't the nerve," as he expressed it, long afterwards. but no such frailty oppressed the occupant of the adjoining house. just as the two had reached the rear of wren's quarters, and were barely fifty steps from safety, the captain himself, issuing again from the doorway, suddenly appeared upon the scene, and in low, but imperative tone accosted them. "_who_ are you?" said he, bending eagerly, sternly over them. one quick look he gave, and, almost instantly recoiling, exclaimed "mrs. plume! i beg--" then, as though with sudden recollection, "no, madam, i do _not_ beg your pardon," and, turning on his heel, abruptly left them. without a word, but with the arm of the maid supporting, the taller woman sped swiftly across the narrow intervening space and was lost again within the shadows of her husband's home. private mullins, silent and probably unseen witness of this episode, slowly tossed his rifle from the port to the shoulder; shook his puzzled head; stared a moment at the dim figure of captain wren again in the starlit morning, nervously tramping up and down his narrow limit; then mechanically sauntered down the roadway, pondering much over what he had seen and heard during the brief period of his early morning watch. reaching the south, the lower, end of his post, he turned again. he had but ten minutes left of his two-hour tramp. the second relief was due to start at 3.30, and should reach him at 3.35. he was wondering would the officer of the day "come nosin' round" within that time, asking him his orders, and was everything all right on his post? and had he observed anything unusual? there was captain wren, like a caged tiger, tramping up and down behind his quarters. at least he had been, for now he had disappeared. there were, or rather had been, the two ladies in long cloaks flitting in the shadows from the major's quarters to those of the invalid lieutenant. mullins certainly did not wish to speak about them to any official visitor, whatever he might whisper later to norah shaughnessy, the saddler sergeant's daughter--norah, who was nurse girl at the trumans', and knew all the ins and outs of social life at sandy--norah, at whose window, under the north gable, he gazed with love in his eyes as he made his every round. he was a good soldier, was mullins, but glad this night to get off post. through the gap between the second and third quarters he saw the lights at the guard-house and could faintly see the black silhouette of armed men in front of them. the relief was forming sharp on time, and presently corporal donovan would be bringing trooper schultz, of "c" troop, straight across the parade in search of him. the major so allowed his sentry on no. 5 to be relieved at night. mullins thanked the saints with pious fervor that no more ladies would be like to flit across his vision, that night at least, when, dimly through the dusk, against the spangled northern sky, he sighted another figure crouching across the upper end of his post and making straight for the lighted entrance at the rear of the lieutenant's quarters. someone else, then, had interest at blakely's--someone coming stealthily from without. a minute later certain wakeful ears were startled by a moaning cry for aid. just what happened, and how it happened, within the minute, led to conflicting stories on the morrow. first man examined by major plume was lieutenant truman of the infantry, who happened to be officer of the day. he had been over at blakely's about midnight, he said; had found the patient sleeping under the influence of soothing medicine, and, after a whispered word with todd, the hospital attendant, had tiptoed out again, encountering downs, the lieutenant's striker, in the darkness on the rear porch. downs said he was that excited he couldn't sleep at all, and mr. truman had come to the conclusion that downs's excitement was due, in large part, to local influences totally disconnected with the affairs of the early evening. downs was an irishman who loved the "craytur," and had been known to resort to unconventional methods of getting it. at twelve o'clock, said mr. truman, the striker had obviously been priming. now plume's standing orders were that no liquor should be sold to downs at the store and none to other soldiers except in "pony" glasses and for use on the spot. none could be carried away unconsumed. the only legitimate spirits, therefore, to which downs could have access were those in blakely's locked closet--spirits hitherto used only in the preservation of specimens, and though probably not much worse than the whisky sold at the store, disdainfully referred to by votaries as "blakely's bug juice." mr. truman, therefore, demanded of downs the possession of the lieutenant's keys, and, with aggrieved dignity of mien, downs had referred him to the doctor, whose suspicions had been earlier aroused. intending to visit his sentries after the change of guard at 1.30, truman had thrown himself into a reclining chair in his little parlor, while mrs. truman and the little trumans slumbered peacefully aloft. after reading an hour or so the lieutenant fell into a doze from which he awoke with a start. mrs. truman was bending over him. mrs. truman had been aroused by hearing voices in cautious, yet excited, colloquy in the shadows of blakely's back porch. she felt sure that downs was one and thought from the sound that he must be intoxicated, so truman shuffled out to see, and somebody, bending double in the dusk, scurried away at his approach. he heard rather than saw. but there was downs, at least, slinking back into the house, and him truman halted and accosted. "who was that with you?" he asked, and downs thickly swore he hadn't seen a soul. but all the while downs was clumsily stuffing something into a side pocket, and truman, seizing his hand, dragged it forth into the light. it was one of the hospital six-ounce bottles, bearing a label indicative of glycerine lotion, but the color of the contained fluid belied the label. a sniff was sufficient. "who gave you this whisky?" was the next demand, and downs declared 'twas a hospital "messager" that brought it over, thinking the lieutenant might need it. truman, filled with wrath, had dragged downs into the dimly lighted room to the rear of that in which lay lieutenant blakely, and was there upbraiding and investigating when startled by the stifled cry that, rising suddenly on the night from the open _mesa_ just without, had so alarmed so many in the garrison. of what had led to it he had then no more idea than the dead. corporal donovan, next examined, said he was marching schultz over to relieve mullins on no. 5, just after half-past three, and heading for the short cut between the quarters of captains wren and cutler, which was about where no. 5 generally met the relief, when, just as they were halfway between the flagstaff and the row, schultz began to limp and said there must be a pebble in his boot. so they halted. schultz kicked off his boot and shook it upside down, and, while he was tugging at it again, they both heard a sort of gurgling, gasping cry out on the _mesa_. of course donovan started and ran that way, leaving schultz to follow, and, just back of captain westervelt's, the third house from the northward end, he almost collided with lieutenant truman, officer of the day, who ordered him to run for dr. graham and fetch him up to lieutenant blakely's quick. so of what had taken place he, too, was ignorant until later. it was the hospital attendant, todd, whose story came next and brought plume to his feet with consternation in his eyes. todd said he had been sitting at the lieutenant's bedside when, somewhere about three o'clock, he had to go out and tell downs to make less noise. downs was completely upset by the catastrophe to his officer and, somehow, had got a few comforting drinks stowed away, and these had started him to singing some confounded irish keen that grated on todd's nerves. he was afraid it would disturb the patient and he was about to go out and remonstrate when the singing stopped and presently he heard downs's voice in excited conversation. then a woman's voice in low, urgent, persuasive whisper became faintly audible, and this surprised todd beyond expression. he had thought to go and take a look and see who it could be, when there was a sudden swish of skirts and scurry of feet, and then mr. truman's voice was heard. then there was some kind of sharp talk from the lieutenant to downs, and then, in a sort of a lull, there came that uncanny cry out on the _mesa_, and, stopping only long enough to see that the lieutenant was not roused or disturbed, todd hastened forth. one or two dim figures, dark and shadowy, were just visible on the eastward _mesa_, barely ten paces away, and thither the attendant ran. downs, lurching heavily, was just ahead of him. together they came upon a little group. somebody went running southward--lieutenant truman, as todd learned later--hurrying for the doctor. a soldier equipped as a sentry lay moaning on the sand, clasping a bloody hand to his side, and over him, stern, silent, but agitated, bent captain wren. chapter v the captain's defiance within ten minutes of todd's arrival at the spot the soft sands of the _mesa_ were tramped into bewildering confusion by dozens of trooper boots. the muffled sound of excited voices, so soon after the startling affair of the earlier evening, and hurrying footfalls following, had roused almost every household along the row and brought to the spot half the officers on duty at the post. a patrol of the guard had come in double time, and soldiers had been sent at speed to the hospital for a stretcher. dr. graham had lost no moment of time in reaching the stricken sentry. todd had been sent back to blakely's bedside and downs to fetch a lantern. they found the latter, five minutes later, stumbling about the trumans' kitchen, weeping for that which was lost, and the sergeant of the guard collared and cuffed him over to the guard-house--one witness, at least, out of the way. at four o'clock the doctor was working over his exhausted and unconscious patient at the hospital. mullins had been stabbed twice, and dangerously, and half a dozen men with lanterns were hunting about the bloody sands where the faithful fellow had dropped, looking for a weapon or a clew, and probably trampling out all possibility of finding either. major plume, through mr. doty, his adjutant, had felt it necessary to remind captain wren that an officer in close arrest had no right to be away from his quarters. late in the evening, it seems, dr. graham had represented to the post commander that the captain was in so nervous and overwrought a condition, and so distressed, that as a physician he recommended his patient be allowed the limits of the space adjoining his quarters in which to walk off his superabundant excitement. graham had long been the friend of captain wren and was his friend as well as physician now, even though deploring his astounding outbreak, but graham had other things to demand his attention as night wore on, and there was no one to speak for wren when the young adjutant, a subaltern of infantry, with unnecessary significance of tone and manner, suggested the captain's immediate return to his proper quarters. wren bowed his head and went in stunned and stubborn silence. it had never occurred to him for a moment, when he heard that half-stifled, agonized cry for help, that there could be the faintest criticism of his rushing to the sentry's aid. still less had it occurred to him that other significance, and damning significance, might attach to his presence on the spot, but, being first to reach the fallen man, he was found kneeling over him within thirty seconds of the alarm. not another living creature was in sight when the first witnesses came running to the spot. both truman and todd could swear to that. in the morning, therefore, the orderly came with the customary compliments to say to captain wren that the post commander desired to see him at the office. it was then nearly nine o'clock. wren had had a sleepless night and was in consultation with dr. graham when the summons came. "ask that captain sanders be sent for at once," said the surgeon, as he pressed his comrade patient's hand. "the major has his adjutant and clerk and possibly some other officers. you should have at least one friend." "i understand," briefly answered wren, as he stepped to the hallway to get his sun hat. "i wish it might be you." the orderly was already speeding back to the office at the south end of the brown rectangle of adobe and painted pine, but janet wren, ministering, according to her lights, to angela in the little room aloft, had heard the message and was coming down. taller and more angular than ever she looked as, with flowing gown, she slowly descended the narrow stairway. "i have just succeeded in getting her to sleep," she murmured. "she has been dreadfully agitated ever since awakened by the voices and the running this morning, and she must have cried herself to sleep last night. r-r-r-obert, would it not be well for you to see her when she wakes? she does not know--i could not tell her--that you are under arrest." graham looked more "dour" than did his friend of the line. privately he was wondering how poor angela could get to sleep at all with aunt janet there to soothe her. the worst time to teach a moral lesson, with any hope of good effect, is when the recipient is suffering from sense of utter injustice and wrong, yet must perforce listen. but it is a favorite occasion with the "ower guid." janet thought it would be a long step in the right direction to bring her headstrong niece to the belief that all the trouble was the direct result of her having sought, against her father's wishes, a meeting with mr. blakely. true, janet had now some doubt that such had been the case, but, in what she felt was only stubborn pride, her niece refused all explanation. "father would not hear me at the time," she sobbed. "i am condemned without a chance to defend myself or--him." yet janet loved the bonny child devotedly and would go through fire and water to serve her best interests, only those best interests must be as janet saw them. that anything very serious might result as a consequence of her brother's violent assault on blakely, she had never yet imagined. that further complications had arisen which might blacken his record she never could credit for a moment. mullins lay still unconscious, and not until he recovered strength was he to talk with or see anyone. graham had given faint hope of recovery, and declared that everything depended on his patient's having no serious fever or setback. in a few days he might be able to tell his story. then the mystery as to his assailant would be cleared in a breath. janet had taken deep offense that the commanding officer should have sent her brother into close arrest without first hearing of the extreme provocation. "it is an utterly unheard-of proceeding," said she, "this confining of an officer and gentleman without investigation of the affair," and she glared at graham, uncomprehending, when, with impatient shrug of his big shoulders, he asked her what had they done, between them, to angela. it was his wife put him up to saying that, she reasoned, for janet's calvinistic dogmas as to daughters in their teens were ever at variance with the views of her gentle neighbor. if angela had been harshly dealt with, undeserving, it was angela's duty to say so and to say why, said janet. meantime, her first care was her wronged and misjudged brother. gladly would she have gone to the office with him and stood proudly by his side in presence of his oppressor, could such a thing be permitted. she marveled that robert should now show so little of tenderness for her who had served him loyally, if masterfully, so very long. he merely laid his hand on hers and said he had been summoned to the commanding officer's, then went forth into the light and left her. major plume was seated at his desk, thoughtful and perplexed. up at regimental headquarters at prescott wren was held in high esteem, and the major's brief telegraphic message had called forth anxious inquiry and something akin to veiled disapprobation. headquarters could not see how it was possible for wren to assault lieutenant blakely without some grave reason. had plume investigated? no, but that was coming now, he said to himself, as wren entered and stood in silence before him. the little office had barely room for the desks of the commander and his adjutant and the table on which were spread the files of general orders from various superior headquarters--regimental, department, division, the army, and the war secretary. no curtains adorned the little windows, front and rear. no rug or carpet vexed the warping floor. three chairs, kitchen pattern, stood against the pine partition that shut off the sight, but by no means the hearing, of the three clerks scratching at their flat-topped desks in the adjoining den. maps of the united states, of the military division of the pacific, and of the territory, as far as known and surveyed, hung about the wooden walls. blue-prints and photographs of scout maps, made by their predecessors of the ----th cavalry in the days of the crook campaigns, were scattered with the order files about the table. but of pictures, ornamentation, or relief of any kind the gloomy box was destitute as the dun-colored flat of the parade. official severity spoke in every feature of the forbidding office as well as in those of the major commanding. there was striking contrast, too, between the man at the desk and the man on the rack before him. plume had led a life devoid of anxiety or care. soldiering he took serenely. he liked it, so long as no grave hardship threatened. he had done reasonably good service at corps headquarters during the civil war; had been commissioned captain in the regulars in '61, and held no vexatious command at any time perhaps, until this that took him to far-away arizona. plume was a gentlemanly fellow and no bad garrison soldier. he really shone on parade and review at such fine stations as leavenworth and riley, but had never had to bother with mountain scouting or long-distance indian chasing on the plains. he had a comfortable income outside his pay, and when he was wedded, at the end of her fourth season in society, to a prominent, if just a trifle _passée_ belle, people thought him a more than lucky man, until the regiment was sent to arizona and he to sandy. gossip said he went to general sherman with appeal for some detaining duty, whereupon that bluff and most outspoken warrior exclaimed: "what, what, what! not want to go with the regiment? why, here's blakely begging to be relieved from terry's staff because he's mad to go." and this, said certain st. louis commentators, settled it, for mrs. plume declared for arizona. well garbed, groomed, and fed was plume, a handsome, soldierly figure. very cool and placid was his look in the spotless white that even then by local custom had become official dress for sandy; but beneath the snowy surface his heart beat with grave disquiet as he studied the strong, rugged, somber face of the soldier on the floor. wren was tall and gaunt and growing gray. his face was deeply lined; his close-cropped beard was silver-stranded; his arms and legs were long and sinewy and powerful; his chest and shoulders burly; his regimental dress had not the cut and finish of the commander's. too much of bony wrist and hand was in evidence, too little of grace and curve. but, though he stood rigidly at attention, with all semblance of respect and subordination, the gleam in his deep-set eyes, the twitch of the long fingers, told of keen and pent-up feeling, and he looked the senior soldier squarely in the face. a sergeant, standing by the adjutant's desk, tiptoed out into the clerk's room and closed the door behind him, then set himself to listen. young doty, the adjutant, fiddled nervously with his pen and tried to go on signing papers, but failed. it was for plume to break the awkward silence, and he did not quite know how. captain westervelt, quietly entering at the moment, bowed to the major and took a chair. he had evidently been sent for. "captain wren," presently said plume, his fingers trembling a bit as they played with the paper folder, "i have felt constrained to send for you to inquire still further into last night's affair--or affairs. i need not tell you that you may decline to answer if you consider your interests are--involved. i had hoped this painful matter might be so explained as to--as to obviate the necessity of extreme measures, but your second appearance close to mr. blakely's quarters, under all the circumstances, was so--so extraordinary that i am compelled to call for explanation, if you have one you care to offer." for a moment wren stood staring at his commander in amaze. he had expected to be offered opportunity to state the circumstances leading to his now deeply deplored attack on mr. blakely, and to decline the offer on the ground that he should have been given that opportunity before being submitted to the humiliation of arrest. he had intended to refuse all overtures, to invite trial by court-martial or investigation by the inspector general, but by no manner of means to plead for reconsideration now; and here was the post commander, with whom he had never served until they came to sandy, a man who hadn't begun to see the service, the battles, and campaigns that had fallen to his lot, virtually accusing him of further misdemeanor, when he had only rushed to save or succor. he forgot all about sanders or other witnesses. he burst forth impetuously: "extraordinary, sir! it would have been most extraordinary if i hadn't gone with all speed when i heard that cry for help." plume looked up in sudden joy. "you mean to tell me you didn't--you weren't there till after--the cry?" wren's stern scottish face was a sight to see. "of what can you possibly be thinking, major plume?" he demanded, slowly now, for wrath was burning within him, and yet he strove for self-control. he had had a lesson and a sore one. "i will answer that--a little later, captain wren," said plume, rising from his seat, rejoicing in the new light now breaking upon him. westervelt, too, had gasped a sigh of relief. no man had ever known wren to swerve a hair's breadth from the truth. "at this moment time is precious if the real criminal is to be caught at all. you were first to reach the sentry. had you seen no one else?" in the dead silence that ensued within the room the sputter of hoofs without broke harshly on the ear. then came spurred boot heels on the hollow, heat-dried boarding, but not a sound from the lips of captain wren. the rugged face, twitching with pent-up indignation the moment before, was now slowly turning gray. plume stood facing him in growing wonder and new suspicion. "you heard me, did you not? i asked you did you see anyone else during--along the sentry post when you went out?" a fringed gauntlet reached in at the doorway and tapped. sergeant shannon, straight as a pine, stood expectant of summons to enter and his face spoke eloquently of important tidings, but the major waved him away, and, marveling, he slowly backed to the edge of the porch. "surely you can answer that, captain wren," said plume, his clear-cut, handsome face filled with mingled anxiety and annoy. "surely you _should_ answer, or--" the ellipsis was suggestive, but impotent. after a painful moment came the response: "or--take the consequences, major?" then slowly--"very well, sir--i must take them." chapter vi a find in the sands the late afternoon of an eventful day had come to camp sandy--just such another day, from a meteorological viewpoint, as that on which this story opened nearly twenty-four hours earlier by the shadows on the eastward cliffs. at tuesday's sunset the garrison was yawning with the _ennui_ born of monotonous and uneventful existence. as wednesday's sunset drew nigh and the mountain shadows overspread the valley, even to the opposite crests of the distant mogollon, the garrison was athrill with suppressed excitement, for half a dozen things had happened since the flag went up at reveille. in the first place captain wren's arrest had been confirmed and plume had wired department headquarters, in reply to somewhat urgent query, that there were several counts in his indictment of the captain, any one of which was sufficient to demand a trial by court-martial, but he wished, did plume, for personal and official reasons that the general commanding should send his own inspector down to judge for himself. the post sergeant major and the three clerks had heard with sufficient distinctness every word that passed between the major and the accused captain, and, there being at sandy some three hundred inquisitive souls, thirsting for truth and light, it could hardly be expected of this quartette that it should preserve utter silence even though silence had been enjoined by the adjutant. it was told all over the post long before noon that wren had been virtually accused of being the sentry's assailant as well as lieutenant blakely's. it was whispered that, in some insane fury against the junior officer, wren had again, toward 3.30, breaking his arrest, gone up the row with the idea of once more entering blakely's house and possibly again attacking him. it was believed that the sentry had seen and interposed, and that, enraged at being balked by an enlisted man, wren had drawn a knife and stabbed him. true, no knife had been found anywhere about the spot, and wren had never been known to carry one. but now a dozen men, armed with rakes, were systematically going over the ground under the vigilant eye of sergeant shannon--shannon, who had heard the brief, emphatic interview between the major and the troop commander and who had been almost immediately sent forth to supervise this search, despite the fact that he had but just returned from the conduct of another, the result of which he imparted to the ears of only two men, plume, the post commander, and doty, his amazed and bewildered adjutant. but shannon had with him a trio of troopers, one of whom, at least, had not been proof against inquisitive probing, for the second sensation of the day was the story that one of the two pairs of moccasin tracks, among the yielding sands of the willow copse, led from where mr. blakely had been dozing to where the pony punch had been drowsing in the shade, for there they were lost, as the maker had evidently mounted and ridden away. all sandy knew that punch had no other rider than pretty angela wren. a third story, too, was whispered in half a dozen homes, and was going wild about the garrison, to the effect that captain wren, when accused of being mullins's assailant, had virtually declared that he had seen other persons prowling on the sentry's post and that they, not he, were the guilty ones; but when bidden to name or describe them, wren had either failed or refused; some said one, some said the other, and the prevalent belief in sudsville circles, as well as in the barracks, was that captain wren was going crazy over his troubles. and now there were women, ay, and men, too, though they spake with bated breath, who had uncanny things to say of angela--the captain's only child. and this it was that led to sensation no. 4--a wordy battle of the first magnitude between the next-door neighbor of the saddler sergeant and no less a champion of maiden probity than norah shaughnessy--the saddler sergeant's buxom daughter. all the hours since early morning norah had been in a state of nerves so uncontrollable that mrs. truman--who knew of norah's fondness for mullins and marveled not that mullins always preferred the loneliness and isolation of the post on no. 5--decided toward noon to send the girl home to her mother for a day or so, and norah thankfully went, and threw herself upon her mother's ample breast and sobbed aloud. it was an hour before she could control herself, and her agitation was such that others came to minister to her. of course there was just one explanation--norah was in love with mullins and well-nigh crazed with grief over his untimely taking off, for later reports from the hospital were most depressing. this, at least, was sufficient explanation until late in the afternoon. then, restored to partial composure, the girl was sitting up and being fanned in the shade of her father's roof-tree, when roused by the voice of the next-door neighbor before mentioned--mrs. quinn, long time laundress of captain sanders's troop and jealous as to wren's, was telling what _she_ had heard of shannon's discoveries, opining that both captain wren and the captain's daughter deserved investigation. "no wan need tell _me_ there was others prowling about mullins's post at three in the marnin.' as for angela--" but here miss shaughnessy bounded from the wooden settee, and, with amazing vim and vigor, sailed spontaneously into mrs. quinn. "no wan need tell _you_--ye say! no wan need tell _you_, ye black-tongued scandlum! well, then, _i_ tell ye captain wren did see others prowlin' on poor pat mullins's post an' others than him saw them too. go you to the meejer, soon as ye like and say _i_ saw them, and if captain wren won't tell their names there's them that will." the shrill tones of the infuriated girl were plainly audible all over the flats whereon were huddled the little cabins of log and adobe assigned as quarters to the few married men among the soldiery. these were the halcyon days of the old army when each battery, troop, or company was entitled to four laundresses and each laundress to one ration. old and young, there were at least fifty pairs of ears within easy range of the battle that raged forthwith, the noise of which reached even to the shaded precincts of the trader's store three hundred yards away. it was impossible that such a flat-footed statement as norah's should not be borne to the back doors of "the row" and, repeated then from lip to lip, should soon be told to certain of the officers. sanders heard it as he came in from stable duty, and dr. graham felt confident that it had been repeated under the major's roof when at 6 p. m. the post commander desired his professional services in behalf of mrs. plume, who had become unaccountably, if not seriously, ill. graham had but just returned from a grave conference with wren, and his face had little look of the family physician as he reluctantly obeyed the summons. as another of the auld licht school of scotch presbyterians, he also had conceived deep-rooted prejudice to that frivolous french aide-de-camp of the major's wife. the girl did dance and flirt and ogle to perfection, and half a dozen strapping sergeants were now at sword's points all on account of this objectionable eliza. graham, of course, had heard with his ears and fathomed with his understanding the first reports of wren's now famous reply to his commanding officer; and though wren would admit no more to him than he had to the major, graham felt confident that the major's wife was one of the mysterious persons seen by wren, and declared by norah, in the dim starlight of the early morning, lurking along the post of no. 5. graham had no doubt that elise was the other. the man most concerned in the case, the major himself, was perhaps the only one at sunset who never seemed to suspect that mrs. plume could have been in any way connected with the affair. he met the doctor with a world of genuine anxiety in his eyes. "my wife," said he, "is of a highly sensitive organization, and she has been completely upset by this succession of scandalous affairs. she and blakely were great friends at st. louis three years ago; indeed, many people were kind enough to couple their names before our marriage. i wish you could--quiet her," and the sounds from aloft, where madame was nervously pacing her room, gave point to the suggestion. graham climbed the narrow stairs and tapped at the north door on the landing. it was opened by elise, whose big, black eyes were dilated with excitement, while mrs. plume, her blonde hair tumbling down her back, her _peignoir_ decidedly rumpled and her general appearance disheveled, was standing in mid-floor, wringing her jeweled hands. "she looks like sixty," was the doctor's inward remark, "and is probably not twenty-six." her first question jarred upon his rugged senses. "dr. graham, when will mr. blakely be able to see--or read?" "not for a day or two. the stitches must heal before the bandages can come off his eyes. even then, mrs. plume, he should not be disturbed," was the uncompromising answer. "is that wretch, downs, sober yet?" she demanded, standing and confronting him, her whole form quivering with strong, half-suppressed emotion. "the wretch is sobering," answered graham gravely. "and now, madame, i'll trouble you to take a chair. do you," with a glance of grim disfavor, "need this girl for the moment? if not, she might as well retire." "i need my maid, dr. graham, and i told major plume distinctly i did not need you," was the impulsive reply, as the lady strove against the calm, masterful grasp he laid on her wrist. "that's as may be, mrs. plume. we're often blind to our best interests. be seated a moment, then i'll let you tramp the soles of your feet off, if you so desire." and so he practically pulled her into a chair; elise, glaring the while, stood spitefully looking on. the antipathy was mutual. "you've slept too little of late, mrs. plume," continued the doctor, lucklessly hitting the mark with a home shot instantly resented, for the lady was on her feet again. "sleep! people do nothing but sleep in this woebegone hole!" she cried. "i've had sleep enough to last a lifetime. what i want is to wake--wake out of this horrible nightmare! dr. graham, you are a friend of captain wren's. what under heaven possessed him, with his brutal strength, to assault so sick a man as mr. blakely? what possible pretext could he assert?" and again she was straining at her imprisoned hand and seeking to free herself, graham calmly studying her the while, as he noted the feverish pulse. not half an hour earlier he had been standing beside the sick bed of a fair young girl, one sorely weighted now with grave anxieties, yet who lay patient and uncomplaining, rarely speaking a word. they had not told the half of the web of accusation that now enmeshed her father's feet, but what had been revealed to her was more than enough to banish every thought of self or suffering and to fill her fond heart with instant and loving care for him. no one, not even janet, was present during the interview between father and child that followed. graham found him later locked in his own room, reluctant to admit even him, and lingering long before he opened the door; but even then the tear-stains stood on his furrowed face, and the doctor knew he had been sobbing his great heart out over the picture of his child--the child he had so harshly judged and sentenced, all unheard. graham had gone to him, after seeing angela, with censure on his tongue, but he never spoke the words. he saw there was no longer need. "let the lassie lie still the day," said he, "with kate, perhaps, to read to her. your sister might not choose a cheering book. then perhaps we'll have her riding punch again to-morrow." but graham did not smile when meeting janet by the parlor door. he was thinking of the contrast in these two, his patients, as with professional calm he studied the troubled features of the major's wife when the voice of sergeant shannon was heard in the lower hall, inquiring for the major, and in an instant plume had joined him. in that instant, too, elise had sped, cat-like, to the door, and mrs. plume had followed. possibly for this reason the major led the sergeant forth upon the piazza and the conversation took place in tones inaudible to those within the house; but, in less than a minute, the doctor's name was called and graham went down. "look at this," said plume. "they raked it out of the sand close to where mullins was lying." and the major held forth an object that gleamed in the last rays of the slanting sunshine. it was blakely's beautiful watch. chapter vii "woman-walk-in-the-night" the dawn of another cloudless day was breaking and the dim lights at the guard-house and the hospital burned red and bleary across the sandy level of the parade. the company cooks were already at their ranges, and a musician of the guard had been sent to rouse his fellows in the barracks, for the old-style reveille still held good at many a post in arizona, before the drum and fife were almost entirely abandoned in favor of the harsher bugle, by the infantry of our scattered little army. plume loved tradition. at west point, where he had often visited in younger days, and at all the "old-time" garrisons, the bang of the morning gun and the simultaneous crash of the drums were the military means devised to stir the soldier from his sleep. then, his brief ablutions were conducted to the accompaniment of the martial strains of the field musicians, alternating the sweet airs of moore and burns, the lyrics of ireland and auld reekie, with quicksteps from popular yankee melodies of the day, winding up with a grand flourish at the foot of the flagstaff, to whose summit the flag had started at the first alarum; then a rush into rattling "double quick" that summoned the laggards to scurry into the silently forming ranks, and finally, with one emphatic rataplan, the morning concert abruptly closed and the gruff voices of the first sergeants, in swift-running monotone, were heard calling the roll of their shadowy companies, and, thoroughly roused, the garrison "broke ranks" for the long routine of the day. we have changed all that, and not for the better. a solitary trumpeter steps forth from the guard-house or adjutant's office and, at the appointed time, drones a long, dispiriting strain known to the drill books as "assembly of the trumpeters," and to the army at large as "first call." unassisted by other effort, it would rouse nobody, but from far and near the myriad dogs of the post--"mongrel, hound, and cur of low degree"--lift up their canine voices in some indefinable sympathy and stir the winds of the morning with their mournful yowls. then, when all the garrison gets up cursing and all necessity for rousing is ended, the official reveille begins, sounded by the combined trumpeters, and so, uncheered by concord of sweet sounds, the soldier begins his day. the two infantry companies at sandy, at the time whereof we tell, were of an honored old regiment that had fought with worth at monterey--one whose scamps of drum boys and fifers had got their teachings from predecessors whose nimble fingers had trilled the tunes of old under the walls of the bishop's palace and in the resounding halls of the montezumas. plume and cutler loved their joyous, rhythmical strains, and would gladly have kept the cavalry clarions for purely cavalry calls; but reveille and guard-mounting were the only ones where this was practicable, and an odd thing had become noticeable. apache indians sometimes stopped their ears, and always looked impolite, when the brazen trumpets sounded close at hand; whereas they would squat on the sun-kissed sands and listen in stolid, unmurmuring bliss to every note of the fife and drum. members of the guard were always sure of sympathetic spectators during the one regular ceremony--guard-mounting--held just after sunset, for the apache prisoners at the guard-house begged to be allowed to remain without the prison room until a little after the "retreat" visit of the officer of the day, and, roosting along the guard-house porch, to gaze silently forth at the little band of soldiery in the center of the parade, and there to listen as silently to the music of the fife and drum. the moment it was all over they would rise without waiting for directions, and shuffle stolidly back to their hot wooden walls. they had had the one intellectual treat of the day. the savage breast was soothed for the time being, and plume had come to the conclusion that, aside from the fact that his indian prisoners were better fed than when on their native heath, the indian prison pen at sandy was not the place of penance the department commander had intended. accessions became so frequent; discharges so very few. then there was another symptom: sentries on the north and east front, nos. 4 and 5, had been a bit startled at first at seeing, soon after dawn, shadowy forms rising slowly from the black depths of the valley, hovering uncertainly along the edge of the _mesa_ until they could make out the lone figure of the morning watcher, then slowly, cautiously, and with gestures of amity and suppliance, drawing gradually nearer. sturdy germans and mercurial celts were, at the start, disposed to "shoo" away these specters as being hostile, or at least incongruous. but officers and men were soon made to see it was to hear the morning music these children of the desert flocked so early. the agency lay but twenty miles distant. the reservation lines came no nearer; but the fame of the invader's big maple tom-tom (we wore still the deep, resonant drum of bunker hill and waterloo, of jemappes, saratoga, and chapultepec, not the modern rattle pan borrowed from prussia), and the trill of his magical pipe had spread abroad throughout apache land to the end that no higher reward for good behavior could be given by the agent to his swarthy charges than the begged-for _papel_ permitting them, in lumps of twenty, to trudge through the evening shades to the outskirts of the soldier castle on the _mesa_, there to wait the long night through until the soft tinting of the eastward heavens and the twitter of the birdlings in the willows along the stream, gave them courage to begin their timid approach. and this breathless october morning was no exception. the sentry on the northward line, no. 4, had recognized and passed the post surgeon soon after four o'clock, hastening to hospital in response to a summons from an anxious nurse. mullins seemed far too feverish. no. 4 as well as no. 5 had noted how long the previous evening shannon and his men kept raking and searching about the _mesa_ where mullins was stabbed in the early morning, and they were in no mood to allow strangers to near them unchallenged. the first shadowy forms to show at the edge had dropped back abashed at the harsh reception accorded them. four's infantry rifle and five's cavalry carbine had been leveled at the very first to appear, and stern voices had said things the apache could neither translate nor misunderstand. the would-be audience of the morning concert ducked and waited. with more light the sentry might be more kind. the evening previous six new prisoners had been sent down under strong guard by the agent, swelling the list at sandy to thirty-seven and causing plume to set his teeth--and an extra sentry. now, as the dawn grew broader and the light clear and strong, four and five were surprised, if not startled, to see that not twenty, but probably forty apaches, with a sprinkling of squaws, were hovering all along the _mesa_, mutely watching for the signaled permission to come in. five, at least, considered the symptom one of sufficient gravity to warrant report to higher authority, and full ten minutes before the time for reveille to begin, his voice went echoing over the arid parade in a long-draw, yet imperative "corporal of the gua-a-rd, no. 5!" whereat there were symptoms of panic among the dingy white-shirted, dingy white-turbaned watchers along the edge, and a man in snowy white fatigue coat, pacing restlessly up and down in rear, this time, of the major's quarters, whirled suddenly about and strode out on the _mesa_, gazing northward in the direction of the sound. it was plume himself, and plume had had a sleepless night. at tattoo, by his own act and direction, the major had still further strained the situation. the discovery of blakely's watch, buried loosely in the sands barely ten feet from where the sentry fell, had seemed to him a matter of such significance that, as graham maintained an expression of professional gravity and hazarded no explanation, the major sent for the three captains still on duty, cutler, sanders, and westervelt, and sought their views. one after another each picked up and closely examined the watch, within and without, as though expectant of finding somewhere concealed about its mechanism full explanation of its mysterious goings and comings. then in turn, with like gravity, each declared he had no theory to offer, unless, said sanders, mr. blakely was utterly mistaken in supposing he had been robbed at the pool. mr. blakely had the watch somewhere about him when he dismounted, and then joggled it into the sands, where it soon was trampled under foot. sanders admitted that blakely was a man not often mistaken, and that the loss reported to the post trader of the flat notebook was probably correct. but no one could be got to see, much less to say, that wren was in the slightest degree connected with the temporary disappearance of the watch. yet by this time plume had some such theory of his own. sometime during the previous night, along toward morning, he had sleepily asked his wife, who was softly moving about the room, to give him a little water. the "monkey" stood usually on the window sill, its cool and dewy surface close to his hand; but he remembered later that she did not then approach the window--did not immediately bring him the glass. he had retired very late, yet was hardly surprised to find her wide awake and more than usually nervous. she explained by saying elise had been quite ill, was still suffering, and might need her services again. she could not think, she said, of sending for dr. graham after all he had had to vex him. it must have been quite a long while after, so soundly had plume slept, when she bent over him and said something was amiss and mr. doty was at the front door waiting for him to come down. he felt oddly numb and heavy and stupid as he hastily dressed, but doty's tidings, that mullins had been stabbed on post, pulled him together, as it were, and, merely running back to his room for his canvas shoes, he was speedily at the scene. mrs. plume, when briefly told what had happened, had covered her face with her hands and buried face and all in the pillow, shuddering. at breakfast-time plume himself had taken her tea and toast, both mistress and maid being still on the invalid list, and, bending affectionately over her, he had suggested her taking this very light refreshment and then a nap. graham, he said, should come and prescribe for elise. but madame was feverishly anxious. "what will be the outcome? what will happen to--captain wren?" she asked. plume would not say just what, but he would certainly have to stand court-martial, said he. mrs. plume shuddered more. what good would that do? how much better it would be to suppress everything than set such awful scandal afloat. the matter was now in the hands of the department commander, said plume, and would have to take its course. then, in some way, from her saying how ill the captain was looking, plume gathered the impression that she had seen him since his arrest, and asked the question point-blank. yes, she admitted,--from the window,--while she was helping elise. where was he? what was he doing? plume had asked, all interest now, for that must have been very late, in fact, well toward morning. "oh, nothing especial, just looking at his watch," she thought, "he probably couldn't sleep." yes, she was sure he was looking at his watch. then, as luck would have it, late in the day, when the mail came down from prescott, there was a little package for captain wren, expressed, and doty signed the receipt and sent it by the orderly. "what was it?" asked plume. "his watch, sir," was the brief answer. "he sent it up last month for repairs." and mrs. plume at nine that night, knowing nothing of this, yet surprised at her husband's pertinacity, stuck to her story. she was sure wren was consulting or winding or doing something with a watch, and, sorely perplexed and marveling much at the reticence of his company commanders, who seemed to know something they would not speak of, wren sent for doty. he had decided on another interview with wren. meanwhile "the bugologist" had been lying patiently in his cot, saying little or nothing, in obedience to the doctor's orders, but thinking who knows what. duane and doty occasionally tiptoed in to glance inquiry at the fanning attendant, and then tiptoed out. mullins had been growing worse and was a very sick man. downs, the wretch, was painfully, ruefully, remorsefully sobered over at the post of the guard, and of graham's feminine patients the one most in need, perhaps, of his ministration was giving the least trouble. while aunt janet paced restlessly about the lower floor, stopping occasionally to listen at the portal of her brother, angela wren lay silent and only sometimes sighing, with faithful kate sanders reading in low tone by the bedside. the captains had gone back to their quarters, conferring in subdued voices. plume, with his unhappy young adjutant, was seated on the veranda, striving to frame his message to wren, when the crack of a whip, the crunching of hoofs and wheels, sounded at the north end of the row, and down at swift trot came a spanking, four-mule team and concord wagon. it meant but one thing, the arrival of the general's staff inspector straight from prescott. it was the very thing plume had urged by telegraph, yet the very fact that colonel byrne was here went to prove that the chief was far from satisfied that the major's diagnosis was the right one. with soldierly alacrity, however, plume sprang forward to welcome the coming dignitary, giving his hand to assist him from the dark interior into the light. then he drew back in some chagrin. the voice of colonel byrne was heard, jovial and reassuring, but the face and form first to appear were those of mr. wayne daly, the new indian agent at the apache reservation. coming by the winding way of cherry creek, the colonel must have found means to wire ahead, then to pick up this civil functionary some distance up the valley, and to have some conference with him before ever reaching the major's bailiwick. this was not good, said plume. all the same, he led them into his cozy army parlor, bade his chinese servant get abundant supper forthwith, and, while the two were shown to the spare room to remove the dust of miles of travel, once more returned to the front piazza and his adjutant. "captain wren, sir," said the young officer at once, "begs to be allowed to see colonel byrne this evening. he states that his reasons are urgent." "captain wren shall have every opportunity to see colonel byrne in due season," was the answer. "it is not to be expected that colonel byrne will see him until after he has seen the post commander. then it will probably be too late," and that austere reply, intended to reach the ears of the applicant, steeled the scotchman's heart against his commander and made him merciless. the "conference of the powers" was indeed protracted until long after 10.30, yet, to plume's surprise, the colonel at its close said he believed he would go, if plume had no objection, and see wren in person and at once. "you see, plume, the general thinks highly of the old scot. he has known him ever since first bull run and, in fact, i am instructed to hear what wren may have to say. i hope you will not misinterpret the motive." "oh, not at all--not at all!" answered the major, obviously ill pleased, however, and already nettled that, against all precedent, certain of the apache prisoners had been ordered turned out as late as 10 p. m. for interview with the agent. it would leave him alone, too, for as much as half an hour, and the very air seemed surcharged with intrigue against the might, majesty, power, and dominion of the post commander. byrne, a soldier of the old school, might do his best to convince the major that in no wise was the confidence of the general commanding abated, but every symptom spoke of something to the contrary. "i should like, too, to see dr. graham to-night," said the official inquisitor ere he quitted the piazza to go to wren's next door. "he will be here to meet you on your return," said plume, with just a bit of stateliness, of ruffled dignity in manner, and turned once more within the hallway to summon his smiling chinaman. something rustling at the head of the stairs caused him to look up quickly. something dim and white was hovering, drooping, over the balustrade, and, springing aloft, he found his wife in a half-fainting condition, elise, the invalid, sputtering vehemently in french and making vigorous effort to pull her away. plume had left her at 8.30, apparently sleeping at last under the influence of graham's medicine. yet here she was again. he lifted her in his arms and laid her upon the broad, white bed. "clarice, my child," he said, "you _must_ be quiet. you must not leave your bed. i am sending for graham and he will come to us at once." "i _will_ not see him! he _shall_ not see me!" she burst in wildly. "the man maddens me with his--his insolence." "clarice!" "oh, i mean it! he and his brother scot, between them--they would infuriate a--saint," and she was writhing in nervous contortions. "but, clarice, how?" "but, monsieur, no!" interposed elise, bending over, glass in hand. "madame will but sip of this--madame will be tranquil." and the major felt himself thrust aside. "madame must not talk to-night. it is too much." but madame would talk. madame would know where colonel byrne was gone, whether he was to be permitted to see captain wren and dr. graham, and that wretch downs. surely the commanding officer must have _some_ rights. surely it was no time for investigation--_this_ hour of the night. five minutes earlier plume was of the same way of thinking. now he believed his wife delirious. "see to her a moment, elise," said he, breaking loose from the clasp of the long, bejeweled fingers, and, scurrying down the stairs, he came face to face with dr. graham. "i was coming for you," said he, at sight of the rugged, somber face. "mrs. plume--" "i heard--at least i comprehend," answered graham, with uplifted hand. "the lady is in a highly nervous state, and my presence does not tend to soothe her. the remedies i left will take effect in time. leave her to that waiting woman; she best understands her." "but she's almost raving, man. i never knew a woman to behave like that." "ye're not long married, major," answered graham. "come into the air a bit," and, taking his commander's arm, the surgeon swept him up the starlit row, then over toward the guard-house, and kept him half an hour watching the strange interview between mr. daly, the agent, and half a dozen gaunt, glittering-eyed apaches, from whom he was striving to get some admission or information, with arahawa, "washington charley," as interpreter. one after another the six had shaken their frowsy heads. they admitted nothing--knew nothing. "what do you make of it all?" queried plume. "something's wrang at the reservation," answered graham. "there mostly is. daly thinks there's running to and fro between the tontos in the sierra ancha country and his wards above here. he thinks there's more out than there should be--and more a-going. what'd you find, daly?" he added, as the agent joined them, mechanically wiping his brow. moisture there was none. it evaporated fast as the pores exuded. "they know well enough, damn them!" said the new official. "but they think i can be stood off. i'll nail 'em yet--to-morrow," he added. "but could you send a scout at once to the tonto basin?" and daly turned eagerly to the post commander. plume reflected. whom could he send? men there were in plenty, dry-rotting at the post for lack of something to limber their joints; but officers to lead? there was the rub! thirty troopers, twenty apache mohave guides, a pack train and one or, at most, two officers made up the usual complement of such expeditions. men, mounts, scouts, mules and packers, all, were there at his behest; but, with wren in arrest, sanders and lynn back but a week from a long prod through the black mesa country far as fort apache, blakely invalided and duane a boy second lieutenant, his choice of cavalry officers was limited. it never occurred to him to look beyond. "what's the immediate need of a scout?" said he. "to break up the traffic that's going on--and the rancherias they must have somewhere down there. if we don't, i'll not answer for another month." daly might be new to the neighborhood, but not to the business. "i'll confer with colonel byrne," answered plume guardedly. and byrne was waiting for them, a tall, dark shadow in the black depths of the piazza. graham would have edged away and gone to his own den, but plume held to him. there was something he needed to say, yet could not until the agent had retired. daly saw,--perhaps he had already imbibed something of the situation,--and was not slow to seek his room. plume took the little kerosene lamp; hospitably led the way; made the customary tender of a "night-cap," and polite regrets he had no ice to offer therewith; left his unwonted guest with courteous good-night and cast an eye aloft as he came through the hall. all there was dark and still, though he doubted much that graham's sedatives had yet prevailed. he had left the two men opposite the doorway. he found them at the south end of the piazza, their heads together. they straightened up to perfunctory talk about the medical director, his drastic methods and inflammable ways; but the mirth was forced, the humor far too dry. then silence fell. then plume invaded it: "how'd you find wren--mentally?" he presently asked. he felt that an opening of some kind was necessary. "sound," was the colonel's answer, slow and sententious. "of course he is much--concerned." "about--his case? ah, will you smoke, colonel?" "about blakely. i believe not, plume; it's late." plume struck a light on the sole of his natty boot. "one would suppose he would feel very natural anxiety as to the predicament in which he has placed himself," he ventured. "wren worries much over blakely's injuries, which accident made far more serious than he would have inflicted, major, even had he had the grounds for violence that he thought he had. blakely was not the only sufferer, and is not the only cause, of his deep contrition. wren tells me that he was even harsher to angela. but that is all a family matter." the colonel was speaking slowly, thoughtfully. "but--these later affairs--that wren couldn't explain--or wouldn't." plume's voice and color both were rising. "couldn't is the just word, major, and couldn't especially--to you," was the significant reply. plume rose from his chair and stood a moment, trembling not a little and his fingers twitching. "you mean--" he huskily began. "i mean this, my friend," said byrne gently, as he, too, arose, "and i have asked graham, another friend, to be here--that wren would not defend himself to you by even mentioning--others, and might not have revealed the truth even to me had he been the only one cognizant of it. but, plume, _others_ saw what he saw, and what is now known to many people on the post. others than wren were abroad that night. one other was being carefully, tenderly brought home--_led_ home--to your roof. you did not know--mrs. plume was a somnambulist?" in the dead silence that ensued the colonel put forth a pitying hand as though to stay and support the younger soldier, the post commander. plume stood, swaying a bit, and staring. presently he strove to speak, but choked in the effort. "it's the only proper explanation," said graham, and between them they led the major within doors. and this is how it happened that he, instead of wren, was pacing miserably up and down in the gathering dawn, when the sentry startled all waking sandy with his cry for the corporal. this is how, far ahead of the corporal, the post commander reached the alarmed soldier, with demand to know the cause; and, even by the time he came, the cause had vanished from sight. "apaches, sir, by the dozen,--all along the edge of the _mesa_," stammered no. 5. he could have convinced the corporal without fear or thought of ridicule, but his voice lacked confidence when he stood challenged by his commanding officer. plume heard with instant suspicion. he was in no shape for judicial action. "apaches!" this in high disdain. "trash, man! because one sentry has a scuffle with some night prowler is the next to lose his nerve? you're scared by shadows, hunt. that's what's the matter with you!" it "brought to" a veteran trooper with a round turn. hunt had served his fourth enlistment, had "worn out four blankets" in the regiment, and was not to be accused of scare. "let the major see for himself, then," he answered sturdily. "come in here, you!" he called aloud. "come, the whole gang of ye. the concert's beginning!" then, slowly along the eastward edge there began to creep into view black polls bound with dirty white, black crops untrammeled by any binding. then, swift from the west, came running footfalls, the corporal with a willing comrade or two, wondering was five in further danger. there, silent and regretful, stood the post commander, counting in surprise the score of scarecrow forms now plainly visible, sitting, standing, or squatting along the _mesa_ edge. northernmost in view, nearly opposite blakely's quarters, were two, detached from the general assembly, yet clinging close together--two slender figures, gowned, and it was at these the agent daly was staring, as he, too, came running to the spot. "major plume," cried he, panting, "i want those girls arrested, at once!" chapter viii "apache knives dig deep!" at five o'clock of this cloudless october morning colonel montgomery byrne, "of the old army, sir," was reviling the fates that had set him the task of unraveling such a skein as he found at sandy. at six he was blessing the stars that sent him. awakened, much before his usual hour, by half-heard murmur of scurry and excitement, so quickly suppressed he believed it all a dream, he was thinking, half drowsily, all painfully, of the duty devolving on him for the day, and wishing himself well out of it, when the dream became real, the impression vivid. his watch told him reveille should now be sounding. his ears told him the sounds he heard were not those of reveille, yet something had roused the occupants of officers' row, and then, all on a sudden, instead of the sweet strains of "the dawn of the day" or "bonnie lass o' gawrie" there burst upon the morning air, harsh and blustering, the alarum of the civil war days, the hoarse uproar of the drum thundering the long roll, while above all rang the loud clamor of the cavalry trumpet sounding "to horse." "fitz james was brave, but to his heart the life blood leaped with sudden start." byrne sprang from his bed. he was a soldier, battle-tried, but this meant something utterly new to him in war, for, mingling with the gathering din, he heard the shriek of terror-stricken women. daly's bed was empty. the agent was gone. elise aloft was jabbering _patois_ at her dazed and startled mistress. suey, the chinaman, came clattering in, all flapping legs and arms and pigtail, his face livid, his eyes staring. "patcheese! patcheese!" he squealed, and dove under the nearest bed. then byrne, shinning into boots and breeches and shunning his coat, grabbed his revolver and rushed for the door. across the parade, out of their barracks the "doughboys" came streaming, no man of them dressed for inspection, but rather, like sailors, stripped for a fight; and, never waiting to form ranks, but following the lead of veteran sergeants and the signals or orders of officers somewhere along the line, went sprinting straight for the eastward _mesa_. from the cavalry barracks, the northward sets, the troopers, too, were flowing, but these were turned stableward, back of the post, and byrne, with his nightshirt flying wide open, wider than his eyes, bolted round through the space between the quarters of plume and wren, catching sight of the arrested captain standing grim and gaunt on his back piazza, and ran with the foremost sergeants to the edge of the plateau, where, in his cool white garb, stood plume, shouting orders to those beneath. there, down in the sandy bottom, was explanation of it all. two soldiers were bending over a prostrate form in civilian dress. two swarthy apaches, one on his face, the other, ten rods away, writhing on his side, lay weltering in blood. out along the sandy barren and among the clumps of mezquite and greasewood, perhaps as many as ten soldiers, members of the guard, were scattering in rude skirmish order; now halting and dropping on one knee to fire, now rushing forward; while into the willows, that swept in wide concave around the flat, a number of forms in dirty white, or nothing at all but streaming breechclout, were just disappearing. northward, too, beyond the post of no. 4, other little squads and parties could be faintly seen scurrying away for the shelter of the willows, and as byrne reached the major's side, with the to-be-expected query "whatinhell'sthematter?" the last of the fleeing apaches popped out of sight, and plume turned toward him in mingled wrath and disgust: "that--ass of an agent!" was all he could say, as he pointed to the prostrate figure in pepper and salt. byrne half slid, half stumbled down the bank and bent over the wounded man. dead he was not, for, with both hands clasped to his breast, daly was cradling from side to side and saying things of apaches totally unbecoming an indian agent and a man of god. "but who did it? and how?--and why?" demanded byrne of the ministering soldiers. [illustration: "now halting, dropping on one knee to fire"] "tried to 'rest two patchie girls, sir," answered the first, straightening up and saluting, "and her feller wouldn't stand it, i reckon. knifed the agent and craney, too. yonder's the feller." yonder lay, face downward, as described, a sinewy young brave of the apache mohave band, his newer, cleaner shirt and his gayly ornamented sash and headgear telling of superior rank and station among his kind. with barely a glance at craney, squatted beside a bush, and with teeth and hands knotting a kerchief about a bleeding arm, byrne bent over the apache and turned the face to the light. "good god!" he cried, at the instant, "it's quonathay--raven shield! why, _you_ know him, corporal!"--this to casey, of wren's troop, running to his side. "son of old chief quonahelka! i wouldn't have had this happen for all the girls on the reservation. who were they? why did he try to arrest them? here! i'll have to ask him--stabbed or not!" and, anxious and angering, the colonel hastened over toward the agent, now being slowly aided to his feet. plume, too, had come sidelong down the sandy bank with cutler, of the infantry, asking where he should put in his men. "oh, just deploy across the flats to stand off any possible attack," said plume. "don't cross the sandy, and, damn it all! get a bugler out and sound recall!" for now the sound of distant shots came echoing back from the eastward cliffs. the pursuit had spread beyond the stream. "i don't want any more of those poor devils hurt. there's mischief enough already," he concluded. "i should say so," echoed the colonel. "what was the matter, mr. daly? whom did you seek to arrest?--and why?" "almost any of 'em," groaned daly. "there were a dozen there i'd refused passes to come again this week. they were here in defiance of my orders, and i thought to take that girl natzie,--she that led lola off,--back to her father at the agency. it would have been a good lesson. of course she fought and scratched. next thing i knew a dozen of 'em were atop of us--some water, for god's sake!--and lift me out of this!" then with grave and watch-worn face, graham came hurrying to the spot, all the way over from mullins's bedside at the hospital and breathing hard. dour indeed was the look he gave the groaning agent, now gulping at a gourd held to his pale lips by one of the men. the policy of daly's predecessor had been to feather his own nest and let the indian shift for himself, and this had led to his final overthrow. daly, however, had come direct from the care of a tribe of the pueblo persuasion, peace-loving and tillers of the soil, meek as the pimas and maricopas, natives who fawned when he frowned and cringed at the crack of his whip. these he had successfully, and not dishonestly, ruled, but that very experience had unfitted him for duty over the mountain apache, who cringed no more than did the lordly sioux or cheyenne, and truckled to no man less than a tribal chief. blakely, the soldier, cool, fearless, and resolute, but scrupulously just, they believed in and feared; but this new blusterer only made them laugh, until he scandalized them by wholesale arrest and punishment. then their childlike merriment changed swiftly to furious and scowling hate,--to open defiance, and finally, when he dared lay hands on a chosen daughter of the race, to mutiny and the knife. graham, serving his third year in the valley, had seen the crisis coming and sought to warn the man. but what should an army doctor know of an apache indian? said daly, and, fatuous in his own conceit, the crisis found him unprepared. "go you for a stretcher," said the surgeon, after a quick look into the livid face. "lay him down gently there," and kneeling, busied himself with opening a way to the wound. out over the flats swung the long skirmish line, picturesque in the variety of its undress, cutler striding vociferous in its wake, while a bugler ran himself out of breath, far to the eastward front, to puff feeble and abortive breath into unresponsive copper. and still the same flutter of distant, scattering shots came drifting back from the brakes and cañons in the rocky wilds beyond the stream. the guard still pursued and the indians still led, but they who knew anything well knew it could not be long before the latter turned on the scattering chase, and byrne strode about, fuming with anxiety. "thank god!" he cried, as a prodigious clatter of hoofs, on hollow and resounding wood, told of cavalry coming across the _acequia_, and sanders galloped round the sandy point in search of the foe--or orders. "thank god! here, sanders--pardon me, major, there isn't an instant to lose--rush your men right on to the front there! spread well out, but don't fire a shot unless attacked in force! get those--chasing idiots and bring them in! by god, sir, we'll have an indian war on our hands as it is!" and sanders nodded and dug spurs to his troop horse, and sang out: "left front into line--gallop!" and the rest was lost in a cloud of dust and the blare of cavalry trumpet. then the colonel turned to plume, standing now silent and sore troubled. "it was the quickest way," he said apologetically. "ordinarily i should have given the order through you, of course. but those beggars are armed to a man. they left their guns in the crevices of yonder rocks, probably, when they came for the morning music. we must have no fight over this unless they force it. i wish to heaven we hadn't killed--these two," and ruefully he looked at the stark forms--the dead lover of natzie, the gasping tribesman just beyond, dying, knife in hand. "the general has been trying to curb daly for the last ten days," continued he, "and warned him he'd bring on trouble. the interpreter split with him on monday last, and there's been mischief brewing ever since. if only we could have kept blakely there--all this row would have been averted!" if only, indeed! was plume thinking, as eagerly, anxiously he scanned the eastward shore, rising jagged, rocky, and forbidding from the willows of the stream bed. if only, indeed! not only all this row of which byrne had seen so much, but all this other row, this row within a row, this intricacy of mishaps and misery that involved the social universe of camp sandy, of which as yet the colonel, presumably, knew so very little; of which, as post commander, plume had yet to tell him! an orderly came running with a field glass and a scrap of paper. plume glanced at the latter, a pencil scrawl of his wife's inseparable companion, and, for aught he knew, confidante. "madame," he could make out, and "_affreusement_" something, but it was enough. the orderly supplemented: "leece, sir, says the lady is very bad--" "go to her, plume," with startling promptitude cried the colonel. "i'll look to everything here. it's all coming out right," for with a tantara--tantara-ra-ra sanders's troop, spreading far and wide, were scrambling up the shaly slopes a thousand yards away. "go to your wife and tell her the danger's over," and, with hardly another glance at the moaning agent, now being limply hoisted on a hospital stretcher, thankfully the major went. "the lady's very bad, is she?" growled byrne, in fierce aside to graham. "that french hag sometimes speaks truth, in spite of herself. how d'you find him?" this with a toss of the head toward the vanishing stretcher. "bad likewise. these apache knives dig deep. there's mullins now--" "think _that_ was apache?" glared byrne, with sudden light in his eyes, for wren had told his troubles--all. "apache _knife_--yes." "what the devil do you mean, graham?" and the veteran soldier, who knew and liked the surgeon, whirled again on him with eyes that looked not like at all. the doctor turned, his somber gaze following the now distant figure of the post commander, struggling painfully up the yielding sand of the steep slope to the plateau. the stretcher bearers and attendants were striding away to hospital with the now unconscious burden. the few men, lingering close at hand, were grouped about the dead apaches. the gathering watchers along the bank were beyond earshot. staff officer and surgeon were practically alone and the latter answered: "i mean, sir, that if that apache knife had been driven in by an apache warrior, mullins would have been dead long hours ago--which he isn't." byrne turned a shade grayer. "could _she_ have done that?" he asked, with one sideward jerk of his head toward the major's quarters. "i'm not saying," quoth the scot. "i'm asking was there anyone else?" chapter ix a carpet knight, indeed the flag at camp sandy drooped from the peak. except by order it never hung halfway. the flag at the agency fluttered no higher than the cross-trees, telling that death had loved some shining mark and had not sued in vain. under this symbol of mourning, far up the valley, the interpreter was telling to a circle of dark, sullen, and unresponsive faces a fact that every apache knew before. under the full-masted flag at the post, a civilian servant of the nation lay garbed for burial. poor daly had passed away with hardly a chance to tell his tale, with only a loving, weeping woman or two to mourn him. over the camp the shadow of death tempered the dazzling sunshine, for all sandy felt the strain and spoke only with sorrow. he meant well, did daly, that was accorded him now. he only lacked "savvy" said they who had dwelt long in the land of apache. over at the hospital two poor women wept, and twice their number strove to soothe. janet wren and mrs. graham were there, as ever, when sorrow and trouble came. mrs. sanders and mrs. cutler, too, were hovering about the mourners, doing what they could, and the hospital matron, busy day and night of late, had never left her patient until he needed her no more, and then had turned to minister to those he left behind--the widow and the fatherless. over on the shaded verandas other women met and murmured in the soft, sympathetic drawl appropriate to funereal occasion, and men nodded silently to each other. death was something these latter saw so frequently it brought but little of terror. other things were happening of far greater moment that they could not fathom at all. captain wren, after four days of close arrest, had been released by the order of major plume himself, who, pending action on his application for leave of absence, had gone on sick report and secluded himself within his quarters. it was rumored that mrs. plume was seriously ill, so ill, indeed, she had to be denied to every one of the sympathizing women who called, even to janet, sister of their soldier next-door neighbor, but recently a military prisoner, yet now, by law and custom, commander of the post. several things had conspired to bring about this condition of affairs. byrne, to begin with, had been closely questioning shannon, and had reached certain conclusions with regard to the stabbing of mullins that were laid before plume, already stunned by the knowledge that, sleeping as his friendly advisers declared, or waking, as his inner consciousness would have it, clarice, his young and still beautiful wife, had left her pillow and gone by night toward the northern limit of the line of quarters. if wren were tried, or even accused, that fact would be the first urged in his defense. plume's stern accusation of elise had evoked from her nothing but a voluble storm of protest. madame was ill, sleepless, nervous--had gone forth to walk away her nervousness. she, elise, had gone in search and brought her home. downs, the wretch, when as stoutly questioned, declared he had been blind drunk; saw nobody, knew nothing, and must have taken the lieutenant's whisky. plume shrank from asking norah questions. he could not bring himself to talking of his wife to the girl of the laundresses' quarters, but he knew now that he must drop that much of the case against wren. then came the final blow. byrne had gone to the agency, making every effort through runners, with promises of immunity, to coax back the renegades to the reservation, and so avert another apache war. plume, in sore perplexity, was praying for the complete restoration of mullins--the only thing that could avert investigation--when, as he entered his office the morning of this eventful day, doty's young face was eloquent with news. one of the first things done by lieutenant blakely when permitted by dr. graham to sit and speak, was to dictate a letter to the post adjutant, the original of which, together with the archives of camp sandy, was long since buried among the hidden treasures of the war department. the following is a copy of the paper placed by mr. doty in the major's hands even before he could reach his desk: camp sandy, a. t., october --, 187- lieutenant j. j. doty, 8th u. s. infantry, post adjutant. _sir_: i have the honor to submit for the consideration of the post commander, the following: shortly after retreat on the --th inst. i was suddenly accosted in my quarters by captain robert wren, ----th cavalry, and accused of an act of treachery to him;--an accusation which called forth instant and indignant denial. he had, as i now have cause to know, most excellent reason for believing his charge to be true, and the single blow he dealt me was the result of intense and natural wrath. that the consequences were so serious he could not have foreseen. as the man most injured in the affair, i earnestly ask that no charges be preferred. were we in civil life i should refuse to prosecute, and, if the case be brought before a court-martial it will probably fail--for lack of evidence. very respectfully, your obedient servant, neil d. blakely, 1st lieut., ----th cavalry. now, doty had been known to hold his tongue when a harmful story might be spread, but he could no more suppress his rejoicing over this than he could the impulse to put it in slang. "say, aint this just a corker?" said this ingenuous youth, as he spread it on his desk for graham's grimly gleaming eyes. plume had read it in dull, apathetic, unseeing fashion. it was the morning after the apache _emeute_. plume had stared hard at his adjutant a moment, then, whipping up the sun hat that he had dropped on his desk, and merely saying, "i'll return--shortly," had sped to his darkened quarters and not for an hour had he reappeared. then the first thing he asked for was that letter of mr. blakely's, which, this time, he read with lips compressed and twitching a bit at the corners. then he called for a telegraph blank and sent a wire to intercept byrne at the agency. "i shall turn over command to wren at noon. i'm too ill for further duty," was all he said. byrne read the rest between the lines. but graham went straightway to the quarters of captain wren, a rough pencil copy of that most unusual paper in his hand. "r-robert wren," said he, as he entered, unknocking and unannounced, "will ye listen to this? nay, angela, lass, don't go." when strongly moved, as we have seen, our doctor dropped to the borderland of dialect. in the dim light from the shaded windows he had not at first seen the girl. she was seated on a footstool, her hands on her father's knee, her fond face gazing up into his, and that strong, bony hand of his resting on her head and toying with the ribbon, the "snood," as he loved to call it, with which she bound her abundant tresses. at sound of the doctor's voice, janet, ever apprehensive of ill, had come forth from the dining room, silver brush and towel in hand, and stood at the doorway, gazing austerely. she could not yet forgive her brother's friend his condemnation of her methods as concerned her brother's child. angela, rising to her full height, stood with one hand on the back of her father's chair, the other began softly stroking the grizzled crop from his furrowed forehead. no one spoke a word as graham began and slowly, to the uttermost line, read his draft of blakely's missive. no one spoke for a moment after he had finished. angela, with parted lips and dilated eyes, had stood at first drinking in each syllable, then, with heaving bosom, she slowly turned, her left hand falling by her side. wren sat in silence, his deep-set eyes glowering on the grim reader, a dazed look on his rugged face. then he reached up and drew the slim, tremulous hand from his forehead and snuggled it against his stubbly cheek, and still he could not speak. janet slowly backed away into the darkness of the dining room. the situation had softening tendencies and janet's nature revolted at sentiment. it was graham's voice that again broke the silence. "for a vain carpet knight, 'whose best boast was to wear a braid of his fair lady's hair,' it strikes me our butterfly chaser has some points of a gentleman," said he, slowly folding his paper. "i might say more," he continued presently, retiring toward the hall. then, pausing at the doorway, "but i won't," he concluded, and abruptly vanished. an hour later, when janet in person went to answer a knock at the door, she glanced in at the parlor as she passed, and that peep revealed angela again seated on her footstool, with her bonny head pillowed on her father's knee, his hand again toying with the glossy tresses, and both father and child looked up, expectant. yes, there stood the young adjutant, officially equipped with belt and sword and spotless gloves. "can i see the captain?" he asked, lifting his natty _kepi_, and the captain arose and strode to the door. "major plume presents his compliments--and this letter, sir," stammered the youth, blushing, too, at sight of angela, beaming on him from the parlor door. "and--you're in command, sir. the major has gone on sick report." that evening a solemn _cortège_ filed away down the winding road to the northward flats and took the route to the little cemetery, almost all the garrison following to the grave all that was mortal of the hapless agent. byrne, returned from the agency, was there to represent the general commanding the department. wren stalked solemnly beside him as commander of the post. even the women followed, tripping daintily through the sand. graham watched them from the porch of the post hospital. he could not long leave mullins, tossing in fever and delirium. he had but recently left lieutenant blakely, sitting up and placidly busying himself in patching butterfly wings, and blakely had even come to the front door to look at the distant gathering of decorous mourners. but the bandaged head was withdrawn as two tall, feminine forms came gravely up the row, one so prim and almost antique, the other so lithe and lissome. he retreated to the front room, and with the one available eye at the veiled window, followed her, the latter, until the white flowing skirt was swept from the field of his vision. he had stood but a few hours previous on the spot where he had received that furious blow five nights before, and this time, with cordial grasp, had taken the huge hand that dealt it between his white and slender palms. "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those," wren had murmured, as he read the deeply regretful words of his late accuser and commander, for had not he in his turn, and without delay, also to eat humble pie? there was something almost pathetic in the attitude of the big soldier as he came to the darkened room and stood before his junior and subordinate, but the latter had stilled the broken, clumsy, faltering words with which this strong, masterful man was striving to make amend for bitter wrong. "i won't listen to more, captain wren," he said. "you had reasons i never dreamed of--then. our eyes have been opened" (one of his was still closed). "you have said more than enough. let us start afresh now--with better understanding." "it--it is generous in you, blakely. i misjudged everything--everybody, and now,--well, you know there are still hotspurs in the service. i'm thinking some man may be ass enough to say you got a blow without resenting--" blakely smiled, a contorted and disunited smile, perhaps, and one much trammeled by adhesive plaster. yet there was placid unconcern in the visible lines of his pale face. "i think i shall know how to answer," said he. and so for the day, and without mention of the name uppermost in the thoughts of each, the two had parted--for the first time as friends. but the night was yet to come. chapter x. "woman-walk-in-the-night" again so swift had been the succession of events since the first day of the week, few of the social set at sandy could quite realize, much less fathom, all that had happened, and as they gathered on the verandas, in the cool of the evening after daly's funeral, the trend of talk was all one way. a man who might have thrown light on certain matters at issue had been spirited away, and there were women quite ready to vow it was done simply to get him beyond range of their questioning. sergeant shannon had been sent to the agency on some mission prescribed by colonel byrne. it was almost the last order issued by major plume before turning over the command. byrne himself still lingered at the post, "watching the situation," as it was understood, and in constant telegraphic correspondence with the general at prescott and the commander of the little guard over the agency buildings at the reservation--lieutenant bridger, of the infantry. with a sergeant and twenty men that young officer had been dispatched to that point immediately after the alarming and unlooked-for catastrophe of the reveille outbreak. catastrophe was what byrne called it, and he meant what he said, not so much because it had cost the life of daly, the agent, whose mistaken zeal had precipitated the whole misunderstanding, but rather because of the death of two such prominent young warriors as "shield" and his friend, who had fallen after dealing the fatal blow to him who had laid violent hands, so they regarded it, on two young girls, one a chieftain's daughter and both objects of reverent and savagely sentimental interest. "if war doesn't come at once," said byrne, "it will be because the apache has a new sense or a deep-laid scheme. look out for him." no news as yet had come from the runners sent forth in search of the scattered fugitives, who would soon be flocking together again in the fastnesses of the mogollon to the east or the red rock country northward--the latter probably, as being nearer their friends at the reservation and farther from the few renegade tontos lurking in the mountains toward fort apache. byrne's promise to the wanderers, sent by these runners, was to the effect that they would be safe from any prosecution if they would return at once to the agency and report themselves to the interpreter and the lieutenant commanding the guard. he would not, he said, be answerable for what might happen if they persisted in remaining at large. but when it was found that, so far from any coming in, there were many going out, and that natzie's father and brother had already gone, byrne's stout heart sank. the message came by wire from the agency not long after the return of the funeral party, and while the evening was yet young. he sent at once for wren, and, seated on the major's front piazza, with an orderly hovering just out of earshot, and with many an eye anxiously watching them along the row, the two veterans were holding earnest conference. major plume was at the bedside of his wife, so said graham when he came down about eight. mrs. plume, he continued, was at least no worse, but very nervous. then he took himself back to the hospital. another topic of talk along the line was blakely's watch and its strange recovery, and many were the efforts to learn what blakely himself had to say about it. the officers, nearly all of them, of course, had been at intervals to see blakely and inquire if there were not something that they could do, this being the conventional and proper thing, and they who talked with him, with hardly an exception, led up to the matter of the watch and wished to know how he accounted for its being there on the post of no. 5. it was observed that, upon this topic and the stabbing of private mullins, mr. blakely was oddly reticent. he had nothing whatever to suggest as explanation of either matter. the watch was taken from the inner pocket of his thin white coat as he lay asleep at the pool, of this he felt confident, but by whom he would not pretend to say. everybody knew by this time that angela wren had seen him sleeping, and had, in a spirit of playful mischief, fetched away his butterfly net, but who would accuse angela of taking his watch and money? of course such things had been, said one or two wise heads, but--not with girls like angela. but who could say what, all this while, angela herself was thinking? once upon a time it had been the way of our young folk well over the north and west to claim forfeit in the game of "catching the weasel asleep." there had been communities, indeed, and before co-education became a fad at certain of our great universities, wherein the maid caught napping could hold it no sin against watchful swain, or even against her, that he then and there imprinted on her lips a kiss. on the other hand, the swain found sleeping might not always expect a kiss, but must pay the penalty, a pair of dainty gloves. many a forfeit, both lip and glove, had there been claimed and allowed in army days whereof we write, and angela, stealing upon blakely as he dozed beneath the willows, and liking him well and deploring her father's pronounced aversion to him--perhaps even resenting it an undutiful bit--had found it impossible to resist the temptation to softly disengage that butterfly net from the loosely clasping fingers, and swiftly, stealthily, delightedly to scamper away with it against his waking. it was of this very exploit, never dreaming of the fateful consequences, she and kate sanders were so blissfully bubbling over, fairly shaking with maiden merriment when the despoiled victim, homeward bound, caught sight of them upon the _mesa_. ten minutes more, and in full force she had been made to feel the blow of her father's fierce displeasure. twenty minutes more, and, under the blow of her father's furious wrath, blakely had been felled like a log. when with elongated face and exaggerated gloom of manner aunt janet came to make her realize the awful consequences of her crime, angela's first impulse had been to cry out against her father's unreasoning rage. when she learned that he was in close arrest,--to be tried, doubtless, for his mad assault,--in utter revulsion of feeling, in love and tenderness, in grief and contrition inexpressible, she had thrown herself at his feet and, clasping his knees, had sobbed her heart out in imploring his forgiveness for what she called her wicked, heedless, heartless conduct. no one saw that blessed meeting, that scene of mutual forgiveness, of sweet reconciliation; too sweet and serene, indeed, for janet's stern and calvinistic mold. are we ever quite content, i wonder, that others' bairnies should be so speedily, so entirely, forgiven? all because of this had all janet's manifestations of sympathy for robert to be tempered with a fine reserve. as for angela, it would never do to let the child so soon forget that this should be an awful lesson. aunt janet's manner, therefore, when, butterfly net in hand, she required of her niece full explanation of the presence in the room of this ravished trophy, was something fraught with far too much of future punishment, of wrath eternal. even in her chastened mood angela's spirit stood _en garde_. "i have told father everything, auntie," she declared. "i leave it all to him," and bore in silence the comments, without the utterance of which the elder vestal felt she could not conscientiously quit the field. "bold," "immodest," "unmaidenly," "wanton," were a choice few of aunt janet's expletives, and these were unresented. but when she concluded with "i shall send this--thing to him at once, with my personal apologies for the act of an irresponsible child," up sprang angela with rebellion flashing from her eyes. she had suffered punishment as a woman. she would not now be treated as a child. to janet's undisguised amaze and disapprobation, wren decided that angela herself should send both apology and net. it was the first missive of the kind she had ever written, but, even so, she would not submit it for either advice or criticism--even though its composition cost her many hours and tears and sheets of paper. no one but the recipient had so much as a peep at it, but when blakely read it a grave smile lighted his pallid and still bandaged face. he stowed the little note in his desk, and presently took it out and read it again, and still again, and then it went slowly into the inner pocket of his white sack coat and was held there, while he, the wearer, slowly paced up and down the veranda late in the starlit night. this was the evening of daly's funeral, the evening of the day on which he and his captain had shaken hands and were to start afresh with better understanding. young duane was officer of the day and, after the tattoo inspection of his little guard, had gone for a few minutes to the hospital where mullins lay muttering and tossing in his feverish sleep; then, meeting wren and graham on the way, had tramped over to call on blakely, thinking, perhaps, to chat a while and learn something. soon after "taps" was sounded, however, the youngster joined the little group gossiping in guarded tones on the porch at captain sanders', far down the row, and, in response to question, said that "bugs"--that being blakely's briefest _nom de guerre_--must be convalescing rapidly, he "had no use for his friends," and, as the lad seemed somewhat ruffled and resentful, what more natural than that he should be called upon for explanation? sanders and his wife were present, and mrs. bridger, very much alive with inquiry and not a little malicious interest. kate, too, was of the party, and doty, the adjutant, and mesdames cutler and westervelt--it was so gloomy and silent, said these latter, at their end of the row. much of the talk had been about mrs. plume's illness and her "sleep-walking act," as it had been referred to, and many had thought, but few had spoken, of her possible presence on the post of no. 5 about the time that no. 5 was stabbed. they knew _she_ couldn't have done it, of course, but then how strange that she should have been there at all! the story had gained balloon-like expanse by this time, and speculation was more than rife. but here was duane with a new grievance which, when put into duane's english, reduced itself to this: "why, it was like as if bugs wanted to get rid of me and expected somebody else," and this they well remembered later. nobody else was observed going to blakely's front door, at least, but at eleven o'clock he himself could still be dimly heard and seen pacing steadily up and down his piazza, apparently alone and deep in thought. his lights, too, were turned down, a new man from the troop having asked for and assumed the duties formerly devolving on the wretch downs, now doing time within the garrison prison. before eleven, however, this new martial domestic had gone upstairs to bed and blakely was all alone, which was as he wished it, for he had things to plan and other things to think of that lifted him above the possibility of loneliness. down the line of officers' quarters only in two or three houses could lights be seen. darkness reigned at plume's, where byrne was still rooming. darkness reigned at wren's and graham's, despite the fact that the lords of these manors were still abroad, both at the bedside of trooper mullins. a dozen people were gathered by this time at sanders'. all the other verandas, except blakely's with its solitary watcher, seemed deserted. to these idlers of the soft and starlit night, sitting bareheaded about the gallery and chatting in the friendly way of the frontier, there came presently a young soldier from the direction of the adjutant's office at the south end. "the night operator," he explained. "two dispatches have just come for colonel byrne, and i thought maybe--" "no, cassidy," said doty. "the colonel is at his quarters. dispatch, is it? perhaps i'd better go with you," and, rising, the young officer led the way, entering on tiptoe the hall of the middle house where, far back on a table, a lamp was burning low. tapping at an inner door, he was bidden to enter. byrne was in bed, a single sheet over his burly form, but he lay wide awake. he took the first dispatch and tore it open eagerly. it was from bridger at the agency: runners just in say natzie and lola had turned back from trail to montezuma well, refusing to go further from their dead. can probably be found if party go at dawn or sooner. alchisay with them. more indians surely going out from here. byrne's brow contracted and his lips compressed, but he gave no other sign. "is captain wren still up?" he briefly asked, as he reached for the other dispatch. "over at the hospital, sir," said doty, and watched this famous campaigner's face as he ripped open the second brown envelope. this time he was half out of bed before he could have half finished even that brief message. it was from the general: news of trouble must have reached indians at san carlos. much excitement there and at apache. shall start for camp mcdowell to-morrow as soon as i have seen plume. he should come early. the colonel was in his slippers and inexpressibles in less than no time, but plume aloft had heard the muffled sounds from the lower floor, and was down in a moment. without a word byrne handed him the second message and waited until he had read, then asked: "can you start at dawn?" "i can start now," was the instant reply. "our best team can make it in ten hours. order out the concord, mr. doty." and doty vanished. "but mrs. plume--" began the colonel tentatively. "mrs. plume simply needs quiet and to be let alone," was the joyless answer. "i think perhaps--i am rather in the way." "well, i know the general will appreciate your promptness. i--did not know you had asked to see him," and byrne looked up from under his shaggy brows. "i hadn't exactly, but my letter intimated as much. there is so very much i--i cannot write about--that of course he's bound to hear,--i don't mean you, colonel byrne,--and he ought to know the--facts. now i'll get ready at once and--see you before starting." "better take an escort, plume." "one man on driver's seat. that's all, sir. i'll come in presently, in case you have anything to send," said plume, and hurried again upstairs. it was barely midnight when plume's big black wagon, the concord, all spring and hickory, as said the post quartermaster, went whirling away behind its strapping team of four huge missouri mules. it was 12.30 by the guard-house clock and the call of the sentries when wren came home to find angela, her long, luxuriant hair tumbling down over her soft, white wrapper, waiting for him at the front door. from her window she had seen him coming; had noted the earlier departure of the wagon; had heard the voice of major plume bidding good-by, and wondered what it meant--this midnight start of the senior officer of the post. she had been sitting there silent, studying the glittering stars, and wondering would there be an answer to her note? would he be able to write just yet? was there reason, really, why he _should_ write, after all that had passed? somehow she felt that write he certainly would, and soon, and the thought kept her from sleeping. it was because she was anxious about mullins, so she told herself and told her father, that she had gone fluttering down to meet him at the door. but no sooner had he answered, "still delirious and yet holding his own," than she asked where and why major plume had gone. "the general wired for him," answered wren. "and what is my tall girlie doing, spiering from windows this time of night? go to bed, child." she may be losing beauty sleep, but not her beauty, thought he fondly, as she as fondly kissed him and turned to obey. then came a heavy footfall on the gallery without, and a dark form, erect and soldierly, stood between them and the dim lights of the guard-house. it was a corporal of the guard. "no. 4, sir, reports he heard shots--two--way up the valley." "good god!" wren began, then throttled the expletive half spoken. could they have dared waylay the major--and so close to the post? a moment more and he was hurrying over to his troop quarters; five minutes, and a sergeant and ten men were running with him to the stables; ten, and a dozen horses, swiftly saddled, were being led into the open starlight; fifteen, and they were away at a lunging bronco lope, a twisting column of twos along the sandy road, leaving the garrison to wake and wonder. three, four, five miles they sped, past boulder point, past rattlesnake hill, and still no sign of anything amiss, no symptom of night-raiding apache, for indeed the apache dreads the dark. thrice the sergeant had sprung from his horse, lighted a match, and studied the trail. on and on had gone the mules and wagon without apparent break or interruption, until, far beyond the bluff that hid the road from sight of all at sandy, they had begun the long, tortuous climb of the divide to cherry creek. no. 4 might have heard shots, but, if intended for the wagon, they had been harmless. it was long after one when wren gave the word to put back to the post, and as they remounted and took the homeward trail, they rode for the first five minutes almost directly east, and, as they ascended a little slant of hillside, the sergeant in advance reined suddenly in. "look there!" said he. far over among the rocky heights beyond the valley, hidden from the south from sandy by precipitous cliffs that served almost as a reflector toward the reservation, a bright blaze had shot suddenly heavenward--a signal fire of the apache. some of them, then, were in the heart of that most intractable region, not ten miles northeast of the post, and signaling to their fellows; but the major must have slipped safely through. sending his horse to stable with the detachment, wren had found no. 4 well over toward the east end of his post, almost to the angle with that of no. 5. "watch well for signal fires or prowlers to-night," he ordered. "have you seen any?" "no signal fires, sir," answered the sentry. "welch, who was on before me, thought he heard shots--" "i know," answered wren impatiently. "there was nothing in it. but we did see a signal fire over to the northeast, so they are around us, and some may be creeping close in to see what we're doing, though i doubt it. you've seen nothing?" "well, no, sir; we can't see much of anything, it's so dark. but there's a good many of the post people up and moving about, excited, i suppose. there were lights there at the lieutenant's, mr. blakely's, a while ago, and--voices." no. 4 pointed to the dark gable end barely forty yards away. "that's simple enough," said wren. "people would naturally come up to this end to see what had become of us, why we had gone, etc. they heard of it, i dare say, and some were probably startled." "yes, sir, it sounded like--somebody cryin'." wren was turning away. "what?" he suddenly asked. no. 4 repeated his statement. wren pondered a moment, started to speak, to question further, but checked himself and trudged thoughtfully away through the yielding sand. the nearest path led past the first quarters, blakely's, on the eastward side, and as the captain neared the house he stopped short. somewhere in the shadows of the back porch low, murmuring voices were faintly audible. one, in excited tone, was not that of a man, and as wren stood, uncertain and surprised, the rear door was quickly opened and against the faint light from within two dark forms were projected. one, the taller, he recognized beyond doubt as that of neil blakely; the other he did not recognize at all. but he had heard the tone of the voice. he knew the form to be, beyond doubt, that of a young and slender woman. then together the shadows disappeared within and the door was closed behind them. chapter xi a stop--by wire three days later the infantry guard of the garrison were in sole charge. wren and sanders, with nearly fifty troopers apiece, had taken the field in compliance with telegraphic orders from prescott. the general had established field headquarters temporarily at camp mcdowell, down the verde valley, and under his somewhat distant supervision four or five little columns of horse, in single file, were boring into the fastnesses of the mogollon and the tonto basin. the runners had been unsuccessful. the renegades would not return. half a dozen little nomad bands, forever out from the reservation, had eagerly welcomed these malcontents and the news they bore that two of their young braves had been murdered while striving to defend natzie and lola. it furnished all that was needed as excuse for instant descent upon the settlers in the deep valleys north of the rio salado, and, all unsuspecting, all unprepared, several of these had met their doom. relentless war was already begun, and the general lost no time in starting his horsemen after the hostiles. meantime the infantry companies, at the scattered posts and camps, were left to "hold the fort," to protect the women, children, and property, and neil blakely, a sore-hearted man because forbidden by the surgeon to attempt to go, was chafing, fuming, and retarding his recovery at his lonely quarters. the men whom he most liked were gone, and the few among the women who might have been his friends seemed now to stand afar off. something, he knew not what, had turned garrison sentiment against him. for a day or two, so absorbed was he in his chagrin over graham's verdict and the general's telegraphic orders in the case, mr. blakely never knew or noticed that anything else was amiss. then, too, there had been no opportunity of meeting garrison folk except the few officers who dropped in to inquire civilly how he was progressing. the bandages were off, but the plaster still disfigured one side of his face and neck. he could not go forth and seek society. there was really only one girl at the post whose society he cared to seek. he had his books and his bugs, and that, said mrs. bridger, was "all he demanded and more than he deserved." to think that the very room so recently sacred to the son and heir should be transformed into what that irate little woman called a "beetle shop"! it was one of mr. blakely's unpardonable sins in the eyes of the sex that he found so much to interest him in a pursuit that neither interested nor included them. a man with brains and a bank account had no right to live alone, said mrs. sanders, she having a daughter of marriageable age, if only moderately prepossessing. all this had the women to complain of in him before the cataclysm that, for the time at least, had played havoc with his good looks. all this he knew and bore with philosophic and whimsical stoicism. but all this and more could not account for the phenomenon of averted eyes and constrained, if not freezing, manner when, in the dusk of the late autumn evening, issuing suddenly from his quarters, he came face to face with a party of four young women under escort of the post adjutant--mrs. bridger and mrs. truman foremost of the four and first to receive his courteous, yet half embarrassed, greeting. they had to stop for half a second, as they later said, because really he confronted them, all unsuspected. but the other two, kate sanders and mina westervelt, with bowed heads and without a word, scurried by him and passed on down the line. doty explained hurriedly that they had been over to the post hospital to inquire for mullins and were due at the sanders' now for music, whereupon blakely begged pardon for even the brief detention, and, raising his cap, went on out to the sentry post of no. 4 to study the dark and distant upheavals in the red rock country, where, almost every night of late, the signal fires of the apaches were reported. not until he was again alone did he realize that he had been almost frigidly greeted by those who spoke at all. it set him to thinking. mrs. plume was still confined to her room. the major had returned from prescott and, despite the fact that the regiment was afield and a clash with the hostiles imminent, was packing up preparatory to a move. books, papers, and pictures were being stored in chests, big and little, that he had had made for such emergencies. it was evident that he was expecting orders for change of station or extended leave, and they who went so far as to question the grave-faced soldier, who seemed to have grown ten years older in the last ten days, had to be content with the brief, guarded reply that mrs. plume had never been well since she set foot in arizona, and even though he returned, she would not. he was taking her, he said, to san francisco. of this unhappy woman's nocturnal expedition the others seldom spoke now and only with bated breath. "sleep-walking, of course!" said everybody, no matter what everybody might think. but, now that major plume knew that in her sleep his wife had wandered up the row to the very door--the back door--of mr. blakely's quarters, was it not strange that he had taken no pains to prevent a recurrence of so compromising an excursion, for strange stories were afloat. sentry no. 4 had heard and told of a feminine voice, "somebody cryin' like" in the darkness of midnight about blakely's, and norah shaughnessy--returned to her duties at the trumans', yet worrying over the critical condition of her trooper lover, and losing thereby much needed sleep--had gained some new and startling information. one night she had heard, another night she had dimly seen, a visitor received at blakely's back door, and that visitor a woman, with a shawl about her head. norah told her mistress, who very properly bade her never refer to it again to a soul, and very promptly referred to it herself to several souls, one of them janet wren. janet, still virtuously averse to blakely, laid the story before her brother the very day he started on the warpath, and janet was startled to see that she was telling him no news whatever. "then, indeed," said she, "it is high time the major took his wife away," and wren sternly bade her hold her peace, she knew not what she was saying! but, said camp sandy, who could it have been but mrs. plume or, possibly, elise? once or twice in its checkered past camp sandy had had its romance, its mystery, indeed its scandals, but this was something that put in the shade all previous episodes; this shook sandy to its very foundation, and this, despite her brother's prohibition, janet wren felt it her duty to detail in full to angela. to do her justice, it should be said that miss wren had striven valiantly against the impulse,--had indeed mastered it for several hours,--but the sight of the vivid blush, the eager joy in the sweet young face when blakely's new "striker" handed in a note addressed to miss angela wren, proved far too potent a factor in the undoing of that magnanimous resolve. the girl fled with her prize, instanter, to her room, and thither, as she did not reappear, the aunt betook herself within the hour. the note itself was neither long nor effusive--merely a bright, cordial, friendly missive, protesting against the idea that any apology had been due. there was but one line which could be considered even mildly significant. "the little net," wrote blakely, "has now a value that it never had before." yet angela was snuggling that otherwise unimportant billet to her cheek when the creaking stairway told her portentously of a solemn coming. ten minutes more and the note was lying neglected on the bureau, and angela stood at her window, gazing out over dreary miles of almost desert landscape, of rock and shale and sand and cactus, with eyes from which the light had fled, and a new, strange trouble biting at her girlish heart. confound no. 4--and norah shaughnessy! it had been arranged that when the plumes were ready to start, mrs. daly and her daughter, the newly widowed and the fatherless, should be sent up to prescott and thence across the desert to ehrenberg, on the colorado. while no hostile apaches had been seen west of the verde valley, there were traces that told that they were watching the road as far at least as the agua fria, and a sergeant and six men had been chosen to go as escort to the little convoy. it had been supposed that plume would prefer to start in the morning and go as far as stemmer's ranch, in the agua fria valley, and there rest his invalid wife until another day, thus breaking the fifty-mile stage through the mountains. to the surprise of everybody, the dalys were warned to be in readiness to start at five in the morning, and to go through to prescott that day. at five in the morning, therefore, the quartermaster's ambulance was at the post trader's house, where the recently bereaved ones had been harbored since poor daly's death, and there, with their generous host, was the widow's former patient, blakely, full of sympathy and solicitude, come to say good-bye. plume's own concord appeared almost at the instant in front of his quarters, and presently mrs. plume, veiled and obviously far from strong, came forth leaning on her husband's arm, and closely followed by elise. then, despite the early hour, and to the dismay of plume, who had planned to start without farewell demonstration of any kind, lights were blinking in almost every house along the row, and a flock of women, some tender and sympathetic, some morbidly curious, had gathered to wish the major's wife a pleasant journey and a speedy recovery. they loved her not at all, and liked her none too well, but she was ill and sorrowing, so that was enough. elise they could not bear, yet even elise came in for a kindly word or two. mrs. graham was there, big-hearted and brimming over with helpful suggestion, burdened also with a basket of dainties. captain and mrs. cutler, captain and mrs. westervelt, the trumans both, doty, the young adjutant, janet wren, of course, and the ladies of the cavalry, the major's regiment, without exception, were on hand to bid the major and his wife good-bye. angela wren was not feeling well, explained her aunt, and mr. neil blakely was conspicuous by his absence. it had been observed that, during those few days of hurried packing and preparation, major plume had not once gone to blakely's quarters. true, he had visited only dr. graham, and had begged him to explain that anxiety on account of mrs. plume prevented his making the round of farewell calls; but that he was thoughtful of others to the last was shown in this: plume had asked captain cutler, commander of the post, to order the release of that wretch downs. "he has been punished quite sufficiently, i think," said plume, "and as i was instrumental in his arrest i ask his liberation." at tattoo, therefore, the previous evening "the wretch" had been returned to duty, and at five in the morning was found hovering about the major's quarters. when invited by the sergeant of the guard to explain, he replied, quite civilly for him, that it was to say good-by to elise. "me and her," said he, "has been good friends." presumably he had had his opportunity at the kitchen door before the start, but still he lingered, feigning professional interest in the condition of the sleek mules that were to haul the concord over fifty miles of rugged road, up hill and down dale before the setting of the sun. then, while the officers and ladies clustered thick on one side of the black vehicle, downs sidled to the other, and the big black eyes of the frenchwoman peered down at him a moment as she leaned toward him, and, with a whispered word, slyly dropped a little folded packet into his waiting palm. then, as though impatient, plume shouted "all right. go on!" the concord whirled away, and something like a sigh of relief went up from assembled sandy, as the first kiss of the rising sun lighted on the bald pate of squaw peak, huge sentinel of the valley, looming from the darkness and shadows and the mists of the shallow stream that slept in many a silent pool along its massive, rocky base. with but a few hurried, embarrassed words, clarice plume had said adieu to sandy, thinking never to see it again. they stood and watched her past the one unlighted house, the northernmost along the row. they knew not that mr. blakely was at the moment bidding adieu to others in far humbler station. they only noted that, even at the last, he was not there to wave a good-by to the woman who had once so influenced his life. slowly then the little group dissolved and drifted away. she had gone unchallenged of any authority, though the fate of mullins still hung in the balance. obviously, then, it was not she whom byrne's report had implicated, if indeed that report had named anybody. there had been no occasion for a coroner and jury. there would have been neither coroner nor jury to serve, had they been called for. camp sandy stood in a little world of its own, the only civil functionary within forty miles being a ranchman, dwelling seven miles down stream, who held some territorial warrant as a justice of the peace. but norah shaughnessy, from the gable window of the trumans' quarters, shook a hard-clinching irish fist and showered malediction after the swiftly speeding ambulance. "wan 'o ye," she sobbed, "dealt pat mullins a coward and cruel blow, and i'll know which, as soon as ever that poor bye can spake the truth." she would have said it to that hated frenchwoman herself, had not mother and mistress both forbade her leaving the room until the plumes were gone. three trunks had been stacked up and secured on the hanging rack at the rear of the concord. others, with certain chests and boxes, had been loaded into one big wagon and sent ahead. the ambulance, with the dalys and the little escort of seven horsemen, awaited the rest of the convoy on the northward flats, and the cloud of their combined dust hung long on the scarred flanks as the first rays of the rising sun came gilding the rocks at boulder point, and what was left of the garrison at sandy turned out for reveille. that evening, for the first time since his injury, mr. blakely took his horse and rode away southward in the soft moonlight, and had not returned when tattoo sounded. the post trader, coming up with the latest san francisco papers, said he had stopped a moment to ask at the store whether schandein, the ranchman justice of the peace before referred to, had recently visited the post. that evening, too, for the first time since his dangerous wound, trooper mullins awoke from his long delirium, weak as a little child; asked for norah, and what in the world was the matter with him--in bed and bandages, and dr. graham, looking into the poor lad's dim, half-opening eyes, sent a messenger to captain cutler's quarters to ask would the captain come at once to hospital. this was at nine o'clock. less than two hours later a mounted orderly set forth with dispatches from the temporary post commander to colonel byrne at prescott. a wire from that point about sundown had announced the safe arrival of the party from camp sandy. the answer, sent at ten o'clock, broke up the game of whist at the quarters of the inspector general. byrne, the recipient, gravely read it, backed from the table, and vainly strove not to see the anxious inquiry in the eyes of major plume, his guest. but plume cornered him. "from sandy?" he asked. "may i read it?" byrne hesitated just one moment, then placed the paper in his junior's hand. plume read, turned very white, and the paper fell from his trembling fingers. the message merely said: mullins recovering and quite rational, though very weak. he says two women were his assailants. courier with dispatches at once. (signed) cutler, commanding. chapter xii fire! "it was not so much his wounds as his weakness," dr. graham was saying, later still that autumn night, "that led to my declaring blakely unfit to take the field. he would have gone in spite of me, but for the general's order. he has gone now in spite of me, and no one knows where." it was then nearly twelve o'clock, and "the bugologist" was still abroad. dinner, as usual since his mishap, had been sent over to him from the officers' mess soon after sunset. his horse, or rather the troop horse designated for his use, had been fed and groomed in the late afternoon, and then saddled at seven o'clock and brought over to the rear of the quarters by a stable orderly. there had been some demur at longer sending blakely's meals from mess, now reduced to an actual membership of two. sandy was a "much married" post in the latter half of the 70's, the bachelors of the commissioned list being only three, all told,--blakely, and duane of the horse, and doty of the foot. with these was heartburn, the contract doctor, and now duane and the doctor were out in the mountains and blakely on sick report, yet able to be about. doty thought him able to come to mess. blakely, thinking he looked much worse than he felt, thanks to his plastered jowl, stood on his rights in the matter and would not go. there had been some demur on part of the stable sergeant of wren's troop as to sending over the horse. few officers brought eastern-bred horses to arizona in those days. the bronco was best suited to the work. an officer on duty could take out the troop horse assigned to his use any hour before taps and no questions asked; but the sergeant told mr. blakely's messenger that the lieutenant wasn't for duty, and it might make trouble. it did. captain cutler sent for old murray, the veteran sergeant, and asked him did he not know his orders. he had allowed a horse to be sent to a sick man--an officer not on duty--and one the doctor had warned against exercise for quite a time, at least. and now the officer was gone, so was the horse, and cutler, being sorely torn up by the revelations of the evening and dread of ill befalling blakely, was so injudicious as to hint to a soldier who had worn chevrons much longer than he, cutler, had worn shoulder-straps, that the next thing to go would probably be his sergeant's bars, whereat murray went red to the roots of his hair--which "continued the march" of the color,--and said, with a snap of his jaws, that he got those chevrons, as he did his orders, from his troop commander. a court might order them stricken off, but a captain couldn't, other than his own. for which piece of impudence the veteran went straightway to sudsville in close arrest. corporal bolt was ordered to take over his keys and the charge of the stables until the return of captain wren, also this order--that no government horse should be sent to lieutenant blakely hereafter until the lieutenant was declared by the post surgeon fit for duty. there were left at the post, of each of the two cavalry troops, about a dozen men to care for the stables, the barracks, and property. seven of these had gone with the convoy to prescott, and, when cutler ordered half a dozen horsemen out at midnight to follow blakely's trail and try to find him, they had to draw on both troop stables, and one of the designated men was the wretch downs,--and downs was not in his bunk,--not anywhere about the quarters or corrals. it was nearly one by the time the party started down the sandy road to the south, hart and his buckboard and a sturdy brace of mules joining them as they passed the store. "we may need to bring him back in this," said he, to corporal quirk. "an' what did ye fetch to bring him _to_ wid?" asked the corporal. hart touched lightly the breast of his coat, then clucked to his team. "faith, there's more than wan way of tappin' it then," said quirk, but the cavalcade moved on. the crescent moon had long since sunk behind the westward range, and trailing was something far too slow and tedious. they spurred, therefore, for the nearest ranch, five miles down stream, making their first inquiry there. the inmates were slow to arise, but quick to answer. blakely had neither been seen nor heard of. downs they didn't wish to know at all. indians hadn't been near the lower valley since the "break" at the post the previous week. one of the inmates declared he had ridden alone from camp mcdowell within three days, and there wasn't a 'patchie west of the matitzal. hart did all the questioning. he was a business man and a brother. soldiers, the ranchmen didn't like--soldiers set too much value on government property. the trail ran but a few hundred yards east of the stream, and close to the adobe walls of the ranch. strom, the proprietor, got out his lantern and searched below the point where the little troop had turned off. no recent hoof-track, southbound, was visible. "he couldn't have come this far," said he. "better put back!" put back they did, and by the aid of hart's lantern found the fresh trail of a government-shod horse, turning to the east nearly two miles toward home. quirk said a bad word or two; borrowed the lantern and thoughtfully included the flask; bade his men follow in file and plunged through the underbrush in dogged pursuit. hart and his team now could not follow. they waited over half an hour without sign or sound from the trailers, then drove swiftly back to the post. there was a light in the telegraph office, and thither hart went in a hurry. lieutenant doty, combining the duties of adjutant and officer of the day, was up and making the rounds. the sentries had just called off three o'clock. "had your trouble for nothing, hart," hailed the youngster cheerily. "where're the men?" "followed his trail--turned to the east three miles below here," answered the trader. "three miles _below_! why, man, he wasn't below. he met them up beaver creek, an' brought 'em in." "brought who in?" asked hart, dropping his whip. "i don't understand." "why, the scouts, or runners! wren sent 'em in. he's had a sharp fight up the mountains beyond snow lake. three men wounded. you couldn't have gone a mile before blakely led 'em across no. 4's post. ahorah and another chap--'patchie-mohaves. we clicked the news up to prescott over an hour ago." the tin reflector at the office window threw the light of the glass-framed candle straight upon hart's rubicund face, and that face was a study. he faltered a bit before he asked: "did blakely seem all right?--not used up, i mean?" "seemed weak and tired, but the man is mad to go and join his troop now--wants to go right out with ahorah in the morning, and captain cutler says no. oh, they had quite a row!" they had had rather more than quite a row, if truth were told. doty had heard only a bit of it. cutler had been taken by surprise when the bugologist appeared, two strange, wiry apaches at his heels, and at first had contented himself with reading wren's dispatch, repeating it over the wires to prescott. then he turned on blakely, silently, wearily waiting, seated at doty's desk, and on the two apaches, silently, stolidly waiting, squatted on the floor. cutler wished to know how blakely knew these couriers were coming, and how he came to leave the post without permission. for a moment the lieutenant simply gazed at him, unanswering, but when the senior somewhat sharply repeated the question, in part, blakely almost as sharply answered: "i did not know they were coming nor that there was wrong in my going. major plume required nothing of the kind when we were merely going out for a ride." [illustration: "blakely led 'em across no. 4's post"] this nettled cutler. he had always said that plume was lax, and here was proof of it. "i might have wanted you--i _did_ want you, hours ago, mr. blakely, and even major plume would not countenance his officers spending the greater part of the night away from the post, especially on a government horse," and there had cutler the whip hand of the scientist, and blakely had sense enough to see it, yet not sense enough to accept. he was nervous and irritable, as well as tired. graham had told him he was too weak to ride, yet he had gone, not thinking, of course, to be gone so long, but gone deliberately, and without asking the consent of the post commander. "my finding the runners was an accident," he said, with some little asperity of tone and manner. "in fact, i didn't find them. they found me. i had known them both at the reservation. have i your permission, sir"--this with marked emphasis--"to take them for something to eat. they are very hungry,--have come far, and wish to start early and rejoin captain wren,--as i do, too." "they will start when _i_ am ready, mr. blakely," said cutler, "and you certainly will not start before. in point of fact, sir, you may not be allowed to start at all." it was now blakely's turn to redden to the brows. "you surely will not prevent my going to join my troop, now that it is in contact with the enemy," said he. "all i need is a few hours' sleep. i can start at seven." "you cannot, with my consent, mr. blakely," said the captain dryly. "there are reasons, in fact, why you can't leave here for any purpose unless the general himself give contrary orders. matters have come up that--you'll probably have to explain." and here doty entered, hearing only the captain's last. at sight of his adjutant the captain stopped short in his reprimand. "see to it that these runners have a good supper, mr. doty," said cutler. "stir up my company cook, if need be, but take them with you now." then, turning again on blakely, "the doctor wishes you to go to bed at once, mr. blakely, and i will see you in the morning, but no more riding away without permission," he concluded, and thereby closed the interview. he had, indeed, other things to say to, and inquire of, blakely, but not until he had further consulted graham. he confidently expected the coming day would bring instructions from headquarters to hold both blakely and trooper downs at the post, as a result of his dispatches, based on the revelation of poor pat mullins. but downs, forewarned, perhaps, had slipped into hiding somewhere--an old trick of his, when punishment was imminent. it might be two or three days before downs turned up again, if indeed he turned up at all, but blakely was here and could be held. hence the "horse order" of the earlier evening. it was nearly two when blakely reached his quarters, rebuffed and stung. he was so nervous, however, that, in spite of serious fatigue, he found it for over an hour impossible to sleep. he turned out his light and lay in the dark, and the atmosphere of the room seemed heavily charged with rank tobacco. his new "striker" had sat up, it seems, keeping faithful vigil against his master's return, but, as the hours wore on, had solaced himself with pipe after pipe, and wandering about to keep awake. most of the time, he declared, he had spent in a big rocking chair on the porch at the side door, but the scent of the weed and of that veteran pipe permeated the entire premises, and the bugologist hated dead tobacco. he got up and tore down the blanket screen at the side windows and opened all the doors wide and tried his couch again, and still he wooed the drowsy god in vain. "nor poppy nor mandragora" had he to soothe him. instead there were new and anxious thoughts to vex, and so another half hour he tossed and tumbled, and when at last he seemed dropping to the borderland, perhaps, of dreams, he thought he must be ailing again and in need of new bandages or cooling drink or something, for the muffled footfalls, betrayed by creaking pine rather than by other sound, told him drowsily that the attendant or somebody, cautioned not to disturb him, was moving slowly across the room. he might have been out on the side porch to get cool water from the _olla_, but he needn't be so confoundedly slow and cautious, though he couldn't help the creaking. then, what could the attendant want in the front room, where were still so many of the precious glass cases unharmed, and the bugologist's favorite books and his big desk, littered with papers, etc.? blakely thought to hail and warn him against moving about among those brittle glass things, but reflected that he, the new man, had done the reshifting under his, blakely's, supervision, and knew just where each item was placed and how to find the passage way between them. it really was a trifle intricate. how could he have gone into the spare room at captain wren's, and there made his home as--she--mrs. plume had first suggested? there would not have been room for half his plunder, to say nothing of himself. "what on earth can nixon want?" he sleepily asked himself, "fumbling about there among those cases? was that a crack or a snap?" it sounded like both, a splitting of glass, a wrenching of lock spring or something. "be careful there!" he managed to call. no answer. perhaps it was some one of the big hounds, then, wandering restlessly about at night. they often did, and--why, yes, that would account for it. doors and windows were all wide open here, what was to prevent? still, blakely wished he hadn't extinguished his lamp. he might then have explored. the sound ceased entirely for a moment, and, now that he was quite awake, he remembered that the hospital attendant was no longer with him. then the sounds must have been made by the striker or the hounds. blakely had no dogs of his own. indeed they were common property at the post, most of them handed down with the rest of the public goods and chattels by their predecessors of the ----th. at all events, he felt far too languid, inert, weak, indifferent or something. if the striker, he had doubtless come down for cool water. if the hounds, they were in search of something to eat, and in either case why bother about it? the incident had so far distracted his thoughts from the worries of the night that now, at last and in good earnest, he was dropping to sleep. but in less than twenty minutes he was broad awake again, with sudden start--gasping, suffocating, listening in amaze to a volley of snapping and cracking, half-smothered, from the adjoining room. he sprang from his bed with a cry of alarm and flung himself through a thick, hot veil of eddying, yet invisible, smoke, straight for the communicating doorway, and was brought up standing by banging his head against the resounding pine, tight shut instead of open as he had left it, and refusing to yield to furious battering. it was locked, bolted, or barred from the other side. blindly he turned and rushed for the side porch and the open air, stumbling against the striker as the latter came clattering headlong down from aloft. then together they rushed to the parlor window, now cracking and splitting from the furious heat within. a volume of black fume came belching forth, driven and lashed by ruddy tongues of flame within, and their shouts for aid went up on the wings of the dawn, and the infantry sentry on the eastward post came running to see; caught one glimpse of the glare at that southward window; bang went his rifle with a ring that came echoing back from the opposite cliffs, as all camp sandy sprang from its bed in answer to the stentorian shout "fire! no. 5!" chapter xiii whose letters? there is something about a night alarm of fire at a military post that borders on the thrilling. in the days whereof we write the buildings were not the substantial creations of brick and stone to be seen to-day, and those of the scattered "camps" and stations in that arid, sun-scorched land of arizona were tinder boxes of the flimsiest and most inflammable kind. it could hardly have been a minute from the warning shot and yell of no. 5--repeated right and left by other sentries and echoed by no. 1 at the guard-house--before bugle and trumpet were blaring their fierce alarm, and the hoarse roar of the drum was rousing the inmates of the infantry barracks. out they came, tumbling pell-mell into the accustomed ranks, confronted by the sight of blakely's quarters one broad sheet of flame. with incredible speed the blaze had burst forth from the front room on the lower floor; leaped from window to window, from ledge to ledge; fastened instantly on overhanging roof, and the shingled screen of the veranda; had darted up the dry wooden stairway, devouring banister, railing, and snapping pine floor, and then, billowing forth from every crack, crevice, and casement of the upper floor streamed hissing and crackling on the blackness that precedes the dawn, a magnificent glare that put to shame the feeble signal fires lately gleaming in the mountains. luckily there was no wind--there never was a wind at sandy--and the flames leaped straight for the zenith, lashing their way into the huge black pillar of smoke cloud sailing aloft to the stars. under their sergeants, running in disciplined order, one company had sped for the water wagon and were now slowly trundling that unwieldy vehicle, pushing, pulling, straining at the wheels, from its night berth close to the corrals. rushing like mad, in no order at all, the men of the other company came tearing across the open parade, and were faced and halted far out in front of officers' row by blakely himself, barefooted and clad only in his pyjamas, but all alive with vim and energy. "back, men! back for your blankets!" he cried. "bring ladders and buckets! back with you, lively!" they seemed to catch his meaning at the instant. his soldier home with everything it contained was doomed. nothing could save it. but there stood the next quarters,--truman's and westervelt's double set,--and in the intense heat that must speedily develop, it might well be that the dry, resinous woodwork that framed the adobe would blaze forth on its own account and spread a conflagration down the line. already mrs. truman, with norah and the children, was being hurried down to the doctor's, while truman himself, with the aid of two or three neighboring "strikers," had stripped the beds of their single blanket and, bucketing these with water, was slashing at the veranda roof and cornice along the northward side. somebody came with a short ladder, and in another moment three or four adventurous spirits, led by blakely and truman, were scrambling about the veranda roof, their hands and faces glowing in the gathering heat, spreading blankets over the shingling and cornice. in five minutes all that was left of blakely's little homestead was gone up in smoke and fierce, furious heat and flame, but the daring and well-directed effort of the garrison had saved the rest of the line. in ten minutes nothing but a heap of glowing beams and embers, within four crumbling walls of adobe, remained of the "beetle shop." bugs, butterflies, books, chests, desk, trunks, furniture, papers, and such martial paraphernalia as a subaltern might require in that desert land, had been reduced to ashes before their owner's eyes. he had not saved so much as a shoe. his watch, lying on the table by his bedside, a silk handkerchief, and a little scrap of a note, written in girlish hand and carried temporarily in the breast pocket, were the only items he had managed to bring with him into the open air. he was still gasping, gagging, half-strangling, when captain cutler accosted him to know if he could give the faintest explanation of the starting of so strange and perilous a fire, and blakely, remembering the stealthy footsteps and that locked or bolted door, could not but say he believed it incendiary, yet could think of no possible motive. it was daybreak as the little group of spectators, women and children of the garrison, began to break up and return to their homes, all talking excitedly, all intolerant of the experiences of others, and centered solely in the narrative of their own. leaving a dozen men with buckets, readily filled from the acequia which turned the old water wheel just across the post of no. 4, and sending the big water wagon down to the stream for another liquid load, the infantry went back to their barracks and early coffee. the drenched blankets, one by one, were stripped from the gable end of truman's quarters, every square inch of the paint thereon being now a patch of tiny blisters, and there, as the dawn broadened and the pallid light took on again a tinge of rose, the officers gathered about blakely in his scorched and soaked pyjamas, extending both condolence and congratulation. "the question is, blakely," remarked captain westervelt dryly, "will you go to frisco to refit now, or wait till congress reimburses?" whereat the scientist was observed to smile somewhat ruefully. "the question is, bugs," burst in young doty irrepressibly, "will you wear this rig, or apache full dress, when you ride after wren? the runners start at six," whereat even the rueful smile was observed to vanish, and without answer blakely turned away, stepping gingerly into the heated sand with his bare white feet. "don't bother about dousing anything else, sergeant," said he presently, to the soldier supervising the work of the bucket squad. "the iron box should be under what's left of my desk--about there," and he indicated a charred and steaming heap, visible through a gap in the doubly baked adobe that had once been the side window. "lug that out as soon as you can cool things off. i'll probably be back by that time." then, turning again to the group of officers, and ignoring doty--blakely addressed himself to the senior. "captain cutler," said he, "i can fit myself out at the troop quarters with everything i need for the field, at least, and wire to san francisco for what i shall need when we return. i shall be ready to go with ahorah at six." there was a moment of silence. embarrassment showed plainly in almost every face. when cutler spoke it was with obvious effort. everybody realized that blakely, despite severe personal losses, had been the directing head in checking the progress of the flames. truman had borne admirable part, but blakely was at once leader and actor. he deserved well of his commander. he was still far from strong. he was weak and weary. his hands and face were scorched and in places blistered, yet, turning his back on the ruins of his treasures, he desired to go at once to join his comrades in the presence of the enemy. he had missed every previous opportunity of sharing perils and battle with them. he could afford such loss as that no longer, in view of what he knew had been said. he had every right, so thought they all, to go, yet cutler hesitated. when at last he spoke it was to temporize. "you're in no condition for field work, mr. blakely," said he. "the doctor has so assured me, and just now things are taking such shape i--need you here." "you will permit me to appeal by wire, sir?" queried blakely, standing attention in his bedraggled night garb, and forcing himself to a semblance of respect that he was far from feeling. "i--i will consult dr. graham and let you know," was the captain's awkward reply. two hours later neil blakely, in a motley dress made up of collections from the troop and trader's stores--a combination costume of blue flannel shirt, bandanna kerchief, cavalry trousers with machine-made saddle piece, tonto moccasins and leggings, fringed gauntlets and a broad-brimmed white felt hat, strode into the messroom in quest of eggs and coffee. doty had been there and vanished. sick call was sounding and graham was stalking across the parade in the direction of the hospital, too far away to be reached by human voice, unless uplifted to the pitch of attracting the whole garrison. the telegraph operator had just clicked off the last of half a dozen messages scrawled by the lieutenant--orders on san francisco furnishers for the new outfit demanded by the occasion, etc., but captain cutler was still mured within his own quarters, declining to see mr. blakely until ready to come to the office. ahorah and his swarthy partner were already gone, "started even before six," said the acting sergeant major, and blakely was fuming with impatience and sense of something much amiss. doty was obviously dodging him, there could be no doubt of that, for the youngster was between two fires, the post commander's positive orders on one hand and blakely's urgent pleadings on the other. over at "c" troop's quarters was the lieutenant's saddle, ready packed with blanket, greatcoat, and bulging saddle-bags. over in "c" troop's stables was deltchay--the lieutenant's bronco charger, ready fed and groomed, wondering why he was kept in when the other horses were out at graze. with the saddle kit were the troop carbine and revolver, blakely's personal arms being now but stockless tubes of seared and blistered steel. back of "c" troop's quarters lolled a half-breed mexican packer, with a brace of mules, one girt with saddle, the other in shrouding aparejo--diamond-hitched, both borrowed from the post trader with whom blakely's note of hand was good as a government four per cent.--all ready to follow the lieutenant to the field whither right and duty called him. there, too, was nixon, the new "striker," new clad as was his master, and full panoplied for the field, yet bemoaning the loss of soldier treasures whose value was never fully realized until they were irrevocably gone. six o'clock, six-thirty, six-forty-five and even seven sped by and still there came no summons to join the soldier master. there had come instead, when nixon urged that he be permitted to lead forth both his own troop horse and deltchay, the brief, but significant reply: "shut yer gab, nixon. there's no horse goes till the captain says so!" at seven o'clock, at last, the post commander came forth from his doorway; saw across the glaring level of the parade the form of mr. blakely impatiently pacing the veranda at the adjutant's office, and, instead of going thither, as was his wont, captain cutler turned the other way and strode swiftly to the hospital, where graham met him at the bedside of trooper patient patrick mullins. "how is he?" queried cutler. "sleeping--thank god--and not to be wakened," was the scotchman's answer. "he had a bad time of it during the fire." "what am i to tell blakely?" demanded cutler, seeking strength for his faltering hand. "you're bound to help me now, graham." "let him go and you _may_ make it worse," said the doctor, with a clamp of his grizzled jaws. "hold him here and you're sure to." "can't you, as post surgeon, tell him he isn't fit to ride?" "not when he rides the first half of the night and puts out a nasty fire the last. can't you, as post commander, tell him you forbid his going till you hear from byrne and investigate the fire?" if graham had no patience with a frail woman, he had nothing but contempt for a weak man. "if he's bound to be up and doing something, though," he added, "send him out with a squad of men and orders to hunt for downs." cutler had never even thought of it. downs was still missing. no one had seen him. his haunts had been searched to no purpose. his horse was still with the herd. one man, the sergeant of the guard, the previous day, had marked the brief farewell between the missing man and the parting maid--had seen the woman's gloved hand stealthily put forth and the little folded packet passed to the soldier's ready palm. what that paper contained no man ventured to conjecture. cutler and graham, notified by sergeant kenna of what he had seen, puzzled over it in vain. norah shaughnessy could perhaps unravel it, thought the doctor, but he did not say. cutler came forth from the shaded depths of the broad hallway to face the dazzling glare of the morning sunshine, and the pale, stern, reproachful features of the homeless lieutenant, who simply raised his hand in salute and said: "i've been ready two hours, sir, and the runners are long gone." "too long and too far for you to catch them now," said cutler, catching at another straw. "and there is far more important matter here. mr. blakely, i want that man downs followed, found, and brought back to this post, and you're the only man to do it. take a dozen troopers, if necessary, and set about it, sir, at once." a soldier was at the moment hurrying past the front of the hospital, a grimy-looking packet in his hand. hearing the voice of captain cutler, he turned, saw lieutenant blakely standing there at attention, saw that, as the captain finished, blakely still remained a moment as though about to speak--saw that he seemed a trifle dazed or stunned. cutler marked it, too. "this is imperative and immediate, mr. blakely," said he, not unkindly. "pull yourself together if you are fit to go at all, and lose no more time." with that he started away. graham had come to the doorway, but blakely never seemed to see him. instead he suddenly roused and, turning sharp, sprang down the wooden steps as though to overtake the captain, when the soldier, saluting, held forth the dingy packet. "it was warped out of all shape, sir," said he. "the blacksmith pried out the lid wid a crowbar. the books are singed and soaked and the packages charred--all but this." it fell apart as it passed from hand to hand, and a lot of letters, smoke-stained, scorched at the edges, and some of them soaking wet, also two or three _carte de visite_ photographs, were scattered on the sand. both men bobbed in haste to gather them up, and graham came hurriedly down to help. as blakely straightened again he swayed and staggered slightly, and the doctor grasped him by the arm, a sudden clutch that perhaps shook loose some of the recovered papers from the long, slim fingers. at all events, a few went suddenly back to earth, and, as cutler turned, wondering what was amiss, he saw blakely, with almost ashen face, supported by the doctor's sturdy arm to a seat on the edge of the piazza; saw, as he quickly retraced his steps, a sweet and smiling woman's face looking up at him out of the trampled sands, and, even as he stooped to recover the pretty photograph, though it looked far younger, fairer, and more winsome than ever he had seen it, cutler knew the face at once. it was that of clarice, wife of major plume. whose, then, were those scattered letters? chapter xiv aunt janet braved nightfall of a weary day had come. camp sandy, startled from sleep in the dark hour before the dawn, had found topic for much exciting talk, and was getting tired as the twilight waned. no word had come from the party sent in search of downs, now deemed a deserter. no sign of him had been found about the post. no explanation had occurred to either cutler or graham of the parting between elise and the late "striker." she had never been known to notice or favor him in any way before. her smiles and coquetries had been lavished on the sergeants. in downs there was nothing whatsoever to attract her. it was not likely she had given him money, said cutler, because he was about the post all that day after the plumes' departure and with never a sign of inebriety. he could not himself buy whisky, but among the ranchmen, packers, and prospectors forever hanging about the post there were plenty ready to play middleman for anyone who could supply the cash, and in this way were the orders of the post commander made sometimes abortive. downs was gone, that was certain, and the question was, which way? a sergeant and two men had taken the prescott road; followed it to dick's ranch, in the cherry creek valley, and were assured the missing man had never gone that way. dick was himself a veteran trooper of the ----th. he had invested his savings in this little estate and settled thereon to grow up with the country--the stannards' winsome millie having accepted a life interest in him and his modest property. they knew every man riding that trail, from the daily mail messenger to the semi-occasional courier. their own regiment had gone, but they had warm interest in its successors. they knew downs, had known him ever since his younger days when, a trig young irish-englishman, some londoner's discharged valet, he had 'listed in the cavalry, as he expressed it, to reform. a model of temperance, soberness, and chastity was downs between times, and his gifts as groom of the chambers, as well as groom of the stables, made him, when a model, invaluable to bachelor officers in need of a competent soldier servant. in days just after the great war he had won fame and money as a light rider. it was then that lieutenant blake had dubbed him "epsom" downs, and well-nigh quarreled with his chum, lieutenant ray, over the question of proprietorship when the two were sent to separate stations and downs was "striking" for both. downs settled the matter by getting on a seven-days' drunk, squandering both fame and money, and, though forgiven the scriptural seventy times seven (during which term of years his name was changed to ups and downs), finally forfeited the favor of both these indulgent masters and became thereafter simply downs, with no ups of sufficient length to restore the average--much less to redeem him. and yet, when eventually "bobtailed" out of the ----th, he had turned up at the old arsenal recruiting depot at st. louis, clean-shaven, neat, deft-handed, helpful, to the end that an optimistic troop commander "took him on again," in the belief that a reform had indeed been inaugurated. but, like most good soldiers, the commander referred to knew little of politics or potables, otherwise he would have set less store by the strength of the reform movement and more by that of the potations. downs went so far on the highroad to heaven this time as to drink nothing until his first payday. meantime, as his captain's mercury, messenger, and general utility man, moving much in polite society at the arsenal and in town, he was frequently to be seen about headquarters of the army, then established by general sherman as far as possible from washington and as close to the heart of st. louis. he learned something of the ins and outs of social life in the gay city, heard much theory and little truth about the time that lieutenant blakely, returning suddenly thereto after an absence of two months, during which time frequent letters had passed between him and clarice latrobe, found that major plume had been her shadow for weeks, her escort to dance after dance, her companion riding, driving, dining day after day. something of this blakely had heard in letters from friends. little or nothing thereof had he heard from her. the public never knew what passed between them (elise, her maid, was better informed). but blakely within the day left town again, and within the week there appeared the announcement of her forthcoming marriage, plume the presumably happy man. downs got full the first payday after his re-enlistment, as has been said, and drunk, as in duty bound, at the major's "swagger" wedding. it was after this episode he fell utterly from grace and went forth to the frontier irreclaimably "downs." it was a seven-days' topic of talk at sandy that lieutenant blakely, when acting indian agent at the reservation, should have accepted the services of this unpromising specimen as "striker." it was a seven-weeks' wonder that downs kept the pact, and sober as a judge, from the hour he joined the bugologist to the night that self-contained young officer was sent crashing into his beetle show under the impact of wren's furious fist. then came the last pound that broke the back of downs' wavering resolution, and now had come--what? the sergeant and party rode back from dick's to tell captain cutler the deserter had not taken the cherry creek road. another party just in reported similarly that he had not taken the old, abandoned grief hill trail. still another returned from down-stream ranches to say he could not have taken that route without being seen--and he had not been seen. ranchman strom would swear to that because downs was in his debt for value received in shape of whisky, and strom was rabid at the idea of his getting away. in fine, as nothing but downs was missing, it became a matter of speculation along toward tattoo as to whether downs could have taken anything at all--except possibly his own life. cutler was now desirous of questioning blakely at length, and obtaining his views and theories as to downs, for cutler believed that blakely had certain well-defined views which he was keeping to himself. between these two, however, had grown an unbridgeable gulf. dr. graham had declared at eight o'clock that morning that mr. blakely was still so weak that he ought not to go with the searching parties, and on receipt of this dictum captain cutler had issued his, to wit, that blakely should not go either in search of downs or in pursuit of captain wren. it stung blakely and angered him even against graham, steeling him against the post commander. each of these gentlemen begged him to make his temporary home under his roof, and blakely would not. "major plume's quarters are now vacant, then," said cutler to graham. "if he won't come to you or to me, let him take a room there." this, too, blakely refused. he reddened, what is more, at the suggestion. he sent nixon down to mr. hart's, the trader's, to ask if he could occupy a spare room there, and when hart said, yes, most certainly, cutler reddened in turn when told of it, and sent lieutenant doty, the adjutant, to say that the post commander could not "consent to an officer's occupying quarters outside the garrison when there was abundant room within." then came truman and westervelt to beg blakely to come to them. then came a note from mrs. sanders, reminding him that, as an officer of the cavalry, it would be casting reflections on his own corps to go and dwell with aliens. "captain sanders would never forgive me," said she, "if you did not take our spare room. indeed, i shall feel far safer with a man in the house now that we are having fires and indian out-breaks and prisoners escaping and all that sort of thing. _do_ come, mr. blakely." and in that blue flannel shirt and the trooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief, blakely went and thanked her; sent for nixon and his saddle-bags, and with such patience as was possible settled down forthwith. truth to tell it was high time he settled somewhere, for excitement, exposure, physical ill, and mental torment had told upon him severely. at sunset, as he seemed too miserable to leave his room and come to the dining table, mrs. sanders sent for the doctor, and reluctantly blakely let him in. that evening, just after tattoo had sounded, kate sanders and angela were having murmured conference on the wrens' veranda. aunt janet had gone to hospital to carry unimpeachable jelly to the several patients and dubious words of cheer. jelly they absorbed with much avidity and her words with meek resignation. mullins, she thought, after his dreadful experience and close touch with death, must be in receptive mood and repentant of his sins. of just what sins to repent poor pat might still be unsettled in his mind. it was sufficient that he had them, as all soldiers must have, said miss wren, and now that his brain seemed clearing and the fever gone and he was too weak and helpless to resist, the time seemed ripe for the sowing of good seed, and janet went to sow. but there by mullins's bed, all unabashed at janet's marked disapprobation, sat norah shaughnessy. there, in flannel shirt and trooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief, pale, but collected, stood the objectionable mr. blakely. he was bending over, saying something to mullins, as she halted in the open doorway, and blakely, looking quickly up, went with much civility to greet and escort her within. to his courteous, "good-evening, miss wren, may i relieve you of your basket?" she returned prompt negative and, honoring him with no further notice, stood and gazed with miss shaughnessy at the focus--miss shaughnessy who, after one brief glance, turned a broad irish back on the intruder at the doorway and resumed her murmuring to mullins. "is the doctor here--or steward griffin?" spoke the lady, to the room at large, looking beyond the lieutenant and toward the single soldier attendant present. "the doctor and the steward are both at home just now, miss wren," said blakely. "may i offer you a chair?" miss wren preferred to stand. "i wish to speak with steward griffin," said she again. "can you go for him?" this time obviously limiting her language to the attendant himself, and carefully excluding mr. blakely from the field of her recognition. the attendant dumbly shook his head. so aunt janet tried again. "norah, _you_ know where the steward lives, will you--" but blakely saw rebellion awake again in ireland and interposed. "the steward shall be here at once, miss wren," said he, and tiptoed away. the lady's doubtful eye turned and followed him a moment, then slowly she permitted herself to enter. griffin, heading for the dispensary at the moment and apprised of her visit, came hurrying in. blakely, pondering over the few words mullins had faintly spoken, walked slowly over toward the line. his talk with graham had in a measure stilled the spirit of rancor that had possessed him earlier in the day. graham, at least, was stanch and steadfast, not a weathercock like cutler. graham had given him soothing medicine and advised his strolling a while in the open air--he had slept so much of the stifling afternoon--and now, hearing the sound of women's voices on the dark veranda nearest him, he veered to the left, passed around the blackened ruin of his own quarters and down along the rear of the line just as the musician of the guard was sounding "lights out"--"taps." and then a sudden thought occurred to him. sentries began challenging at taps. he was close to the post of no. 5. he could even see the shadowy form of the sentry slowly pacing toward him, and here he stood in the garb of a private soldier instead of his official dress. it caused him quickly to veer again, to turn to his right, the west, and to enter the open space between the now deserted quarters of the permanent commander and those of captain wren adjoining them to the north. another moment and he stopped short. girlish voices, low and murmurous, fell upon his ear. in a moment he had recognized them. "it won't take me two minutes, angela. i'll go and get it now," were the first words distinctly heard, and, with a rustle of skirts, kate sanders bounded lightly from the piazza to the sands and disappeared around the corner of the major's quarters, going in the direction of her home. for the first time in many eventful days blakely stood almost within touch of the girl whose little note was even then nestling in an inner pocket, and they were alone. "miss angela!" gently he spoke her name, but the effect was startling. she had been reclining in a hammock, and at sound of his voice struggled suddenly to a sitting posture, a low cry on her lips. in some strange way, in the darkness, the fright, confusion,--whatever it may have been,--she lost her balance and her seat. the hammock whirled from under her, and with exasperating thump, unharmed but wrathful, the girl was tumbled to the resounding floor. blakely sprang to her aid, but she was up in the split of a second, scorning, or not seeing, his eager, outstretched hand. "my--miss angela!" he began, all anxiety and distress, "i hope you're not hurt," and the outstretched hands were trembling. "i _know_ i'm not," was the uncompromising reply, "not in the least; startled--that's all! gentlemen don't usually come upon one that way--in the dark." she was panting a bit, but striving bravely, angrily, to be calm and cool--icy cool. "nor would i have come that way," then, stupidly, "had i known you were--here. forgive me." how could she, after that? she had no wish to see him, so she had schooled herself. she would decline to see him, were he to ask for her at the door; but, not for an instant did she wish to hear that he did not wish to see her, yet he had haplessly, brusquely said he wouldn't have come had he known she was there. it was her duty to leave him, instantly. it was her desire first to punish him. "my aunt is not at home," she began, the frost of the sierras in her tone. "i just left her, a moment ago, at the hospital," said he, steadfastly ignoring her repellent tone. indeed, if anything, the tone rejoiced him, for it told a tale she would not have told for realms and empires. he was ten years older and had lived. "but--forgive me," he went on, "you are trembling, miss angela." she was, and loathed herself, and promptly denied it. he gravely placed a chair. "you fell heavily, and it must have jarred you. please sit down," and stepping to the _olla_, "let me bring you some water." she was weak. her knees, her hands, were shaking as they never shook before. he had seen her aunt at the hospital. he had left her aunt there without a moment's delay that he might hasten to see her, angela. he was here and bending over her, with brimming gourd of cool spring water. nay, more, with one hand he pressed it to her lips, with the other he held his handkerchief so that the drops might not fall upon her gown. he was bending over her, so close she could hear, she thought, the swift beating of his heart. she knew that if what aunt janet had told, and her father had seen, of him were true, she would rather die than suffer a touch of his hand. yet one hand had touched her, gently, yet firmly, as he helped her to the chair, and the touch she loathed was sweet to her in spite of herself. from the moment of their first meeting this man had done what no other man had done before--spoken to her and treated her as a grown woman, with a man's admiration in his fine blue eyes, with deference in word and chivalric grace in manner. and in spite of the mean things whispered about him--about him and--anybody, she had felt her young heart going out to him, her buoyant, joyous, healthful nature opening and expanding in the sunshine of his presence. and now he had come to seek her, after all the peril and excitement and trouble he had undergone, and now, all loverlike tenderness and concern, was bending over her and murmuring to her, his deep voice almost as tremulous as her hand. oh, it couldn't be true that he--cared for--was interested in--that woman, the major's wife! not that she _ought_ to care one way or another, except that it was so despicable--so unlike him. yet she had promised herself--had virtually promised her father--that she would hold far aloof from this man, and here he stood, so close that their heart-beats almost intermingled, and he was telling her that he wished she had kept and never returned the little butterfly net, for now, when it had won a value it never before had known, it was his fate to lose it. "and now," he said, "i hope to be sent to-morrow to join your father in the field, and i wish to tell you that, whenever i go, i shall first come to see what you may have to send to him. will you--be here, miss angela?" for a moment--silence. she was thinking of her duty to her father, of her implied promise, of all that janet had told her, and so thinking could not for the moment answer--could not meet his earnest gaze. dark as it was she felt, rather than saw, the glow of his deep blue eyes. she could not mistake the tenderness of his tone. she had so believed in him. he seemed so far above the callow, vapid, empty-headed youngsters the other girls were twittering about from morn till night. she felt that she believed in him now, no matter what had been said or who had said it. she felt that if he would but say it was all a mistake--that no woman had crossed his threshold, all camp sandy might swear to the truth of the story, and she would laugh at it. but how could she ask such a thing of him? her cheeks took fire at the thought. it was he who broke the silence. "something has happened to break your faith in me, miss angela," said he, with instant gravity. "i certainly had it--i _know_ i had it--not a week ago"; and now he had dropped to a seat in the swaying hammock, and with calm strength and will bent toward her and compelled her attention. "i have a right to know, as matters stand. will you tell me, or must i wait until i see your father?" with that neil blakely actually sought to take her hand. she whipped it behind her at the instant. "will you tell me?" he repeated, bending closer. from down the line, dancing along the wooden veranda, came the sound of swift footfalls--kate sanders hurrying back. another moment and it would be too late. the denial she longed to hear from his lips might never be spoken. if spoken at all it must be here and now, yet how could she--how could _she_ ask _him_? "i will tell you, mr. blakely." the words came from the window of the darkened parlor, close at hand. the voice was that of janet wren, austere and uncompromising. "i got here in time to hear your question--i will answer for my niece--" "aunt janet--no!" "be quiet, angela. mr. blakely, it is because this child's father saw, and i heard of, that which makes you unworthy the faith of a young, pure-hearted girl. who was the--the creature to whom you opened your door last wednesday midnight?" kate sanders, singing softly, blithely, came tripping along the major's deserted veranda, her fresh young voice, glad, yet subdued, caroling the words of a dear old song that parepa had made loved and famous full ten years before: "and as he lingered by her side, in spite of his comrade's warning the old, old story was told again at five o'clock in the morning." then came sudden silence, as springing to the sandy ground, the singer reached the wrens' veranda and saw the dim form of mr. blakely, standing silently confronting a still dimmer form, faintly visible at the side window against the soft, tempered light of the hanging lamp in the hall. "who was the creature?" i repeat, were the strange words, in miss wren's most telling tone, that brought kate sanders to a halt, startled, silent. then blakely answered: "some day i shall tell miss angela, madam, but never--you. good-night." chapter xv a call for help that night the wire across the mountains to prescott was long alive with news, and there was little rest for operator, adjutant, or commanding officer at sandy. colonel byrne, it seems, had lost telegraphic touch with his chief, who, quitting camp mcdowell, had personally taken the field somewhere over in the tonto basin beyond the matitzal range, and byrne had the cares of a continent on his hands. three of the five commands out in the field had had sharp encounters with the foe. official business itself was sufficiently engrossing, but there were other matters assuming grave proportions. mrs. plume had developed a feverish anxiety to hie on to the pacific and out of arizona just at a time when, as her husband had to tell her, it was impossible for him, and impolitic for her, to go. matters at sandy, he explained, were in tangled shape. mullins partially restored, but still, as plume assured her, utterly out of his head, had declared that his assailants were women; and other witnesses, plume would not give names, had positively asserted that elise had been seen along the sentry post just about the time the stabbing occurred. everything now, said he, must depend on captain wren, who was known to have seen and spoken to elise, and who could probably testify that she returned to their roof before the tragic affair of the night. but wren was now away up in the mountains beyond snow lake and might be going far over through sunset pass to the colorado chiquito. meantime he, plume, was responsible for elise, in duty bound to keep her there to face any accuser. in her nervous, semi-hysterical state the wife could not well be told how much she, too, was involved. it was not necessary. she knew--all fort whipple, as prescott's military post was called, knew all about the fire that had destroyed the "beetle shop" and blakely's belongings. elise, in wild excitement, had rushed to her mistress with that news and the further information that downs was gone and could not be found. this latter fact, indeed, they learned before plume ever heard of it--and made no mention of it in his presence. "i shall have to run down to sandy again," said byrne, to plume. "keep up your heart and--watch that frenchwoman. the jade!" and with the following day he was bounding and bumping down the stony road that led from the breezy, pine-crested heights about headquarters to the sandy flats and desert rocks and ravines fifty miles to the east and twenty-five hundred feet below. "shall be with you after dark," he wired cutler, who was having a bad quarter of an hour on his own account, and wishing all sandy to the devil. it had transpired that strom's rival ranchman, a little farther down the valley, was short just one horse and set of horse equipments. he had made no complaint. he had accused nobody. he had never failed in the past to appear at sandy with charge of theft and demand for damages at the expense of the soldiery whenever he missed an item, big or little--and sometimes when he didn't miss a thing. but now he came not at all, and cutler jumped at the explanation: he had sold that steed, and downs, the deserter, was the purchaser. downs must have had money to aid in his escape. downs must have received it from someone eager to get him out of the way. it might well be elise, for who else would trust him? and downs must be striking for the south, after wide _détour_. no use now to chase him. the wire was the only thing with which to round him up, so the stage stations on the gila route, and the scattered army posts, were all notified of the desertion, and downs's description, with all his imperfections, was flashed far and wide over the territory. he could no more hope to escape than fly on the wings of night. he would be cut off or run down long before he could reach mexico; that is, he _would_ be if only troopers got after him. the civil list of arizona in 1875 was of peculiar constitution. it stood ready at any time to resolve itself into a modification of the old-day underground railways, and help spirit off soldier criminals, first thoughtfully relieving them of care and responsibility for any surplus funds in their possession. and with downs gone one way, wren's troop gone another, and blakely here clamoring to follow, cutler was mentally torn out of shape. he believed it his duty to hold blakely at least until the colonel came, and he lacked the "sand" to tell him so. from wren not another word had been received direct, but bridger at the agency had sent word that the indians there were constantly in receipt of news from the hostiles that filled them with excitement. wren, at last accounts, had gone into the mountains south of sunset pass toward chevlon's fork, and his trail was doubtless watched to head off couriers or cut down stragglers. blakely's appeal to be allowed to follow and join his troop had been declared foolish, and the attempt foolhardy, by captain cutler. this and not the real reason was given, coupled of course, with the doctor's dictum. but even graham had begun to think blakely would be the better for anything that would take him away from a station where life had been one swift succession of ills and mishaps. and even graham did not dream how sorely blakely had been hit. nor could he account for the access of nervous irritability that possessed his patient all the livelong day, while waiting, as they all were, for the coming of colonel byrne. mrs. sanders declared to mrs. graham her private impression that he was on the verge of prostration, although, making an effort, blakely had appeared at breakfast after an early morning walk, had been most courteous, gentle, and attentive to her and to her wholesome, if not actually homely, kate. how the mother's heart yearned over that sweet-natured, sallow-faced child! but after breakfast blakely had wandered off again and was out on the _mesa_, peering through a pair of borrowed glasses over the dreary eastward landscape and up and down the deep valley. "how oddly are we constituted!" said mrs. sanders. "if i only had his money, i'd never be wearing my heart out in this desert land." she was not the only army wife and mother that should have married a stockbroker--anything rather than a soldier. the whole post knew by noon that byrne was coming, and waited with feverish impatience. byrne was the power that would put an end to the doubts and distractions, decide who stabbed pat mullins, who set fire to the "beetle shop," where epsom downs had gone, and could even settle, possibly, the long-doubtful question, "who struck billy patterson?" sandy believed in byrne as it did in no one since the days of general crook. with two exceptions, all sandy society was out on the parade, the porticoes, or the northward bluff, as the sun went down. these two were the misses wren. "angela," said miss janet, "is keeping her room to-day, and pretending to keep her temper"--this to kate sanders, who had twice sought admission, despite a girlish awe of, if not aversion to, this same aunt janet. "but don't you think she'd like to see me just a little while, miss wren?" the girl inquired, her hand caressing the sleek head of one of the big hounds as she spoke. hounds were other objects of miss wren's disfavor. "lazy, pilfering brutes," she called them, when after hours of almost incredible labor and ingenious effort they had managed to tear down, and to pieces, a haunch of venison she had slung to the rafters of the back porch. "you can come in, kate, provided you keep out the dogs," was her ungracious answer, "and i'll go see. i think she's sleeping now, and ought not to be disturbed." "then i won't disturb her," was miss sanders's prompt reply, as she turned away and would have gone, but the elder restrained her. janet did not wish the girl to go at all. she knew angela had asked for her, and doubtless longed to see her; and now, having administered her feline scratch and made kate feel the weight of her disapproval, she was quite ready to promote the very interview she had verbally condemned. perhaps miss sanders saw and knew this and preferred to worry miss wren as much as possible. at all events, only with reluctance did she obey the summons to wait a minute, and stood with a pout on her lips as the spinster vanished in the gloom of the hallway. angela could not have been asleep, for her voice was audible in an instant. "come up, kate," she feebly cried, just as aunt janet had begun her little sermon, and the sermon had to stop, for kate sanders came, and neither lass was in mood to listen to pious exhortation. moreover, they made it manifest to aunt janet that there would be no interchange of confidences until she withdrew. "you are not to talk yourselves into a pitch of excitement," said she. "angela must sleep to-night to make up for the hours she lost--thanks to the abominable remarks of that hardened young man." with that, after a pull at the curtain, a soothing thump or two at angela's pillow, and the muttered wish that the coming colonel were empowered to arrest recalcitrant nieces as well as insubordinate subs, she left them to their own devices. they were still in eager, almost breathless chat when the crack of whip and sputter of hoofs and wheels through gravelly sands told that the inspector's ambulance had come. was it likely that angela could sleep until she heard the probable result of the inspector's coming? he was closeted first with cutler. then dr. graham was sent for, and the three walked over to the hospital, just as the musicians were forming for tattoo. they were at mullins's bedside, with the steward and attendants outside, when taps went wailing out upon the night. there were five minutes of talk with that still bewildered patient. then byrne desired to see mr. blakely at once and alone. cutler surrendered his office to the department inspector, and thither the lieutenant was summoned. mrs. sanders, with mrs. truman, was keeping little mrs. bridger company at the moment, and blakely bowed courteously to the three in passing by. "even in that rough dress," said mrs. sanders reflectively, as her eyes followed the tall, straight figure over the moonlit parade, "he is a most distinguished looking man." "yes," said mrs. bridger, still unappeased. "if he were a sioux, i suppose they'd call him 'man-in-love-with-his-legs.'" blakely heard the bubble of laughter that followed him on his way, and wished that he, too, felt in mood as merry. the acting sergeant major, a clerk, and young cassidy, the soldier telegraph operator, seated at the westward end of the rough board porch of the adjutant's office, arose and saluted as he entered. byrne had sent every possible hearer out of the building. five minutes the conference lasted, no sound coming from within. cutler and graham, with captain westervelt, sat waiting on the porch of the doctor's quarters, mrs. graham being busy with her progeny aloft. others of the officers and families were also on the piazzas, or strolling slowly up and down the pathway, but all eyes wandered from time to time toward the dim light at the office. all was dark at the barracks. all was hushed and still about the post. the sentry call for half-past ten was still some minutes' distant, when one of the three seated figures at the end of the office porch was seen to rise. then the other two started to their feet. the first hastened to the door and began to knock. so breathless was the night that over on the verandas the imperative thumping could be distinctly heard, and everyone ceased talk and listened. then, in answer to some query from within, the voice of young cassidy was uplifted. "i beg pardon, sir, but that's the agency calling me, and it's hurry." they saw the door open from within; saw the soldier admitted and the door closed after him; saw the two men waiting standing and expectant, no longer content to resume their chat. for three minutes of suspense there came no further sound. then the door was again thrown open, and both byrne and blakely came hurrying out. in the memory of the earliest inhabitant never had sandy seen the colonel walk so fast. together they came striding straight toward cutler's, and the captain arose and went to meet them, foreboding in his soul. graham and westervelt, restrained by discipline, held back. the women and younger officers, hushed by anxiety, gazed at the swift-coming pair in dread and fascination. there was a moment of muttered conference with the commanding officer, some hurried words, then blakely was seen to spring away, to be recalled by cutler, to start a second time, only to be again recalled. then cutler, shouting, "mr. doty, i need you!" hurried away toward the office, and blakely, fairly running, sped straight for the barracks of wren's troop. only byrne was left to answer the storm of question that burst upon him all at once, women thronging about him from all along the line. "we have news from the agency," said he. "it is from indian runners, and may not be reliable--some rumor of a sharp fight near sunset pass." "are there particulars, colonel--anybody killed or wounded?" it was mrs. sanders who spoke, her face very pale. "we cannot know--as yet. it is all an indian story. mr. blakely is going at once to investigate," was the guarded answer. but mrs. sanders knew, as well as a dozen others, that there _were_ particulars--that somebody had been killed or wounded, for indian stories to that effect had been found singularly reliable. it was wren's troop that had gone to sunset pass, and here was wren's sister with question in her eye, and at sight of her the colonel turned and hurried back to headquarters, following the post commander. another moment and blakely, in the broad light streaming suddenly from the office room of wren's troop, came speeding straight across the parade again in the direction of sanders's quarters, next to the last at the southward end of the row. they sought, of course, to intercept him, and saw that his face was pale, though his manner was as composed as ever. to every question he had but one thing to say: "colonel byrne and the captain know all that i do--and more. ask them." but this he said with obvious wish to be questioned no further,--said it gently, but most firmly,--and then, with scant apology, passed on. five minutes more and nixon was lugging out the lieutenant's field kit on the sanders's porch, and blakely, reappearing, went straight up the row to wren's. it was now after 10.30, but he never hesitated. miss janet, watching him from the midst of her friends, saw him stride, unhesitatingly, straight to the door and knock. she followed instantly, but, before she could reach the steps, kate sanders, with wonder in her eyes, stood faltering before him. "will you say to miss angela that i have come as i promised? i am going at once to--join the troop. can i see her?" he asked. "she isn't well, mr. blakely. she hasn't left her room to-day." and miss sanders began herself to tremble, for up the steps came the resolute lady of the house, whom seeing, mr. blakely honored with a civil bow, but with not a word. "i will hear your message, mr. blakely," said miss wren, pallid, too, and filled with wordless anxiety, but determined none the less. "miss sanders has heard it, madam," was the uncompromising answer. "will you see miss angela, please?" this again to kate--and, without another word, she went. "mr. blakely," began the lady impressively, "almost the last thing my brother said to me before leaving the post was that he wished no meetings between you and angela. why do you pursue her? do you wish to compel me to take her away?" for a moment he was silent. then, "it is i who must go, miss wren," was the answer, and she, who expected resentment, looked at him in surprise, so gentle, so sorrowing was his tone. "i had hoped to bear her message, but shall intrude no more. if the news that came to-night should be confirmed--and only in that event--say to her, if you please, that i shall do my best to find her father." chapter xvi a return to command with but a single orderly at his back, mr. blakely had left camp sandy late at night; had reached the agency, twenty miles up stream, two hours before the dawn and found young bridger waiting for him. they had not even a reliable interpreter now. arahawa, "washington charley," had been sent to the general at camp mcdowell. lola's father, with others of her kin, had taken apache leave and gone in search of the missing girl. but between the sign language and the _patois_ of the mountains, a strange mixture of spanish, english, and tonto apache, the officers had managed, with the aid of their men, to gather explanation of the fierce excitement prevailing all that previous day among the indians at the agency. there had been another fight, a chase, a scattering of both pursuers and pursued. most of the troops were at last accounts camping in the rocks near sunset pass. two had been killed, several were wounded, three were missing, lost to everybody. even the apaches swore they knew not where they were--a sergeant, a trumpeter, and "gran capitan" himself--captain wren. in the paling starlight of the coming day blakely and bridger plied the reluctant indians with questions in every form possible with their limited knowledge of the sign language. blakely, having spent so many years on staff duty, had too little knowledge of practical service in the field. bridger was but a beginner at best. together they had decided on their course. a wire was sent to sandy saying that from all they could gather the rumors were probably true, but urging that couriers be sent for dick, the cherry creek settler, and wales arnold, another pioneer who had lived long in apache land and owned a ranch on the little beaver. they could get more out of the indians than could these soldiers. it would be hours after dawn before either dick or his fellow frontiersman could arrive. meanwhile sandy must bear the suspense as well as it might. the next wire came from bridger at nine o'clock: arnold arrived hour ago. examined six. says stories probably true. confident wren not killed. for answer byrne wired that a detachment of a dozen men with three packers had marched at five o'clock to report to blakely for such duty as he might require, and the answer came within the minute: blakely gone. started for snow lake 4.30. left orders detachment follow. took orderly and two apache yuma scouts. byrne, cutler, and graham read with grave and anxious faces, but said very little. it was blakely's way. and that was the last heard of the bugologist for as much as a week. meantime there was a painful situation at fort whipple, away up in "the hills." major plume, eager on his wife's account to get her to the seashore--"monterey or santa barbara," said the sapient medical director--and ceaselessly importuned by her and viciously nagged by elise, found himself bound to the spot. so long as mullins stuck to his story plume knew it would never do for him to leave. "a day or two more and he may abate or amend his statement," wrote graham. indeed, if norah shaughnessy were not there to prompt--to prop--his memory, graham thought it like enough that even now the soldier would have wavered. but never a jot or tittle had mullins been shaken from the original statement. "there was two women," he said, "wid their shawls over their heads," and those two, refusing to halt at his demand, had been overtaken and one of them seized, to his bitter cost, for the other had driven a keen-bladed knife through his ribs, even as he sought to examine his captive. "they wouldn't spake," said he, "so what could i do but pull the shawl from the face of her to see could she be recognized?" then came the fierce, cat-like spring of the taller of the two. then the well-nigh fatal thrust. what afterwards became of the women he could say no more than the dead. norah might rave about its being the frenchwoman that did it to protect the major's lady--this he spoke in whispered confidence and only in reply to direct question--but it wouldn't be for the likes of him to preshume. mullins, it seems, was a soldier of the old school. then came fresh and dire anxiety at sandy. four days after blakely's start there appeared two swarthy runners from the way of beaver creek. they bore a missive scrawled on the paper lining of a cracker box, and it read about as follows: camp in sunset pass, november 3d. commanding officer, camp sandy: scouting parties returning find no trace of captain wren and sergeant carmody, but we shall persevere. indians lurking all about us make it difficult. shall be needing rations in four days. all wounded except flynn doing fairly well. hope couriers sent you on 30th and 31st reached you safely. the dispatch was in the handwriting of benson, a trooper of good education, often detailed for clerical work. it was signed "brewster, sergeant." who then were the couriers, and what had become of them? what fate had attended blakely in his lonely and perilous ride? what man or pair of men could pierce that cordon of indians lurking all around them and reach the beleaguered command? what need to speculate on the fate of the earlier couriers anyway? only indians could hope to outwit indians in such a case. it was madness to expect white men to get through. it was madness for blakely to attempt it. yet blakely was gone beyond recall, perhaps beyond redemption. from him, and from the detachment that was sent by bridger to follow his trail, not a word had come of any kind. asked if they had seen or heard anything of such parties, the indian couriers stolidly shook their heads. they had followed the old wingate road all the way until in sight of the valley. then, scrambling through a rocky labyrinth, impossible for hoof or wheel, had made a short cut to the head waters of the beaver. now blakely, riding from the agency eastward slowly, should have found that wingate trail before the setting of the first day's sun, and his followers could not have been far behind. it began to look as though the bugologist had never reached the road. it began to be whispered about the post that wren and his luckless companions might never be found at all. kate sanders had ceased her song. she was now with angela day and night. one hope, a vague one, remained beside that of hearing from the baker's dozen that rode on blakely's trail. just as soon as byrne received the indian story concerning wren's disappearance, he sent runners eastward on the track of sanders's troop, with written advice to that officer to drop anything he might be doing along the black mesa and, turning northward, to make his way through a country hitherto untrod by white man, between baker's butte at the south and the sunset mountains at the north. he was ordered to scout the cañon of chevlon's fork, and to look for sign on every side until, somewhere among the "tanks" in the solid rock about the mountain gateway known as sunset pass, he should join hands with the survivors of webb's troop, nursing their wounded and guarding the new-made graves of their dead. under such energetic supervision as that of captain sanders it was believed that even apache yuma scouts could be made to accomplish something, and that new heart would be given wren's dispirited men. by this time, too, if blakely had not fallen into the hands of the apaches, he should have been joined by the intended escort, and, thus strengthened, could either push on to the pass, or, if surrounded, take up some strong position among the rocks and stand off his assailants until found by his fellow-soldiers under sanders. moreover, byrne had caused report of the situation to be sent to the general via camp mcdowell, and felt sure he would lose no time in directing the scouting columns to head for the sunset country. scattered as were the hostile apaches, it was apparent that they were in greater force northward, opposite the old reservation, than along the mogollon range southeast of it. there was hope, activity, animation, among the little camps and garrisons toward the broad valley of the gila as the early days of november wore away. only here at sandy was there suspense as well as deep despond. it was a starlit sunday morning that blakely rode away eastward from the agency. it was wednesday night when sergeant brewster's runners came, and never a wink of sleep had they or their inquisitors until thursday was ushered in. it was saturday night again, a week from the night neil blakely strove to see and say good-by to angela wren. it was high time other runners came from brewster, unless they, too, had been cut off, as must have been the fate of their forerunners. all drills had been suspended at sandy; all duty subordinated to guard. cutler had practically abolished the daily details, had doubled his sentries, had established outlying pickets, and was even bent on throwing up intrenchments or at least digging rifle pits, lest the apaches should feel so "cocky" over their temporary successes as to essay an attack on the post. byrne smiled and said they would hardly try that, but he approved the pickets. it was noted that for nearly a week,--not since blakely's start from the agency,--no signal fires had been seen in the red rock country or about the reservation. mr. truman, acting as post quartermaster, had asked for additional men to protect his little herd, for the sergeant in charge declared that, twice, long-distance shots had come from far away up the bouldered heights to the west. the daily mail service had been abandoned, so nervous had the carrier become, and now, twice each week, a corporal and two men rode the rugged trail, thus far without seeing a sign of apaches. the wire, too, was undisturbed, but an atmosphere of alarm and dread clung about the scattered ranches even as far as the agua fria to the west, and the few officials left at prescott found it impossible to reassure the settlers, who, quitting their new homes, had either clustered about some favored ranch for general defense or, "packing" to fort whipple, were clamoring there for protection with which to return to and occupy their abandoned roofs. and all this, said byrne, between his set teeth, because a bumptious agent sought to lay forceful hands upon the daughter of a chief. poor daly! he had paid dearly for that essay. as for natzie, and her shadow lola, neither one had been again seen. they might indeed have dropped back from montezuma well after the first wild stampede, but only fruitless search had the soldiers made for them. even their own people, said bridger, at the agency, were either the biggest liars that ever lived or the poorest trailers. the apaches swore the girls could not be found. "i'll bet sergeant shannon could nail them," said hart, the trader, when told of the general denial among the indians. but shannon was far away from the field column, leading his moccasined comrades afoot and in single file long, wearisome climbs up jagged cliffs or through deep cañons, where unquestionably the foe had been in numbers but the day before, yet now they were gone. shannon might well be needed at the far front, now that most of the apache scouts had proved timid or worthless, but byrne wished he had him closer home. it was the saturday night following the coming of the runners with confirmation of the grewsome indian stories. colonel byrne, with graham, cutler, and westervelt, had been at the office half an hour in consultation when, to the surprise of every soul at sandy, a four-mule team and concord wagon came bowling briskly into the post, and major plume, dust-covered and grave, marched into the midst of the conference and briefly said: "gentlemen, i return to resume command." nobody had a word to say beyond that of welcome. it was manifestly the proper thing for him to do. unable, in face of the stories afloat, to take his wife away, his proper place in the pressing emergency was at his post in command. to colonel byrne, who guardedly and somewhat dubiously asked, "how about mrs. plume and that--french thing?" the major's answer was prompt: "both at fort whipple and in--good hands," said he. "my wife realizes that my duty is here, and, though her recovery may be retarded, she declares she will remain there or even join me. she, in fact, was so insistent that i should bring her back with me that it embarrassed me somewhat. i vetoed it, however." byrne gazed at him from under his shaggy eyebrows. "h'm," said he, "i fancied she had shaken the dust of sandy from her shoes for good and all--that she hoped never to come back." "i, too," answered plume ingenuously. "she hated the very mention of it,--this is between ourselves,--until this week. now she says her place is here with me, no matter how she may suffer," and the major seemed to dwell with pride on this new evidence of his wife's devotion. it was, indeed, an unusual symptom, and byrne had to try hard to look credulous, which plume appreciated and hurried on: "elise, of course, seemed bent on talking her out of it, but, with wren and blakely both missing, i could not hesitate. i had to come. oh, captain, is truman still acting quartermaster?" this to cutler. "he has the keys of my house, i suppose." and so by tattoo the major was once more harbored under his old roof and full of business. from byrne and his associates he quickly gathered all particulars in their possession. he agreed with them that another day must bring tidings from the east or prove that the apaches had surrounded and perhaps cut down every man of the command. he listened eagerly to the details byrne and others were able to give him. he believed, by the time "taps" came, he had already settled on a plan for another relief column, and he sent for truman, the quartermaster. "truman," said he, "how much of a pack train have you got left?" "hardly a mule, sir. two expeditions out from this post swallows up pretty much everything." "very true; yet i may have to find a dozen packs before we get half through this business. the ammunition is in your hands, too, isn't it? where do you keep it?" and the major turned and gazed out in the starlight. "only place i got, sir--quartermaster's storehouse," and truman eyed his commander doubtfully. "well, i'm squeamish about such things as that," said the major, looking even graver, "especially since this fire here. by the way, was much of blakely's property--er--rescued--or recovered?" "very little, sir. blakely lost pretty much everything, except some papers in an iron box--the box that was warped all out of shape." "where is it now?" asked plume, tugging at the strap of a dressing case and laying it open on the broad window-seat. "in my quarters, under my bed, sir." "isn't that rather--unsafe?" asked plume. "think how quick _he_ was burned out." "best i can do, sir. but he said it contained little of value, mainly letters and memoranda. no valuables at all, in fact. the lock wouldn't work, so the blacksmith strap-ironed it for him. that prevents it being opened by anyone, you know, who hasn't the proper tools." "i see," said plume reflectively. "it seems rather unusual to take such precaution with things of no value. i suppose blakely knows his own business, however. thank you very much truman. good-night." "i suppose he did, at least, when he had the blacksmith iron that box," thought truman, as he trudged away. "he did, at any rate, when he made me promise to keep it with the utmost care. not even you can have it, major plume, although you are the post commander." chapter xvii a strange coming with one orderly and a pair of apache yuma scouts, neil blakely had set forth in hopes of making his way to snow lake, far up in the range to the east. the orderly was all very well,--like most of his fellows, game, true, and tried,--but few were the leaders who had any faith in apache yumas. of those indians whom general crook had successively conquered, then turned to valuable use, the hualpais had done well and proved reliable; the apache mohaves had served since '73, and in scout after scout and many a skirmish had proved loyal and worthy allies against the fierce, intractable tontos, many of whom had never yet come in to an agency or accepted the bounty of the government. even a certain few of these tontos had proffered fealty and been made useful as runners and trailers against the recalcitrants of their own band. but the apache yumas, their mountain blood tainted by the cross with the slothful bands of the arid, desert flats of the lower colorado, had won a bad name from the start, and deserved it. they feared the tontos, who had thrashed them again and again, despoiled them of their plunder, walked away with their young women, insulted and jeered at their young men. except when backed by the braves of other bands, therefore, the apache yumas were fearful and timorous on the trail. once they had broken and run before a mere handful of tontos, leaving a wounded officer to his fate. once, when scaling the black mesa toward this very snow lake, they had whimpered and begged to be sent home, declaring no enemy was there in hiding, when the peaks were found alive with tontos. the red rock country and the northward spurs of the mogollon seemed fraught with some strange, superstitious terror in their eyes, and if the "nerve" of a dozen would desert them when ordered east of the verde, what could be expected of blakely's two? no wonder, then, the elders at sandy were sorely troubled! but the bugologist had nothing else to choose from. all the reliable, seasoned scouts were already gone with the various field columns. only apache yumas remained, and only the least promising of the apache yumas at that. bridger remembered how reluctantly these two had obeyed the summons to go. "if they don't sneak away and come back swearing they have lost the lieutenant, i'm a gopher," said he, and gave orders accordingly to have them hauled before him should they reappear. confidently he looked to see or hear of them as again lurking about the commissary storehouse after the manner of their people, beggars to the backbone. but the week went by without a sign of them. "there's only one thing to explain that," said he. "they've either deserted to the enemy or been cut off and killed." what, then, had become of blakely? what fate had befallen wren? by this time, late saturday night, acting for the department commander now lost somewhere in the mountains, byrne had re-enforced the guards at the agency and the garrison at sandy with infantry drawn from fort whipple at prescott, for thither the apaches would never venture. the untrammeled and sovereign citizen had his own way of treating the obnoxious native to the soil. by this time, too, further word should have come from some of the field columns, sanders's especially. but though runners had reached the post bearing brief dispatches from the general, showing that he and the troops from the more southerly posts were closing in on the wild haunts of the tontos about chevlon's fork, not a sign had come from this energetic troop commander, not another line from sergeant brewster or his men, and there were women at camp sandy now nearly mad with sleepless dread and watching. "it means," said byrne, "that the hostiles are between us and those commands. it means that couriers can't get through, that's all. i'm betting the commands are safe enough. they are too strong to be attacked." but byrne was silent as to blakely; he was dumb as to wren. he was growing haggard with anxiety and care and inability to assure or comfort. the belated rations needed by brewster's party, packed on mules hurried down from prescott, were to start at dawn for sunset pass under stout infantry guard, and they, too, would probably be swallowed up in the mountains. the ranch people down the valley, fearful of raiding apaches, had abandoned their homes, and, driving their stock before them, had taken refuge in the emptied corrals of the cavalry. even hart, the veteran trader, seemed losing his nerve under the strain, for when such intrepid frontiersmen as wales arnold declared it reckless to venture across the sandy, and little scouting parties were greeted with long-range shots from hidden foe, it boded ill for all dwellers without the walls of the fort. for the first time in the annals of camp sandy, hart had sandbagged his lower story, and he and his retainers practically slept upon their arms. it was after midnight. lights still burned dimly at the guard-house, the adjutant's office, and over at the quarters of the commanding officer, where byrne and plume were in consultation. there were sleepless eyes in every house along the line. truman had not turned in at all. pondering over his brief talk with the returned commander, he had gone to the storehouse to expedite the packing of brewster's rations, and then it occurred to him to drop in a moment at the hospital. in all the dread and excitement of the past two days, pat mullins had been well-nigh forgotten. the attendant greeted him at the entrance. truman, as he approached, could see him standing at the broad open doorway, apparently staring out through the starlight toward the black and distant outlines of the eastward mountains. mullins at least was sleeping and seemed rapidly recovering, said he, in answer to truman's muttered query. "major plume," he added, "was over to see him a while ago, but i told the major pat was asleep." truman listened without comment, but noted none the less and lingered. "you were looking out to the east," he said. "seen any lights or fire?" "not i, sir. but the sentry there on no. 4 had the corporal out just now. he's seen or heard something, and they've moved over toward no. 5's post." truman followed. how happened it that when byrne and plume had so much to talk of the latter could find time to come away over to the hospital to inquire for a patient? and there! the call for half-past twelve had started at the guard-house and rung out from the stables and corrals. it was four's turn to take it up now. presently he did, but neither promptly nor with confidence. there were new men on the relief just down from fort whipple and strange to sandy and its surroundings; but surely, said truman, they should not have been assigned to four and five, the exposed or dangerous posts, so long as there were other men, old-timers at sandy, to take these stations. no. 4's "a-all's well" sounded more like a wail of remonstrance at his loneliness and isolation. it was a new voice, too, for in those days officers knew not only the face, but the voice, of every man in the little command, and--could truman be mistaken--he thought he heard a subdued titter from the black shadows of his own quarters, and turned his course thither to investigate. five's shout went up at the instant, loud, confident, almost boastful, as though in rebuke of four's timidity, and, as truman half expected, there was the corporal of the guard leaning on his rifle, close to the veranda steps, and so absorbed he never heard the officer approach until the lieutenant sharply hailed: "who's that on no. 4?" "one of 'c' company's fellers, sir," answered the watcher, coming to his senses and attention at the instant. "just down from prescott, and thinks he sees ghosts or indians every minute. nearly shot one of the hounds a moment ago." "you shouldn't put him on that post--" "i didn't sir," was the prompt rejoinder. "'twas the sergeant. he said 'twould do him good, but the man's really scared, lieutenant. thought i'd better stay near him a bit." across the black and desolate ruin of blakely's quarters, and well out on the northward _mesa_, they could dimly discern the form of the unhappy sentry pacing uneasily along his lonely beat, pausing and turning every moment as though fearful of crouching assailant. even among these veteran infantrymen left at sandy, that northeast corner had had an uncanny name ever since the night of pat mullins's mysterious stabbing. many a man would gladly have shunned sentry duty at that point, but none dare confess to it. partly as a precaution, partly as protection to his sentries, the temporary commander had early in the week sent out a big "fatigue" detail, with knives and hatchets to slice away every clump of sage or greasewood that could shelter a prowling apache for a hundred yards out from the line. but the man now on no. 4 was palpably nervous and distressed, in spite of this fact. truman watched him a moment in mingled compassion and amusement, and was just turning aside to enter his open doorway when the corporal held up a warning hand. through the muffling sand of the roadway in rear of the quarters, a tall, dark figure was moving straight and swift toward the post of no. 4, and so far within that of no. 5 as to escape the latter's challenge. the corporal sprung his rifle to the hollow of his arm and started the next instant, sped noiselessly a few yards in pursuit, then abruptly halted. "it's the major, sir," said he, embarrassed, as truman joined him again. "gad, i hope no. 4 won't fire!" fire he did not, but his challenge came with a yell. "w-whocomesthere?"--three words as one and that through chattering teeth. "commanding officer," they heard plume clearly answer, then in lower tone, but distinctly rebukeful. "what on earth's the matter, no. 4? you called off very badly. anything disturbing you out here?" the sentry's answer was a mumble of mingled confusion and distress. how could he own to his post commander that he was scared? no. 5 now was to be seen swiftly coming up the eastward front so as to be within supporting or hearing distance--curiosity, not sympathy, impelling; and so there were no less than five men, four of them old and tried soldiers, all within fifty yards of the angle made by the two sentry beats, all wide awake, yet not one of their number could later tell just what started it. all on a sudden, down in sudsville, down among the southward quarters of the line, the hounds went rushing forth, barking and baying excitedly, one and all heading for the brink of the eastward _mesa_, yet halting short as though afraid to approach it nearer, and then, darting up and down, barking, sniffing, challenging angrily, they kept up their fierce alarm. somebody or something was out there in the darkness, perhaps at the very edge of the bluff, and the dogs dare go no further. even when the corporal, followed by no. 5, came running down the post, the hounds hung back, bristling and savage, yet fearful. corporal foote cocked his rifle and went crouching forward through the gloom, but the voice of the major was heard: "don't go out there, corporal. call for the guard," as he hurried in to his quarters in search of his revolver. truman by this time had run for his own arms and together they reappeared on the post of no. 5, as a sergeant, with half a dozen men, came panting from across the parade, swift running to the scene. "no. 4 would have it that there were indians, or somebody skulking about him when i was examining him a moment ago," said plume hurriedly. "shut up, you brutes!" he yelled angrily at the nearest hounds. "scatter your men forward there, sergeant, and see if we can find anything." other men were coming, too, by this time, and a lantern was dancing out from doty's quarters. byrne, pyjama-clad and in slippered feet, shuffled out to join the party as the guard, with rifles at ready, bored their way out to the front, the dogs still suspiciously sniffing and growling. for a moment or two no explanation offered. the noise was gradually quieting down. then from far out to the right front rose the shout: "come here with that lantern!" and all hands started at the sound. old shaughnessy, saddler sergeant, was the first on the spot with a light. all sudsville seemed up and astir. some of the women, even, had begun to show at the narrow doorways. corporal foote and two of the guard were bending over some object huddled in the sand. together they turned it over and tugged it into semblance of human shape, for the thing had been shrouded in what proved to be a ragged cavalry blanket. senseless, yet feebly breathing and moaning, half-clad in tattered skirt and a coarsely made _camisa_ such as was worn by peon women of the humblest class, with blood-stained bandages concealing much of the face and head, a young indian woman was lifted toward the light. a soldier started on the run for dr. graham; another to the laundresses' homes for water. others, still, with the lanterns now coming flitting down the low bluff, began searching through the sands for further sign, and found it within the minute--sign of a shod horse and of moccasined feet,--moccasins not of tonto, but of yuma make, said byrne, after a moment's survey. rough, yet tender, hands bore the poor creature to the nearest shelter--shaughnessy's quarters. keen, eager eyes and bending forms followed hoof and foot prints to the ford. two indians, evidently, had lately issued, dripping, from the stream; one leading an eager horse, for it had been dancing sidewise as they neared the post, the other, probably sustaining the helpless burden on its back. two indians had then re-entered the swift waters, almost at the point of emergence, one leading a reluctant, resisting animal, for it had struggled and plunged and set its fore feet against the effort. the other indian had probably mounted as they neared the brink. already they must be a good distance away on the other side, rendering pursuit probably useless. already the explanation of their coming was apparent. the woman had been hurt or wounded when far from her tribe, and the indians with her were those who had learned the white man's ways, knew that he warred not on women and would give this stricken creature care and comfort, food and raiment and relieve them of all such trouble. it was easy to account for their bringing her to sandy and dropping her at the white man's door, but how came they by a shod horse that knew the spot and strove to break from them at the stables--strove hard against again being driven away? mrs. shaughnessy, volubly haranguing all within hearing as the searchers returned from the ford, was telling how she was lying awake, worrin' about norah and pat mullins and the boys that had gone afield (owing her six weeks' wash) when she heard a dull trampin' like and what sounded like horses' stifled squeal (doubtless the leading indian had gripped the nostrils to prevent the eager neigh), and then, said she, all the dogs roused up and rushed out, howling. and then came a cry from within the humble doorway, where merciful hands were ministering to the suffering savage, and plume started at the sound and glared at byrne, and men stood hushed and startled and amazed, for the voice was that of norah and the words were strange indeed: "fur the love of hivin, look what she had in her girdle! shure it's leese's own scarf, i tell ye--the frenchwoman at the major's!" and byrne thought it high time to enter and take possession. chapter xviii a stranger going at the first faint flush of dawn the little train of pack mules, with the rations for the beleaguered command at sunset pass, was started on its stony path. once out of the valley of the beaver it must clamber over range after range and stumble through deep and tortuous cañons. a road there was--the old trail by snow lake, thence through the famous pass and the sunset crossing of the colorado chiquito to old fort wingate. it wormed its way out of the valley of the broader stream some miles further to the north and in face of the red rock country to the northeast, but it had not been traveled in safety for a year. both byrne and plume believed it beset with peril, watched from ambush by invisible foes who could be relied upon to lurk in hiding until the train was within easy range, then, with sudden volley, to pick off the officers and prominent sergeants and, in the inevitable confusion, aided by their goatlike agility, to make good their escape. thirty sturdy soldiers of the infantry under a veteran captain marched as escort, with plume's orders to push through to the relief of sergeant brewster's command, and to send back indian runners with full account of the situation. the relief of wren's company accomplished, the next thing was to be a search for wren himself, then a determined effort to find blakely, and all the time to keep a lookout for sanders's troop that must be somewhere north of chevlon's fork, as well as for the two or three little columns that should be breaking their way through the unblazed wilderness, under the personal direction of the general himself. captain stout and his party were out of sight up the beaver before the red eye of the morning came peering over the jagged heights to the east, and looking in upon a garrison whose eyes were equally red and bleary through lack of sleep--a garrison worn and haggard through anxiety and distress gravely augmented by the events of the night. all sandy had been up and astir within five minutes after norah shaughnessy's startling cry, and all sandy asked with bated breath the same question: how on earth happened it that this wounded waif of the apaches, this unknown indian girl, dropped senseless at their doorway in the dead hours of the night, should have in her possession the very scarf worn by mrs. plume's nurse-companion, the frenchwoman elise, as she came forth with her mistress to drive away from sandy, as was her hope, forever. prominent among those who had hastened down to sudsville, after the news of this discovery had gone buzzing through the line of officers' quarters, was janet wren. kate sanders was staying with angela, for the girls seemed to find comfort in each other's presence and society. both had roused at sound of the clamor and were up and half dressed when a passing hospital attendant hurriedly shouted to miss wren the tidings. the girls, too, would have gone, but aunt janet sternly bade them remain indoors. she would investigate, she said, and bring them all information. dozens of the men were still hovering about old shaughnessy's quarters as the tall, gaunt form of the captain's sister came stalking through the crowd, making straight for the doorway. the two senior officers, byrne and plume, were, in low tones, interrogating norah. plume had been shown the scarf and promptly seconded norah. he knew it at once--knew that, as elise came forth that dismal morning and passed under the light in the hall, she had this very scarf round her throat--this that had been found upon the person of a wounded and senseless girl. he remembered now that as the sun climbed higher and the air grew warmer the day of their swift flight to prescott, elise had thrown open her traveling sack, and he noticed that the scarf had been discarded. he did not see it anywhere about the concord, but that proved nothing. she might easily have slipped it into her bag or under the cushions of the seat. both he and byrne, therefore, watched with no little interest when, after a brief glance at the feverish and wounded indian girl, moaning in the cot in mrs. shaughnessy's room, miss wren returned to the open air, bearing the scarf with her. one moment she studied it, under the dull gleam of the lantern of the sergeant of the guard, and then slowly spoke: "gentlemen, i have seen this worn by elise and i believe i know how it came to find its way back here--and it does not brighten the situation. from our piazza, the morning of major plume's start for prescott, i could plainly see downs hanging about the wagon. it started suddenly, as perhaps you remember, and as it rolled away something went fluttering to the ground behind. everybody was looking after the concord at the moment--everybody but downs, who quickly stooped, picked up the thing, and turned hurriedly away. i believe he had this scarf when he deserted and that he has fallen into the hands of the apaches." byrne looked at the post commander without speaking. the color had mounted one moment to the major's face, then left him pallid as before. the hunted, haggard, weary look about his eyes had deepened. that was all. the longer he lived, the longer he served about this woebegone spot in mid arizona, the more he realized the influence for evil that handmaid of shaitan seemed to exert over his vain, shallow, yet beautiful and beloved wife. against it he had wrought and pleaded in vain. elise had been with them since her babyhood, was his wife's almost indignant reply. elise had been faithful to her--devoted to her all her life. elise was indispensable; the only being that kept her from going mad with home-sickness and misery in that god-forsaken clime. sobs and tears wound up each interview and, like many a stronger man, plume had succumbed. it might, indeed, be cruel to rob her of elise, the last living link that bound her to the blessed memories of her childhood, and he only mildly strove to point out to her how oddly, yet persistently, her good name had suffered through the words and deeds of this flighty, melodramatic frenchwoman. something of her baleful influence he had seen and suspected before ever they came to their exile, but here at sandy, with full force he realized the extent of her machinations. clarice was not the woman to go prowling about the quarters in the dead hours of the night, no matter how nervous and sleepless at home. clarice was not the woman to be having back-door conferences with the servants of other households, much less the "striker" of an officer with whose name hers, as a maiden, had once been linked. he recalled with a shudder the events of the night that sent the soldier mullins to hospital, robbed of his wits, if not of his life. he recalled with dread the reluctant admissions of the doctor and of captain wren. sleep-walking, indeed! clarice never elsewhere at any time had shown somnambulistic symptoms. it was elise beyond doubt who had lured her forth for some purpose he could neither foil nor fathom. it was elise who kept up this discreditable and mysterious commerce with downs,--something that had culminated in the burning of blakely's home, with who knows what evidence,--something that had terminated only with downs's mad desertion and probable death. all this and more went flashing through his mind as miss wren finished her brief and significant story, and it dawned upon him that, whatever it might be to others, the death of downs--to him, and to her whom he loved and whose honor he cherished--was anything but a calamity, a thing to mourn. too generous to say the words, he yet turned with lightened heart and met byrne's searching eyes, then those of miss wren now fixed upon him with austere challenge, as though she would say the flight and fate of this friendless soldier were crimes to be laid only at his door. byrne saw the instant distress in his comrade's face, and, glancing from him to her, almost in the same instant saw the inciting cause. byrne had one article of faith if he lacked the needful thirty-nine. women had no place in official affairs, no right to meddle in official matters, and what he said on the spur of his rising resentment was intended for her, though spoken to him. "so downs skipped eastward, did he, and the apaches got him! well, plume, that saves us a hanging." and miss wren turned away in wrath unspeakable. that downs had "skipped eastward" received further confirmation with the coming day, when wales arnold rode into the fort from a personally conducted scout up the beaver. riding out with captain stout's party, he had paid a brief visit to his, for the time, abandoned ranch, and was surprised to find there, unmolested, the two persons and all the property he had left the day he hurried wife and household to the shelter of the garrison. the two persons were half-breed josé and his hualpai squaw. they had been with the arnolds five long years, were known to all the apaches, and had ever been in highest favor with them because of the liberality with which they dispensed the _largesse_ of their employer. never went an indian empty-stomached from their door. all the stock wales had time to gather he had driven in to sandy. all that was left josé had found and corraled. just one quadruped was missing--arnold's old mustang saddler, dobbin. josé said he had been gone from the first and with him an old bridle and saddle. no indian took him, said he. it was a soldier. he had found "government boot tracks" in the sand. then downs and dobbin had gone together, but only dobbin might they ever look to see again. it had been arranged between byrne and captain stout that the little relief column should rest in a deep cañon beyond the springs from which the beaver took its source, and, later in the afternoon, push on again on the long, stony climb toward the plateau of the upper mogollon. there stood, about twenty-five miles out from the post on a bee line to the northeast, a sharp, rocky peak just high enough above the fringing pines and cedars to be distinctly visible by day from the crest of the nearest foothills west of the flagstaff. along the sunset face of this gleaming _picacho_ there was a shelf or ledge that had often been used by the apaches for signaling purposes; the renegades communicating with their kindred about the agency up the valley. invisible from the level of camp sandy, these fires by night, or smoke and flashes by day, reached only those for whom they were intended--the apaches at the reservation; but stout, who had known the neighborhood since '65, had suggested that lookouts equipped with binoculars be placed on the high ground back of the post. inferior to the savage in the craft, we had no code of smoke, fire, or, at that time, even sun-flash signal, but it was arranged that one blaze was to mean "unmolested thus far." two blazes, a few yards apart, would mean "important news by runner." in the latter event plume was to push out forty or fifty men in dispersed order to meet and protect the runner in case he should be followed, or possibly headed off, by hostile tribesmen. only six indian allies had gone with stout and he had eyed them with marked suspicion and disfavor. they, too, were apache yumas. the day wore on slowly, somberly. all sound of life, melody, or merriment had died out at camp sandy. even the hounds seemed to feel that a cloud of disaster hung over the garrison. only at rare intervals some feminine shape flitted along the line of deserted verandas--some woman on a mission of mercy to some mourning, sore-troubled sister among the scattered households. for several hours before high noon the wires from prescott had been hot with demand for news, and with messages from byrne or plume to department headquarters. at meridian, however, there came a lull, and at 2 p. m. a break. somewhere to the west the line was snapped and down. at 2.15 two linesmen galloped forth to find and repair damages, half a dozen "doughboys" on a buckboard going as guard. otherwise, all day long, no soldier left the post, and when darkness settled down, the anxious operator, seated at his keyboard, was still unable to wake the spirit of the gleaming copper thread that spanned the westward wilderness. all sandy was wakeful, out on the broad parade, or the officers' verandas, and gazing as one man or woman at the bold, black upheaval a mile behind the post, at whose summit twinkled a tiny star, a single lantern, telling of the vigil of plume's watchers. if stout made even fair time he should have reached the _picacho_ at dusk, and now it was nearly nine and not a glimmer of fire had been seen at the appointed rendezvous. nine passed and 9.15, and at 9.30 the fifes and drums of the eighth turned out and began the long, weird complaint of the tattoo. nobody wished to go to bed. why not sound reveille and let them sit up all night, if they chose? it was far better than tossing sleepless through the long hours to the dawn. it was nearly time for "taps"--lights out--when a yell went up from the parade and all sandy started to its feet. all on a sudden the spark at the lookout bluff began violently to dance, and a dozen men tore out of garrison, eager to hear the news. they were met halfway by a sprinting corporal, whom they halted with eager demand for his news. "_two_ blazes!" he panted, "two! i must get in to the major at once!" five minutes more the assembly, not taps, was sounding. plume was sending forth his fifty rescuers, and with them, impatient for tidings from the far front, went byrne, the major himself following as soon as he could change to riding dress. the last seen of the little command was the glinting of the starlight on the gun barrels as they forded the rippling stream and took the trail up the narrow, winding valley of the beaver. it was then a little after ten o'clock. the wire to prescott was still unresponsive. nothing had been heard from the linesmen and their escort, indicating that the break was probably far over as the agua fria. not a sign, except stout's signal blazes at the _picacho_, had been gathered from the front. camp sandy was cut off from the world, and the actual garrison left to guard the post and protect the women, children and the sick as eleven o'clock drew nigh, was exactly forty men of the fighting force. it was believed that stout's couriers would make the homeward run, very nearly, by the route the pack-train took throughout the day, and if they succeeded in evading hostile scouts or parties, would soon appear about some of the breaks of the upper beaver. thither, therefore, with all possible speed plume had directed his men, promising mrs. sanders, as he rode away, that the moment a runner was encountered he would send a light rider at the gallop, on his own good horse--that not a moment should be lost in bearing them the news. but midnight came without a sign. long before that hour, as though by common impulse, almost all the women of the garrison had gathered about truman's quarters, now the northernmost of the row and in plain view of the confluence of the sandy and the beaver. dr. graham, who had been swinging to and fro between the limits of the shaughnessys' and the hospital, stopped to speak with them a moment and gently drew angela to one side. his grave and rugged face was sweet in its tenderness as he looked down into her brimming eyes. "can you not be content at home, my child?" he murmured. "you seem like one of my own bairns, angela, now that your brave father is afield, and i want to have his bonnie daughter looking her best against the home-coming. surely aunt janet will bring you the news the moment any comes, and i'll bid kate sanders bide with you!" no, she would not--she could not go home. like every other soul in all camp sandy she seemed to long to be just there. some few had even gone out further, beyond the sentries, to the point of the low bluff, and there, chatting only in whispers, huddled together, listening in anxiety inexpressible for the muffled sound of galloping hoofs on soft and sandy shore. no, she _dare_ not, for within the four walls of that little white room what dreams and visions had the girl not seen? and, wakening shuddering, had clung to faithful kate and sobbed her heart out in those clasping, tender, loyal arms. no beauty, indeed, was kate, as even her fond mother ruefully admitted, but there was that in her great, gentle, unselfish heart that made her beloved by one and all. yet kate had pleaded with angela in vain. some strange, forceful mood had seized the girl and steeled and strengthened her against even janet wren's authority. she would not leave the little band of watchers. she was there when, toward half-past twelve, at last the message came. plume's own horse came tearing through the flood, and panting, reeking, trembling into their midst, and his rider, little fifer lanigan, of company "c," sprang from saddle and thrust his dispatch into truman's outstretched hand. with women and children crowding about him, and men running to the scene from every side, by the light of a lantern held in a soldier's shaking hand, he read aloud the contents: "bivouac at picacho, 9 p. m. "c. o. camp sandy: "reached this point after hard march, but no active opposition, at 8 p. m. first party sent to build fire on ledge driven in by hostiles. corporal welch shot through left side--serious. threw out skirmishers and drove them off after some firing, and about 9.20 came suddenly upon indian boy crouching among rocks, who held up folded paper which i have read and forward herewith. we shall, of course, turn toward snow lake, taking boy as guide. march at 3 a. m. will do everything possible to reach wren on time. (signed) "stout, commanding." within was another slip, grimy and with dark stains. and truman's voice well-nigh failed him as he read: "november --th. "c. o. camp sandy: "through a friendly apache who was with me at the reservation i learned that captain wren was lying wounded, cut off from his troop and with only four of his men, in a cañon southwest of snow lake. with indian for guide we succeeded reaching him second night, but are now surrounded, nearly out of ammunition and rations. three more of our party are wounded and one, trooper kent, killed. if not rushed can hold out perhaps three days more, but wren sorely needs surgical aid. (signed) "blakely." that was all. the bugologist with his one orderly, and apparently without the apache yuma scouts, had gone straightway to the rescue of wren. now all were cut off and surrounded by a wily foe that counted on, sooner or later, overcoming and annihilating them, and even by the time the indian runner slipped out (some faithful spirit won by blakely's kindness and humanity when acting agent), the defense had been reduced just one-half. thank god that stout with his supplies and stalwart followers was not more than two days' march away, and was going straightway to the rescue! it was nearly two when plume and his half-hundred came drifting back to the garrison, and even then some few of the watchers were along the bluff. janet wren, having at last seen pale-faced, silent angela to her room and bed, with kate sanders on guard, had again gone forth to extract such further information as major plume might have. even at that hour men were at work in the corrals, fitting saddles to half a dozen spare horses,--about all that were left at the post,--and miss wren learned that colonel byrne, with an orderly or two, had remained at arnold's ranch,--that arnold himself, with six horsemen from the post, was to set forth at four, join the colonel at dawn, and together all were to push forward on the trail of stout's command, hoping to overtake them by nightfall. she whispered this to sleepless kate on her return to the house, for angela, exhausted with grief and long suspense, had fallen, apparently, into deep and dreamless slumber. but the end of that eventful night was not yet. arnold and his sextette slipped away soon after four o'clock, and about 4.50 there came a banging at the major's door. it was the telegraph operator. the wire was patched at last, and the first message was to the effect that the guard had been fired on in cherry creek cañon--that private forrest was sorely wounded and lying at dick's deserted ranch, with two of their number to care for him. could they possibly send a surgeon at once? there was no one to go but graham. his patients at the post were doing fairly well, but there wasn't a horse for him to ride. "no matter," said he, "i'll borrow punch. he's needing exercise these days." so punch was ordered man-saddled and brought forthwith. the orderly came back in ten minutes. "punch aint there, sir," said he. "he's been gone over half an hour." "gone? gone where? gone how?" asked graham in amaze. "gone with miss angela, sir. she saddled him herself and rode away not twenty minutes after arnold's party left. the sentries say she followed up the beaver." chapter xix besieged deep down in a ragged cleft of the desert, with shelving rock and giant bowlder on every side, without a sign of leaf, or sprig of grass, or tendril of tiny creeping plant, a little party of haggard, hunted men lay in hiding and in the silence of exhaustion and despond, awaiting the inevitable. bulging outward overhead, like the counter of some huge battleship, a great mass of solid granite heaved unbroken above them, forming a recess or cave, in which they were secure against arrow, shot, or stone from the crest of the lofty, almost vertical walls of the vast and gloomy cañon. well back under this natural shelter, basined in the hollowed rock, a blessed pool of fair water lay unwrinkled by even a flutter of breeze. relic of the early springtime and the melting snows, it had been caught and imprisoned here after the gradually failing stream had trickled itself into nothingness. one essential, one comfort then had not been denied the beleaguered few, but it was about the only one. water for drink, for fevered wounds and burning throats, they had in abundance; but the last "hardtack" had been shared, the last scrap of bacon long since devoured. of the once-abundant rations only coffee grains were left. of the cartridge-crammed "thimble belts," with which they had entered the cañon and the apache trap, only three contained so much as a single copper cylinder, stopped by its forceful lead. these three belonged to troopers, two of whom, at least, would never have use for them again. one of these, poor jerry kent, lay buried beneath the little cairn of rocks in still another cavelike recess a dozen yards away, hidden there by night, when prowling apaches could not see the sorrowing burial party and crush them with bowlders heaved over the precipice above, or shoot them down with whistling lead or steel-tipped arrow from some safe covert in the rocky walls. cut off from their comrades while scouting a side ravine, captain wren and his quartette of troopers had made stiff and valiant fight against such of the indians as permitted hand or head to show from behind the rocks. they had felt confident that sergeant brewster and the main body would speedily miss them, or hear the sound of firing and turn back _au secours_, but sounds are queerly carried in such a maze of deep and tortuous clefts as seamed the surface in every conceivable direction through the wild basin of the colorado. brewster's rearmost files declared long after that never the faintest whisper of affray had reached their ears, already half deadened by fatigue and the ceaseless crash of iron-shod hoofs on shingly rock. as for brewster himself, he was able to establish that wren's own orders were to "push ahead" and try to make sunset pass by nightfall, while the captain, with such horses as seemed freshest, scouted right and left wherever possible. the last seen of jerry kent, it later transpired, was when he came riding after them to say the captain had gone into the mouth of the gorge opening to the west, and the last message borne from the commander to the troop came through jerry kent to sergeant dusold, who brought up the rear. they had passed the mouths of half a dozen ravines within the hour, some on one side, some on the other, and dusold "passed the word" by sending corporal slater clattering up the cañon, skirting the long drawn-out column of files until, far in the lead, he could overtake the senior sergeant and deliver his message. later, when brewster rode back with all but the little guard left over his few broken-down men and mounts in sunset pass, dusold could confidently locate in his own mind the exact spot where kent overtook him; but dusold was a drill-book dragoon of the prussian school, consummately at home on review or parade, but all at sea, so to speak, in the mountains. they never found a trace of their loved leader. the clefts they scouted were all on the wrong side. and so it happened that relief came not, that one after another the five horses fell, pierced with missiles or crushed and stunned by rocks crashing down from above, that kent himself was shot through the brain, and wren skewered through the arm by a tonto shaft, and plugged with a round rifle ball in the shoulder. sergeant carmody bound up his captain's wound as best he could, and by rare good luck, keeping up a bold front, and answering every shot, they fought their way to this little refuge in the rocks, and there, behind improvised barricades or bowlders, "stood off" their savage foe, hoping rescue might soon reach them. but wren was nearly wild from wounds and fever when the third day came and no sign of the troop. another man had been hit and stung, and though not seriously wounded, like a burnt child, he now shunned the fire and became, perforce, an ineffective. their scanty store of rations was gone entirely. sergeant carmody and his alternate watchers were worn out from lack of sleep when, in the darkness of midnight, a low hail in their own tongue came softly through the dead silence,--the voice of lieutenant blakely cautioning, "don't fire, wren. it's the bugologist," and in another moment he and his orderly afoot, in worn apache moccasins, but equipped with crammed haversacks and ammunition belts, were being welcomed by the besieged. there was little of the emotional and nothing of the melodramatic about it. it was, if anything, rather commonplace. wren was flighty and disposed to give orders for an immediate attack in force on the enemy's works, to which the sergeant, his lips trembling just a bit, responded with prompt salute: "very good, sir, just as quick as the men can finish supper. loot'nent blakely's compliments, sir, and he'll be ready in ten minutes," for blakely and his man, seeing instantly the condition of things, had freshened the little fire and begun unloading supplies. solalay, their indian guide, after piloting them through the woodland southwest of snow lake, had pointed out the cañon, bidden them follow it and, partly in the sign language, partly in spanish, partly in the few apache terms that blakely had learned during his agency days, managed to make them understand that wren was to be found some five miles further on, and that most of the besieging tontos were on the heights above or in the cañon below. few would be encountered, if any, on the up-stream side. then, promising to take the horses and the mules to camp sandy, he had left them. he dared go no farther toward the warring apaches. they would suspect and butcher him without mercy. but solalay had not gone without promise of further aid. natzie's younger brother, alchisay, had recently come to him with a message from her, and should be coming with another. solalay thought he could find the boy and send him to them to be used as a courier. blakely's opportune coming had cheered not a little the flagging defense, but, not until forty-eight hours thereafter, by which time their condition had become almost desperate and the foe almost daring, did the lithe, big-eyed, swarthy little apache reach them. blakely knew him instantly, wrote his dispatch and bade the boy go with all speed, with the result we know. "three more of our party are wounded," he had written, but had not chosen to say that one of them was himself. a solemn sight was this that met the eyes of the bugologist, as carmody roused him from a fitful sleep, with the murmured words, "almost light, sir. they'll be on us soon as they can see." deep in under the overhang and close to the pool lay one poor fellow whose swift, gasping breath told all too surely that the indian bullet had found fatal billet in his wasting form. it was chalmers, a young southerner, driven by poverty at home and prospect of adventure abroad to seek service in the cavalry. it was practically his first campaign, and in all human probability his last. consciousness had left him hours ago, and his vagrant spirit was fast loosing every earthly bond, and already, in fierce dreamings, at war with unseen and savage foe over their happy hunting grounds in the great beyond. near him, equally sheltered, yet further toward the dim and pallid light, lay wren, his strong scotch features pinched and drawn with pain and loss of blood and lack of food. fever there was little left, there was so little left for it to live upon. weak and helpless as a child in arms he lay, inert and silent. there was nothing he could do. never a quarter hour had passed since he had been forced to lie there that some one of his devoted men had not bathed his forehead and cooled his burning wounds with abundant flow of blessed water. twice since his gradual return to consciousness had he asked for blakely, and had bidden him sit and tell him of sandy, asking for tidings of angela, and faltering painfully as he bethought himself of the last instructions he had given. how could blakely be supposed to know aught of her or of the household bidden to treat him practically as a stranger? now, he thought it grand that the bugologist had thrown all consideration of peril to the wind and had hastened to their aid to share their desperate fortunes. but wren knew not how to tell of it. he took courage and hope when blakely spoke of solalay's loyalty, of young alchisay's daring visit and his present mission. apaches of his band had been known to traverse sixty miles a day over favorable ground, and alchisay, even through such a labyrinth of rock, ravine, and precipice, should not make less than thirty. within forty-eight hours of his start the boy ought to reach the sandy valley, and surely no moment would then be lost in sending troops to find and rescue them. but four days and nights, said blakely to himself, was the least time in which they could reasonably hope for help, and now only the third night had gone,--gone with their supplies of every kind. a few hours more and the sun would be blazing in upon even the dank depths of the cañon for his midday stare. a few minutes more and the apaches, too, would be up and blazing on their own account. "keep well under shelter," were blakely's murmured orders to the few men, even as the first, faint breath of the dawn came floating from the broader reaches far down the rocky gorge. in front of their cavelike refuge, just under the shelving mass overhead, heaped in a regular semicircle, a rude parapet of rocks gave shelter to the troopers guarding the approaches. little loopholes had been left, three looking down and two northward up the dark and tortuous rift. in each of these a loaded carbine lay in readiness. so well chosen was the spot that for one hundred yards southeastward--down stream--the narrow gorge was commanded by the fire of the defense, while above, for nearly eighty, from wall to wall, the approach was similarly swept. no rush was therefore possible on part of the apaches without every probability of their losing two or three of the foremost. the apache lacks the magnificent daring of the sioux or cheyenne. he is a fighter from ambush; he risks nothing for glory's sake; he is a monarch in craft and guile, but no hero in open battle. for nearly a week now, day after day, the position of the defenders had been made almost terrible by the fierce bombardment to which it had been subjected, of huge stones or bowlders sent thundering down the almost precipitous walls, then bounding from ledge to ledge, or glancing from solid, sloping face diving, finally, with fearful crash into the rocky bed at the bottom, sending a shower of fragments hurtling in every direction, oft dislodging some section of parapet, yet never reaching the depths of the cave. add to this nerve-racking siege work the instant, spiteful flash of barbed arrow or zip and crack of bullet when hat or hand of one of the defenders was for a second exposed, and it is not difficult to fancy the wear and tear on even the stoutest heart in the depleted little band. and still they set their watch and steeled their nerves, and in dogged silence took their station as the pallid light grew roseate on the cliffs above them. and with dull and wearied, yet wary, eyes, each soldier scanned every projecting rock or point that could give shelter to lurking foe, and all the time the brown muzzles of the carbines were trained low along the stream bed. no shot could now be thrown away at frowsy turban or flaunting rag along the cliffs. the rush was the one thing they had to dread and drive back. it was god's mercy the apache dared not charge in the dark. [illustration: the fight in the cañon] lighter grew the deep gorge and lighter still, and soon in glorious radiance the morning sunshine blazed on the lofty battlements far overhead, and every moment the black shadow on the westward wall, visible to the defense long rifle-shot southeastward, gave gradual way before the rising day god, and from the broader open reaches beyond the huge granite shoulder, around which wound the cañon, and from the sun-kissed heights, a blessed warmth stole softly in, grateful inexpressibly to their chilled and stiffened limbs. and still, despite the growing hours, neither shot nor sign came from the accustomed haunts of the surrounding foe. six o'clock was marked by blakely's watch. six o'clock and seven, and the low moan from the lips of poor young chalmers, or the rattle of some pebble dislodged by the foot of crouching guardian, or some murmured word from man to man,--some word of wonderment at the unlooked for lull in apache siege operations,--was the only sound to break the almost deathlike silence of the morning. there was one other, far up among the stunted, shriveled pines and cedars that jutted from the opposite heights. they could hear at intervals a weird, mournful note, a single whistling call in dismal minor, but it brought no new significance. every day of their undesired and enforced sojourn, every hour of the interminable day, that raven-like, hermit bird of the sierras had piped his unmelodious signal to some distant feathered fellow, and sent a chill to the heart of more than one war-tried soldier. there was never a man in arizona wilds that did not hate the sound of it. and yet, as eight o'clock was noted and still no sight or sound of assailant came, sergeant carmody turned a wearied, aching eye from his loophole and muttered to the officer crouching close beside him: "i could wring the neck of the lot of those infernal cat crows, sir, but i'll thank god if we hear no worse sound this day." blakely rose to his feet and wearily leaned upon the breastworks, peering cautiously over. yesterday the sight of a scouting hat would have brought instant whiz of arrow, but not a missile saluted him now. one arm, his left, was rudely bandaged and held in a sling, a rifle ball from up the cliff, glancing from the inner face of the parapet, had torn savagely through muscle and sinew, but mercifully scored neither artery nor bone. an arrow, whizzing blindly through a southward loophole, had grazed his cheek, ripping a straight red seam far back as the lobe of the ear, which had been badly torn. blakely had little the look of a squire of dames as, thus maimed and scarred and swathed in blood-stained cotton, he peered down the deep and shadowy cleft and searched with eyes keen, if yet unskilled, every visible section of the opposite wall. what could their silence mean? had they found other game, pitifully small in numbers as these besieged, and gone to butcher them, knowing well that, hampered by their wounded, these, their earlier victims, could not hope to escape? had they got warning of the approach of some strong force of soldiery--brewster scouting in search of them, or may be sanders himself? had they slipped away, therefore, and could the besieged dare to creep forth and shout, signal, or even fire away two or three of these last precious cartridges in hopes of catching the ear of searching comrades? wren, exhausted, had apparently dropped into a fitful doze. his eyes were shut, his lips were parted, his long, lean fingers twitched at times as a tremor seemed to shoot through his entire frame. another day like the last or at worst like this, without food or nourishment, and even such rugged strength as had been his would be taxed to the utmost. there might be no to-morrow for the sturdy soldier who had so gallantly served his adopted country, his chosen flag. as for chalmers, the summons was already come. far from home and those who most loved and would sorely grieve for him, the brave lad was dying. carmody, kneeling by his side, but the moment before had looked up mutely in his young commander's face, and his swimming, sorrowing eyes had told the story. nine o'clock had come without a symptom of alarm or enemy from without, yet death had invaded the lonely refuge in the rocks, claiming one victim as his tribute for the day and setting his seal upon still another, the prospective sacrifice for the dismal morrow, and blakely could stand the awful strain no longer. "sergeant," said he, "i must know what this means. we must have help for the captain before this sun goes down, or he may be gone before we know it." and carmody looked him in the face and answered: "i am strong yet and unhurt. let me make the try, sir. some of our fellows must be scouting near us, or these beggars wouldn't have quit. i can find the boys, if anyone can." blakely turned and gazed one moment into the deep and dark recess where lay his wounded and the dying. the morning wind had freshened a bit, and a low, murmurous song, nature's æolian, came softly from the swaying pine and stunted oak and juniper far on high. the whiff that swept to their nostrils from the lower depths of the cañon told its own grewsome tale. there, scattered along the stream bed, lay the festering remains of their four-footed comrades, first victims of the ambuscade. death lurked about their refuge then on every side, and was even invading their little fortress. was this to be the end, after all? was there neither help nor hope from any source? turning once again, a murmured prayer upon his lips, blakely started at sight of carmody. with one hand uplifted, as though to caution silence, the other concaved at his ear, the sergeant was bending eagerly forward, his eyes dilating, his frame fairly quivering. then, on a sudden, up he sprang and swung his hat about his head. "firing, sir! firing, sure!" he cried. another second, and with a gasp and moan he sank to earth transfixed; a barbed arrow, whizzing from unseen space, had pierced him through and through. chapter xx where is angela? for a moment as they drew under shelter the stricken form of the soldier, there was nothing the defense could do but dodge. then, leaving him at the edge of the pool, and kicking before them the one cowed and cowering shirker of the little band, blakely and the single trooper still unhit, crept back to the rocky parapet, secured a carbine each and knelt, staring up the opposite wall in search of the foe. and not a sign of apache could they see. yet the very slant of the arrow as it pierced the young soldier, the new angle at which the bullets bounded from the stony crest, the lower, flatter flight of the barbed missiles that struck fire from the flinty rampart, all told the same story. the indians during the hours of darkness, even while dreading to charge, had managed to crawl, snake-like, to lower levels along the cliff and to creep closer up the stream bed, and with stealthy, noiseless hands to rear little shelters of stone, behind which they were now crouching invisible and secure. with the illimitable patience of their savage training they had then waited, minute after minute, hour after hour, until, lulled at last into partial belief that their deadly foe had slipped away, some of the defenders should be emboldened to venture into view, and then one well-aimed volley at the signal from the leader's rifle, and the vengeful shafts of those who had as yet only the native weapon, would fall like lightning stroke upon the rash ones, and that would end it. catlike they had crouched and watched since early dawn. catlike they had played the old game of apparent weariness of the sport, of forgetfulness of their prey and tricked their guileless victims into hope and self-exposure, then swooped again, and the gallant lad whose last offer and effort had been to set forth in desperate hope of bringing relief to the suffering, had paid for his valor with his life. one arrow at least had gone swift and true, one shaft that, launched, perhaps, two seconds too soon for entire success, had barely anticipated the leader's signal and spoiled the scheme of bagging all the game. blakely's dive to save his fallen comrade had just saved his own head, for rock chips and spattering lead flew on every side, scratching, but not seriously wounding him. and then, when they "thought on vengeance" and the three brown muzzles swept the opposite wall, there followed a moment of utter silence, broken only by the faint gasping of the dying man. "creep back to carmody, you," muttered blakely to the trembling lad beside him. "you are of no account here unless they try to charge. give him water, quick." then to stern, his one unhurt man, "you heard what he said about distant firing. did you hear it?" "not i, sir, but i believe _they_ did--an' be damned to them!" and stern's eyes never left the opposite cliff, though his ears were strained to catch the faintest sound from the lower cañon. it was there they last had seen the troop. it was from that direction help should come. "watch them, but don't waste a shot, man. i must speak to carmody," said blakely, under his breath, as he backed on hands and knees, a painful process when one is sore wounded. trembling, whimpering like whipped child, the poor, spiritless lad sent to the aid of the stricken and heroic, crouched by the sergeant's side, vainly striving to pour water from a clumsy canteen between the sufferer's pallid lips. carmody presently sucked eagerly at the cooling water, and even in his hour of dissolution seemed far the stronger, sturdier of the two--seemed to feel so infinite a pity for his shaken comrade. bleeding internally, as was evident, transfixed by the cruel shaft they did not dare attempt to withdraw, even if the barbed steel would permit, and drooping fainter with each swift moment, he was still conscious, still brave and uncomplaining. his dimmed and mournful eyes looked up in mute appeal to his young commander. he knew that he was going fast, and that whatever rescue might come to these, his surviving fellow-soldiers, there would be none for him; and yet in his supreme moment he seemed to read the question on blakely's lips, and his words, feeble and broken, were framed to answer. "couldn't--you hear 'em, lieutenant?" he gasped. "i can't be--mistaken. i know--the old--springfield _sure_! i heard 'em way off--south--a dozen shots," and then a spasm of agony choked him, and he turned, writhing, to hide the anguish on his face. blakely grasped the dying soldier's hand, already cold and limp and nerveless, and then his own voice seemed, too, to break and falter. "don't try to talk, carmody; don't try! of course you are right. it must be some of our people. they'll reach us soon. then we'll have the doctor and can help you. those saddle-bags!" he said, turning sharply to the whimpering creature kneeling by them, and the lad drew hand across his streaming eyes and passed the worn leather pouches. from one of them blakely drew forth a flask, poured some brandy into its cup and held it to the soldier's lips. carmody swallowed almost eagerly. he seemed to crave a little longer lease of life. there was something tugging at his heartstrings, and presently he turned slowly, painfully again. "lieutenant," he gasped, "i'm not scared to die--this way anyhow. there's no one to care--but the boys--but there's one thing"--and now the stimulant seemed to reach the failing heart and give him faint, fluttering strength--"there's one thing i ought--i ought to tell. you've been solid with the boys--you're square, and i'm not--i haven't always been. lieutenant--i was on guard--the night of the fire--and elise, you know--the french girl--she--she's got most all i saved--most all i--won, but she was trickin' me--all the time, lieutenant--me and downs that's gone--and others. she didn't care. you--you aint the only one i--i--" "lieutenant!" came in excited whisper, the voice of stern, and there at his post in front of the cave he knelt, signaling urgently. "lieutenant, quick!" "one minute, carmody! i've got to go. tell me a little later." but with dying strength carmody clung to his hand. "i must tell you, lieutenant--now. it wasn't downs's fault. she--she made--" "lieutenant, quick! for god's sake! they're coming!" cried the voice of the german soldier at the wall, and wrenching his wrist from the clasp of the dying man, blakely sprang recklessly to his feet and to the mouth of the cave just as stern's carbine broke the stillness with resounding roar. half a dozen rifles barked their instant echo among the rocks. from up the hillside rose a yell of savage hate and another of warning. then from behind their curtaining rocks half a dozen dusky forms, their dirty white breechclouts streaming behind them, sprang suddenly into view and darted, with goatlike ease and agility, zigzagging up the eastward wall. it was a foolish thing to do, but blakely followed with a wasted shot, aimed one handed from the shoulder, before he could regain command of his judgment. in thirty seconds the cliff was as bare of apaches as but the moment before it had been dotted. something, in the moment when their savage plans and triumph seemed secure, had happened to alarm the entire party. with warning shouts and signals they were scurrying out of the deep ravine, scattering, apparently, northward. but even as they fled to higher ground there was order and method in their retreat. while several of their number clambered up the steep, an equal number lurked in their covert, and blakely's single shot was answered instantly by half a dozen, the bullets striking and splashing on the rocks, the arrows bounding or glancing furiously. stern ducked within, out of the storm. blakely, flattening like hunted squirrel close to the parapet, flung down his empty carbine and strove to reach another, lying loaded at the southward loophole, and at the outstretched hand there whizzed an arrow from aloft whose guiding feather fairly seared the skin, so close came the barbed messenger. then up the height rang out a shrill cry, some word of command in a voice that had a familiar tang to it, and that was almost instantly obeyed, for, under cover of sharp, well-aimed fire from aloft, from the shelter of projecting rock or stranded bowlder, again there leaped into sight a few scattered, sinewy forms that rushed in bewildering zigzag up the steep, until safe beyond their supports, when they, too, vanished, and again the cliff stood barren of apache foemen as the level of the garrison parade. it was science in savage warfare against which the drill book of the cavalry taught no method whatsoever. another minute and even the shots had ceased. one glimpse more had blakely of dingy, trailing breechclouts, fluttering in the breeze now stirring the fringing pines and cedars, and all that was left of the late besiegers came clattering down the rocks in the shape of an indian shield. stern would have scrambled out to nab it, but was ordered down. "back, you idiot, or they'll have you next!" and then they heard the feeble voice of wren, pleading for water and demanding to be lifted to the light. the uproar of the final volley had roused him from an almost deathlike stupor, and he lay staring, uncomprehending, at carmody, whose glazing eyes were closed, whose broken words had ceased. the poor fellow was drifting away into the shadows with his story still untold. "watch here, stern, but keep under cover," cried blakely. "i'll see to the captain. listen for any shot or sound, but hold your fire," and then he turned to his barely conscious senior and spoke to him as he would to a helpless child. again he poured a little brandy in his cup. again he held it to ashen lips and presently saw the faint flutter of reviving strength. "lie still just a moment or two, wren," he murmured soothingly. "lie still. somebody's coming. the troop is not far off. you'll soon have help and home and--angela"--even then his tongue faltered at her name. and wren heard and with eager eyes questioned imploringly. the quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the child he loved. "angela--where?" "home--safe--where you shall be soon, old fellow, only--brace up now. i must speak one moment with carmody," and to carmody eagerly he turned. "you were speaking of elise and the fire--of downs, sergeant ----" his words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier had drifted far away and must be recalled. "tell me again. what was it?" but only faint, swift gasping answered him. carmody either heard not, or, hearing, was already past all possibility of reply. "speak to me, carmody. tell me what i can do for you?" he repeated. "what word to elise?" he thought the name might rouse him, and it did. a feeble hand was uplifted, just an inch or two. the eyelids slowly fluttered, and the dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of the young commander. there was a moment of almost breathless silence, broken only by a faint moan from wren's tortured lips and the childish whimpering of that other--the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier. "elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as carmody strove to lift his head, "she--promised"--but the head sank back on blakely's knee. stern was shouting at the stone gate--shouting and springing to his feet and swinging his old scouting hat and gazing wildly down the cañon. "for god's sake hush, man!" cried the lieutenant. "i must hear carmody." but stern was past further shouting now. sinking on his knees, he was sobbing aloud. scrambling out into the daylight of the opening, but still shrinking within its shelter, the half-crazed, half-broken soldier stood stretching forth his arms and calling wild words down the echoing gorge, where sounds of shouting, lusty-lunged, and a ringing order or two, and then the clamor of carbine shots, told of the coming of rescue and new life and hope, and food and friends, and still blakely knelt and circled that dying head with the one arm left him, and pleaded and besought--even commanded. but never again would word or order stir the soldier's willing pulse. the sergeant and his story had drifted together beyond the veil, and blakely, slowly rising, found the lighted entrance swimming dizzily about him, first level and then up-ended; found himself sinking, whither he neither knew nor cared; found the cañon filling with many voices, the sound of hurrying feet and then of many rushing waters, and then--how was it that all was dark without the cave, and lighted--lantern-lighted--here within? they had had no lantern, no candle. here were both, and here was a familiar face--old heartburn's--bending reassuringly over wren, and someone was ----. why, where was carmody? gone! and but a moment ago that dying head was there on his knee, and then it was daylight, too, and now--why, it must be after nightfall, else why these lanterns? and then old heartburn came bending over him in turn, and then came a rejoiceful word: "hello, bugs! well, it _is_ high time you woke up! here, take a swig of this!" blakely drank and sat up presently, dazed, and heartburn went on with his cheery talk. "one of you men out there call captain stout. tell him mr. blakely's up and asking for him," and, feeling presently a glow of warmth coursing in his veins, the bugologist roused to a sitting posture and began to mumble questions. and then a burly shadow appeared at the entrance, black against the ruddy firelight in the cañon without, where other forms began to appear. down on his knee came stout to clasp his one available hand and even clap him on the back and send unwelcome jar through his fevered, swollen arm. "good boy, bugs! you're coming round famously. we'll start you back to sandy in the morning, you and wren, for nursing, petting, and all that sort of thing. they are lashing the saplings now for your litters, and we've sent for graham, too, and he'll meet you on the the way, while we shove on after shield's people." "shield--raven shield?" queried blakely, still half dazed. "shield was killed--at sandy," and yet there was the memory of the voice he knew and heard in this very cañon. "shield, yes; and now his brother heads them. didn't he send his card down to you, after the donicks, and be damned to him? you foregathered with both of them at the agency. oh, they're all alike, bugs, once they're started on the warpath. now we must get you out into the open for a while. the air's better." and so, an hour later, his arm carefully dressed and bandaged, comforted by needed food and fragrant tea and the news that wren was reviving under the doctor's ministrations, and would surely mend and recover, blakely lay propped by the fire and heard the story of stout's rush through the wilderness to their succor. never waiting for the dawn, after a few hours' rest at beaver spring, the sturdy doughboys had eagerly followed their skilled and trusted leader all the hours from eleven, stumbling, but never halting even for rest or rations, and at last had found the trail four miles below in the depths of the cañon. there some scattering shots had met them, arrow and rifle both, from up the heights, and an effort was made to delay their progress. wearied and footsore though were his men, they had driven the scurrying foe from rock to rock and then, in a lull that followed, had heard the distant sound of firing that told them whither to follow on. only one man, stern, was able to give them coherent word or welcome when at last they came, for chalmers and carmody lay dead, wren in a stupor, blakely in a deathlike swoon, and "that poor chap yonder" loony and hysterical as a crazy man. thank god they had not, as they had first intended, waited for the break of day. another dawn and stout and most of his men had pushed on after the apaches and in quest of the troop at sunset pass. by short stages the soldiers left in charge were to move the wounded homeward. by noon these latter were halted under the willows by a little stream. the guards were busy filling canteens and watering pack mules, when the single sentry threw his rifle to the position of "ready" and the gun lock clicked loud. over the stony ridge to the west, full a thousand yards away, came a little band of riders in single file, four men in all. wren was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. blakely, feverish and excited, was wide awake. mercifully the former never heard the first question asked by the leading rider--arnold, the ranchman--as he came jogging into the noonday bivouac. stone, sergeant commanding, had run forward to meet and acquaint him with the condition of the rescued men. "got there in time then, thank god!" he cried, as wearily he flung himself out of saddle and glanced quickly about him. there lay wren, senseless and still between the lashed ribs of his litter. there lay blakely, smiling feebly and striving to hold forth a wasted hand, but arnold saw it not. swiftly his eyes flitted from face to face, from man to man, then searched the little knot of mules, sidelined and nibbling at the stunted herbage in the glen. "i don't see punch," he faltered. "wh-where's miss angela?" chapter xxi our vanished princess then came a story told in fierce and excited whisperings, arnold the speaker, prompted sometimes by his companions; stone, and the few soldiers grouped about him, awe-stricken and dismayed. blakely had started up from his litter, his face white with an awful dread, listening in wordless agony. at six the previous morning, loping easily out from sandy, arnold's people had reached the ranch and found the veteran colonel with his orderlies impatiently waiting for them. these latter had had abundant food and coffee and the colonel was fuming with impatience to move, but arnold's people had started on empty stomachs, counting on a hearty breakfast at the ranch. josé could have it ready in short order. so byrne, with his men, mounted and rode ahead on the trail of the infantry, saying the rest could overtake him before he reached the rocky and dangerous path over the first range. for a few miles the beaver valley was fairly wide and open. not twenty minutes later, as arnold's comrades sat on the porch on the north side of the house, they heard swift hoof-beats, and wondered who could be coming now. but, without an instant's pause, the rider had galloped by, and one of the men, hurrying to the corner of the ranch, was amazed to see the lithe, slender form of angela wren speeding her pet pony like the wind up the sandy trail. arnold refused to believe at first, but his eyes speedily told him the same story. he had barely a glimpse of her before she was out of sight around a grove of willows up the stream. "galloping to catch the colonel," said he, and such was his belief. angela, he reasoned, had hastened after them to send some message of love to her wounded father, and had perhaps caught sight of the trio far out in the lead. arnold felt sure that they would meet her coming back, sure that there was no danger for her, with byrne and his fellows well out to the front. they finished their breakfast, therefore, reset their saddles, mounted and rode for an hour toward the mogollon and still the pony tracks led them on, overlying those of the colonel's party. then they got among the rocks and only at intervals found hoof-prints; but, far up along the range, caught sight of the three horsemen, and so, kept on. it was after ten when at last they overtook the leaders, and then, to their consternation, angela wren was not with them. they had neither seen nor heard of her, and byrne was aghast when told that, alone and without a guide, she had ridden in among the foothills of those desolate, pathless mountains. "the girl is mad," said he, "and yet it's like her to seek to reach her father." instantly they divided forces to search for her. gorges and cañons innumerable seamed the westward face of this wild spur of the sierras, and, by the merest luck in the world, one of arnold's men, spurring along a stony ridge, caught sight of a girlish form far across a deep ravine, and quickly fired two shots in signal that he had "sighted" the chase. it brought arnold and two of his men to the spot and, threading their way, sometimes afoot and leading their steeds, sometimes in saddle and urging them through the labyrinth of bowlders, they followed on. at noon they had lost not only all sight of her, but of their comrades, nor had they seen the latter since. byrne and his orderlies, with three of the party that "pulled out" from sandy with arnold in the morning, had disappeared. again and again they fired their henrys, hoping for answering signal, or perhaps to attract angela's attention. all doubt as to her purpose was now ended. mad she might be, but determined she was, and had deliberately dodged past them at the beaver, fearing opposition to her project. at two, moreover, they found that she could "trail" as well as they, for among the stunted cedars at the crest of a steep divide, they found the print of the stout brogans worn by their infantry comrades, and, down among the rocks of the next ravine, crushed bits of hardtack by a "tank" in the hillside. she had stopped there long enough at least to water punch, then pushed on again. once more they saw her, not three miles ahead at four o'clock, just entering a little clump of pines at the top of a steep acclivity. they fired their rifles and shouted loud in hopes of halting her, but all to no purpose. night came down and compelled them to bivouac. they built a big fire to guide the wanderers, but morning broke without sign of them; so on they went, for now, away from the rocks the trail was often distinct, and once again they found the pony hoof-prints and thanked god. at seven by arnold's watch, among the breaks across a steep divide they found another tank, more crumbs, a grain sack with some scattered barley, more hardtack and the last trace of angela. arnold's hand shook, as did his voice, as he drew forth a little fluttering ribbon--the "snood" poor wren so loved to see binding his child's luxuriant hair. they reasoned she had stopped here to feed and water her pony, and had probably bathed her face and flung loose her hair and forgotten later the binding ribbon. they believed she had followed on after stout's hard-marching company. it was easy to trail. they counted on finding her when they found her father, and now here lay wren unconscious of her loss, and blakely, realizing it all--cruelly, feverishly realizing it--yet so weakened by his wounds as to be almost powerless to march or mount and go in search of her. no question now as to the duty immediately before them. in twenty minutes the pack mules were again strapped between the saplings, the little command was slowly climbing toward the westward heights, with arnold and two of his friends scouting the rough trail and hillsides, firing at long intervals and listening in suspense almost intolerable for some answering signal. the other of their number had volunteered to follow stout over the plateau toward the pass and acquaint him with the latest news. while the sun was still high in the heavens, far to the northward, they faintly heard or thought they heard two rifle shots. at four o'clock, as they toiled through a tangle of rock and stunted pine, arnold, riding well to the front, came suddenly out upon a bare ledge from which he could look over a wild, wide sweep of mountain side, stretching leagues to north and south, and there his keen and practiced eye was greeted by a sight that thrilled him with dread unspeakable. dread, not for himself or his convoy of wounded, but dread for angela. jutting, from the dark fringe of pines along a projecting bluff, perhaps four miles away, little puffs or clouds of smoke, each separate and distinct, were sailing straight aloft in the pulseless air--indian signals beyond possibility of doubt. some apaches, then, were still hovering about the range overlooking the broad valley of the sandy, some of the bands then were prowling in the mountains between the scouting troops and the garrisoned post. some must have been watching this very trail, in hopes of intercepting couriers or stragglers, some _must_ have seen and seized poor angela. he had sprung from saddle and leveled his old field glass at the distant promontory, so absorbed in his search he did not note the coming of the little column. the litter bearing blakely foremost of the four had halted close beside him, and blakely's voice, weak and strained, yet commanding, suddenly startled him with demand to be told what he saw, and arnold merely handed him the glass and pointed. the last of the faint smoke puffs was just soaring into space, making four still in sight. blakely never even took the binocular. he had seen enough by the unaided eye. [illustration: "indian signals beyond possibility of a doubt"] with uplifted hand the sergeant had checked the coming of the next litter, wren's, and those that followed it. one of the wounded men, the poor lad crazed by the perils of the siege, was alert and begging for more water, but wren was happily lost to the world in swoon or slumber. to the soldier bending over him he seemed scarcely breathing. presently they were joined by two of arnold's party who had been searching out on the left flank. they, too, had seen, and the three were now in low-toned conference. blakely for the moment was unnoted, forgotten. "that tank--where we found the ribbon--was just about two miles yonder," said arnold, pointing well down the rugged slope toward the southwest, where other rocky, pine-fringed heights barred the view to the distant sandy. "surely the colonel or some of his fellows must be along here. ride ahead a hundred yards or so and fire a couple of shots," this to one of his men, who silently reined his tired bronco into the rude trail among the pine cones and disappeared. the others waited. presently came the half-smothered sound of a shot and a half-stifled cry from the rearmost litter. every such shock meant new terror to that poor lad, but wren never stirred. half a minute passed without another sound than faint and distant echo; then faint, and not so distant, came another sound, a prolonged shout, and presently another, and then a horseman hove in sight among the trees across a nearly mile-wide dip. arnold and his friends rode on to meet him, leaving the litters at the crest. in five minutes one of the riders reappeared and called: "it's horn, of the orderlies. he reports colonel byrne just ahead. come on!" and turning, dove back down the twisted trail. the colonel might have been just ahead when last seen, but when they reached the tank he was far aloft again, scouting from another height to the northward, and while the orderly went on to find and tell him, arnold and his grave-faced comrade dismounted there to await the coming of the litters. graver were the faces even than before. the news that had met them was most ominous. two of those who searched with colonel byrne had found pony tracks leading northward--leading in the very direction in which they had seen the smoke. there was no other pony shoe in the sandy valley. it could be none other than angela's little friend and comrade--punch. and this news they told to blakely as the foremost litter came. he listened with hardly a word of comment; then asked for his scouting notebook. he was sitting up now. they helped him from his springy couch to a seat on the rocks, and gave him a cup of the cold water. one by one the other litters were led into the little amphitheater and unlashed. everyone seemed to know that here must be the bivouac for the night, their abiding place for another day, perhaps, unless they should find the captain's daughter. they spoke, when they spoke at all, in muffled tones, these rough, war-worn men of the desert and the mountain. they bent over the wounded with sorrowing eyes, and wondered why no surgeon had come out to meet them. heartburn, of course, had done his best, dressing and rebandaging the wounds at dawn, but then he had to go on with stout and the company, while one of the apache yumas was ordered to dodge his way in to sandy, with a letter urging that graham be sent out to follow the trail and meet the returning party. meanwhile the sun had dropped behind the westward heights; the night would soon be coming down, chill and overcast. byrne was still away, but he couldn't miss the tank, said one of the troopers who had ridden with him. twice during the morning they had all met there and then gone forth again, searching--searching. punch's little hoof-tracks, cutting through a sandy bit in the northward ravine, had drawn them all that way, but nothing further had been found. his horse, too, said the orderly, was lame and failing, so he had been bidden to wait by the water and watch for couriers either from the front or out from the post. byrne was one of those never-give-up men, and they all knew him. barley was served out to the animals, a little fire lighted, lookouts were stationed, and presently their soldier supper was ready, and still blakely said nothing. he had written three notes or letters, one of which seemed to give him no little trouble, for one after another he thrust two leaves into the fire and started afresh. at length they were ready, and he signaled to arnold. "you can count, i think, on graham's getting here within a few hours," said he. "meantime you're as good a surgeon as i need. help me on with this sling." and still they did not fathom his purpose. he was deathly pale, and his eyes were eloquent of dread unspeakable, but he seemed to have forgotten pain, fever, and prostration. arnold, in the silent admiration of the frontier, untied the support, unloosed the bandages, and together they redressed the ugly wound. then presently the bugologist stood feebly upon his feet and looked about him. it was growing darker, and not another sound had come from byrne. "start one of your men into sandy at once," said blakely, to the sergeant, and handed him a letter addressed to major plume. "he will probably meet the doctor before reaching the beaver. these other two i'll tell you what to do with later. now, who has the best horse?" arnold stared. sergeant stone quickly turned and saluted. "the lieutenant is not thinking of mounting, i hope," said he. blakely did not even answer. he was studying the orderly's bay. stiff and a little lame he might be, but, refreshed and strengthened by abundant barley, he was a better weight-carrier than the other, and blakely had weight. "saddle your horse, horn," said he, "and fasten on those saddle-bags of mine." "but, lieutenant," ventured arnold, "you are in no shape to ride anything but that litter. whatever you think of doing, let me do." "what i am thinking of doing nobody else can do," said blakely. "what you can do is, keep these two letters till i call for them. if at the end of a week i fail to call, deliver them as addressed and to nobody else. now, before dark i must reach that point younder," and he indicated the spot where in the blaze of the westering sun a mass of rock towered high above the fringing pine and mournful shadows at its base, a glistening landmark above the general gloom at the lower level and at that hour of the afternoon. "now," he added quietly, "you can help me into saddle." "but for god's sake, lieutenant, let some of us ride with you," pleaded arnold. "if colonel byrne was here he'd never let you go." "colonel byrne is not here, and i command, i believe," was the brief, uncompromising answer. "and no man rides with me because, with another man, i'd never find what i'm in search of." for a moment he bent over wren, a world of wordless care, dread, and yet determination in his pale face. arnold saw his wearied eyes close a moment, his lips move as though in petition, then he suddenly turned. "let me have that ribbon," said he bluntly, and without a word arnold surrendered it. stone held the reluctant horse, arnold helped the wounded soldier into the saddle. "don't worry about me--any of you," said blakely, in brief farewell. "good-night," and with that he rode away. arnold and the men stood gazing after him. "grit clean through," said the ranchman, through his set teeth, for a light was dawning on him, as he pondered over blakely's words. "may the lord grant i don't have to deliver these!" then he looked at the superscriptions. one letter was addressed to captain, or miss janet, wren--the other to mrs. plume. chapter xxii suspense sandy again. four of the days stipulated by lieutenant blakely had run their course. the fifth was ushered in, and from the moment he rode away from the bivouac at the tanks no word had come from the bugologist, no further trace of angela. in all its history the garrison had known no gloom like this. the hospital was filled with wounded. an extra surgeon and attendants had come down from prescott, but graham was sturdily in charge. of his several patients wren probably was now causing him the sorest anxiety, for the captain had been grievously wounded and was pitiably weak. now, when aroused at times from the lassitude and despond in which he lay, wren would persist in asking for angela, and, not daring to tell him the truth, janet, calvinist that she was to the very core, had to do fearful violence to her feelings and lie. by the advice of bluff old byrne and the active connivance of the post commander, they had actually, these stern scotch presbyterians, settled on this as the deception to be practiced--that angela had been drooping so sadly from anxiety and dread she had been taken quite ill, and dr. graham had declared she must be sent up to prescott, or some equally high mountain resort, there to rest and recuperate. she was in good hands, said these arch-conspirators. she might be coming home any day. as for the troop and the campaign, he mustn't talk or worry or think about them. the general, with his big field columns, had had no personal contact with the indians. they had scattered before him into the wild country toward the great colorado, where stout, with his hickory-built footmen, and brewster, with most of wren's troop, were stirring up apaches night and day, while sanders and others were steadily driving on toward the old wingate road. stout had found brewster beleaguered, but safe and sound, with no more men killed and few seriously wounded. they had communicated with sanders's side scouts, and were finding and following fresh trails with every day, when stout was surprised to receive orders to drop pursuit and start with brewster's fellows and to scout the west face of the mountains from the beaver to the heights opposite the old indian reservation. there was a stirring scene at bivouac when that order came, and with it the explanation that angela wren had vanished and was probably captured; that blakely had followed and was probably killed. "they might shoot blakely in fair fight," said stout, who knew him, and knew the veneration that lived for him in the hearts of the indian leaders, "but they at least would never butcher him in cold blood. their unrestrained young men might do it." stout's awful dread, like that of every man and woman at sandy, and every soldier in the field, was for angela. the news, too, had been rushed to the general, and his orders were instant. "find the chiefs in the field," said he to his interpreter and guide. "find shield's people, and say that if a hair of her head is injured i shall hunt them down, braves, women, and children--i shall hunt them anyhow until they surrender her unharmed." but the apaches were used to being hunted, and some of them really liked the game. it was full of exhilaration and excitement, and not a few chances to hunt and hit back. the threat conveyed no terror to the renegades. it was to the indians at the reservation that the tidings brought dismay, yet even there, so said young bridger, leaders and followers swore they had no idea where the white maiden could be, much less the young chief. they, the peaceable and the poor servants of the great father at washington, had no dealings with these others, his foes. about the post, where gloom and dread unspeakable prevailed, there was no longer the fear of possible attack. the indian prisoners in the guard-house had dropped their truculent, defiant manner, and become again sullen and apathetic. the down-stream settlers had returned to their ranches and reported things undisturbed. even the horse that had been missing and charged to downs had been accounted for. they found him grazing placidly about the old pasture, with the rope halter trailing, indian-knotted, from his neck, and his gray hide still showing stains of blood about the mane and withers. they wondered was it on this old stager the apaches had borne the wounded girl to the garrison--she who still lay under the roof of mother shaughnessy, timidly visited at times by big-eyed, shy little indian maids from the reservation, who would speak no word that sudsville could understand, and few that even wales arnold could interpret. all they would or could divulge was that she was the daughter of old eskiminzin, who was out in the mountains, and that she had been wounded "over there," and they pointed eastward. by whom and under what circumstances they swore they knew not, much less did they know of downs, or of how she chanced to have the scarf once worn by the frenchwoman elise. then arnold's wife and brood had gone back to their home up the beaver, while he himself returned to the search for angela and for blakely. but those four days had passed without a word of hope. in little squads a dozen parties were scouring the rugged cañons and cliffs for signs, and finding nothing. hours each day plume would come to the watchers on the bluff to ask if no courier had been sighted. hours each night the sentries strained their eyes for signal fires. graham, slaving with his sick and wounded, saw how haggard and worn the commander was growing, and spoke a word of caution. something told him it was not all on account of those woeful conditions at the front. from several sources came the word that mrs. plume was in a state bordering on hysteric at department headquarters, where sympathetic women strove vainly to comfort and soothe her. it was then that elise became a center of interest, for elise was snapping with electric force and energy. "it is that they will assassinate madame--these monsters," she declared. "it is imperative, it is of absolute need, that madame be taken to the sea, and these wretches, unfeeling, they forbid her to depart." madame herself, it would seem, so said those who had speech with her, declared she longed to be again with her husband at sandy. then it was elise who demanded that they should move. elise was mad to go--elise, who took a turn of her own, a screaming fit, when the news came of the relief of wren's little force, of the death of their brave sergeant, of the strange tale that, before dying, carmody had breathed a confession to lieutenant blakely, which blakely had reduced to writing before he set forth on his own hapless mission. it was mrs. plume's turn now to have to play nurse and comforter, and to strive to soothe, even to the extent of promising that elise should be permitted to start by the very next stage to the distant sea, but when it came to securing passage, and in feverish, nervous haste the frenchwoman had packed her chosen belongings into the one little trunk the stage people would consent to carry, lo! there came to her a messenger from headquarters where colonel byrne, grim, silent, saturnine, was again in charge. any attempt on her part to leave would result in her being turned over at once to the civil authorities, and elise understood and raved, but risked not going to jail. mullins, nursed by his devoted norah, was sitting up each day now, and had been seen by colonel byrne as that veteran passed through, ten pounds lighter of frame and heavier of heart than when he set forth, and mullins had persisted in the story that he had been set upon and stabbed by two women opposite lieutenant blakely's quarters. what two had been seen out there that night but clarice plume and her gallic shadow, elise? meantime aunt janet was "looking ghastly," said the ladies along that somber line of quarters, and something really ought to be done. just what that something should be no two could unite in deciding, but really major plume or dr. graham ought to see that, if something wasn't done, she would break down under the awful strain. she had grown ten years older in five days, they declared--was turning fearfully gray, and they were sure she never slept a wink. spoken to on this score, poor miss wren was understood to say she not only could not sleep, but she did not wish to. had she kept awake and watched angela, as was her duty, the child could never have succeeded in her wild escapade. the "child," by the way, had displayed rare generalship, as speedily became known. she must have made her few preparations without a betraying sound, for even kate sanders, in the same room, was never aroused--kate, who was now well-night heartbroken. they found that angela had crept downstairs in her stockings, and had put on her riding moccasins and leggings at the kitchen steps. there, in the sand, were the tracks of her long, slender feet. they found that she had taken with her a roomy hunting-pouch that hung usually in her father's den. she had filled it, apparently, with food,--tea, sugar, even lemons, for half a dozen of this precious and hoarded fruit had disappeared. punch, too, had been provided for. she had "packed" a half-bushel of barley from the stables. there was no one to say miss angela nay. she might have ridden off with the flag itself and no sentry would more than think of stopping her. just what fate had befallen her no one dare suggest. the one thing, the only one, that roused a vestige of hope was that lieutenant blakely had gone _alone_ on what was thought to be her trail. now here was a curious condition of things. if anyone had been asked to name the most popular officer at sandy, there would have been no end of discussion. perhaps the choice would have lain between sanders, cutler, and old westervelt--good and genial men. asked to name the least popular officer, and, though men, and women, too, would have shrunk from saying it, the name that would have occurred to almost all was that of blakely. and why? simply because he stood alone, self-poised, self-reliant, said his few friends, "self-centered and self_ish_," said more than mrs. bridger, whereas a more generous man had never served at sandy. that, however, they had yet to learn. but when a man goes his way in the world, meddling with no one else's business, and never mentioning his own, courteous and civil, but never intimate, studying a good deal but saying little, asking no favors and granting few, perhaps because seldom asked, the chances are he will win the name of being cold, indifferent, even repellent, "too high, mighty, and superior." his very virtues become a fault, for men and women love best those who are human like themselves, however they may respect. among the troopers blakely was as yet something of an enigma. his manner of speaking to them was unlike that of most of his fellows--it was grave, courteous, dignified, never petulant or irritable. in those old cavalry days most men better fancied something more demonstrative. "i like to see an officer flare up and--say things," said a veteran sergeant. "this here bug-catcher is too damned cold-blooded." they respected him, yes; yet they little understood and less loved him. they had known him too short a time. but among the indians blakely was a demi-god. grave, unruffled, scrupulously exact in word and deed, he made them trust him. brave, calm, quick in moments of peril, he made them admire him. how fearlessly he had stepped into the midst of that half-frenzied sextette, _tiswin_ drunk, and disarmed kwonagietah and two of his fellow-revelers! how instant had been his punishment of that raging, rampant, mutinous old medicine man, 'skiminzin, who dared to threaten him and the agency! (that episode only long years after reached the ears of the indian advancement association in the imaginative east.) how gently and skillfully he had ministered to shield's younger brother, and to the children of old chief toyah! it was this, in fact, that won the hate and envy of 'skiminzin. how lavish was blakely's bounty to the aged and to the little ones, and indians love their children infinitely! the hatred or distrust of indian man or woman, once incurred, is venomous and lasting. the trust, above all the gratitude, of the wild race, once fairly won, is to the full as stable. nothing will shake it. there are those who say the love of an indian girl, once given, surpasses that of her circassian sister, and bridger now was learning new stories of the bugologist with every day of his progress in apache lore. he had even dared to bid his impulsive little wife "go slow," should she ever again be tempted to say spiteful things of blakely. "if what old toyah tells me is true," said he, "and i believe him, hualpai or apache mohave, there isn't a decent indian in this part of arizona that wouldn't give his own scalp to save blakely." mrs. bridger did not tell this at the time, for she had said too much the other way; but, on this fifth day of our hero's absence, there came tidings that unloosed her lips. just at sunset an indian runner rode in on one of arnold's horses, and bearing a dispatch for major plume. it was from that sturdy campaigner, captain stout, who knew every mile of the old trail through sunset pass long years before even the ----th cavalry,--the predecessors of plume, and wren, and sanders,--and what stout said no man along the sandy ever bade him swear to. "surprised small band, tontos, at dawn to-day. they had saddle blanket marked 'w. a.' [wales arnold], and hat and underclothing marked 'downs.' indian boy prisoner says downs was caught just after the 'big burning' at camp sandy [lieutenant blakely's quarters]. he says that alchisay, blakely's boy courier, was with them two days before, and told him apache mohaves had more of downs's things, and that a white chief's daughter was over there in the red rocks. sanders, with three troops, is east of us and searching that way now. this boy says alchisay knew that natzie and lola had been hiding not far from willow tank on the beaver trail--our route--but had fled from there same time angela disappeared. against her own people natzie would protect blakely, even were they demanding his life in turn for her indian lover, shield's. if these girls can be tracked and found, i believe you will have found blakely and will find angela." that night, after being fed and comforted until even an indian could eat no more, the messenger, a young apache mohave, wanted _papel_ to go to the agency, but plume had other plans. "take him down to shaughnessy's," said he to truman, "and see if he knows that girl." so take him they did, and at sight of his swarthy face the girl had given a low cry of sudden, eager joy; then, as though reading warning in his glance, turned her face away and would not talk. it was the play of almost every apache to understand no english whatever, yet truman could have sworn she understood when he asked her if she could guess where angela was in hiding. the indian lad had shaken his head and declared he knew nothing. the girl was dumb. mrs. bridger happened in a moment later, coming down with mrs. sanders to see how the strange patient was progressing. they stood in silence a moment, listening to truman's murmured words. then mrs. bridger suddenly spoke. "ask her if she knows natzie's cave," said she. "natzie's cave," she repeated, with emphasis, and the indian girl guilelessly shook her head, and then turned and covered her face with her hands. chapter xxiii an apache queen in the slant of the evening sunshine a young girl, an indian, was crouching among the bare rocks at the edge of a steep and rugged descent. one tawny little hand, shapely in spite of scratches, was uplifted to her brows, shading her keen and restless eyes against the glare. in the other hand, the right, she held a little, circular pocket-mirror, cased in brass, and held it well down in the shade. only the tangle of her thick, black hair and the top of her head could be seen from the westward side. her slim young body was clothed in a dark-blue, well-made garment, half sack, half skirt, with long, loose trousers of the same material. there was fanciful embroidery of bead and thread about the throat. there was something un-indian about the cut and fashion of the garments that suggested civilized and feminine supervision. the very way she wore her hair, parted and rolling back, instead of tumbling in thick, barbaric "bang" into her eyes, spoke of other than savage teaching; and the dainty make of her moccasins; the soft, pliant folds of the leggins that fell, apache fashion, about her ankles, all told, with their beadwork and finish, that this was no unsought girl of the tribespeople. even the sudden gesture with which, never looking back, she cautioned some follower to keep down, spoke significantly of rank and authority. it was a chief's daughter that knelt peering intently over the ledge of rocks toward the black shadows of the opposite slope. it was natzie, child of a warrior leader revered among his people, though no longer spared to guide them--natzie, who eagerly, anxiously searched the length of the dark gorge for sign or signal, and warned her companion to come no further. over the gloomy depths, a mile away about a jutting point, three or four buzzards were slowly circling, disturbed, yet determined. over the broad valley that extended for miles toward the westward range of heights, the mantle of twilight was slowly creeping, as in his expressive sign language the indian spreads his extended hands, palms down, drawing and smoothing imaginary blanket, the robe of night, over the face of nature. far to the northward, from some point along the face of the heights, a fringe of smoke was drifting in the soft breeze sweeping down the valley from the farther sierras. wild, untrodden, undesired of man, the wilderness lay outspread--miles and miles of gloom and desolation, save where some lofty scarp of glistening rock, jutting from among the scattered growth of dark-hued pine and cedar, caught the brilliant rays of the declining sun. behind the spot where natzie knelt, the general slope was broken by a narrow ledge or platform, bowlder-strewn--from which, almost vertically, rose the rocky scarp again. among the sturdy, stunted fir trees, bearding the rugged face, frowned a deep fissure, dark as a wolf den, and, just in front of it, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, crouched lola--natzie's shadow. rarely in reservation days, until after blakely came as agent, were they ever seen apart, and now, in these days of exile and alarm, they were not divided. under a spreading cedar, close to the opening, a tiny fire glowed in a crevice of the rocks, sending forth no betraying smoke. about it were some rude utensils, a pot or two, a skillet, an earthen _olla_, big enough to hold perhaps three gallons, two bowls of woven grass, close plaited, almost, as the famous fiber of panama. in one of these was heaped a store of _piñons_, in the other a handful or two of wild plums. sign of civilization, except a battered tin teapot, there was none, yet presently was there heard a sound that told of anglo-saxon presence--the soft voice of a girl in low-toned, sweet-worded song--song so murmurous it might have been inaudible save in the intense stillness of that almost breathless evening--song so low that the indian girl, intent in her watch at the edge of the cliff, seemed not to hear at all. it was lola who heard and turned impatiently, a black frown in her snapping eyes, and a lithe young indian lad, hitherto unseen, dropped noiselessly from a perch somewhere above them and, filling a gourd at the _olla_, bent and disappeared in the narrow crevice back of the curtain of firs. the low song ceased gradually, softly, as a mother ceases her crooning lullaby, lest the very lack of the love-notes stir the drowsing baby brain to sudden waking. with the last words barely whispered the low voice died away. the indian lad came forth into the light again, empty-handed; plucked at lola's gown, pointed to natzie, for the moment forgotten, now urgently beckoning. bending low, they ran to her. she was pointing across the deep gorge that opened a way to the southward. something far down toward its yawning mouth had caught her eager eye, and grasping the arm of the lad with fingers that twitched and burned, she whispered in the apache tongue: "they're coming." one long look the boy gave in the direction pointed, then, backing away from the edge, he quickly swept away a navajo blanket that hung from the protruding branches of a low cedar, letting the broad light into the cavelike space beyond. there, on a hard couch of rock, skin, and blanket, lay a fevered form in rough scouting dress. there, with pinched cheeks, and eyes that heavily opened, dull and suffused, lay the soldier officer who had ridden forth to rescue and to save, himself now a crippled and helpless captive. beside him, wringing out a wet handkerchief and spreading it on the burning forehead, knelt angela. the girls who faced each other for the first time at the pool--the daughter of the scotch-american captain--the daughter of the apache mohave chief--were again brought into strange companionship over the unconscious form of the soldier blakely. [illustration: "then slowly they saw her raise her right hand, still cautiously holding the little mirror"] resentful of the sudden glare that caused her patient to shrink and toss complainingly, angela glanced up almost in rebuke, but was stilled by the look and attitude of the young savage. he stood with forefinger on his closed lips, bending excitedly toward her. he was cautioning her to make no sound, even while his very coming brought disturbance to her first thought--her fevered patient. then, seeing both rebuke and question in her big, troubled eyes, the young indian removed his finger and spoke two words: "patchie come," and, rising, she followed him out to the flat in front. natzie at the moment was still crouching close to the edge, gazing intently over, one little brown hand nervously grasping the branch of a stunted cedar, the other as nervously clutching the mirror. so utterly absorbed was she that the hiss of warning, or perhaps of hatred, with which lola greeted the sudden coming of angela, seemed to fall unnoted on her ears. lola, her black eyes snapping and her lips compressed, glanced up at the white girl almost in fury. natzie, paying no heed whatever to what was occurring about her, knelt breathless at her post, watching, eagerly watching. then, slowly, they saw her raise her right hand, still cautiously holding the little mirror, face downward, and at sight of this the apache boy could scarcely control his trembling, and lola, turning about, spoke some furious words, in low, intense tone, that made him shrink back toward the screen. then the wild girl glared again at angela, as though the sight of her were unbearable, and, with as furious a gesture, sought to drive her, too, again to the refuge of the dark cleft, but angela never stirred. paying no heed to lola, the daughter of the soldier gazed only at the daughter of the chief, at natzie, whose hand was now level with the surface of the rock. the next instant, far to the northwest flashed a slender beam of dazzling light, another--another. an interval of a second or two, and still another flash. angela could see the tiny, nebulous dot, like will-'o-the-wisp, dancing far over among the rocks across a gloomy gorge. she had never seen it before, but knew it at a glance. the indian girl was signaling to some of her father's people far over toward the great reservation, and the tale she told was that danger menaced. angela could not know that it told still more,--that danger menaced not only natzie, daughter of one warrior chief, and the chosen of another now among their heroic dead--it threatened those whom she was pledged to protect, even against her own people. somewhere down that deep and frowning rift to the southwest, indian guides were leading their brethren on the trail of these refugees among the upper rocks. somewhere, far over among the uplands to the northwest, other tribesfolk, her own kith and kin, were lurking, and these the indian girl was summoning with all speed to her aid. and in the slant of that same glaring sunshine, not four miles away, toiling upward along a rocky slope, following the faint sign here and there of apache moccasin, a little command of hardy, war-worn men had nearly reached the crest when their leader signaled backward to the long column of files, and, obedient to the excited gestures of the young hualpai guide, climbed to his side and gazed intently over. what he saw on a lofty point of rocks, well away from the tortuous "breaks" through which they had made most of their wearying marches from the upper beaver, brought the light of hope, the fire of battle, to his somber eyes. "send arnold up here," he shouted to the men below, and arnold came, clambering past rock and bowlder until he reached the captain's side, took one look in the direction indicated, and brought his brown hand down with resounding swat on the butt of his rifle. "treed 'em!" said he exultantly; then, with doubtful, backward glance along the crouching file of weary men, some sitting now and fanning with their broad-brimmed hats, he turned again to the captain and anxiously inquired: "can we make it before dark?" "we must make it!" simply answered stout. and then, far over among the heights between them and the reservation, there went suddenly aloft--one, two, three--compact little puffs of bluish smoke. someone was answering signals flashed from the rocky point--someone who, though far away, was promising aid. "let's be the first to reach them, lads," said stout, himself a wearied man. and with that they slowly rose and went stumbling upward. the prize was worth their every effort, and hope was leading on. an hour later, with barely half the distance traversed, so steep and rocky, so wild and winding, was the way, with the sun now tangent to the distant range afar across the valley, they faintly heard a sound that spurred them on--two shots in quick succession from unseen depths below the lofty point. and now they took the indian jog trot. there was business ahead. between them and that gleaming promontory now lay a comparatively open valley, less cumbered with bowlders than were the ridges and ravines through which they had come, less obstructed, too, with stunted trees. here was opportunity for horsemen, hitherto denied, and stout called on brewster and his score of troopers, who for hours had been towing their tired steeds at the rear of column. "mount and push ahead!" said he. "you are wren's own men. it is fitting you should get there first." "won't the captain ride with us--now?" asked the nearest sergeant. "not if it robs a man of his mount," was the answer. yet there was longing in his eye and all men saw it. he had led them day after day, trudging afoot, because his own lads could not ride. indeed, there had been few hours when any horse could safely bear a rider. there came half a dozen offers now. "i'll tramp afoot if the captain 'll only take my horse," said more than one man. and so the captain was with them, as with darkness settling down they neared the great cliff towering against the southeastward sky. then suddenly they realized they were guided thither only just in time to raise a well-nigh fatal siege. thundering down the mountain side a big bowlder came tearing its way, launched from the very point that had been the landmark of their eager coming, and with the downward crashing of the rock there burst a yell of fury. midway up the steep incline, among the straggling timber, two lithe young indians were seen bounding out of a little gully, only just in time to escape. two or three others, farther aloft, darted around a shoulder of cliff as though scurrying out of sight. from the edge of the precipice the crack of a revolver was followed by a second, and then by a scream. "dismount!" cried brewster, as he saw the captain throw himself from his horse; then, leaving only two or three to gather in their now excited steeds, snapping their carbines to full cock, with blazing eyes and firm-set lips, the chosen band began their final climb. "don't bunch. spread out right and left," were the only cautions, and then in long, irregular line, up the mountain steep they clambered, hope and duty still leading on, the last faint light of the november evening showing them their rocky way. now, renegadoes, it is fight or flee for your lives! perhaps a hundred yards farther up the jagged face the leaders came upon an incline so steep that, like the tontos above them, they were forced to edge around to the southward, whither their comrades followed. presently, issuing from the shelter of the pines, they came upon a bare and bowlder-dotted patch to cross which brought them plainly into view of the heights above, and almost instantly under fire. shot after shot, to which they could make no reply, spat and flattened on the rocks about them, but, dodging and ducking instinctively, they pressed swiftly on. once more within the partial shelter of the pines across the open, they again resumed the climb, coming suddenly upon a sight that fairly spurred them. there, feet upward among the bowlders, stiff and swollen in death, lay all that the lynxes had left of a cavalry horse. close at hand was the battered troop saddle. caught in the bushes a few rods above was the folded blanket, and, lodged in a crevice, still higher, lay the felt-covered canteen, stenciled with the number and letter of wren's own troop. it was the horse of the orderly, horn--the horse on which the bugologist had ridden away in search of angela wren. it was all the rescuers needed to tell them they were now on the trail of both, and now the carbines barked in earnest at every flitting glimpse of the foe, sending the wary tontos skipping and scurrying southward. and, at last, breathless, panting, well-nigh exhausted, the active leaders found themselves halting at a narrow, twisting little game trail, winding diagonally up the slope, with that gray scarp of granite jutting from the mountain side barely one hundred yards farther; and, waving from its crest, swung by unseen hands, some white, fluttering object, faintly seen in the gathering dusk, beckoned them on. the last shots fired at the last indians seen gleamed red in the autumn gloaming. they, the rescuers, had reached their tryst only just as night and darkness shrouded the westward valley. the last man up had to grope his way, and long before that last man reached the ledge the cheering word was passed from the foremost climber: "both here, boys, and safe!" an hour later brought old heartburn to the scene, scrambling up with the other footmen, and speedily was he kneeling by the fevered officer's side. the troopers had been sent back to their horses. only stout, the doctor, wales arnold, and one or two sergeants remained at the ledge, with rescued angela, the barely conscious patient, and their protectors, the indian girls. already the boy had been hurried off with a dispatch to sandy, and now dull, apathetic, and sullen, lola sat shrouded in her blanket, while arnold, with the little apache dialect he knew, was striving to get from natzie some explanation of her daring and devotion. between tears and laughter, angela told her story. it was much as they had conjectured. mad with anxiety on her father's account, she said, she had determined to reach him and nurse him. she felt sure that, with so many troops out between the post and the scene of action, there was less danger of her being caught by indians than of being turned back by her own people. she had purposely dashed by the ranch, fearing opposition, had purposely kept behind colonel byrne's party until she found a way of slipping round and past them where she could feel sure of speedily regaining the trail. she had encountered neither friend nor foe until, just as she would have ridden away from the willow tanks, she was suddenly confronted by natzie, lola, and two young apaches. natzie eagerly gesticulated, exclaiming, "apaches, apaches," and pointing ahead up the trail, and, though she could speak no english, convincing angela that she was in desperate danger. the others were scowling and hateful, but completely under natzie's control, and between them they hustled her pony into a ravine leading to the north and led him along for hours, angela, powerless to prevent, riding helplessly on. at last they made her dismount, and then came a long, fearful climb afoot, up the steepest trail she had ever known, until it brought her here. and here, she could not tell how many nights afterwards--it seemed weeks, so had the days and hours dragged--here, while she slept at last the sleep of exhaustion, they had brought mr. blakely. he lay there in raging fever when she was awakened that very morning by natzie's crying in her ear some words that sounded like: _"hermano viene_! _hermano viene_!" [illustration: "they hustled her pony into a ravine"] stout had listened with absorbing interest and to the very last word. then, as one who heard at length full explanation of what he had deemed incredible, his hand went out and clutched that of arnold, while his deep eyes, full of infinite pity, turned to where poor natzie crouched, watching silently and in utter self-forgetfulness the doctor's ministrations. "wales," he muttered, "that settles the whole business. whatever you do,--don't let that poor girl know that--they"--and now he warily glanced toward angela--"they--are _not_ brother and sister." chapter xxiv the meeting at sandy december, and the noonday sun at sandy still beat hotly on the barren level of the parade. the fierce and sudden campaign seemed ended, for the time, at least, as only in scattered remnants could the renegade indians be found. eastward from the agua fria to the chiquito, and northward from the salado to the very cliffs of the grand cañon, the hard-worked troopers had scoured the wild and mountainous country, striking hard whenever they found a hostile band, striving ever, through interpreters and runners, to bring the nervous and suspicious tribes to listen to reason and to return to their reservations. this for long days, however, seemed impossible. the tragic death of raven shield, most popular of the young chiefs, struck down, as they claimed, when he was striving only to defend natzie, daughter of a revered leader, had stirred the savages to furious reprisals, and nothing but the instant action of the troops in covering the valley had saved the scattered settlers from universal massacre. enough had been done by one band alone to thrill the west with horror, but these had fled southward into mexico and were safe beyond the border. the settlers were slowly creeping back now to their abandoned homes, and one after another the little field detachments were marching to their accustomed stations. sandy was filling up again with something besides the broken down and wounded. first to come in was stout's triumphant half hundred, the happiest family of horse and foot, commingled, ever seen upon the pacific slope, for their proud lot it had been to reach and rescue angela, beloved daughter of the regiment, and blakely, who had well-nigh sacrificed himself in the effort to find and save her. stout and his thirty "doughboys," brewster, the sergeant, with his twenty troopers, had been welcomed by the entire community as the heroes of the brief campaign, but stout would none of their adulation. "there is the one you should thank and bless," said he, his eyes turning to where stood natzie, sad and silent, watching the attendants who were lifting neil blakely from the litter to the porch of the commanding officer. they had brought her in with them, lola and alchisay as well--the last two scowling and sullen, but ruled by the chieftain's daughter. they had loaded her with praise and thanks, but she paid no heed. two hours after stout and his troopers had reached the cliff and driven away the murderous band of renegades--tontos and apache yumas--bent on stealing her captives, there had come a little party of her own kindred in answer to her signals, but these would have been much too late. blakely would have been butchered. angela and her benefactors, too, would probably have been the victims of their captors. natzie could look for no mercy from them now. through wales arnold, the captain and his men had little by little learned the story of natzie's devotion. in the eyes of her father, her brother, her people, blakely was greater even than the famous big chief, crook, the gray fox, who had left them, ordered to other duties but the year gone by. blakely had quickly righted the wrongs done them by a thieving agent. blakely had given fair trial to and saved the life of mariano, that fiery brother, who, ironed by the former agent's orders, had with his shackled hands struck down his persecutor and then escaped. blakely had won their undying gratitude, and stout and arnold saw now why it was that one young brave, at least, could not share the love his people bore for _gran capitan blanco_--that one was quonothay--the chief raven shield. they saw now why poor natzie had no heart to give her indian lover. they saw now why it was that natzie wandered from the agency and hovered for some days before the outbreak there around the post. it was to be near the young white chief whom she well-nigh worshiped, whom she had been accustomed to see every day of her life during his duties at the agency. they saw now why it was the savage girl had dared the vengeance of the apaches by the rescue of angela. she believed her to be blakely's sister, yet they could not give the reason why. they knew very little of neil blakely, but what they did know made them doubt that he could ever have been the one at fault. over this problem both ranchman and soldier, arnold and stout, looked grave indeed. it was not like blakely that he should make a victim of this young indian girl. she was barely sixteen, said arnold, who knew her people well. she had never been alone with blakely, said her kinsfolk, who came that night in answer to her signals. she had saved angela, believing her to be blakely's own blood, had led her to her own mountain refuge, and then, confident that blakely would make search for it and for his sister, had gone forth and found him, already half-dazed with fever and exhaustion, and had striven to lead his staggering horse up that precipitous trail. it was the poor brute's last climb. blakely she managed to bring in safety to her lofty eerie. the horse had fallen, worn out in the effort, and died on the rocks below. she had roused angela with what she thought would be joyful tidings, even though she saw that her hero was desperately ill. she thought, of course, the white girl knew the few words of spanish that she could speak. all this was made evident to arnold and stout, partly through natzie's young brother, who had helped to find and support the white chief, partly through the girl herself. it was evident to arnold, too, that up to the time of their coming nothing had happened to undeceive natzie as to that relationship. they tried to induce her to return to the agency, although her father and brother were still somewhere with the hostile bands, but she would not, she would go with them to sandy, and they could not deny her. more than once on that rough march of three days they found themselves asking what would the waking be. angela, daughter of civilization, under safe escort, had been sent on ahead, close following the courier who scurried homeward with the news. natzie, daughter of the wilderness, could not be driven from the sight of blakely's litter. the dumb, patient, pathetic appeal of her great soft eyes, as she watched every look in the doctor's face, was something wonderful to see. but now, at last, the fevered sufferer was home, still only semi-conscious, being borne within the walls of the major's quarters, and she who had saved him, slaved for him, dared for him, could only mutely gaze after his prostrate and wasted form as it disappeared within the darkened hallway in the arms of his men. then came a light step bounding along the veranda--then came angela, no longer clad in the riding garb in which hitherto natzie had seen her, but in cool and shimmering white, with gladness and gratitude in her beautiful eyes, with welcome and protection in her extended hand, and the indian girl looked strangely from her to the dark hallway within which her white hero had disappeared, and shrank back from the proffered touch. if this was the soldier's sister should not she now be at the soldier's side? had she other lodge than that which gave him shelter, now that his own was burned? angela saw for the first time aversion, question, suspicion in the great black eyes from which the softness and the pleading had suddenly fled. then, rebuffed, disturbed, and troubled, she turned to arnold, who would gladly have slipped away. "can't _you_ make her understand, mr. arnold?" she pleaded. "i don't know a word of her language, and i so want to be her friend--so want to take her to my home!" and then the frontiersman did a thing for which, when she heard of it one sunset later, his better half said words of him and to him that overstepped all bounds of parliamentary usage, and that only a wife would dare to employ. with the blundering stupidity of his sex, poor arnold "settled things" for many a day and well-nigh ruined the sweetest romance that sandy had ever seen the birth of. "ah, miss angela! only one place will ever be home to natzie now. her eyes will tell you that." and already, regardless of anything these women of the white chiefs might think or say, unafraid save of seeing him no more, unashamed save of being where she could not heed his every look or call or gesture, the daughter of the mountain and the desert stood gazing again after the vanished form her eyes long months had worshiped, and the daughter of the schools and civilization stood flushing one-half moment, then slowly paling, as, without another glance or effort, she turned silently away. kate sanders it was who sprang quickly after her and encircled the slender waist with her fond and clasping arm. that night the powers of all camp sandy were exhausted in effort to suitably provide for natzie and her two companions. mrs. sanders, mrs. bridger, even mother shaughnessy and norah pleaded successively with this princess of the wilderness, and pleaded in vain. food and shelter elsewhere they proffered in abundance. natzie sat stubbornly at the major's steps, and sadly at first, and angrily later, shook her head to every proposition. then they brought food, and lola and alchisay ate greedily. natzie would hardly taste a morsel. every time plume or graham or a soldier nurse came forth her mournful eyes would study his face as though imploring news of the sufferer, who lay unconscious of her vigil, if not of her existence. graham's treatment was beginning to tell, and blakely was sleeping the sleep of the just. they had not let him know of the poor girl's presence at the door. they would not let her in for fear he might awake and see her, and ask the reason of her coming. they would not send or take her away, for all sandy was alive with the strange story of her devotion. the question on almost every lip was "how is this to end?" at tattoo there came a mexican woman from one of the down-stream ranches, sent in by the post trader, who said she could speak the apache-mohave language sufficiently well to make natzie understand the situation, and this frontier linguist strove earnestly. natzie understood every word she said, was her report, but could not be made to understand that she ought to go. in the continued absence of mrs. plume, both the major and the post surgeon had requested of mrs. graham that she should come over for a while and "see what she could do," and, leaving her own sturdy bairnies, the good, motherly soul had come and presided over this diplomatic interview, proposing various plans for natzie's disposition for the night. and other ladies hovering about had been sympathetically suggestive, but the indian girl had turned deaf ear to everything that would even temporarily take her from her self-appointed station. at ten o'clock mother shaughnessy, after hanging uneasily about the porch a moment or two, gave muttered voice to a suggestion that other women had shrunk from mentioning: "has she been tould miss angela and--him--is no kin at all, at all?" "i don't want her told," said mrs. graham briefly. and so natzie was still there, sitting sleepless in the soft and radiant moonlight, when toward twelve o'clock graham came forth from his last visit for the night, and she lifted up her head and looked him dumbly in the face,--dumbly, yet imploring a word of hope or comfort,--and it was more than the soft-hearted scot could bear. "major," said he, as he gently laid a big hand upon the black and tangled wealth of hair, "that lad in yonder would have been beyond the ken of civilization days ago if it hadn't been for this little savage. i'm thinking he'll sleep none the worse for her watching over him. todd's there for the night, the same that attended him before, and she won't be strange with him--or i'm mistaken." "why?" asked plume, mystified. "i'm not saying, until blakely talks for himself. for one reason i don't _know_. for another, _he's_ the man to tell, if anybody," and a toss of the head toward the dark doorway told who was meant by "he." "d'you mean you'd have this girl squatting there by blakely's bedside the rest of the night?" asked the commander, ruffled in spirit. "what's to prevent her singing their confounded death song, or invoking heathen spirits, or knifing us all, for that matter?" "what was to prevent her from knifing the bugologist and angela both, when she had 'em?" was the sturdy reply. "the girl's a theoretical heathen, but a practical christian. come with us, natzie," he finished, one hand extended to aid her to rise, the other pointing to the open doorway. she was on her feet in an instant, and, silently signing her companions to stay, followed the doctor into the house. and so it happened that when blakely wakened, hours later, the sight that met him, dimly comprehending, was that of a blue-coated soldier snoozing in a reclining chair, a blue-blanketed indian girl seated on the floor near the foot of his bed, looking with all her soul in her gaze straight into his wondering eyes. at his low whisper, "natzie," she sprang to her feet without word or sound; seized the thin white hand tremulously extended toward her, and, pillowing her cheek upon it, knelt humbly by the bedside, her black hair streaming to the floor. a pathetic picture it made in the dim light of the newborn day, forcing itself through the shrouded windows, and major plume, restless and astir the hour before reveille, stood unnoted a moment at the doorway, then strode back through the hall and summoned from the adjoining veranda another sleepless watcher, gratefully breathing the fragrance of the cool, morning air; and presently two dim forms had softly tiptoed to that open portal, and now stood gazing within until their eyes should triumph over the uncertain light--the post commander in his trim-fitting undress uniform, the tall and angular shape of wren's elderly sister--the "austere vestal" herself. it may have been a mere twitch of the slim fingers under her tawny cheek that caused natzie to lift her eyes in search of those of her hero and her protector. instantly her own gaze, startled, was turned straight to the door. then in another second she had sprung to her feet, and with fury in her face and attitude confronted the intruders. as she did so the sudden movement detached some object that hung within the breast of her loose-fitting sack--something bright and gleaming that clattered to the floor, falling close to the feet of the drowsing attendant, while another--a thin, circular case of soft leather, half-rolled, half-bounded toward the unwelcome visitors at the door. todd, roused to instant action at sight of the post commander, bent quickly and nabbed the first. the girl herself darted after the second, whereat the attendant, misjudging her motive, dreading danger to his betters or rebuke to himself, sprang upon her as she stooped, and dropping his first prize, dared to seize the apache girl with both hands at the throat. there was a warning cry from the bed, a flash of steel through one slanting ray of sunshine, a shriek from the lips of janet wren, and with a stifled moan the luckless soldier sank in his tracks, while natzie, the chieftain's daughter, a dripping blade in her uplifted hand, a veritable picture of fury, stood in savage triumph over him, her flashing eyes fixed upon the amazed commander, as though daring him, too, to lay hostile hands upon her. chapter xxv rescue requited a change had come over the spirit of camp sandy's dream. the garrison that had gone to bed the previous night, leaving natzie silent, watchful, wistful at the post commander's door, had hardly a thought that was not full of sympathy and admiration for her. even women who could not find it possible to speak of her probable relations with neil blakely dwelt much in thought and word upon her superb devotion and her generosity. that he had encouraged her passionate and almost savage love for him there were few to doubt, whatsoever they might find it possible to say. that men and women both regarded her as, beyond compare, the heroic figure of the campaign there was none to gainsay. even those who could not or did not talk of her at all felt that such was the garrison verdict. there were no men, and but few women, who would have condemned the doctor's act in leading her to blakely's bedside. sandy had spoken of her all that wonderful evening only to praise. it woke to hear the first tidings of the new day, and to ask only what was the cause?--what had led to her wild, swift vengeance? for todd had in turn been carried to hospital, a sore-stricken man. the night before natzie was held a queen: now she was held a captive. it all happened so suddenly that even plume, who witnessed the entire incident, could not coherently explain it. reveille was just over and the men were going to breakfast when the major's voice was heard shouting for the guard. graham, first man to reach the scene, had collided with janet wren, whimpering and unnerved, as he bounded into the hallway. his first thought was that plume's prophecy about the knifing had come true, and that blakely was the victim. his first sight, when his eyes could do their office in that darkened room, was of blakely wresting something from the grasp of the indian girl, whose gaze was now riveted on that writhing object on the floor. "see to him, doctor," he heard blakely say, in feeble, but commanding tone. "i will see to her." but blakely was soon in no condition to see to her or to anybody. the flicker of strength that came to him for a second or two at sight of the tragedy, left him as suddenly--left him feebler than before. he had no voice with which to protest when the stretchermen, who bore away poor todd, were followed instantly by stout guardsmen who bore away natzie. the dignity of the chieftain's daughter had vanished now. she had no knife with which to deal death to these new and most reluctant assailants--graham found it under blakely's pillow, long hours later. but, with all her savage, lissome strength she scratched and struck and struggled. it took three of their burliest to carry her away, and they did it with shame-hidden faces, while rude comrades chaffed and jeered and even shouted laughing encouragement to the girl, whose screams of rage had drawn all camp sandy to the scene. one doctor, two men, and the steward went with their groaning burden one way to the hospital. one officer, one sergeant, and half a dozen men had all they could do to take their raging charge another way to the guard-house. ah, plume, you might have spared that brave girl such indignity! but, where one face followed the wounded man with sympathetic eyes, there were twenty that never turned from the indian girl until her screams were deadened by the prison doors. "she stabbed a soldier who meant her no harm," was plume's sullen and stubborn answer to all appeals, for good and gentle women went to him, begging permission to go to her. it angered him presently to the extent of repeating his words with needless emphasis and additions when mother shaughnessy came to make her special appeal. shure she had learned how to care for these poor creatures, was her claim, along o' having little paquita on her hands so many days, "and now that poor girl beyant will be screaming herself into fits!" "let her scream," said plume, unstrung and shaken, "but hold you your tongue or i'll find a separate cell for you. no woman shall be knifing my men, and go unpunished, if i can help it," and so saying he turned wrathfully from her. "heard you that now?" stormed mother shaughnessy, as he strode away. "who but he has helped his women to go unpunished--" and the words were out and heard before the sergeant major could spring and silence her. before another day they were echoing all over the post--were on their way to prescott, even, and meeting, almost at the northward gateway, the very women the raging laundress meant. of her own free will clarice plume was once again at sandy, bringing with her, sorely against the will of either, but because a stronger will would have it so--and sent his guards to see to it--a cowed and scared and semi-silent companion of whom much ill was spoken now about the garrison--elise lebrun. the news threw norah shaughnessy nearly into spasms. "'twas she that knifed pat mullins!" she cried. "'twas she drove poor downs to dhrink and desartion. 'twas she set carmody and shannon to cuttin' each other's throats"--which was news to a garrison that had seen the process extend no further than to each other's acquaintance. and more and stormier words the girl went on to say concerning the commander's household until mullins himself mildly interposed. but all these things were being told about the garrison, from which lola and alchisay had fled in terror to spread the tidings that their princess was a prisoner behind the bars. these were things that were being told, too, to the men of sanders's returning troop before they were fairly unsaddled at the stables; and that night, before ever he sought his soldier pillow, shannon had been to "c" troop's quarters in search of trooper stern and had wrung from him all that he could tell of carmody's last fight on earth--of his last words to lieutenant blakely. meantime a sorely troubled man was major plume. that his wife would have to return to sandy he had learned from the lips of colonel byrne himself. her own good name had been involved, and could only be completely cleared when wren and blakely were sufficiently recovered to testify, and when mullins should be so thoroughly restored as to be fit for close cross-examination. plume could in no wise connect his beloved wife with either the murderous assault on mullins or the mysterious firing of blakely's quarters, but he knew that sandy could not so readily acquit her, even though it might saddle the actual deed upon her instrument--elise. he had ordered that blakely should be brought to his own quarters because there he could not be reached by any who were unacceptable to himself, the post commander. there were many things he wished to know about and from blakely's lips alone. he could not stoop to talk with other men about the foibles of his wife. he knew that iron box in truman's care contained papers, letters, or _something_ of deep interest to her. he knew full well now that, at some time in the not far distant past, blakely himself had been of deep interest to her and she to blakely. he had blakely's last letter to himself, written just before the lonely start in quest of angela, but that letter made no reference to the contents of the box or to anything concerning their past. he had heard that wales arnold had been intrusted with letters for blakely to clarice, his wife, and to captain, or miss janet wren. arnold had not been entirely silent on the subject. he did not too much like the major, and rather rejoiced in this opportunity to show his independence of him. plume had gone so far as to ask arnold whether such letters had been intrusted to him, and wales said, yes; but, now that blakely was safely back and probably going to pull through, he should return the letters to the writer as soon as the writer was well enough to appreciate what was being done. last, but not least, plume had picked up near the door in blakely's room the circular, nearly flat, leather-covered case which had dropped, apparently, from natzie's gown, and, as it had neither lock nor latch, plume had opened it to examine its contents. to his surprise it contained a beautifully executed miniature, a likeness of a fair young girl, with soft blue eyes and heavy, arching brows, a delicately molded face and mouth and chin, all framed in a tumbling mass of tawny hair. it was the face of a child of twelve or thirteen, one that he had never seen and of whom he knew nothing. neither cover, backing, nor case of the miniature gave the faintest clew as to its original or as to its ownership. what was natzie doing with this?--and to whom did it belong? a little study satisfied him there was something familiar in the face, yet he could not place it. the very night of her coming, therefore, he told his wife the story and handed her the portrait. one glance was enough. "i know it, yes," said mrs. plume, "though i, too, have never seen her. she died the winter after it was taken. it is mr. blakely's sister, ethel," and mrs. plume sat gazing at the sweet girl features, with strange emotion in her aging face. there was something--some story--behind all this that plume could not fathom, and it nettled him. perhaps he, too, was yielding to a fit of nerves. elise, the maid, had been remanded to her room, and could be heard moving about with heavy, yet uncertain tread. "she is right over blakely," quoth the major impatiently. "why can't the girl be quiet?" "why did you bring him _here_, then?" was the weary answer. "i cannot control elise. they have treated her most cruelly." "there are things you cannot explain and that she must," said he, and then, to change the subject, stretched forth his hand to take again the picture. she drew it back one moment, then, remembering, surrendered it. "you saw this in--st. louis, i suppose," said he awkwardly. he never could bear to refer to those days--the days before he had come into her life. "not that perhaps, but the photograph from which it was probably painted. she was his only sister. he was educating her in the east." and again her thoughts were drifting back to those st. louis days, when, but for the girl sister he so loved, she and neil blakely had been well-nigh inseparable. someone had said then, she remembered, that she was jealous even of that love. and now again her husband was gazing fixedly at the portrait, a light coming into his lined and anxious face. blakely had always carried this miniature with him, for he now remembered that the agent, daly, had spoken of it. natzie and others might well have seen it at the reservation. the agent's wife had often seen it and had spoken of his sorrow for the sister he had lost. the picture, she said, stood often on his little camp table. every indian who entered his tent knew it and saw it. why, surely; natzie, too, mused the major, and then aloud: "i can see now what we have all been puzzling over. angela wren might well have looked like this--four years ago." "there is not the faintest resemblance," said clarice, promptly rising and quitting the room. it developed with another day that mrs. plume had no desire to see miss wren, the younger. she expressed none, indeed, when policy and the manners of good society really required it. miss janet had come in with mrs. graham and mrs. sanders to call upon the wife of the commanding officer and say what words of welcome were possible as appropriate to her return. "and angela," said janet, for reasons of her own, "will be coming later." there was no response, nor was there to the next tentative. the ladies thought mrs. plume should join forces with them and take natzie out of the single cell she occupied. "can she not be locked at the hospital, under the eye of the matron, with double sentries? it is hard to think of her barred in that hideous place with apache prisoners and rude men all about her." but again was mrs. plume unresponsive. she would say no word of interest in either angela or natzie. at the moment when her husband was in melting mood and when a hint from her lips would have secured the partial release of the indian girl, the hint was withheld. it would have been better for her, for her husband, for more than one brave lad on guard, had the major's wife seen fit to speak, but she would not. so that evening brought release that, in itself, brought much relief to the commanding officer and the friends who still stood by him. thirty-six hours now had natzie been a prisoner behind the bars, and no one of those we know had seen her face. at tattoo the drums and fifes began their sweet, old-fashioned soldier tunes. the guard turned out; the officer of the day buckled his belt with a sigh and started forth to inspect, just as the foremost soldiers appeared on the porch in front, buttoning their coats and adjusting their belts and slings. half their number began to form ranks; the other half "stood by," within the main room, to pass out the prisoners, many of whom wore a clanking chain. all on a sudden there arose a wild clamor--shouts, scuffling, the thunder of iron upon resounding woodwork, hoarse orders, curses, shrieks, a yell for help, a shot, a mad scurry of many feet, furious cries of "head 'em off!" "shoot!" "no, no, don't shoot! you'll kill our own!" a dim cloud of ghostly, shadowy forms went tearing away down the slope toward the south. there followed a tremendous rush of troop after troop, company after company,--the whole force of camp sandy in uproarious pursuit,--until in the dim starlight the barren flats below the post, the willow patches along the stream, the plashing waters of the ford, the still and glassy surface of the shadowy pool, were speedily all alive with dark and darting forms intermingled in odd confusion. from the eastward side, from officers' row, plume and his white-coated subordinates hastened to the southward face, realizing instantly what must have occurred--the long-prophesied rush of apache prisoners for freedom. yet how hopeless, how mad, how utterly absurd was the effort! what earthly chance had they--poor, manacled, shackled, ball-burdened wretches--to escape from two hundred fleet-footed, unhampered, stalwart young soldiery, rejoicing really in the fun and excitement of the thing? one after another the shackled fugitives were run down and overhauled, some not half across the parade, some in the shadows of the office and storehouses, some down among the shrubbery toward the lighted store, some among the shanties of sudsville, some, lightest weighted of all, far away as the lower pool, and so one after another, the grimy, sullen, swarthy lot were slowly lugged back to the unsavory precincts wherein, for long weeks and months, they had slept or stealthily communed through the hours of the night. three or four had been cut or slashed. three or four soldiers had serious hurts, scratches or bruises as their fruits of the affray. but after all, the malefactors, miscreants, and incorrigibles of the apache tribe had profited little by their wild and defiant essay--profited little, that is, if personal freedom was what they sought. but was it? said wise heads of the garrison, as they looked the situation over. shannon and some of his ilk were doing much independent trailing by aid of their lanterns. taps should have been sounded at ten, but wasn't by any means, for "lights out" was the last thing to be thought of. little by little it dawned upon plume and his supporters that, instead of scattering, as indian tactics demanded on all previous exploits of the kind, there had been one grand, concerted rush to the southward--planned, doubtless, for the purpose of drawing the whole garrison thither in pursuit, while three pairs of moccasined feet slipped swiftly around to the rear of the guard-house, out beyond the dim corrals, and around to a point back of "c" troop stables, where other little hoofs had been impatiently tossing up the sands until suddenly loosed and sent bounding away to where the north star hung low over the sheeny white mantle of san francisco mountain. natzie, the girl queen, was gone from the guard-house: punch, the lady angela's pet pony, was gone from the corral, and who would say there had not been collusion? "one thing is certain," said the grave-faced post commander, as, with his officers, he left the knot of troopers and troopers' wives hovering late about the guard-house, "one thing is certain; with wren's own troopers hot on the heels of angela's pony we'll have our apache princess back, sure as the morning sun." "like hell!" said mother shaughnessy. chapter xxvi "woman-walk-no-more" more morning suns than could be counted in the field of the flag had come, and gone, but not a sign of natzie. wren's own troopers, hot on punch's flashing heels, were cooling their own as best they could through the arid days that followed. wren himself was now recovered sufficiently to be told of much that had been going on,--not all,--and it was angela who constantly hovered about him, for janet was taking a needed rest. blakely, too, was on the mend, sitting up hours of every day and "being very lovely" in manner to all the sanders household, for thither had he demanded to be moved even sooner than it was prudent to move him at all. go he would, and graham had to order it. pat mullins was once again "for duty." even todd, the bewildered victim of natzie's knife, was stretching his legs on the hospital porch. there had come a lull in all martial proceedings at the post, and only two sensations. one of these latter was the formal investigation by the inspector general of the conditions surrounding the stabbing at camp sandy of privates mullins and todd of the ----th u. s. cavalry. the other was the discovery, one bright, brilliant, winter morning that natzie's friend and savior, angela's punch, was back in his stall, looking every bit as saucy and "fit" as ever he did in his life. what surprised many folk in the garrison was that it surprised angela not at all. "i thought punch would come back," said she, in demure unconcern, and the girls at least, began to understand, and were wild to question. only kate sanders, however, knew how welcome was the pet pony's coming. but what had come that was far from welcome was a coldness between angela and kate sanders. byrne himself had arrived, and the "inquisition" had begun. no examinations under oath, no laborious recordings of question and answer, no crowd of curious listeners. the veteran inspector took each man in turn and heard his tale and jotted down his notes, and, where he thought it wise, cross-questioned over and again. one after another, truman and todd, wren and mullins, told their stories, bringing forth little that was new beyond the fact that todd was sure it was elise he heard that night "jabbering with downs" on blakely's porch. todd felt sure that it was she who brought him whisky, and byrne let him prattle on. it was not evidence, yet it might lead the way to light. in like manner was mullins sure now "'twas two ladies" stabbed him when he would have striven to stop the foremost. byrne asked did he think they were ladies when first he set eyes on them, and pat owned up that he thought it was some of the girls from sudsville; it might even be norah as one of them, coming home late from the laundresses' quarters, and trying to play him a trick. he owned to it that he grabbed the foremost, seeing at that moment no other, and thinking to win the forfeit of a kiss, and byrne gravely assured him 'twas no shame in it, so long as norah never found it out. but byrne asked plume two questions that puzzled and worried him greatly. how much whisky had he missed? and how much opium could have been given him the night of mrs. plume's unconscious escapade? the major well remembered that his demijohn had grown suddenly light, and that he had found himself surprisingly heavy, dull, and drowsy. the retrospect added to his gloom and depression. byrne had not reoccupied his old room at plume's, now that madame and elise were once more under the major's roof, and even in extending the customary invitation, plume felt confident that byrne could not and should not accept. the position he had taken with regard to elise, her ladyship's companion and confidante, was sufficient in itself to make him, in the eyes of that lady, an unacceptable guest, but it never occurred to her, although it had to plume, that there might be even deeper reasons. then, too, the relations between the commander and the inspector, although each was scrupulously courteous, were now necessarily strained. plume could not but feel that his conduct of post affairs was in a measure a matter of scrutiny. he knew that his treatment of natzie was disapproved by nine out of ten of his command. he felt, rather than knew, that some of his people had connived at her escape, and though that escape had been a relief to everybody at sandy, the manner of her taking off was to him a mystery and a rankling sore. last man to be examined was blakely, and now indeed there was light. he had been sitting up each day for several hours; his wounds were healing well; the fever and prostration that ensued had left him weak and very thin and pale, but he had the soldier's best medicine--the consciousness of duties thoroughly and well performed. he knew that, though wren might carry his personal antipathy to the extent of official injustice, as officers higher in rank than wren have been known to do, the truth concerning the recent campaign must come to light, and his connection therewith be made a matter of record, as it was already a matter of fact. wren had not yet submitted his written report. wren and the post commander were still on terms severely official; but, to the few brother officers with whom the captain talked at all upon the stirring events through which he and his troop had so recently passed, he had made little mention of blakely. not so, however, the men; not so wales arnold, the ranchman. to hear these worthies talk, the bugologist, next to "princess natzie," was the central figure of the red rock campaign--the one officer, "where all had done so well," whose deeds merited conspicuous mention. byrne knew this better than wren. plume knew it not as well as byrne, perhaps. sanders, lynn, and duane had heard the soldier stories in a dozen ways, and it stung them that their regimental comrade should so doggedly refuse to open his lips and give blakely his due. it is not silence that usually hurts a man, it is speech; yet here was a case to the contrary. now just in proportion as the wrens would have nothing to say in praise of blakely, the sanders household would have nothing _but_ praise to say. kate's honest heart was hot with anger at angela, because the girl shrank from the subject as she would from evil speaking, lying, and slandering, and here again, to paraphrase the irishman, too much heat had produced the coldness already referred to. sanders scoffed at the idea of natzie's infatuation being sufficient ground for family ostracism. "if there is a man alive who owes more than wren does to blakely, i'm a crab," said he, "and as soon as he's well enough to listen to straight talk he'll get it from me." "if there's a girl in america as heartless as angela wren," said mrs. sanders, "i hope i never shall have to meet her." but then mrs. sanders, as we know, had ever been jealous of angela on account of her own true-hearted kate, who refused to say one word on the subject beyond what she said to angela herself. and now they had propped their patient in his reclining-chair and arranged the little table for "the inquisitor general," as mrs. bridger preferred to refer to him, and left them alone together behind closed doors, and had then gone forth to find that all camp sandy seemed to wait with bated breath for the outcome of that interview. sooner than was believed possible it came. an hour, probably, before they thought the colonel could have gathered all he wished to know, that officer was on the front piazza and sending an orderly to the adjutant's office. then came major plume, with quick and nervous step. there was a two-minute conference on the piazza; then both officers vanished within, were gone five minutes, and then plume reappeared alone, went straight to his home, and slammed the door behind him, a solecism rarely known at sandy, and presently on the hot and pulseless air there arose the sound of shrill protestation in strange vernacular. even wren heard the voice, and found something reminiscent in the sound of weeping and wailing that followed. the performer was unquestionably elise--she that had won the ponderous, yet descriptive, indian name "woman-walk-in-the-night." and while this episode was still unexpired the orderly went for lieutenant truman, and truman, with two orderlies, for a box, a bulky little chest, strapped heavily with iron, and this they lugged into sanders's hall and came out heated and mystified. three hours later, close-veiled and in droopy desolation, "mademoiselle lebrun" was bundled into a waiting ambulance and started under sufficient escort, and the care of the hospital matron, _en route_ for prescott, while dr. graham was summoned to attend mrs. plume, and grimly went. "the mean part of the whole business," said mrs. bridger, "is that nobody knows _what_ it means." there was no one along the line, except poor mrs. plume, to regret that sudden and enforced departure, but there was regret universal all over the post when it was learned, still later in the afternoon, that one of the best soldiers and sergeants in the entire garrison had taken the horse of one of the herd guard and galloped away on the trail of the banished one. sergeant shannon, at sunset parade, was reported absent without leave. major plume had come forth from his quarters at the sounding of the retreat, accurately dressed as ever, white-gloved, and wearing his saber. he seemed to realize that all eyes would be upon him. he had, indeed, been tempted again to turn over the command to the senior captain, but wisely thought better of it, and determined to face the music. he looked very sad and gray, however. he returned scrupulously the salute of the four company commanders as, in turn, each came forward to report the result of the evening roll-call; cutler and westervelt first, their companies being the nearest, then lieutenant lynn, temporarily in charge of wren's troop, its captain and first lieutenant being still "on sick report." the sight of this young officer set the major to thinking of that evening not so many moons agone when captain wren himself appeared and in resonant, far-carrying tone announced "lieutenant blakely, sir, is absent." he had been thinking much of blakely through the solemn afternoon, as he wandered nervously about his darkened quarters, sometimes tiptoeing to the bedside of his feebly moaning, petulant wife, sometimes pacing the library and hall. he had been again for half an hour closeted with byrne and the bugologist, certain letters being under inspection. he hardly heard the young officer, lynn, as he said "troop 'c,' all present, sir." he was looking beyond him at captain sanders, coming striding over the barren parade, with import in his eye. plume felt that there was trouble ahead before ever sanders reached the prescribed six paces, halted, raised his hand in salute, and, just as did wren on that earlier occasion, announced in tones intended to be heard over and beyond the post commander: "sergeant shannon, sir, with one government horse, absent without leave." plume went a shade white, and bit his lips before he could steady himself to question. well he knew that this new devilment was due in some way to that spirit of evil so long harbored by his wife, and suffered by himself. all the story of the strife she had stirred in the garrison had reached him days before. downs's drunkenness and desertion, beyond doubt, were chargeable to her, as well as another and worse crime, unless all indications were at fault. then there was the breach between carmody and shannon, formerly stanch friends and comrades, and now carmody lay buried beneath the rocks in bear cañon, and shannon, as gallant and useful a sergeant as ever served, had thrown to the winds his record of the past and his hopes for the future, and gone in mad pursuit of a worthless hoyden. and all because clarice would have that woman with her wherever she might go. "when did this happen?" he presently asked. "just after stable call, sir. the horses were all returned to the corral except the herd guard's. the men marched over, as usual, with their halters. shannon fell out as they entered the gate, took young bennett's rein as he stood ready to lead in after them, mounted and rode round back of the wall, leaving bennett so surprised that he didn't know what to say. he never suspected anything wrong until shannon failed to reappear. then he followed round back of the corral, found the sergeant's stable frock lying halfway out toward the bluff, and saw a streak of dust toward bowlder point. then he came and reported." plume, after a moment's silence, turned abruptly. he had suffered much that day, and to think of his wife lying stricken and whimpering, professing herself a sorely injured woman because compelled at last to part with her maid, angered him beyond the point of toleration. tossing his saber to the china boy, he went straightway aloft, failing to note in the dim light that two soft-hearted sympathizers were cooing by the gentle sufferer's side. "well, clarice," he broke in abruptly, "we are never to hear the end of that she-cat's doings! my best sergeant has stolen a horse and gone galloping after her." it is always our best we lose when our better half is to blame, nor is it the way of brutal man to minimize the calamity on such occasions. it did not better matters that her much-wronged ladyship should speedily reply: "it's a wonder you don't charge the indian outbreak to poor elise. i don't believe she had a thing to do with your sergeant's stealing." "you wouldn't believe she stole my whisky and gave it to downs, though you admitted she told you she had to go back that night for something she'd dropped. you wouldn't believe she married that rascally gambler at st. louis before her first husband was out of the way! you shielded and swore by her, and brought her out here, and all the time the proofs were here in blakely's hands. it was _she_, i suppose, who broke off--" but here, indeed, was it high time to break off. the visitors were now visibly rising in all proper embarrassment, for mrs. plume had started up, with staring eyes. "proofs!" she cried, "in blakely's hands! why, she told me--my own letters!--my--" and then brutal man was brought to his senses and made to see how heartless and cruel was his conduct, for mrs. plume went into a fit and mrs. lynn for the doctor. that was a wild night at sandy. two young matrons had made up their minds that it was shameful to leave poor mrs. plume without anybody to listen to her, when she might so long for sympathetic hearers, and have so much to tell. they had entered as soon as the major came forth and, softly tapping at the stricken one's door, had been with her barely five minutes when he came tearing back, and all this tremendous scene occurred before they could put in a word to prevent, which, of course, they were dying to do. but what _hadn't_ they heard in that swift moment! between the two of them--and mrs. bridger was the other--their agitation was such that it all had to be told. then, like the measles, one revelation led to another, but it was several days before the garrison settled down in possession of an array of facts sufficient to keep it in gossip for many a month. meanwhile, many a change had come over the scene. at prescott, then the territorial capital, elise layton, _née_ lebrun, was held without bail because it couldn't be had, charged with obtaining money under false pretenses, bigamy as a side issue, and arson as a possible backstop. the sleep-walking theory, as advanced in favor of mrs. plume, had been reluctantly abandoned, it appearing that, however dazed and "doped" she may have been through the treatment of that deft-fingered, unscrupulous maid, she was sufficiently wide awake to know well whither she had gone at that woman's urging, to make a last effort to recover certain letters of vital importance. at blakely's door clarice had "lost her nerve" and insisted on returning, but not so elise. she went again, and had well-nigh gotten downs drunk enough to do as she demanded. frankly, sadly, plume went to blakely, told him of his wife's admissions, and asked him what papers of hers he retained. for a moment blakely had blazed with indignation, but plume's sorrow, and utter innocence of wrong intent, stilled his wrath and led to his answer: "every letter of mrs. plume's i burned before she was married, and i so assured her. she herself wrote asking me to burn rather than return them, but there were letters and papers i could not burn, brought to me by a poor devil that woman elise had married, tricked into jail, and then deserted. he disappeared afterward, and even pinkerton's people haven't been able to find him. those papers are his property. you and colonel byrne are the only men who have seen them, though they were somewhat exposed just after the fire. she made three attempts to get me to give them up to her. then, i believe, she strove to get downs to steal them, and gave him the money with which to desert and bring them to her. he couldn't get into the iron box; couldn't lug it out, and somehow, probably, set fire to the place, scratching matches in there. perhaps she even persuaded him to do that as a last resort. he knew i could get out safely. at all events, he was scared out of his wits and deserted with what he had. it was in trying to make his way eastward by the wingate road that there came the last of poor ups and downs." and so the story of this baleful influence over a weak, half-drugged girl, her mistress, became known to plume and gradually to others. it was easy for elise to make her believe that, in spite of the word of a gentleman, her impulsive love letters were still held by blakely because he had never forgiven her. it was elise, indeed, who had roused her jealousy and had done her best to break that engagement with blakely and to lead to the match with the handsome and devoted major. intrigue and lying were as the breath of the woman's nostrils. she lived in them. but sandy was never to see her again. "woman-walk-in-the-night" was "woman-walk-no-more." and now the friendless creature stood charged with more crimes than would fill the meager space of a territorial jail, and yet the one originally laid at her door, though never publicly announced, was now omitted entirely--that of assault with deadly weapon, possibly with intent to kill. even mother shaughnessy and norah were silenced, and pat mullins put to confusion. even the latest punctured patient at the hospital, private todd, had to serve as evidence in behalf of elise, for graham, post surgeon, had calmly declared that the same weapon that so nearly killed pat mullins had as nearly and neatly done the deed for todd--the keen apache knife of princess natzie. "the heathen child was making her usual night visit to her white lover," said wren grimly, having in mind the womanly shape he had seen that starlit morning at blakely's rear door. "you're right in one guess, r-robert wren," was the prompt answer of his friend and fellow scot, who glared at janet rather than his convalescent as he spoke. "and ye're wrang in twanty. she _was_ tryin', and didn't know the way. she _was_ tryin', for she had his watch and pocketbook. you're wrang if ye think she was ever there before or after. the slut you saw cryin' at his back door was that quean elise, an' ye well know there was no love lost between them. go say yer prayers, man, for every wicked thought ye've had of him--or of that poor child. between them they saved your angela!" chapter xxvii the parting by the waters "some day i may tell miss angela--but never you," had mr. blakely said, before setting forth on his perilous essay to find angela's father, and with native tenacity miss wren the elder had remembered the words and nourished her wrath. it was strange, indeed, that plume, an officer and a gentleman, should have bethought him of the "austere vestal" as a companion witness to blakely's supposed iniquity; but, between these two natures,--one strong, one weak,--there had sprung up the strange sympathy that is born of a common, deep-rooted, yet ill-defined antipathy--one for which neither she nor he could yet give good reason, and of which each was secretly ashamed. each, for reasons of her or his own, cordially disliked the bugologist, and each could not but welcome evidence to warrant such dislike. it is human nature. janet wren had strong convictions that the man was immoral, if for no other reason than that he obviously sought angela and as obviously avoided her. janet had believed him capable of carrying on a _liaison_ with the dame who had jilted him, and had had to see that theory crushed. then she would have it that, if not the mistress, he dallied with the maid, and when it began to transpire that virulent hatred was the only passion felt for him by that baffling and detestable daughter of belial, there came actual joy to the soul of the scotchwoman that, after all, her intuition had not been at fault. he was immoral as she would have him, even more so, for he had taken base advantage of the young and presumably innocent. she craved some proof, and plume knew it, and, seeing her there alone in her dejection, had bidden her come and look--with the result described. his own feeling toward blakely is difficult to explain. kind friends had told him at st. louis how inseparable had been clarice and this very superior young officer. she had admitted to him the "flirtation," but denied all regard for blakely, yet plume speedily found her moody, fitful, and unhappy, and made up his mind that blakely was at the bottom of it. her desire to go to far-away arizona could have no other explanation. and though in no way whatever, by look, word, or deed, had blakely transgressed the strictest rule in his bearing toward the major's wife, both major and wife became incensed at him,--plume because he believed the bugologist still cherished a tender passion for his wife--or she for him; clarice, it must be owned, because she knew well he did not. plume sought to find a flaw in his subordinate's moral armor to warrant the aversion that he felt, and was balked at every turn. it was with joy almost fierce he discovered what he thought to be proof that the subaltern was no saint, and, never stopping to give his better nature time to rise and rebuke him, he had summoned janet. it was to sting blakely, more than to punish the girl, he had ordered natzie to the guard-room. then, as the hours wore on and he realized how contemptible had been his conduct, the sense of shame well-nigh crushed him, and though it galled him to think that some of his own kind, probably, had connived at natzie's escape, he thanked god the girl was gone. and now having convinced herself that here at last she had positive proof of mr. blakely's depravity, aunt janet had not scrupled to bear it to angela, with sharp and surprising result. a good girl, a dutiful girl, was angela, as we have seen, but she, too, had her share of fighting scotch blood and a bent for revolt that needed only a reason. for days aunt janet had bidden her shun the young man, first naming mrs. plume and then elsie as the cause and corespondent. one after another graham had demolished these possibilities, to the end that even wren was ashamed of his unworthy suspicions. then it was natzie who was the prey of blakely's immorality, and for that, janet declared, quite as much as for stabbing the soldier, the girl had been sent to the cells. it was late in the day when she managed to find angela away from her father, who, realizing what natzie had done and suffered to save his own ewe lamb, was now in keen distress of mind because powerless to raise a hand to aid her. he wondered that angela seemed so unresponsive--that she did not flare up in protest at such degrading punishment for the girl who had saved her life. he little knew how his daughter's heart was burning within her. he never dreamed that she, too, was suffering--torn by conflicting emotions. it was a sore thing to find that in her benefactress lived an unsuspected rival. just before sunset she had left him and gone to her room to change her dress for the evening, and janet's first swoop was upon her brother. once before during the exciting day she had had a moment to herself and him. she had so constantly fanned the flame of his belief in blakely's gallantries as even to throttle the sense of gratitude he felt, and, in spite of herself, that she felt for that officer's daring and successful services during the campaign. she felt, and he felt, that they must disapprove of blakely--must stamp out any nascent regard that angela might cherish for him, and to this end would never in her presence admit that he had been instrumental in the rescue of his captain, much less his captain's daughter. hurriedly janet had told him what she and plume had seen, and left him to ponder over it. now she came to induce him to bid her tell it all to angela. "now that, that other--affair--seems disproved," said she, "she'll be thinking there's no reason why she shouldn't be thinking of him," and dejectedly the scotchman bade her do as seemed best. women, he reasoned, could better read each other's hearts. and so janet had gone and had thought to shock, and had most impressively detailed what she had witnessed--i fear me janet scrupled not to embroider a bit, so much is permissible to the "unco guid" when so very much is at stake. and angela went on brushing out her beautiful hair without a sign of emotion. to the scandal of scotch maidenhood she seemed unimpressed by the depravity of the pair. to the surprise of aunt janet she heard her without interruption to the uttermost word, and then--wished to know if aunt janet thought the major would let her send natzie something for supper. whatever the girl may have thought of this new and possible complication, she determined that no soul should read that it cost her a pang. she declined to discuss it. she did what she had not done before that day--went forth in search of kate sanders. aunt janet was astonished that her niece should wish to send food to that--that trollop. what would she have thought could she have heard what passed a few moments later? in the dusk and the gloaming kate sanders was in conversation on the side veranda with a tall sergeant of her father's troop. "ask her?" kate was saying. "of course i'll ask her. why, here she comes now!" will it be believed that sergeant shannon wished miss angela's permission to "take punch out for a little exercise," a thing he had never ventured to ask before, and that angela wren eagerly said, "yes." poor shannon! he did not know that night how soon he would be borrowing a horse on his own account, nor that two brave girls would nearly cry their eyes out over it, when they were barely on speaking terms. of him there came sad news but the day after his crack-brained, quixotic essay. infatuated with elise, and believing in her promise to marry him, he had placed his savings in her hands, even as had downs and carmody. he had heard the story of her visiting blakely by night, and scouted it. he heard, in a maze of astonishment, that she was being sent to prescott under guard for delivery to the civil authorities, and taking the first horse he could lay hands on, he galloped in chase. he had overtaken the ambulance on cherry creek, and with moving tears she had besought him to save her. faithful to their trust, the guard had to interpose, but, late at night, they reached stemmer's ranch; were met there by a relief guard sent down by captain stout; and the big sergeant who came in charge, with special instructions from stout's own lips, was a new king who knew not joseph, and who sternly bade shannon keep his distance. hot words followed, for the trooper sergeant would stand no hectoring from an equal in rank. shannon's heart was already lost, and now he lost his head. he struck a fellow-sergeant who stood charged with an important duty, and even his own comrades could not interpose when the infantrymen threw themselves upon the raging irish soldier and hammered him hard before they could subdue and bind him, but bind him they did. sadly the trooper guard went back to sandy, bringing the "borrowed" horse and the bad news that shannon had been arrested for assaulting sergeant bull, and all men knew that court-martial and disgrace must follow. it was shannon's last run on the road he knew so well. soldiers of rank came forward to plead for him and bear witness to his worth and services, and the general commanding remitted most of the sentence, restoring to him everything the court had decreed forfeited except the chevrons. they had to go, yet could soon be regained. but no man could restore to him the pride and self-respect that went when he realized that he was only one of several plucked and deluded victims of a female sharper. while the frenchwoman ogled and languished behind the bars, shannon wandered out into the world again, a deserter from the troop he was ashamed to face, an unfollowed, unsought fugitive among the mining camps in the sierras. "three stout soldiers stricken from the rolls--two of them gone to their last account," mused poor plume, as at last he led his unhappy wife away to the sea, "and all the work of one woman!" yes, mrs. plume was gone now for good and all, her devoted, yet sore-hearted major with her, and wren was sufficiently recovered to be up and taking the air on his veranda, where sanders sometimes stopped to see him, and "pass the time of day," but cut his visits short and spoke of everything but what was uppermost in his mind, because his better half persuaded him that only ill would come from preaching. then, late one wonderful day, the interesting invalid, mr. neil blakely himself, was "paraded" upon the piazza in the sanders's special reclining-chair, and kate and mrs. sanders beamed, while nearly all society at the post came and purred and congratulated and took sidelong glances up the row to where angela but a while before was reading to her grim old father, but where the father now read alone, for angela had gone, as was her custom at the hour, to her own little room, and thither did janet conceive it her duty to follow, and there to investigate. "it won't be long now before that young man will be hobbling around the post, i suppose. how do you expect to avoid him?" said the elder maiden, looking with uncompromising austerity at her niece. angela as before had just shaken loose her wealth of billowy tresses and was carefully brushing them. she did not turn from the contemplation of her double in the mirror before her; she did not hesitate in her reply. it was brief, calm, and to the point. "i shall not avoid him." "angela! and after all i--your father and i--have told you!" and aunt janet began to bristle. "two-thirds of what you told me, aunt janet, proved to be without foundation. now i doubt--the rest of it." and aunt janet saw the big eyes beginning to fill; saw the twitching at the corners of the soft, sensitive lips; saw the trembling of the slender, white hand, and the ominous tapping of the slender, shapely foot, but there wasn't a symptom of fear or flinching. the blood of the wrens was up for battle. the child was a woman grown. the day of revolt had come at last. "angela wr-r-ren!" rolled aunt janet. "d'you mean you're going to _see_ him?--speak to him?" "i'm going to see him and--thank him, aunt janet." and now the girl had turned and faced the astounded woman at the door. "you may spare yourself any words upon the subject." the captain was seated in loneliness and mental perturbation just where angela had left him, but no longer pretending to read. his back was toward the southern end of the row. he had not even seen the cause of the impromptu reception at the sanders's. he read what was taking place when angela began to lose her voice, to stumble over her words; and, peering at her under his bushy eyebrows, he saw that the face he loved was flushing, that her young bosom was swiftly rising and falling, the beautiful brown eyes wandering from the page. even before the glad voices from below came ringing to his ears, he read in his daughter's face the tumult in her guileless heart, and then she suddenly caught herself and hurried back to the words that seemed swimming in space before her. but the effort was vain. rising quickly, and with brave effort steadying her voice, she said, "i'll run and dress now, father, dear," and was gone, leaving him to face the problem thrust upon him. had he known that janet, too, had heard from the covert of the screened and shaded window of the little parlor, and then that she had followed, he would have shouted for his german "striker" and sent a mandate to his sister that she could not fail to understand. he did not know that she had been with angela until he heard her footstep and saw her face at the hall doorway. she had not even to roll her r's before the story was told. two days now he had lived in much distress of mind. before quitting the post major plume had laboriously gone the rounds, saying good-by to every officer and lady. two officers he had asked to see alone--the captain and first lieutenant of troop "c." janet knew of this, and should have known it meant amende and reconciliation, perhaps revelation, but because her brother saw fit to sit and ponder, she saw fit to cling unflinchingly to her preconceived ideas and to act according to them. with graham she was exceeding wroth for daring to defend such persons as lieutenant blakely and "that indian squaw." it was akin to opposing weak-minded theories to positive knowledge of facts. she had seen with her own eyes the ignorant, but no less abandoned, creature kneeling at blakely's bedside, her black head pillowed close to his breast. she had seen her spring up in fury at being caught--what else could have so enraged her that she should seek to knife the intruders? argued janet. she believed, or professed to believe, that but for the vigilance of poor todd, now quite happy in his convalescence, the young savage would have murdered both the major and herself. she did not care what dr. graham said. she had seen, and seeing, with janet, was believing. but she knew her brother well, and knew that since graham's impetuous outbreak he had been wavering sadly, and since plume's parting visit had been plunged in a mental slough of doubt and distress. once before his stubborn scotch nature had had to strike its colors and surrender to his own subaltern, and now the same struggle was on again, for what plume said, and said in presence of grim old graham, fairly startled him: "you are not the only one to whom i owe amende and apology, captain wren. i wronged you, when you were shielding--my wife--at no little cost to yourself. i wronged blakely in several ways, and i have had to go and tell him so and beg his pardon. the meanest thing i ever did was bringing miss wren in there to spy on him, unless it was in sending that girl to the guard-house. i'd beg her pardon, too, if she could be found. yes, i see you look glum, wren, but we've all been wrong, i reckon. there's no mystery about it now." and then plume told his tale and wren meekly listened. it might well be, said he, that natzie loved blakely. all her people did. she had been watching him from the willows as he slept that day at the pool. he had forbidden her following him, forbidden her coming to the post, and she feared to wake him, yet when she saw the two prospectors, that had been at hart's, ride over toward the sleeping officer she was startled. she saw them watching, whispering together. then they rode down and tied their horses among the trees a hundred yards below, and came crouching along the bank. she was up in an instant and over the stream at the shallows, and that scared them off long enough to let her reach him. even then she dare not wake him for fear of his anger at her disobedience, but his coat was open, his watch and wallet easy to take. she quickly seized them--the little picture-case being within the wallet at the moment--and sped back to her covert. then angela had come cantering down the sandy road; had gone on down stream, passing even the prowling prospectors, and after a few minutes had returned and dismounted among the willows above where blakely lay--angela whom poor natzie believed to be blakely's sister. natzie supposed her looking for her brother, and wondered why she waited. natzie finally signaled and pointed when she saw that angela was going in disappointment at not finding him. natzie witnessed angela's theft of the net and her laughing ride away. by this time the prospectors had given up and gone about their business, and then, while she was wondering how best to restore the property, lola and alchisay had come with the annoying news that the agent was angered and had sent trailers after her. they were even then only a little way up stream. the three then made a run for the rocks to the east, and there remained in hiding. that night natzie had done her best to find her way to blakely with the property, and the rest they knew. the watch was dropped in the struggle on the _mesa_ when mullins was stabbed, the picture-case that morning at the major's quarters. "was it blakely told you all this, sir?" wren had asked, still wrong-headed and suspicious. "no, wren. it was i told blakely. all this was given me by lola's father, the interpreter, back from chevlon's fork only yesterday. i sent him to try to persuade natzie and her kinsfolk to return. i have promised them immunity." then plume and graham had gone, leaving wren to brood and ponder, and this had he been doing two mortal days and nights without definite result, and now came janet to bring things to a head. in grim and ominous silence he listened to her recital, saying never a word until her final appeal: "r-r-robert, is our girlie going daft, do you think? she solemnly said to me--to me--but a minute ago, 'i mean to go to him myself--and thank him!'" and solemnly the soldier looked up from his reclining-chair and studied his sister's amazed and anxious face. then he took her thin, white hand between his own thin, brown paws and patted it gently. she recoiled slowly as she saw contrition, not condemnation, in his blinking eyes. "god forgive us all, janet! it's what i ought to have done days ago." * * * * * another cloudless afternoon had come, and, under the willows at the edge of the pool, a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day was nearly done. all in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though the cliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance of slanting sunshine. not a whisper of breeze stirred the drooping foliage along the sandy shores, or ruffled the liquid mirror surface. not a sound, save drowsy hum of beetle or soft murmur of rippling waters among the pebbly shadows below, broke the vast silence of the scene. just where angela was seated that october day on which our story opened, she was seated now, with the greyhounds stretched sprawling in the warm sands at her feet, with punch blinking lazily and switching his long tail in the thick of the willows. and somebody else was there, close at hand. the shadows of the westward heights had gradually risen to the crest of the rocky cliffs across the stream. a soft, prolonged call of distant trumpet summoned homeward for the coming night the scattered herds and herd guards of the post, and, rising suddenly, her hand upon a swift-throbbing heart, her red lips parted in eagerness or excitement uncontrollable, angela stood intently listening. over among the thickets across the pool the voice of an indian girl was uplifted in some weird, uncanny song. the voice was shrill, yet not unmusical. the song was savage, yet not lacking some crude harmony. she could not see the singer, but she knew. natzie's people had returned to the agency, accepting the olive branch that plume had tendered them--natzie herself was here. at the first sound of the uplifted voice an apache boy, crouching in the shrubbery at the edge of the pool, rose quickly to his feet, and, swift and noiseless, stole away into the thicket. if he thought to conceal himself or his purpose his caution was needless. angela neither saw nor heard him. neither was it the song nor the singer that now arrested her attention. so still was the air, so deep was the silence of nature, that even on such sandy roads and bridlepaths as traversed the winding valley, the faintest hoof-beat was carried far. another horse, another rider, was quickly coming. tonto, the big hound nearest her, lifted his shapely head and listened a moment, then went bounding away through the willows, followed swiftly by his mate. they knew the hoof-beats, and joyously ran to meet and welcome the rider. angela knew them quite as well, but could neither run to meet, nor could she fly. only twice, as yet, had she opportunity to see or to thank neil blakely, and a week had passed since her straightforward challenge to aunt janet. as soon as he could walk unaided, save by his stick, wren had gone stumping down the line to sanders's quarters and asked for mr. blakely, with whom he had an uninterrupted talk of half an hour. within two days thereafter mr. blakely in person returned the call, being received with awful state and solemnity by miss wren herself. angela, summoned by her father's voice, came flitting down a moment later, and there in the little army parlor, where first she had sought to "entertain" him until the captain should appear, our angela was once again brought face to face with him who had meanwhile risked his life in the effort to rescue her father, and again in the effort to find and rescue her. a fine blush mantled her winsome face as she entered, and, without a glance at janet, went straightway to their visitor, with extended hand. "i am so glad to see you again, mr. blakely," she bravely began. "i have--so much--to thank you--" but her brown eyes fell before the fire in the blue and her whole being thrilled at the fervor of his handclasp. she drew her hand away, the color mounting higher, then snuggled to her father's side with intent to take his arm; but, realizing suddenly how her own was trembling, grasped instead the back of a chair. blakely was saying something, she knew not what, nor could she ever recall much that anyone said during the brief ten minutes of his stay, for there sat aunt janet, bolt upright, after the fashion of fifty years gone by, a formidable picture indeed, and angela wondered that anyone could say anything at all. next time they met she was riding home and he sat on the south veranda with mrs. sanders and kate. she would have ridden by with just a nod and smile; but, at sight of her, he "hobbled" down the steps and came hurriedly out to speak, whereupon mrs. sanders, who knew much better, followed to "help him," as she said. "help, indeed!" quoth angry kate, usually most dutiful of daughters. "you'd only hinder!" but even that presence had not stopped his saying: "the doctor promises i may ride hart's single-footer in a day or two, miss angela, and then--" and now it was a "single-footer" coming, the only one at sandy. of course it might be hart, not blakely, and yet blakely had seen her as she rode away. it was blakely's voice--how seldom she had heard, yet how well she knew it! answering the joyous welcome of the hounds. it was blakely who came riding straight in among the willows, a radiance in his thin and lately pallid face--blakely who quickly, yet awkwardly, dismounted, for it still caused him pain, and then, forgetful of his horse, came instantly to her as she stood there, smiling, yet tremulous. the hand that sought hers fairly shook, but that, said angela, though she well knew better, might have been from weakness or from riding. for a moment he did not speak. it was she who began. she thought he should know at once. "did you--hear her singing--too?" she hazarded. "hear?--who?" he replied, grudgingly letting go the hand because it pulled with such determination. "why--natzie, i suppose. at least--i haven't seen her," she stammered, her cheeks all crimson now. "natzie, indeed!" he answered, in surprise, turning slowly and studying the opposite willows. "it is only a day or two since they came in. i thought she'd soon be down." obviously her coming caused him neither embarrassment nor concern. "she still has a notecase of mine. i suppose you heard?" and his clear blue eyes were fastened on her lovely, downcast face. "something. not much," she answered, drawing back a little, for he stood so close to her she could have heard the beating of his heart--but for her own. all was silence over there in the opposite willows, but so it was the day natzie had so suddenly appeared from nowhere, and he saw the hurried glance she sent across the pool. "has she worried you?" he began, "has she been--" spying, he was going to say, and she knew it, and grew redder still with vexation. natzie could claim at least that she was not without a shining example had she come there to spy, but blakely had that to say to her that deserved undivided attention, and there is a time when even one's preserver and greatest benefactor may be _de trop_. "will you wait--one moment?" he suddenly asked. "i'll go to the rocks yonder and call her," and then, almost as suddenly, the voice was again uplifted in the same weird, barbaric song, and the singer had gone from the depths of the opposite thicket and was somewhere farther up stream, still hidden from their gaze--still, possibly, ignorant of angela's presence. the brown eyes were at the moment following the tall, white form, moving slowly through the winding, faintly-worn pathway toward the upper shallows where, like stepping stones, the big rocks stretched from shore to shore, and she was startled to note that the moment the song began he stopped short a second or two, listened intently, then almost sprang forward in his haste to reach the crossing. another minute and he was out of sight among the shrubbery. another, and she heard the single shot of a revolver, and there he stood at the rocky point, a smoking pistol in his hand. instantly the song ceased, and then his voice was uplifted, calling, "natzie! natzie!" with breathless interest angela gazed and, presently, parting the shrubbery with her little brown hands, the indian girl stepped forth into the light and stood in silence, her great black eyes fixed mournfully upon him. could this be their mountain princess--the daring, the resolute, the commanding? could this be the fierce, lissome, panther-like creature before whose blow two of their stoutest men had fallen? there was dejection inexpressible in her very attitude. there was no longer bravery or adornment in her dress. there was no more of queen--of chieftain's daughter--in this downcast child of the desert. he called again, "natzie," and held forth his hand. her head had drooped upon her breast, but, once again, she looked upon him, and then, with one slow, hesitant, backward glance about her, stepped forward, her little, moccasined feet flitting from rock to rock across the murmuring shallows until she stood before him. then he spoke, but she only shook her head and let it droop again, her hands passively clasping. he knew too little of her tongue to plead with her. he knew, perhaps, too little of womankind to appreciate what he was doing. finding words useless, he gently took her hand and drew her with him, and passively she obeyed, and for a moment they disappeared from angela's view. then presently the tall, white form came again in sight, slowly leading the unresisting child, until, in another moment, they stepped within the little open space among the willows. at the same instant angela arose, and the daughter of the soldier and the daughter of the savage, the one with timid yet hopeful welcome and greeting in her lovely face, the other with sudden amaze, scorn, passion, and jealous fury in her burning eyes, stood a breathless moment confronted. then, all in a second, with one half-stifled, inarticulate cry, natzie wrenched her hand from that of blakely, and, with the spring of a tigress, bounded away. just at the edge of the pool she halted, whirled about, tore from her bosom a flat, oblong packet and hurled it at his feet; then, with the dart of a frightened deer, drove through the northward willows. angela saw her run blindly up the bank, leaping thence to the rocks below, bounding from one to another with the wild grace of the antelope. another instant and she had reached the opposite shore, and there, tossing her arms wildly above her head, her black tresses streaming behind her, with a cry that was almost a scream, she plunged into the heart of the thicket; the stubborn branches closed behind her, and our apache queen was gone. as they met, so had they parted, by the waters of the pool. [illustration: "natzie wrenched her hand from that of blakely, and with the spring of a tigress bounded away"] when blakely turned again to angela she, too, was gone. he found her a little later, her arms twined about her pony's neck, her face buried in his mane, and sobbing as though her heart would break. on a soft, starlit evening within the week, no longer weeping, but leaning on blakely's arm, angela stood at the edge of the bluff, looking far out over the red rock country to the northeast. the sentry had reported a distant signal fire, and several of the younger people had strolled out to see. whatever it was that had caused the report had vanished by the time they reached the post, so, presently, kate sanders started the homeward move, and now even the sentry had disappeared in the darkness. when angela, too, would have returned, his arm restrained. she knew it would. she knew he had not spoken that evening at the willows because of her tears. she knew he had been patient, forbearing, gentle, yet well she knew he meant now to speak and wait no longer. "do you remember," he began, "when i said that some day i should tell you--but never your aunt--who it was that came to my quarters that night--and why she came?" and though she sought to remove her hand from his arm he would not let it go. "you _did_ tell me," she answered, her eyelids drooping. "i _did_!--when?" though the face was downcast, the sensitive lips began to quiver with merriment and mischief. "the same day you took me for--your mother--and asked me to sing for you." "angela!" he cried, in amaze, and turning quickly toward her, "what can you mean?" "just what i say. you began as though i were your sister, then your mother. i think, perhaps, if we'd had another hour together it would have been grandmother." she was shaking with suppressed laughter now, or was it violent trembling, for his heart, like hers, was bounding. "i must indeed have been delirious," he answered now, not laughing, not even smiling. he had possessed himself of that other hand, despite its fluttering effort. his voice was deep and grave and tremulous. "i called you anything but what i most longed to call you--what i pray god i may call you, angela--my wife!" l'envoi there was a wedding at sandy that winter when pat mullins took his discharge, and his land warrant, and a claim up the beaver, and norah shaughnessy to wife. there was another, many a mile from sandy, when the may blossoms were showering in the orchard of a fair old homestead in the distant east, and then neil blakely took his bride to see "the land of the leal" after the little peep at the lands that now she shared with him. there is one room in the beautiful old colonial mansion that they soon learned to call "father's," in anticipation of the time when he should retire and come to hang the old saber on the older mantel and spend his declining years with them. there is another, sacred to aunt janet, where she was often welcomed, a woman long since reconciled to angela's once "obnoxious," but ever devoted admirer. there were some points in which aunt janet suffered sore. she had views of her own upon the rearing and management of children, and these views she did at first oppose to those of angela, but not for long. in this, as in her choice of a husband, angela had to read her declaration of independence to the elder woman. there is another room filled with relics of their frontier days,--indian weapons, blankets, beadwork,--and among these, in a sort of shrine of its own, there hangs a portrait made by a famous artist from a little tintype, taken by some wandering photographer about the old apache reservation. wren wrote them, ere the regiment left arizona, that she who had been their rescuer, and then so long disappeared, finally wedded a young brave of the chiricahua band and went with him to mexico. that portrait is the only relic they have of a never forgotten benefactress--natzie, their apache princess. the end. * * * * * a daughter _of the_ sioux by general charles king a tale of the indian frontier illustrations by frederic remington and edwin willard deming * * * * * some press notes the chicago daily news a stronger story than any he has written for many years. the philadelphia item a genuinely delightful tale, clean, wholesome, thoroughly enjoyable.... the baltimore american is full of interest, and equals, if not surpasses, his best previous efforts. the portland (me.) press this captivating novel is quite perfect of its kind and there is not one dull line from start to finish. the burlington hawkeye is one of general king's best works and withal a most entertaining and fascinating story of army life. the san francisco chronicle the story is full of life and movement, and all the details of army life are described with that perfect knowledge which carries conviction to the reader. the cleveland leader it is the strongest and most entertaining story he has written for many a day.... it gets a grip on the reader in the first chapters and holds it to the end. the world, new york city a soldier's story told with a soldier's swing.... is capitally illustrated and has a particularly handsome and tasteful cover portrait of the heroine in colors. the pittsburg leader there is a naturalness about the story that makes it of decided interest, and every one who reads it will lay the book down with a feeling of regret that the end has been reached so soon. the minneapolis tribune is the best piece of work general king has given his admiring public in a long time. is full of incident and romance, and its central theme contains a dramatic power worthy of subject and author. the literary world to general king we are deeply indebted for much information concerning family life at fort and trading post. in these days of the problem novel and the yellow journal, it is a mental pleasure and a moral profit to read of men who are in love with their own wives, of women who adore their own husbands. * * * * * price, $1.50 for sale everywhere or sent postpaid on receipt of price by * * * * * low priced popular editions of the earlier military novels of gen. charles king in entirely new bindings list of titles found in the philippines a garrison tangle an army wife noble blood fort frayne warrior gap a wounded name trumpeter fred * * * * * _retail price, 50 cents_ for sale everywhere or sent postpaid on receipt of price by * * * * * the hobart company publishers 114 fifth avenue new york city * * * * * the heritage of unrest [illustration: logo] the heritage of unrest by gwendolen overton new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. 1901 _all rights reserved_ copyright, 1901, by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped february, 1901. reprinted april, twice, 1901; june, 1901. norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith norwood mass. u.s.a. the heritage of unrest it is one thing to be sacrificed to a cause, even if it is only by filling up the ditch that others may cross to victory; it is quite another to be sacrificed in a cause, to die unavailingly without profit or glory of any kind, to be even an obstacle thrown across the way. and that was the end which looked cabot in the face. he stood and considered his horse where it lay in the white dust, with its bloodshot eyes turned up to a sky that burned like a great blue flame. its tongue, all black and swollen, hung out upon the sand, its flanks were sunken, and its forelegs limp. cabot was not an unmerciful man, but if he had had his sabre just then, he would have dug and turned it in the useless carcass. he was beside himself with fear; fear of the death which had come to the cow and the calf whose chalk-white skeletons were at his feet, of the flat desert and the low bare hills, miles upon miles away, rising a little above the level, tawny and dry, giving no hope of shelter or streams or shade. he had foreseen it all when the horse had stumbled in a snake hole, had limped and struggled a few yards farther, and then, as he slipped to the ground, had stood quite still, swaying from side to side, with its legs wide apart, until it fell. he gritted his teeth so that the veins stood out on his temples, and, going closer, jerked at the bridle and kicked at its belly with the toe of his heavy boot, until the glassy eye lighted with keener pain. the column halted, and the lieutenant in command rode back. he, too, looked down at the horse, pulling at his mustache with one gauntleted hand. he had played with cabot when they had been children together, in that green land of peace and plenty which they called the east. they had been schoolmates, and they had the same class sympathies even now, though the barrier of rank was between them, and the dismounted man was a private in landor's own troop. landor liked the private for the sake of the old times and for the memory of a youth which had held a better promise for both than manhood had fulfilled. "done up,--is it?" he said thoughtfully. his voice was hard because he realized the full ugliness of it. he had seen the thing happen once before. cabot did not answer. the gasping horse on the sand, moving its neck in a weak attempt to get up, was answer enough. he stood with his hands hanging helplessly, looking at it in wrath and desperation. landor took stock of the others. there had been five led horses twenty-four hours before, when they had started on a hot trail after the chief cochise. but they had taken the places of five others that had dropped in their tracks to feed the vultures that followed always, flying above in the quivering blue. they were a sorry lot, the two score that remained. in the spring of '61, when the handful of frontier troops was pressed with enemies red and brown and white, the cavalry was not well mounted. landor saw that his own horse was the best; and it bid very fair to play out soon enough. but until it should do so, his course was plain. he gathered his reins in his hands. "you can mount behind me, cabot," he said. the man shook his head. it was bad enough that he had come down himself without bringing others down too. he tried to say so, but time was too good a thing to be wasted in argument, where an order would serve. there was a water hole to be reached somewhere to the southwest, over beyond the soft, dun hills, and it had to be reached soon. minutes spelled death under that white hot sun. landor changed from the friend to the officer, and cabot threw himself across the narrow haunches that gave weakly under his weight. it went well enough for a time, and the hills seemed coming a little nearer, to be rougher on the surface. then the double-loaded horse fagged. cabot felt that it did, and grasped hard on the burning cantle as he made his resolve. when landor used his spurs for the first time, he loosed his hold and dropped to the ground. landor drew rein and turned upon him with oaths and a purpled face. "what the devil are you trying to do now?" he said. cabot told him that he was preparing to remain where he was. his voice was firm and his lips were set under the sun-bleached yellow of his beard, but his face was gray, for all the tan. he lapsed into the speech of other days. "no use, jack," he said; "it's worse than court-martial--what i've got to face here. just leave me some water and rations, and you go on." landor tried another way then, and leaned from his saddle in his earnestness. he put it in the light of a favor to himself. but cabot's refusal was unanswerable. it was better one than two, he said, and no horse in the command could carry double. "i will try to reach the water hole. leave a man there for me with a horse. if i don't--" he forced a laugh as he looked up at the buzzard which was dropping closer down above him. "you could take turns riding behind the men." "no," cabot told him, "i couldn't--not without delaying you. the trail's too hot for that. if you'll put a fourth and last bullet into cochise, the loss of a little thing like me won't matter much." he stopped short, and his chin dropped, weakly, undecided. "jack," he said, going up and running his hand in and out underneath the girths. he spoke almost too low to be heard, and the men who were nearest rode a few feet away. "jack, will you do something for me? will you--that is--there is a fellow named mcdonald up at the mescalero agency. he's got a little four-year-old girl he's taking care of." he hurried along, looking away from landor's puzzled face. "she's the daughter of a half-breed mescalero woman, who was killed by the mexicans. if i don't come out of all this, will you get her? tell mcdonald i told you to. i'm her father." he raised his eyes now, and they were appealing. "it's an awful lot to ask of you, jack, even for old sake's sake. i know that. but the little thing is almost white, and i cared for her mother--in a way. i can't let her go back to the tribe." his lips quivered and he bit at them nervously. "i kept meaning to get her away somehow." there was a sort of pity on landor's face, pity and half contempt. he had heard that from cabot so often for so many years, "i kept meaning to do this thing or the other, somehow, some day." "but it looks as though you might have to do it now. will you, lieutenant?" he tugged at the cinchings while he waited. landor was without impulses; the very reverse from boyhood of the man on the ground beside him, which was why, perhaps, it had come to be as it was now. he considered before he replied. but having considered, he answered that he would, and that he would do his best for the child always. once he had said it, he might be trusted beyond the shadow of a doubt. "thank you," said cabot, and drew his hand from the girths. he cut landor short when he tried to change him again. "you are losing time," he told him, "and if you stay here from now to next week it won't do any good. i'll foot it to the water hole, if i can. otherwise--" the feeble laugh once more as his eyes shifted to where a big, gray prairie wolf was going across the flat, stopping now and then to watch them, then swinging on again. they came around him and offered him their horses, dismounting even, and forcing the reins into his hands. "you don't know what you are doing," a corporal urged. "you'll never get out alive. if it ain't indians, it'll be thirst." then he looked into cabot's face and saw that he did know, that he knew very well. and so they left him at last, with more of the tepid alkali water than they well could spare from their canteens, with two days' rations and an extra cartridge belt, and trotted on once more across the plain. he stood quite still and erect, looking after them, a dead light of renunciation of life and hope in his eyes. they came in search of him two days later and scoured the valley and the hills. but the last they ever saw of him was then, following them, a tiny speck upon the desert, making southwest in the direction of the water hole. the big wolf had stopped again, and turned about, coming slowly after him, and two buzzards circled above him, casting down on his path the flitting shadows of their wings. i there was trouble at the san carlos agency, which was in no wise unusual in itself, but was upon this occasion more than ever discouraging. there had been a prospect of lasting peace, the noble red-man was settling down in his filthy rancheria to become a good citizen, because he was tagged with little metal numbers, and was watched unceasingly, and forbidden the manufacture of tizwin, or the raising of the dead with dances, and was told that an appreciative government was prepared to help him if he would only help himself. then some bull-teams going to camp apache had stopped over night at the agency. the teamsters had sold the bucks whiskey, and the bucks had grown very drunk. the representatives of the two tribes which were hereditary enemies, and which the special agent of an all-wise interior department had, nevertheless, shut up within the confines of the same reservation, therewith fell upon and slew each other, and the survivors went upon the warpath--metal tags and all. so the troops had been called out, and landor's was at san carlos. landor himself sat in his tent, upon his mess-chest, and by the light of a candle wrote a despatch which was to go by courier the next morning. gila valley mosquitoes were singing around his head, a knot of chattering squaws and naked children were peering into his tent, the air was oven-hot, coyotes were filling the night with their weird bark, and a papoose was bawling somewhere close by. yet he would have been sufficiently content could he have been let alone--the one plea of the body military from all time. it was not to be. the declared and standing foes of that body pushed their way through the squaws and children. he knew them already. they were stone of the tucson press, sent down to investigate and report, and barnwell, an agency high official, who would gladly assist the misrepresentations, so far as in his power lay. landor knew that they were come to hear what he might have to say about it, and he had decided to say, for once, just what he thought, which is almost invariably unwise, and in this particular case proved exceedingly so, as any one could have foretold. on the principle that a properly conducted fist fight is opened by civilities, however, he mixed three toddies in as many tin coffee cups. they said "how," and drank. after which stone asked what the military were going to do about certain things which he specified, and implied the inability of the military to do anything for any one. landor smiled indolently and said "quien sabe?" stone wished to be told if any one ever did know and suggested, acridly, that if the by-word of the mexican were poco-tiempo, that of the troops was certainly quien-sabe? between the two the citizen got small satisfaction. "i don't know," objected landor; "you get the satisfaction of beginning the row pretty generally--as you did this time--and of saying what you think about us in unmistakable language after we have tried to put things straight for you." stone considered his dignity as a representative of the press, and decided that he would not be treated with levity. he would resent the attitude of the soldiery; but in his resentment he passed the bounds of courtesy altogether, forgetting whose toddy he had just drunk, and beneath whose tent pole he was seated. he said rude things about the military,--that it was pampered and inefficient and gold laced, and that it thought its mission upon earth fulfilled when it sat back and drew princely pay. landor recalled the twenty years of all winter campaigns, dry camps, forced marches, short rations, and long vigils and other annoyances that are not put down in the tactics, and smiled again, with a deep cynicism. barnwell sat silent. he sympathized with stone because his interests lay that way, but he was somewhat unfortunately placed between the military devil and the political deep sea. stone was something of a power in tucson politics, and altogether a great man upon the territorial stump. he was proud of his oratory, and launched into a display of it now, painting luridly the wrongs of the citizen, who, it appeared, was a defenceless, honest, law-abiding child of peace, yet passed his days in seeing his children slaughtered, his wife tortured, his ranches laid waste, and himself shot down and scalped. landor tried to interpose a suggestion that though the whole effect was undoubtedly good and calculated to melt a heart of iron, the rhetoric was muddled; but the reporter swept on; so he clasped his hands behind his head and leaning back against a tent pole, yawned openly. stone came to an end at length, and had to mop his head with a very much bordered handkerchief. the temperature was a little high for so much effort. he met landor's glance challengingly. "well done!" the officer commended. "but considering how it has heated you, you ought to have saved it for some one upon whom it would have had its effect--some one who wasn't round at the time of the aravaypa cañon business, for instance." the agency man thought a question would not commit him. he had not been round at that time, and he asked for information. the lieutenant gave it to him. "it was a little spree they had here in '71. some tucson citizens and papago indians and greasers undertook to avenge their wrongs and show the troops how it ought to be done. so they went to aravaypa cañon, where a lot of peaceable indians were cutting hay, and surprised them one day at sunrise, and killed a hundred and twenty-five of them--mostly women and children." the reporter interposed that it was the act of men maddened by grief and their losses. "i dare say," landor agreed; "it is certainly more charitable to suppose that men who hacked up the bodies of babies, and abused women, and made away with every sort of loot, from a blanket to a string of beads, were mad. it was creditably thorough for madmen, though. and it was the starting-point of all the trouble that it took crook two years to straighten out." stone held that the affair had been grossly exaggerated, and that the proof thereof lay in the acquittal of all accused of the crime, by a jury of their peers; and landor said that the sooner that highly discreditable travesty on justice was forgotten, the better for the good fame of the territory. the press representative waxed eloquent once more, until his neck grew violet with suppressed wrath, which sputtered out now and then in profanity. the officer met his finest flights with cold ridicule, and the agency man improved the opportunity by pouring himself a drink from the flask on the cot. in little it was the reproduction of the whole situation on the frontier--and the politician profited. in those days some strange things happened at agencies. toilet sets were furnished to the apache, who has about as much use for toilet sets as the greenlander has for cotton prints, and who would probably have used them for targets if he had ever gotten them--which he did not. upon the table of a certain agent (and he was an honest man, let it be noted, for the thing was rare) there lay for some time a large rock, which he had labelled with delicate humor "sample of sugar furnished to this agency under--" but the name doesn't matter now. it was close on a quarter of a century ago, and no doubt it is all changed since then. by the same working out, a schoolhouse built of sun-baked mud, to serve as a temple of learning for the red-man, cost the government forty thousand dollars. the apache children who sat within it could have acquired another of the valuable lessons of ojo-blanco from the contractors. beef was furnished the indians on the hoof and calculated by the pound, and the weight of some of those long-horn steers, once they got upon the agency scales, would have done credit to a mastodon. by this method the indian got the number of pounds of meat he was entitled to _per capita_, and there was some left over that the agent might dispose of to his friends. as for the heavy-weight steers, when the apache received them, he tortured them to death with his customary ingenuity. it made the meat tender; and he was an epicure in his way. the situation in the territory, whichever way you looked at it, was not hopeful. when the moon rose, barnwell and stone went away and left landor again with the peeping squaws and the wailing papooses, the mosquitoes and the legacy of their enduring enmity,--an enmity not to be lightly despised, for it could be as annoying and far more serious than the stings of the river-bottom mosquitoes. as they walked across the gleaming dust, their bodies throwing long black shadows, two naked indian boys followed them, creeping forward unperceived, dropping on the ground now and then, and wriggling along like snakes. they were practising for the future. ii in the '70's the frontier was a fact and not a memory, and a woman in the far west was a blessing sent direct from heaven, or from the east, which was much the same thing. lieutenants besought the wives of their brother officers to bring out their sisters and cousins and even aunts, and very weird specimens of the sex sometimes resulted. but even these could reign as queens, dance, ride, flirt to their hearts' content--also marry, which is not always the corollary in these days. the outbreak of a reservation full of indians was a small thing in comparison with the excitement occasioned by the expectation of a girl in the post. there was now at grant the prospect of a girl, and for days ahead the bachelors had planned about her. she was landor's ward,--it was news to them that he had a ward, for he was not given to confidences,--and she was going to visit the wife of his captain, mrs. campbell. when they asked questions, landor said she was eighteen years old, and that her name was cabot, and that as he had not seen her for ten years he did not know whether she were pretty or not. but the vagueness surrounding her was rather attractive than otherwise, on the whole. it was not even known when she would arrive. there was no railroad to arizona. from kansas she would have to travel by ambulance with the troops which were changing station. there was only mrs. campbell who knew the whole story. landor had gone to her for advice, as had been his custom since the days before she had preferred campbell to him. "felipa," he said, "writes that she is going to run away from school, if i don't take her away. she says she will, and she undoubtedly means it. i have always noticed that there is no indecision in her character." mrs. campbell asked where she proposed running to. landor did not know; but she was part apache, he said, and harry cabot's daughter, and it was pretty certain that with that blood in her veins she had the spirit of adventure. she asked what he had thought of doing about it. "i've thought of bringing her on here. but how can i? in a bachelor establishment? my sister won't have her at any terms. she suggested an orphan asylum from the first, and she hasn't changed her mind." mrs. campbell appliqued a black velvet imp on a green felt lambrequin, and thought. "do you ever happen to realize that you have your hands very full?" "yes," he said shortly, "i realize it." he sat staring over her head for a moment of silence. "i foresaw it when i told cabot i'd take her." "might not an orphan asylum have been best, after all?" "it might for me," he said, "but not for her, and i told cabot i'd do my best for her." it had seemed to him his plain duty, and he had done it, and he asked no approbation. mrs. campbell took it as he did, for a matter of course. she wasted no words in expressing admiration for what he had done, but kept to the main issue, making herself useful, as women are rarely content to do when they deal with men, without indulging her taste for the sentimental. "suppose i were to take her?" she suggested. he opposed drawbacks. "you can't keep her always." she smiled. "the chances that she will marry are excellent." he did not answer at once, but sat watching the trumpeter come out of the adjutant's office to sound recall. "yes, she will marry," he agreed; "if no one else marries her, i will. i am as old as her father would have been but it would save telling some fellow about her birth." "did the girl know her own story?" she asked. she did not. he had merely told her that her father was his friend and had died on the plains. "she thinks her mother died at stanton. it is so near the mescalero agency that i let it go at that." they argued it from all sides during the whole of a day, and campbell lent his advice, and the end of it was that felipa cabot came out to the land of her forbears. pending her arrival, landor brought himself to look upon it as his plain duty and only course to marry her. it would save her, and any man who might otherwise happen to love her, from learning what she was. that she might refuse to look at it in that way, did not much enter into his calculations. it required a strong effort for him to decide it so, but it was his way to pick out the roughest possible path before him, to settle within himself that it was that of duty, and to follow it without fagging or complaint. he dreaded any taint of apache blood as he dreaded the venom of a rattler. he had seen its manifestations for twenty odd years, had seen the hostile savage and the civilized one, and shrank most from the latter. but he had promised cabot to do his best by the waif, and the best he could see was to marry her. there was always before him, to urge him on to the sacrifice, the stalwart figure of his boyhood's friend, standing forsaken in the stretch of desert with the buzzards hovering over him in the burning sky. he permitted himself to hope, however, that she was not too obviously a squaw. when the day came he rode out with most of the garrison to meet her. he was anxious. he recalled anne of cleves, and had a fellow-feeling for the king. by the time they came in sight of the marching troops, he had worked himself to such an implicit faith in the worst that he decided that the wide figure, heavily blue-veiled, and linen-dustered, on the back seat of the dougherty was she. it is one of the strongest arguments of the pessimist in favor of his philosophy, that the advantage of expecting the disagreeable lies in the fact that, if he meets with disappointment, it is necessarily a pleasant one. felipa cabot proved to be a lithe creature, who rode beside the ambulance with the officers, and who, in spite of the dust and tan and traces of a hard march, was beautiful. in the reaction of the moment landor thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. but she froze the consequent warmth of his greeting with a certain indefinable stolidity, and she eyed him with an unabashed intention of determining whether he were satisfactory or not, which changed his position to that of the one upon approbation. if she had been less handsome, it would have been repellent. before they had reached the post, he had learned a good deal about her. the elderly major who had come with her from kansas told him that a lieutenant by the name of brewster was insanely in love with her, that the same brewster was a good deal of an ass,--the two facts having no connection, however,--that she was an excellent travelling companion, always satisfied and always well. what the major did not tell him, but what he gathered almost at once, was that the girl had not endeared herself to any one; she was neither loved nor disliked--the lieutenant's infatuation was not to be taken as an indication of her character, of course. but then she was beautiful, with her long, intent eyes, and strong brows and features cut on classic lines of perfection. so landor left the major and cantered ahead to join her, where she rode with brewster. "has the trip been hard?" he asked. she answered that she had enjoyed it all, every day of it, and brewster joined in with ecstatic praises of her horsemanship and endurance, finishing with the unlucky comment that she rode like an indian. "apaches ride badly, don't they?" she said, with calm matter of fact. "if you mean that i am hard on my horse, though, you are right." her voice was exquisitely sweet, without modulation. in the weeks that followed, landor spent days and some nights--those when he sat up to visit the guard, as a rule--attempting to decide why his ward repelled him. she seemed to be quite like any other contented and natural young girl. she danced, and courted admiration, within the bounds of propriety; she was fond of dress, and rather above the average in intelligence. usually she was excellent company, whimsical and sweet-humored. she rode well enough, and learned--to his intense annoyance--to shoot with a bow and arrow quite remarkably, so much so that they nicknamed her diana. he had remonstrated at first, but there was no reason to urge, after all. archery was quite a feminine sport. when his analysis of her failed, he went to mrs. campbell again. "do you grow fond of felipa?" he asked point blank. she tried to parry and evade, but he would not have it, and obliged her to admit that she did not. "not that i dislike her," she explained. "i like to have her round. i dare say it is a whim." he shook his head. "it is not a whim. it is the same with every one. of course brewster has lost his head, but that argues nothing. the endearing quality seems to be lacking in her." she sat considering deeply. she was rocking the baby, with its little fair head lying in the hollow of her shoulder, and landor found himself wondering whether felipa could ever develop motherliness. "it is quite intangible," mrs. campbell half crooned, for the baby's lids were drooping heavily. "i can't find that she lacks a good characteristic. i study her all the time. perhaps the fault is in ourselves, as much as anything, because we insist upon studying her as a problem, instead of simply a very young girl. she is absolutely truthful,--unless she happens to have a grudge against some one, and then she lies without any scruple at all,--and she is generous and unselfish, and very amiable with the children, too." landor asked, with a gleam of hope, if they were attached to her. "yes," she told him, "they are, and it is that makes me think that the fault may be ours. she is so patient with them." at that moment felipa herself came up the steps and joined them on the porch. she walked with the gait of a young athlete. her skirts were short enough to leave her movements unhampered, and she wore on her feet a pair of embroidered moccasins. she seemed to be drawing the very breath of life into her quivering nostrils, and she smiled on them both good-humoredly. "look," she said, going up to landor with a noiseless tread that made him shiver almost visibly. mrs. campbell watched them. she was sorry for him. felipa held out her hand and showed a little brown bird that struggled feebly. she explained that its leg was broken, and he drew back instinctively. there was not a trace of softness or pity in her sweet voice. then he took the bird in his own big hand and asked her how it had happened. "i did it with an arrow," said diana, unslinging her quiver, which was a barbaric affair of mountain-lion skin, red flannel, and beads. "i can't see why you should take pleasure in shooting these harmless things," he said impatiently; "the foot-hills are full of quail, and there are ducks along the creek. for that matter you might try your skill on prairie dogs, it seems to me." she looked down at the curled toe of her moccasin with a certain air of repentance, and answered his question as to what she meant to do with it by explaining that she meant to keep it for a pet. he stroked its head with his finger as it lay still, opening and shutting its bright little eyes. "it won't live," he told her, and then the thought occurred to him to put her to the test. he held the bird out to her. "wring its neck," he said, "and end its misery." she showed no especial repugnance at the idea, but refused flatly, nevertheless. "i can't do that," she said, dropping down into the hammock and swinging herself with the tip of her foot on the floor. "i fail to see why not. you can wound it." "but that is sport," she answered carelessly. he felt that he ought to dislike her cordially, but he did not. he admired her, on the contrary, as he would have admired a fine boy. she seemed to have no religion, no ideals, and no petty vanity; therefore, from his point of judgment, she was not feminine. perhaps the least feminine thing about her was the manner in which she appeared to take it for granted that he was going to marry her, without his having said, as yet, a word to that effect. in a certain way it simplified matters, and in another it made them more difficult. it is not easy to ask a woman to marry you where she looks into your eyes unhesitatingly. but landor decided that it had to be done. she had been in the post four months, and with the standing exception of brewster, whom she discouraged resolutely, none of the officers cared for her beyond the flirtation limit. so one night when they were sitting upon the campbells' steps, he took the plunge. she had been talking earnestly, discussing the advisability of filing off the hammer of the pistol he had given her, to prevent its catching on the holster when she wanted to draw it quickly. one of her long, brown hands was laid on his knee, with the most admirable lack of self-consciousness. he put his own hand upon it, and she looked up questioningly. she was unused to caresses from any but the two campbell children, and her frank surprise held a reproach that softened his voice almost to tenderness. "do you think you could love me, felipa?" he asked, without any preface at all. she said "yes" as frankly as she would have said it to the children. it was blighting to any budding romance, but he tried hard nevertheless to save the next question from absolute baldness. he had a resentful sort of feeling that he was entitled to at least a little idealism. as she would not give it, he tried to find it for himself, noting the grace of her long free neck, the wealth of her coarse black hair, and the beauty of her smiling mouth. but the smiling mouth answered his low-spoken "will you marry me then, dear?" with the same frank assent. "not for a good while, though," she added. "i am too young." that was all, and in a moment she was telling him some of brewster's absurdities, with a certain appreciation of the droll that kept it from being malicious. as he had made mrs. campbell his confidante from the first, he told her about this too, now, and finished with the half-helpless, half-amused query as to what he should do. "it may be any length of time before she decides that she is old enough, and it never seems to occur to her that this state of things can't go on forever, that she is imposing upon you." "and the most serious part of it," he added after a while, "is that she does not love me." "you don't love her, for that matter, either," mrs. campbell reminded him. but she advised the inevitable,--to wait and let it work itself out. so he waited and stood aside somewhat, to watch the course of brewster's suit. he derived some little amusement from it, too, but he wondered with rather a deeper tinge of anxiety than was altogether necessary what the final outcome would be. one morning brewster met felipa coming from the hospital and carrying a wide-mouthed bottle. he joined her and asked if the little lady were going to grow flowers in it. the little lady, who was quite as tall as and a good deal more imposing than himself, answered that it was for a vinagrone. he remonstrated. she was surely not going to make a pet of one of those villanous insects. no. she had caught a tarantula, too, and she was going to make them fight. "were you catching the tarantula yesterday when i saw you lying upon the ground by the dump heap?" "yes," she said, "did you see me? i dare say you thought i was communing with nature in the midst of the old tin cans and horseshoes. well, i wasn't. i was watching the trap of a tarantula nest, and i caught him when he came out. i've watched that hole for three days," she announced triumphantly. "as for the vinagrone, the cook found him in his tent, and i bottled him. come and see the fight," she invited amiably. presently she returned with two bottles. in one was the tarantula, an especially large and hideous specimen, hairy and black, with dull red tinges. in the other the vinagrone, yet more hideous. she went down to the side of the house and emptied both into the wide-mouthed bottle. brewster was in agony. he reached out and caught her hand. "my darling," he cried, "take care!" she turned on him quickly. "let me be," she commanded, and he obeyed humbly. then she corked the bottle and shook it so that the animals rolled on top of each other, and laying it on the ground bent over it with the deepest interest. brewster watched too, fascinated in spite of himself. it was so very ugly. the two wicked little creatures fought desperately. but after a time they withdrew to the sides of the bottle, and were quite still. the tarantula had left a leg lying loose. felipa turned from them and waited, clasping her hands and smiling up at brewster. he, misinterpreting, felt encouraged and begged her to leave the disgusting insects. he had something very different to talk about. she said that she did not want to hear it, and would he bet on the tarantula or the vinagrone? "don't bring them into it," he implored. "if you will not come away, i will tell you now, felipa, that i love you." he was more in earnest than landor had been. she felt that herself. his voice broke, and he paled. but she only considered the insects, which were beginning to move again, and answered absently that she knew it, that he had said it before. "oh! mr. brewster, bet quickly," she urged. he caught her by the arm, exasperated past all civility, and shook her. "do you hear me, felipa cabot? i tell you that i love you." she was strong, slender as she was, and she freed herself almost without effort. and yet he would not be warned. "don't you love me?" he insisted, as though she had not already made it plain enough. "no," she said shortly. "you had better bet." he made as if to kick the bottle away, but quick as a flash she was on her feet and facing him. "you touch that," she said resolutely, "and i'll let them both loose on you." he turned on his heel and left her. landor and the adjutant came by, and she called to them. the adjutant backed the vinagrone with a bag of sutler's candy, and felipa took the tarantula. it was mainly legless trunk, but still furious. landor studied her. she was quiet, but her eyes had grown narrow, and they gleamed curiously at the sight of the torn legs and feelers scattering around the bottle, wriggling and writhing. she was at her very worst. it ended in victory for the vinagrone, but he died from his wounds an hour later. felipa told landor so, as they started for a ride, early in the afternoon. "the vinagrone is dead," she said; "mr. brewster didn't like my fighting them." then she assumed the lofty dignity that contrasted so oddly sometimes with her childish simplicity. "he lacks tact awfully. think of it! he took the occasion to say that he loved me. as though he had not told me so a dozen times before." "and you--what did you say?" asked landor. he was a little surprised to find how anxiously he waited, and the extent of his relief when she answered, "i told him to let me be, or i would set them loose on him." official business called brewster to the agency next day. he stopped overnight, on the way, at a ranch whose owners depended more upon passing travellers than upon the bad soil and the thin cattle. and here fate threw in his way one whom he would have gone well out of that way to find. it was a civilian with whom he was obliged to share his room. he did not fancy having to share his room at all, in the first place, and this and other things made his temper bad. the civilian, on the other hand, was in good temper, and inclined to be communicative. he tried several ways of opening a conversation, and undaunted by rebuffs tried yet once more. like bruce and the spider, it was exactly the seventh time that he succeeded. "how's things up at grant?" he drawled through his beard, as he took off that sacred and ceremonious garment known to the true frontiersman as his vest, and without which he feels as lost as without his high-heeled boots. brewster mumbled out of a towel that he guessed they were all right, and implied what the dickens did it matter to him how they were. "i hear you got jack landor up there?" then brewster began to listen. "yes," he said, emptying the soap-caked water from the indian basket wash basin upon the earth floor; "why?"--"i used to know him in '61. he came up to the mescalero agency then, not long before the texans overran the place. i recollect there was a sort of blizzard and it was seventeen below. he came after a kid me and another feller'd been looking after. pretty little cuss, about four years old. i gave her her first bow'n arrow." brewster took on an elaborate and entirely unnecessary air of indifference, and yawned to heighten the effect. "what did he want of the child?" he asked negligently. "her father was dead. he left her to him." "who was her father?" brewster wanted to know. the man told him. "he'd been a private up to stanton, and had been killed by some of cochise's people that summer. her mother was a half-breed by the name of felipa. good-looking squaw, but dead, too--killed by mexicans. do you happen to know whatever became of the kid?" brewster told him that she was with landor at the post now. "she must be a woman by this time," reflected the civilian. "is she married to him?" brewster explained that she was visiting captain campbell's family. did she show the squaw? he asked. "not unless you knew it was there," the officer said tolerantly. then he went to bed and slept with that peace of mind which comes of a proud consciousness of holding the handle of the whip. in the morning he got the man's name and address before he went on up to the agency. there he heard of landor again. this time it was through barnwell, and the descriptions were picturesque. brewster encouraged them, paying a good deal more heed to them than to the little complaints of the indians he had been sent up to investigate. then he returned to grant, taking with him in the ambulance an enlisted man returning to receive his discharge. barnwell had told brewster about him also. "his name is cairness,--charles cairness,--and he's got a lot of fool theories too," he explained. "he goes in for art, makes some pretty good paintings of the indians, and has picked up some of their lingo. made himself agreeable to the squaws, i guess. the interpreter says there's one got her nose cut off by her buck, on his account." brewster suggested that he thought crook had put a stop to those mutilations, but the official shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know how true it was, and i certainly ain't going to look her up in her rancheria to find out." the hero of the episode rode in the ambulance, sitting on the front seat, holding his carbine across his knees, and peering with sharp, far-sighted blue eyes over the alkali flats. occasionally he took a shot at a jack rabbit and brought it down unfailingly, but the frontiersman has no relish for rabbit meat, and it was left where it dropped, for the crows. he also brought down a sparrow hawk wounded in the wing, and, having bound up the wound, offered it to brewster, who took it as an opening to a conversation and tried to draw him out. "barnwell tells me," he began, "that you have picked up a good deal of apache." "some sierra blanca, sir," said the soldier. it was respectful enough, and yet there was somewhere in the man's whole manner an air of equality, even superiority, that exasperated the lieutenant. it was contrary to good order and military discipline that a private should speak without hesitation, or without offence to the english tongue. brewster resented it, and so the next thing he said was calculated to annoy. "he says you are quite one of them." "he is mistaken, sir." "have you an indian policy?" cairness's eyes turned from a little ground owl on the top of a mound and looked him full in the face. "i really can't see, sir," he said, "how it can matter to any one." it did not in the least matter to brewster, but he was one of those trying people whom nature has deprived of the instinct for knowing when to stop. a very perceptible sneer twitched his lips. "you seem to be english," he said. "i am," announced the soldier. now it is a hazardous undertaking to question an englishman who does not care to be questioned. a person of good judgment would about as lief try to poke up a cross lion to play. but brewster persisted, and asked if cairness would be willing to live among the apaches. "they have their good traits, sir," said the man, civilly, "and chief among them is that they mind their own business." it was impossible to misunderstand, and brewster was vexed beyond the bounds of all wisdom. "the squaws have their good traits, too, i guess. i hear one had her nose cut off on your account." he should not have said it. he knew it, and he knew that the private knew it, but the man made no reply whatever. the remainder of the drive cairness devoted to caring for the broken wing of the hawk, and, during halts, to sketching anything that presented itself,--the mules, the driver, passing mexicans, or the cows trying to graze from ground where the alkali formed patches of white scum. he also accomplished a fine caricature of the lieutenant, and derived considerable silent amusement therefrom. the night of their return to the post, cairness, crossing the parade ground shortly before retreat, saw felipa. he had been walking with his eyes on the earth, debating within himself the question of his future, whether he should reënlist, succumb to the habit of the service, which is to ambition and endeavor what opium is to the system, or drop back into the yet more aimless life he had been leading five years before, when a fit of self-disgust had caused him to decide that he was good for nothing but a trooper, if even that. a long sunset shadow fell across his path, and he looked up. felipa was walking beside a little white burro, and holding mrs. campbell's golden-curled baby upon its back. she carried her head superbly erect, and her step, because of the moccasins, was quite noiseless. the glow of the sunset shone in her unflinching eyes, and lost itself in the dull black mass of her hair. she studied his face calmly, with a perfectly impersonal approval. cairness went on, back to the barracks, and sitting at the troop clerk's desk, made a memory sketch of her. it did not by any means satisfy him, but he kept it nevertheless. that night he sat upon the edge of his bunk, in the darkness, after taps, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand, and thought the matter to a conclusion. the conclusion was that he would not reënlist, and the reason for it was the girl he had met on the parade ground. he knew the power that beauty had over him. it was as real, as irresistible, as a physical sensation. and he thought felipa cabot the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "she should be done in a heroic bronze," he told himself; "but as i can't do it, and as i haven't the right to so much as think about her, i shall be considerably happier at a distance, so i'll go." he went the next day but one, riding out of the post at daylight. and he saw felipa once more. she was standing by the creek, drawing an arrow from her quiver and fitting it to her bow. then she poised the toe of her left foot lightly upon the ground, bent back, and drew the bow almost to a semicircle. the arrow flew straight up into the shimmering air, straight through the body of a little jay, which came whirling, spinning down among the trees. felipa gave a quick leap of delight at having made such a shot, then she darted down in search of the bird. and cairness rode on. iii "hullo there!" cairness drew up his pinto pony in front of a group of log cabins, and, turning in his saddle, rested his hands upon the white and bay flanks. "hullo-o-o!" he repeated. a mule put its head over the wall of a corral and pricked interrogative ears. then two children, as unmistakably angles as those of gregory the great, came around the corner, hand in hand, and stood looking at him. and at length a man, unmistakably an angle too, for all his top boots and flannel shirt and cartridge belt, came striding down to the gate. he opened it and said, "hullo, cairness, old chap," and cairness said, "how are you, kirby?" which answered to the falling upon each other's neck and weeping, of a more effusive race. then they walked up to the corral together. kirby introduced him to his two partners, englishmen also, and finished nailing up the boards of a box stall which a stallion had kicked down in the night. after that he threw down his hammer, took two big nails from his mouth, and sat upon the tongue of a wagon to talk long and earnestly, after the manner of men who have shared a regretted past. "and so," said kirby, as he drew a sack of short cut from his pocket and filled his brier, "and so you have chucked up the army? what are you going to do next? going in for art?" "good lord! no," cairness's smile was rueful. "i've lost all ambition of that sort years since. i'm too old. i've knocked about too long, and i dare say i may as well knock about to the end." kirby suggested, with a hesitation that was born not of insincerity but of delicacy, that they would be awfully glad to have him stop with them and help run the circle k ranch. but cairness shook his head. "thanks. i'll stop long enough to recall the old times, though i dare say it would be better to forget them, wouldn't it? ranching isn't in my line. not that i am at all sure what is in my line, for that matter." after a while kirby went back to his work, directing several mexicans, in hopelessly bad spanish, and laboring with his own hands at about the proportion of three to one. cairness, talking to one of the other men, who was mending a halter, watched him, and recalled the youth in spotless white whom he had last seen lounging on the deck of an oriental liner and refusing to join the sports committee in any such hard labor as getting up a cricket match. it was cooler here in the arizona mountains, to be sure; but it was an open question if life were as well worth living. when the sun was at midheaven, and the shadows of the pines beyond the clearing fell straight, the clanging of a triangle startled the mountain stillness. the mexicans dropped their tools, and the white teamster left a mule with its galled back half washed. in a moment there were only the four englishmen in the corral. kirby finished greasing the nut of a wagon. then he went to the water trough and washed his hands and face, drying them upon a towel in the harness room. he explained that they didn't make much of a toilet for luncheon. "luncheon!" said cairness, as he smoothed his hair in front of a speckled and wavy mirror, which reflected all of life that came before it, in sickly green, "cabalistic word, bringing before me memories of my wasted youth. there was a chap from home in my troop, until he deserted, and when we were alone we would say luncheon below our breaths. but i haven't eaten anything except dinner for five years." at the house he met kirby's wife, a fair young woman, who clung desperately here in the wilderness, to the traditions, and to as many of the customs as might be, of her south-of-england home. the log cabin was tidy. there were chintz curtains at the windows, much of the furniture, of ranch manufacture, was chintz covered, the manta of the ceiling was unstained, there were pictures from london christmas papers on the walls, and photographs of the fair women at "home." there were also magazines and a few books in more than one language, wild flowers arranged in many sorts of strange jars, and in the corner, by an improvised couch, a table stacked with cups and plates of chelsea-derby, which were very beautiful and very much out of place. the log cabins were built, five of them, to form a square. the largest contained the sitting room and a bedroom, the three others, bedrooms and a storehouse, and the kitchen and dining room were in the fifth. when they went into this last, the ranch hands were already at a long oilcloth-covered table. the kirbys sat at a smaller one, laid with linen, and the lank wife of one of the men served them all, with the help of a mexican boy. cairness pitied mrs. kirby sincerely. but if she felt herself an object of sympathy, she did not show it. the woman fairly flung the ill-cooked food upon the table, with a spitefulness she did not try to conceal. and she manifested her bad will most particularly toward the pretty children. cairness felt his indignation rise against kirby for having brought a woman to this, in the name of love. "we have tea at five," mrs. kirby told him, as they finished, and her husband started out to superintend and help with the digging of an acequia. so at five o'clock cairness, coming again into that part of the cabin which his hostess persistently named the drawing-room, found the three englishmen taking their tea, and a little man in clerical garb observing the rite with considerable uncertainty. he would have no tea himself, and his tone expressed a deep distrust of the beverage. by the side of his chair stood a tall silk hat. it was in all probability the only one in the territories, or west of the missouri, for that matter, and it caught cairness's eye at once, the more especially as it was pierced by two round holes. as he stirred his tea and ate the thin slices of buttered bread, his glance wandered frequently to the hat. "lookin' at my stove-pipe?" asked the reverend mr. taylor. "only one in these parts, i reckon," and he vouchsafed an explanation of the holes. "them holes? a feller in tucson done that for me." what had he done to the fellow, if he might ask, cairness inquired. "what did i do? the same as he done unto me. let the air into his sombrero." he told them that he was studying the flora of the country, and travelling quite alone, with an indian pony, a pack-mule, and a dog--a prospector's outfit, in short. after tea the ranchers settled down to smoke and read. the reverend taylor brought out his collection of specimens and dilated upon them to cairness. "i put them in this here book," he said, "betwixt the leaves, and then i put the book under my saddle and set on it. i don't weigh so much, but it works all right," he added, looking up with a naïve smile that reached from one big ear to the other. "to-morrow," he told him later, "i'm going to ride over here to tucson again. what way might you be takin'?" "i think perhaps i'll go with you, if you'll wait over a day," cairness told him. he had taken a distinct fancy to the little botanist who wore his clerical garb while he rode a bronco and drove a pack-mule over the plains and mountains, and who had no fear of the apache nor of the equally dangerous cow-boy. cairness asked him further about the hat. "that chimney-pot of yours," he said, "don't you find it rather uncomfortable? it is hot, and it doesn't protect you. why do you wear it?" the little man picked it up and contemplated it, with his head on one side and a critical glance at its damaged condition. then he smoothed its roughness with the palm of his rougher hand. "why do i wear it?" he drawled calmly; "well, i reckon to show 'em that i can." at six o'clock kirby knocked the ashes from his pipe, the other two men, who had buried themselves in the last _cornhill_ and _punch_ with entire disregard of the rest of the room, put down the magazines, and all of them rose. "we dine at seven," mrs. kirby said to taylor and cairness as she passed through the door, followed by her husband. "where are they all goin' to?" the reverend taylor asked in plaintive dismay. he had risen to his feet because he had seen cairness do it, and now he sat again because cairness had dropped back on the couch. he was utterly at sea, but he felt that the safest thing to do would be that which every one else did. he remembered that he had felt very much the same once when he had been obliged to attend a funeral service in a roman catholic church. all the purple and fine linen of the scarlet woman and the pomp and circumstance surrounding her had bewildered him in about this same way. cairness reached out for the discarded _cornhill_, and settled himself among the cushions. "they're going to dress, i rather think," he said. the minister almost sprang from his chair. "good lord! i ain't got any other clothes," he cried, looking ruefully at his dusty black. "neither have i," cairness consoled him, from the depths of a rehearsal of the unwisdom of ismaïl pasha. the reverend taylor sat in silence for a time, reflecting. then he broke forth again, a little querulously. "what in thunderation do they dine at such an hour for?" cairness explained that it was an english custom to call supper dinner, and to have it very late. "oh!" said taylor, and sat looking into the fire. a few minutes before seven they all came back into the sitting room. the men wore black coats, by way of compromise, and mrs. kirby and the children were in white. "like as not she does up them boiled shirts and dresses herself, don't you think?" was the minister's awed comment to cairness, as they went to bed that night in the bare little room. "like as not," cairness agreed. "she's mighty nice looking, ain't she?" cairness said "yes" rather half heartedly. that fresh, sweet type was insipid to him now, when there was still so fresh in his memory the beauty of a black-haired girl, with eagle eyes that did not flinch before the sun's rays at evening or at dawn. "i'll bet the help don't like the seven o'clock dinner." cairness suggested that they were given their supper at six. "i know that. but they don't like it, all the same. and i'll bet them cutaways riles them, too." cairness himself had speculated upon that subject a good deal, and had noticed with a slight uneasiness the ugly looks of some of the ranch hands. "they are more likely to have trouble in that quarter than with the indians," he said to himself. for he had seen much, in the ranks, of the ways of the disgruntled, free-born american. before he left with taylor on the next morning but one, he ventured to warn kirby. but he was met with a stolid "i was brought up that way," and he knew that argument would be entirely lost. "over here to tucson" was a three days' ride under the most favorable circumstances; but with the enthusiastic botanist dismounting at short intervals to make notes and press and descant upon specimens, it was five days before they reached, towards nightfall, the metropolis of the plains. they went at once for supper to the most popular resort of the town, the great western saloon and restaurant. it was a long adobe room, the whitewash of which was discolored by lamp smoke and fly specks and stains. there were also bullet holes and marks of other missiles. at one end was a bar, with a tin top for the testing of silver coins. several pine tables were set out with cracked sugar bowls, inch-thick glasses, bottles of pickles and condiments, still in their paper wrappings, and made filthy by flies, dust, and greasy hands. already there were half a dozen cow-boys and mexicans, armed to the teeth, standing about. they glanced sideways at the big englishman, who appeared to be one of themselves, and at the little minister. on him, more especially on his hat, their eyes rested threateningly. they had heard of him before, most of them. they answered his genial greeting surlily, but he was quite unruffled. he beamed upon the room as he seated himself at one of the tables and ordered supper, for which, in obedience to a dirty sign upon the wall, he paid in advance. having finished, he left cairness to his own devices, and dragging a chair under a bracket lamp, set peacefully about reading the newspapers. for fully an hour no one heeded him. cairness talked to the bartender and stood treat to the aimless loungers. he had many months of back pay in his pocket, and to save was neither in his character nor in the spirit of the country. the ill-smelling room filled, and various games, chiefly faro and monte, began. at one table two men were playing out a poker game that was already of a week's duration. the reek of bad liquor mingled with the smell of worse tobacco and of mexican-cured leather--like which there is no odor known to the senses, so pungent and permeating and all-pervading it is. several of the bracket lamps were sending up thin streams of smoke. the reverend taylor gradually became aware that the air was very bad. he laid down the newspaper and looked round. then a big cow-boy left the bar and loitering over, with a clink of spurs, touched him on the shoulder. "the drinks are on you," he menaced. the minister chose to ignore the tone. he rose, smiling, and stretching his cramped arms. "all right, my friend, all right," he said, and going with the big fellow to the bar he gave a general invitation. in the expectation of some fun the men gathered round. those at the tables turned in their chairs and sat watching and pulling at their fierce mustaches as they peered from under the brims of their sombreros. in the midst of them all the little parson looked even smaller than he was. but he was sweetly undaunted and good-humored. when the barkeeper had served the others, he turned to him. "what'll you take?" he demanded, not too courteously. "i'll take a lemon soda, thanks," said taylor. there followed one of those general pauses as explosive as a pistol shot. then the cow-boy who had touched him on the shoulder suggested that he had better take a man's drink. but he was not to be changed. "i'll take lemon soda," he said to the tender, with an amiability that the cow-boy made the mistake of taking for indecision. "you better do what i say!" he was plainly spoiling for a fight. but the minister still refused to see it. he looked him very squarely in the eyes now, however. "see here, i am going to take lemon pop, my friend," he said. the friend swore earnestly that he would take what he was told to. "you are mistaken, my good fellow, because i won't." there was not the shadow of hesitation in his voice, nor did he lower his mild blue eyes. the cow-boy broadened the issue. "you will, and you'll take off that plug, too, or i'll know what for." "i reckon you'll know what for, then," beamed taylor, immovably. cairness had been standing afar off, with his hands in his pockets, watching with a gleam of enjoyment under his knitted brows, but he began to see that there threatened to be more to this than mere baiting; that the desperado was growing uglier as the parson grew more firmly urbane. he drew near his small travelling companion and took his hands suddenly from his pockets, as the cow-boy whipped out a brace of six-shooters and pointed them at the hat. slowly, with no undue haste whatever, the reverend taylor produced from beneath the skirts of his clerical garb another revolver. there was a derisive and hilarious howl. when it had subsided, he turned to the barkeeper. "got my lemon pop ready?" he asked. the man pushed it over to him, and he took it up in his left hand. "drop that!" called the cow-boy. "here's how," said the parson, and raised his glass. a bullet shattered it in his grasp. cairness, his hand on the butt of his own pistol, wondered, a little angrily, if taylor were never going to be roused. he had looked down at the broken glass and the stream of water, and then up quite as calmly but a little less smilingly. "if you do that again, i'll shoot," he said. "give me another pop." there was a chuckle from the group, and a chorus to the effect that they would be eternally condemned, the truth of which was patent in their faces. "leave the little codger be," some one suggested; "he ain't skeered worth a sour apple." it would have become the sentiment of the crowd in another moment, but the little codger took up the second glass, and raised it again. then it fell smashing to the floor. a second bullet had broken his wrist. cairness started forward and levelled his colt, but the divine was too quick for him. he fired, and the cow-boy sank down, struggling, shot through the thigh. as he crouched, writhing, on the ground, he fired again, but cairness kicked the pistol out of his hand, and the bullet, deflected, went crashing in among the bottles. "now," said taylor, distinctly, "oblige me with another lemon pop, mister." a cheer went up, and the minister standing above his fallen enemy raised the third glass. "here's to your better judgment next time, my friend. 'tain't the sombrero makes the shot," he said. his seamed, small face was pale underneath its leathery skin, but by not so much as a quiver of an eyelid did he give any further sign of pain. "the gentleman who broke them glasses can settle for his part of the fun," he said, as he paid his reckoning. then he drew cairness aside and held out the limp wrist to be bound, supporting it with his other hand. and presently they went out from the restaurant, where the powder smoke was added to the other smells, and hung low, in streaks, in the thick atmosphere, to hunt up a surgeon. the surgeon, whose lore was not profound, and whose pharmacy exhibited more reptiles in alcohol than drugs, set the bones as best he knew how, which was badly; and, taking a fancy to taylor, offered him and cairness lodgings for the night,--the hospitality of the west being very much, in those times, like that of the days when the preachers of a new gospel were bidden to enter into a house and there abide until they departed from that place. in the morning cairness left them together and started for the san carlos agency. he was to meet a prospector there, and to begin his new fortunes by locating some mines. iv it was a bitterly cold january morning. there had been a rain in the night, and the clouds yet hung gray over mt. graham and the black gap. the wet wind went howling over the valley, so that the little flag at the top of the staff snapped and whipped as though it would be torn from the halyards. sunday inspection and guard mounting had been chilling ceremonies, performed in overcoats that were hardly more blue than the men's faces. having finished them, brewster hurried across the parade to captain campbell's quarters. he found felipa curled on the blanket in front of a great fire, and reading by the glare of the flames, which licked and roared up the wide chimney, a history of the jesuit missionaries. it was in french, and she must have already known it by heart, for it seemed to be almost the only book she cared about. she had become possessed of its three volumes from a french priest who had passed through the post in the early winter and had held services there. he had been charmed with felipa and with her knowledge of his own tongue. it was a truly remarkable knowledge, considering that it had been gained at a boarding-school. "you speak with the utmost fluency, my daughter," he had commended, and she had explained that she found expression more easy in french. "it is curious," she said, "but it has always seemed as though english were not my native tongue." when the father returned to tucson, he had sent her the history, and she had read and reread it. in a way she was something of a linguist, for she had picked up a good deal of spanish from mexicans about the post, chiefly from the nurse of the campbell children. there is a certain class of persons to whom it is always irritating to find any one reading a book. it rubs them the wrong way instantly. they will frequently argue that their own, and the best, manner of studying life is from nature--an excellent theory in sound, and commonly accepted as unanswerable, but about as practical in fact as the study of music on the instrument alone, without primer or method. the mere sight of felipa on the buffalo robe before the fire, poring over the old history, exasperated brewster. "that book again?" he said crossly, as he drew up a chair and held out his hands to the flames; "you must know it by heart." "i do," she answered, blinking lazily. he reflected that it is a trait of the semi-civilized and of children that they like their tales often retold. but he did not say so. he was holding that in reserve. instead, he changed the subject, with an abrupt inquiry as to whether she meant to ride to-day. "i suppose not?" he added. "i do, though," she said perversely, as she bent her head and tried to put into order the tumbled mass of her hair. "i am going at eleven o'clock." "alone?" "no, not alone." "it is bitterly cold." "i don't mind, and neither does captain landor." her guardian had recently gotten his captaincy. brewster's irritation waxed. "landor again?" he queried suggestively. "landor again," she yawned, ignoring his meaning-fraught tone. but she watched his face from under her long lashes. he glanced over his shoulder at the door. it was closed; so he leaned forward and spoke in a lower voice. "felipa, are you going to marry landor, or are you not?" it was more than a mere impertinent question, and she did not pretend to ignore it any longer. she clasped her hands slowly about her knees and looked straight at him. but he was unabashed, "what is he to you?" he insisted. she thought for a moment before she answered. then she spoke deliberately, and there was a purring snarl under her voice. "it is none of your business that i can see. but i will tell you this much, he is a man i respect; and that is more than i have said of you when i have been asked the same question." "it is not only my business," he said, overlooking the last, and bending more eagerly forward, "it is not only my business, it is the business of the whole post. you are being talked about, my dear young lady." she sprang to her feet so suddenly that her arm struck him a blow in the face, and stood close in front of him, digging her nails into her palms and breathing hard. "if you--if you dare to say that again, i will kill you. i can do it. you know that i can, and i will. i mean what i say, i will kill you." and she did mean what she said, for the moment, at any rate. there was just as surely murder in her soul as though those long, strong hands had been closed on his throat. her teeth were bared and her whole face was distorted with fury and the effort of controlling it. she drew up a chair, after a moment, and sat in it. it was she who was leaning forward now, and he had shrunk back, a little cowed. "i know what you are trying to do," she told him, more quietly, her lips quivering into a sneer, "you are trying to frighten me into marrying you. but you can't do it. i never meant to, and now i would die first." he saw that the game had reached that stage where he must play his trump card, if he were to have any chance. "you are a mean little thing," he laughed. "it is the apache blood, i suppose." she sat for a moment without answering. it was less astonishment than that she did not understand. she knitted her brow in a puzzled frown. but he mistook her silence for dismay, and went on. "it is only what one might expect from the daughter of a drunken private and a mescalero squaw." she was still silent, but she leaned nearer, watching his face, her lips drawn away from her sharp teeth, and her eyes narrowing. she understood now. in his growing uneasiness he blundered on rashly. "you didn't know it? but it is true. ask your guardian. do you think he would have you for a wife?" he gave a short laugh. "he hates an apache as he does a gila monster. very few men would be willing to risk it." she leaned back in her chair, tapping her foot upon the floor. it was the only sign of excitement, but the look of her face was not good. brewster avoided it, and became absorbed in making the tips of his fingers meet as he pressed his hands together. "still," said felipa, too quietly, "i would rather be the daughter of a drunken private and a mescalero squaw than the wife of a coward and sneak." he stood up and went nearer to her, shaking his finger in her face. he knew that he had lost, and he was reckless. "you had better marry me, or i will tell your birth from the housetops." but he was making the fatal mistake of dealing with the child that had been, instead of with the woman he had aroused. she laughed at him--the first false laugh that had ever come from her lips. "you had better go now," she said, rising and standing with her arms at her side, and her head very erect. he hesitated, opening his mouth to speak and shutting it again irresolutely. "i told you to go," she repeated, raising her brows. he took up his cap from the table, and went. when landor came in half an hour later he found her in her riding habit, sitting in front of the fire. she was still alone, and he felt instantly that there was more softness than ever before in the smile she gave him, more womanliness in the clinging of her hand. altogether in her attitude and manner there was less of the restlessly youthful. he drew a chair beside hers, and settled back comfortably. "mr. brewster has just been here," she said at length, and she played with the lash of her whip, avoiding his eyes, which was also a new way for her. "i wish brewster would not come so often," he said. for answer she put out her hand and laid it upon his, not as she had often done it before, in the unattentive eagerness of some argument, but slowly, with a shadow of hesitation. he was surprised, but he was pleased too, and he took the long fingers in his and held them gently. "do you still want me to marry you?" she asked him. he told her that he most certainly did, and she went on. "is it because you think you ought to, or because you really want me?" she was looking at him steadily now, and he could not have lied to her. but the slender hand was warm and clinging, the voice low and sweet, the whole scene so cosey and domestic, and she herself seemed so much more beautiful than ever, that he answered that it was because he wanted her--and for the moment it was quite true. had so much as a blush come to her cheek, had she lowered her earnest gaze, had her voice trembled ever so little, it might have been true for all time. but she threw him back upon himself rudely, with an unfeminine lack of tact that was common with her. "then i will marry you whenever you wish," she said. "i began to tell you," she resumed directly, "that mr. brewster was here, and that he informed me that my mother was a squaw and my father a drunken private." landor jumped up from his chair. "felipa!" he cried. at first he was more shocked and sorry for her than angry with brewster. "i don't mind," she began; and then her strict truthfulness coming uppermost, she corrected herself: "at least, i don't mind very much, not so much as you thought i would." he strode up and down, his face black with rage, expressing his violent opinion of brewster. then he came to a stop, in front of her. "how did he happen to tell you?" he asked. she explained. "he says he will tell it broadcast," she ended, "but he won't. it wouldn't be safe, and he knows it." her cool self-possession had its effect on him. he studied her curiously and began to calm down. she asked him about her father and mother. going back to his chair he told her everything that he knew, save only the manner of cabot's death. "then i took you to yuma," he finished, "and from there to the east, via panama." there was a pause. and then came the question he had most dreaded. "did my father leave me any money?" she asked. there was nothing for it but to admit that from the day of her father's death she had been utterly landor's dependant,--at a cost to him of how many pleasures, she, who knew the inadequacy of a lieutenant's pay, could easily guess. she sat thinking, with her chin in her palm, and a quite new look of loneliness deep in her eyes. he could see that in the last hour she had grasped almost the fulness of her isolation--almost, but not all; only the years could bring forth the rest. she gave a heavy sigh. "well, i am glad i love you," she said. but he knew that she did not love him. she was grateful. it was sometimes an apache trait. he realized that it was his curse and hers that he could not for an instant forget the strain. he read her character by it, half unconsciously. he saw it in her honesty, her sinewy grace, her features, her fearlessness, her kindness with children,--they were all apache characteristics; and they were all repellent. from his youth on, he had associated the race with cruelty and every ghastly sight he had come upon, on the plains and in the mountains. it was a prejudice with more than the force of a heritage. he went on with his study of her, as she sat there. he was always studying her. but he could not decide whether it was that she lacked sensitiveness and was really not greatly disturbed, or a savage sort of pride in concealing emotions. he rose to his feet, shaking off an impatience with her and with himself. "come," he said peremptorily; and they went out and mounted and rode away in the face of a whipping wind up the gradual slope to the mountains, black and weird beneath the heavy, low-hanging rain clouds. felipa had taught her horse to make its average gait a run, and she would have started it running now, but that landor checked her. it was high time, he said, that he should teach her to ride. now she was more than a little proud of her horsemanship, so she was annoyed as well as surprised. but he went on, instructing her how it was not all of riding to stick on, and rather a question of saving and seat and the bit. "you give your horse a sore back whenever you go far, and you always bring him back in a lather." it was half because she felt it would prick him, and half in humility, that she answered, "i suppose that is the indian in me." his horse started. he had dug it with the rowels. then he reined it in with a jerk that made it champ its curb. "don't dwell on that all the time," he said angrily; "forget it." and then it flashed across him, the irreparable wrong he would be doing her if he taught her to consider the apache blood a taint. she gave him an odd, furtive glance and did not answer for a time. he was never quite able to divine with her just how much of his thoughts she understood, and it put him at some disadvantage. presently she said: "i can't forget. and you can't. as for other people--they don't matter anyway." in her scheme of things other people rarely did matter. she hedged herself round with a barrier of indifference that was very nearly contempt, and encouraged no intimacies--not even with landor. and he knew it. she made it plainer to him by and by, as she went on to advise his course about brewster. "if i were you, i would ignore his having told me, jack. i ought to have pretended that i knew it, but i was taken by surprise. he must not think you resent it as though it were an insult, though. as for me, i won't have anything more to do with him; but that is for reasons of my own." he demanded that he be told the reasons, but she refused very sweetly and very decidedly. and he was forced to accept the footing upon which she placed him, for all time. * * * * * * * * it was quite in keeping with everything that had gone before that, the day after a passing franciscan priest had married them, landor should have been ordered off upon a scout, and felipa should have taken it as a matter of course, shedding no tears, and showing no especial emotion beyond a decent regret. they had not gone upon a wedding trip for the excellent reason that there was no place to go; and as they sat at dinner together in their sparsely furnished quarters, there was a timid ring at the door-bell, and landor's chinaman, the cook of his bachelor days, ushered in the commanding officer, who looked humble apology for the awkwardness of a visit he could not delay. he went straight to the matter in hand, in spite of the tactful intentions that had made him come himself instead of sending a subordinate. "i say, landor," he began, after having outwardly greeted felipa and inwardly cursed his luck at being obliged to tear a man away from so fair a bride, "i say, there's been the dickens of a row up at the agency." landor went on with his dinner coolly enough. "there's quite likely to be that at any time," he said, "so long as a pious and humane indian bureau sends out special agents of the devil who burn down the agency buildings of peaceful apaches as a means of inducing them to seek illness and death in malarious river bottoms." "that," objected the major, testily, "is ancient history. this trouble started the way of most of the troubles of this age--whiskey." in his agitation he carefully spilled a spoonful of salt on the cloth and scraped it into a little mound with a knife. then recollecting that spilled salt causes quarrels, he hurriedly threw a pinch of it over his left shoulder. "and--and, the worst of the whole business is, old man, that you've got to go. your troop and one from apache are ordered out. i'm awfully sorry." he would not look at felipa at all. but he stared landor fairly out of countenance, as he waited for a storm of tears and protestations. when, therefore, mrs. landor said, with the utmost composure, that it was too bad, his gasp was audible. the captain knitted his thick brows and interposed quickly, talking against time. "if the tucson ring and the indian bureau had one head, i should like the detail of cutting it off." his annoyance seemed to be of an impersonal sort, and the commandant began to feel that he must have handled the thing rather well, after all. he gained in self-esteem and equanimity. felipa rose from the table, and going over to her husband laid her hand on his shoulder. she asked when he must go. "to-night, my dear lady, i am afraid," soothed the commandant. but she appeared to be in no need of humoring, as she turned to landor and offered to do what she might to help him. he had dreaded a scene, but he was not so sure that this was not worse. "you are the wife for a soldier," he said somewhat feebly; "no tears and fuss and--all that kind of thing." landor winced as he folded his napkin and stood up. "i am ready," he said, and going into the long hallway took his cap from the rack and went with the major out into the night. in half an hour he was back, and having produced his scouting togs from the depths of a sky-blue chest, smelling horribly of tobacco and camphor, he fell to dressing. felipa sat on the edge of the bunk and talked to him, a little excited, and very anxious to try what a scout was like for herself. as he put on his faded blouse he went and stood before her, holding out his arms. she moved over to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "are you not sorry to have me go?" he asked, in the tones of one having a grievance. he felt that he was entitled to something of the sort. of course she was sorry, she protested, a little indignant that he should ask it. she would be horribly lonesome. he tried hard to warm her to something more personal. "i might never come back, you know, dear." he realized that he was absolutely begging for affection, most futile and unavailing of all wastes of energy. but she only answered that that was unlikely and slipped her arm around his neck, as she added that if anything were to happen to him, she would not have one real friend in the world. there was something pathetic in the quiet realization of her loneliness. he stroked her hair pityingly. after all, she was only a half-savage creature bound to him by the ties of gratitude. he had seen the same thing in a chiricahua girl baby he had once rescued, horribly burned, from the fire of an abandoned indian camp, where she had been thrown by the fleeing hostiles, because she was sickly and hampered their progress. the hideous, scarred little thing had attached herself to him like a dog, and had very nearly pined herself to death when he had had to leave her for good. afterward she had married--at the ripe age of twelve--a buck of her own tribe. he thought of how she also had slipped her hard, seamed arm around his neck, and he drew away from felipa. when, in the darkness of a cloudy night, he said good-by to her on the road before his quarters, bending to kiss the warm mouth he could not see, he knew that it would have been possible for him to have loved her, had she been nearly all that she was not. then he mounted the horse the orderly held for him, and trotted off. v the gila river cutting straight across the southern portion of arizona, from the alkali flats on the east to the colorado at yuma on the west, flowed then its whole course through desolation. sometimes cottonwoods and sycamore trees rose in the bottom, and there was a patch of green around some irrigated land. but, for the most part, the basin was a waste of glittering sand and white dust, and beyond, the low hills, bare of every plant save a few stunted wild flowers, cacti and sage, greasewood and mesquite, rolled for miles and miles of barrenness. the chicken hawk and crow sailed through the fiercely blue sky, the air waved and quivered with incredible heat. at night malaria rose from the ground, the coyote barked and whined at the light of the brilliant stars, and the polecat prowled deliberately. here, toward the eastern part of the territory, the government had portioned off the san carlos agency for its apache wards, and some thirty miles away, not far from the banks of the river, camp thomas for its faithful soldiery. on a day when the mercury registered 120 degrees, felipa landor drove into the camp. her life, since her marriage three years before, had been the usual nomadic one of the place and circumstances, rarely so much as a twelvemonth in one place, never certain for one day where the next would find her. recently landor had been stationed at the headquarters of the department of arizona. but felipa had made no complaint whatever at having to leave the gayest post in the territories for the most god-forsaken, and she refused flatly to go east. "i can stand anything that you can," she told her husband when he suggested it, which was apparently true enough, for now, in a heat that was playing out the very mules, covered as she was with powdery, irritating dust, she was quite cheerful as he helped her from the ambulance. she stood looking round the post, across the white-hot parade ground, to the adobe barracks and the sutler's store. then she turned and considered the officers' quarters. they were a row of hospital, wall, and a tents, floored with rough boards and sheltered by ramadas of willow branches. in the middle of the line there was a one-room mud hut. this, with the tents back of it, was her home. landor had fitted up the hut with navajo blankets, indian baskets, dolls, saddle bags, war bonnets, and quivers; with stuffed birds and framed chromos, camp-chairs and some rough quartermaster's furniture. a gray blanket, with a yellow q. m. d. in the centre, kept the glare out at the window, and the room was cool enough. one advantage of adobe--and it has others--is that it retains all summer the winter cold, and all winter the summer heat. felipa expressed decided approval, and set to work making herself comfortable at once. within ten minutes she had changed her travelling things for a white wrapper, had brushed the dust from her hair, and left it hanging straight and coarse and dead black, below her waist,--she was given to loosing it whenever the smallest excuse offered,--and had settled herself to rest in a canvas lounging chair. landor had come to agree with the major at grant, that she was an excellent wife for a soldier. her tastes were simple as those of a hermit. she asked only a tent and a bunk and enough to eat, and she could do without even those if occasion arose. she saw the best of everything, not with the exasperating optimism which insists upon smiling idiotically on the pleasant and the distinctly disagreeable alike, and upon being aggressively delighted over the most annoying mishaps, but with a quiet, common-sense intention of making the objectionable no more so for her own part. there were wives who made their husbands' quarters more dainty and attractive, if not more neat; but in the struggle--for it was necessarily a struggle--lost much peace of mind and real comfort. upon the whole, landor was very well satisfied, and felipa was entirely so. she was utterly indifferent to being set down at a three-company post, where her only companion was to be a woman she disliked from the first, openly and without policy, as was her way. the woman called early in the blazing afternoon, appearing clad in silks, waving a gorgeous fan of plumes, and sinking languidly into a chair. felipa sat bolt upright on a camp-stool, and before the close of an hour they were at daggers' points. the commandant's wife used cheap french phrases in every other breath, and felipa retaliated in the end by a long, glib sentence, which was not understood. she seemed absolutely dense and unsmiling about it, but landor was used to the mask of stolidity. he got up and went to the window to arrange the gray blanket, and hide a smile that came, even though he was perfectly aware of the unwisdom of making an enemy of the c. o.'s wife. from thenceforth the elegant creature troubled felipa as little as the nature of things would permit. she said that mrs. landor was _une sauvage_ and so _brune_; and mrs. landor said she was a fool and dyed her hair. she was not given to mincing words. and she had small patience with a woman who lay in bed until the sun was high, and who spent her days lounging under the ramada, displaying tiny, satin-shod feet for the benefit of the enlisted men and the indians who wandered over from the reservation. she herself was up before dawn, riding over the hills with her husband, watching the sun rise above the blue mountains on the far-away horizon, and strike with lights of gold and rose the sands and the clumps of sage, visiting the herd where it struggled to graze, under well-armed guard, and gathering the pitiful wild flowers from the baked, lifeless soil. she shot quail and owls, and dressed their skins. she could endure any amount of fatigue, and she could endure quite as well long stretches of idleness. having no children of her own, she took for protégé a small white mountain, son of a buck who hung about the post most of the time, bought him candy and peanuts at the sutler's store, taught him english, and gathered snatches of his tribe's tongue in return. landor humored her, but did not quite approve. "if you begin that, every papoose at the agency will be brought down to us," he suggested; and once when he had grown a little tired of having the noiseless, naked little savage forever round, he offered him a piece of canned lobster. whereupon the boy fled wildly, and would not be coaxed back for many days. felipa seemed really to miss him, so landor never teased him after that, making only the reasonable request that the youngster be not allowed to scratch his head near him. another of her pets was a little fawn a soldier had caught and given to her. it followed her tamely about the post. one morning, shortly before dinner call, she sat under the ramada, the deer at her feet, asleep, the little apache squatted beside her, amusing himself with a collection of gorgeous pictorial labels, soaked from commissary fruit and vegetable cans. the camp was absolutely silent, even the drowsy scraping of the brooms of the police party having stopped some time before. landor was asleep in his tent, and presently she herself began to doze. she was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the gravel in front of the ramada, and in another moment a tall figure stood in the opening, dark against the glare. instantly she knew it was the man with whom she had come face to face long before on the parade ground at grant, though from then until now she had not thought of him once, nor remembered his existence. she rose to her feet, standing slender and erect, the roused fawn on one side and the naked savage on the other. and they faced each other, disconcerted, caught mute in the reverberation, indefinite, quivering, of a chord which had been struck somewhere in the depths of that nature to which we are willing enough to grant the power of causing the string of an instrument to pulse to the singing of its own note, but whose laws of sympathetic vibration we would fain deny beyond material things. the man understood, and was dismayed. it is appalling to feel one's self snatched from the shifting foothold of individuality and whirled on in the current of the force of things. felipa did not understand. and she was annoyed. she crashed in with the discord of a deliberate commonplace, and asked what she could do for him, speaking as to an inferior; and he, with a stiff resentment, answered that he wished to see captain landor. she did not return to the ramada, but before long her husband came in search of her. "that man is going to stay to luncheon," he told her. she echoed "to luncheon!" in amazement. "but, jack, he was a soldier, wasn't he?" "he was, but he isn't. i sent for him about some business, and he is a very decent sort of a fellow. he has a little ranch on the reservation." "a squaw-man?" she asked. "i dare say," he answered carelessly. "come and meet him. you'll like him." she went, with none too good a grace. cairness said to himself that she was regal, and acknowledged her most formal welcome with an ease he had fancied among the arts he had long since lost. "i have seen you before, mrs. landor," he said after a while. "yes?" she answered, and stroked the head of the fawn. "yes," he persisted, refusing to be thwarted, "once when you were crossing the parade at grant, at retreat, and two days afterward when you shot a blue jay down by the creek." she could not help looking at him now, and his eyes held hers through a silence that seemed to them so enduring, so unreasonable, that landor must wonder at it. but he had seen men put at a disadvantage by her beauty before, and he had grown too used to her lack of conventionality to think much about it, one way or the other. "can't we send the hostile away?" he suggested, glancing at the small apache, who was digging viciously at his head and watching cairness with beady orbs. felipa spoke to him, and he went. "do you like his kind?" the englishman asked curiously. "they have their good points," she answered, exactly as he himself had answered brewster's baiting long ago. then she fastened her gaze on the roof of the ramada. it was evident that she had no intention of making herself agreeable. landor had learned the inadvisability and the futility of trying to change her moods. she was as unaffected about them as a child. so he took up the conversation he and cairness had left off, concerning the indian situation, always a reliable topic. it was bad that year and had been growing steadily worse, since the trouble at the time of his marriage, when arizona politicians had, for reasons related to their own pockets, brought about the moving of the white mountain band to the san carlos agency. the white mountains had been peaceable for years, and, if not friendly to the government, at least too wise to oppose it. they had cultivated land and were living on it inoffensively. but they were trading across the territorial line into new mexico, and that lost money to arizona. so they were persuaded by such gentle methods as the burning of their agency buildings and the destruction of their property, to move down to san carlos. the climate there was of a sort fatal to the mountain apaches,--the thing had been tried before with all the result that could be desired, in the way of fevers, ague, and blindness,--and also the white mountains were hereditary enemies of the san carlos tribes. but a government with a policy, three thousand miles away, did not know these things, nor yet seek to know them. government is like the gods, upon occasions: it first makes mad, then destroys. and if it is given time enough, it can be very thorough in both. in the period of madness, more or less enduring, of the victim of the great powers' policy, somebody who is innocent usually suffers. sometimes the powers know it, oftener they do not. either way it does not worry them. they set about doing their best to destroy, and that is their whole duty. not having had enough of driving to madness in '75 and '76, they tried it again three years later. they were dealing this time with other material, not the friendly and the cowed, but with savages as cruel and fierce and unscrupulous as those of the days of coronado. victorio, juh, and geronimo were already a little known, but now they were to have their names shrieked to the unhearing heavens in the agony of the tortured and the dying. the powers said that a party of indians had killed two american citizens, and had thereby offended against their sacred laws. to be sure the americans had sold the indians poisonous whiskey, so they had broken the laws, too. but there is, as any one should be able to see, a difference between a law-breaking chiricahua and a law-breaking territorial politician. cairness refused to see it. he said things that would have been seditious, if he had been of any importance in the scheme of things. as it was, the great powers did not heed them, preferring to take advice from men who did not know an apache from a sioux--or either from the creation of the shilling shocker. "i am not wasting any sympathy on the apaches, nor on the indians as a whole. they have got to perish. it is in the law of advancement that they should. but where is the use in making the process painful? leave them alone, and they'll die out. it isn't three hundred years since one of the biggest continents of the globe was peopled with them, and now there is the merest handful left, less as a result of war and slaughter than of natural causes. nature would see to it that they died, if we didn't." "the philanthropist doesn't look at it that way. he thinks that we should strive to preserve the species." "i don't," cairness differed; "it's unreasonable. there is too much sympathy expended on races that are undergoing the process of extinction. they have outgrown their usefulness, if they ever had any. it might do to keep a few in a park in the interests of science, and of that class of people which enjoys seeing animals in cages. but as for making citizens of the indians, raising them to our level--it can't be done. even when they mix races, the red strain corrupts the white." landor glanced at his wife. she seemed to take it without offence, and was listening intently. "it's the old saying about a dog walking on its hind legs, when you come to civilizing the indian. you are surprised that he civilizes at all, but he doesn't do it well, for all that. he can be galvanized into a temporary semblance of national life, but he is dead at the core, and he will decay before long." "they could kill a good many of us before they died out, if we would sit still and take it," landor objected. "it's six one, and half a dozen the other. they'd be willing enough to die out in peace, if we'd let them. even they have come to have a vague sort of instinct that that's what it amounts to." landor interrupted by taking the slipper from felipa's foot and killing with it a centipede that crawled up the wall of the abode. "that's the second," he said, as he put the shoe on again. "i killed one yesterday; the third will come to-morrow." then he went back to his chair and to the discussion, and before long he was called to the adjutant's office. felipa forgot her contempt for cairness. she was interested and suddenly aroused herself to show it. "how do you come to be living with the indians?" she asked. it was rarely her way to arrive at a question indirectly. "have you married a squaw?" he flushed angrily, then thought better of it, because after all the question was not impertinent. so he only answered with short severity that he most certainly had not. felipa could not help the light of relief that came on her face, but realizing it, she was confused. he helped her out. "i have drifted in a way," he went on to explain. "i left home when i was a mere boy, and the spirit of savagery and unrest laid hold of me. i can't break away. and i'm not even sure that i want to. you, i dare say, can't understand." yet he felt so sure, for some reason, that she could that he merely nodded his head when she said briefly, "i can." "then, too," he went on, "there is something in the indian character that strikes a responsive chord in me. i come of lawless stock myself. i was born in sidney." then he stopped short. what business was it of hers where he had been born? he had never seen fit to speak of it before. nevertheless he intended that she should understand now. so he made it quite plain. "sidney was a convict settlement, you know," he said deliberately, "and marriages were promiscuous. my grandfather was an officer who was best away from england. my grandmother poisoned her first husband. that is on my mother's side. on my father's side it was about as mixed." he leaned back, crossing his booted legs and running his fingers into his cartridge belt. his manner asked with a certain defiance, what she was going to do about it, or to think. and what she did was to say, with a deliberation equal to his own, that her mother had been a half-breed mescalero and her father a private. he looked at her steadily, in silence. it did not seem that there was anything to say. he would have liked to tell her how beautiful she was. but he did not do it. instead, he did much worse. for he took a beaded and fringed leather case from his pocket and held out to her the drawing he had made of her four years before. she gave it back without a word, and bent to play with the buckskin collar on the neck of the fawn. cairness put the sketch back in the case and stood up. "will you tell captain landor that i found that i could not wait, after all?" he said, and bowing went out from the ramada. she sat staring at the white glare of the opening, and listening to his foot-falls upon the sand. vi landor said that he had put in a requisition for kippered mackerel and anchovy paste, and that the commissary was running down so that one got nothing fit to eat. he was in an unpleasant frame of mind, and his first lieutenant, who messed with him, pulled apart a broiled quail that lay, brown and juicy, on its couch of toast and cress, and asked wherein lay the use of taking thought of what you should eat. "every prospect is vile, and man is worse, and the sooner heaven sends release the better. what is there in a life like this? six weeks from the nearest approach to civilization, malaria in the air by night and fire by day. even mrs. landor is showing it." "i didn't know that i had made any complaint," she said equably. "you haven't, but the summer has told on you just the same. you are thin, and your eyes are too big. look at that!" he held out a hand that shook visibly. "that's the gila valley for you." "sometimes it's the gila valley, and sometimes it's rum," said landor. "it's rum with a good many." "why shouldn't it be? what the deuce has a fellow got to do but drink and gamble? you have to, to keep your mind off it." the lieutenant himself did neither, but he argued that his mind was never off it. felipa thought it was not quite so bad as that, and she poured herself another cup of the rio, strong as lye, with which she saturated her system, to keep off the fever. "you might marry," landor suggested. "you can always do that when all else fails." "who is there to marry hereabouts? and always supposing there were some one, i'd be sent off on a scout next day, and have to ship her back east for an indefinite time. it would be just my blamed luck." the breakfast humor when the thermometer has been a hundred and fifteen in the shade for long months, is pessimistic. "don't get married then, please," said felipa, "not for a few days at any rate. i don't want captain landor to go off until he gets over these chills and things." there was a knock at the door of the tent, and it opened. the adjutant came in. "i say, landor--" "i say, old man, shut that door! look at the flies. now go on," he added, as the door banged; and he rose to draw a chair to the table. "can't stay," said the adjutant, all breathless. "the line's down between here and the agency; but a runner has just come in, and there's trouble. the bucks are restless. want to join victorio in new mexico. you've both got to get right over there." it was the always expected, the never ceasing. landor looked at his wife and stroked his mustache with a shaking hand. his face was yellow, and his hair had grown noticeably grayer. "you are not fit to go," felipa said resignedly, "but that doesn't matter, of course." "no," he agreed, "it doesn't matter. and i shall do well enough." then the three went out, and she finished her breakfast alone. in less than an hour the troop was ready, the men flannel-shirted and gauntleted, their soft felt hats pulled over their eyes, standing reins in hand, foot in stirrup, beside the fine, big horses that crook had substituted for the broncos of the plains cavalry of former years. down by the corrals the pack-mules were ready, too, grunting under their aparejos and packs. a thick, hot wind, fraught with sand, was beginning, presaging one of the fearful dust storms of the southwest. the air dried the very blood in the veins. the flies, sticky and insistent, clung and buzzed about the horses' eyes and nostrils. bunches of tumbleweed and hay went whirling across the parade. landor came trotting over from his quarters, followed by his orderly, and the troops moved off across the flat, toward the river. felipa stood leaning listlessly against the post of the ramada, watching them. after a time she went into the adobe and came out with a pair of field-glasses, following the course of the command as it wound along among the foot-hills. the day dragged dully along. she was uneasy about her husband, her nerves were shaken with the coffee and quinine, and she was filled, moreover, with a vague restlessness. she would have sent for her horse and gone out even in the clouds of dust and the wind like a hot oven, but landor had forbidden her to leave the post. death in the tip of a poisoned arrow, at the point of a yucca lance, or from a more merciful bullet of lead, might lurk behind any mesquite bush or gray rock. she set about cleaning the little revolver, self-cocking, with the thumb-piece of the hammer filed away, that her husband had given her before they were married. to-night she wanted no dinner. she was given to eating irregularly; a good deal at a time, and again nothing for a long stretch. that, too, was in the blood. so she sent the soldier cook away, and he went over to the deserted barracks. then she tried to read, but the whisper of savagery was in the loneliness and the night. she sat with the book open in her lap, staring into a shadowy corner where there leaned an indian lance, surmounted by a war bonnet. presently she stood up, and stretched her limbs slowly, as a beast of prey does when it shakes off the lethargy of the day and wakens for the darkness. then she went out to the back of the tents. the stars were bright chips of fire in a sky of polished blue. the wind of the day had died at dusk, and the silence was deep, but up among the bare graves the coyotes were barking weirdly. as she looked off across the low hills, there was a quick, hissing rattle at her feet. she moved hastily, but without a start, and glanced down at a rattler not three feet away. landor's sabre stood just within the sitting room, and she went for it and held the glittering blade in front of the snake. its fangs struck out viciously again and again, and a long fine stream of venom trickled along the steel. then she raised the sabre and brought it down in one unerring sweep, severing the head from the body. in the morning she would cut off the rattle and add it to the string of close upon fifty that hung over her mirror. but now the night was calling to her, the wild blood was pricking in her veins. running the sabre into the ground, she cleaned off the venom, and went back to the adobe to put it in its scabbard. after she had done that she stood hesitating for just a moment before she threw off all restraint with a toss of her head, and strapped about her waist a leather belt from which there hung a bowie knife and her pistol in its holster. then slipping on her moccasins, she glided into the darkness. she took the way in the rear of the quarters, skirting the post and making with swift, soundless tread for the river. her eyes gleamed from under her straight, black brows as she peered about her in quick, darting glances. not a week before--and then the agency had been officially at peace--a mexican packer had been shot down by an arrow from some unseen bow, within a thousand yards of the post, in broad daylight. the indians, caking their bodies with clay, and binding sage or grass upon their heads, could writhe unseen almost within arm's reach. but felipa was not afraid. straight for the river bottom she made, passing amid the dump-heaps, where a fire of brush was still smouldering, filling the air with pungent smoke, where old cans and bottles shone in the starlight, and two polecats, pretty white and black little creatures, their bushy tails erect, sniffed with their sharp noses as they walked stupidly along. their bite meant hydrophobia, but though one came blindly toward her, she barely moved aside. her skirt brushed it, and it made a low, whining, mean sound. down by the river a coyote scudded across her path as she made her way through the willows, and when he was well beyond, rose up on his hind legs and looked after her. at the water's edge she stopped and glanced across to the opposite bank. the restlessness was going, and she meant to return now, before she should be missed--if indeed she were not missed already, as was very probable. yet still she waited, her hands clasped in front of her, looking down at the stream. farther out, in the middle, a ripple flashed. but where she stood among the bushes, it was very dark. the water made no sound, there was not a breath of air, yet suddenly there was a murmur, a rustle. felipa's revolver was in her hand, and cocked and pointed straight between two eyes that shone out of the blackness. and so, for an appreciable time, she stood. then a long arm came feeling out; but because she was looking along the sight into the face at the very end of the muzzle, she failed to see it. when it closed fast about her waist, she gave a quick gasp and fired. but the bullet, instead of going straight through the forehead beneath the head band, as she had meant it to do, ploughed down. the grasp on the body relaxed for an instant; the next it had tightened, and a branch had struck the pistol from her hand. and now it was a struggle of sheer force and agility. she managed to whip out the knife from her belt and to strike time and time again through sinewy flesh, to the bone. the only noise was the dragging of their feet on the sand, the cracking of the willows and the swishing of the blade. it was savage against savage, two vicious, fearless beasts. the apache in felipa was full awake now, awake in the bliss of killing, the frenzy of fight, and awake too, in the instinct which told her how, with a deep-drawn breath, a contraction, a sudden drop and writhing, she would be free of the arms of steel. and she was free, but not to turn and run--to lunge forward, once and again, her breath hissing between her clenched, bared teeth. the buck fell back before her fury, but she followed him thrusting and slashing. yet it might not, even then, have ended well for her, had there not come from somewhere overhead the sound most dreaded as an omen of harm by all apaches--the hoot of an owl. the indian gave a low cry of dismay and turned and darted in among the bushes. she stood alone, with the sticky, wet knife in her hand, catching her breath, coming out of the madness. then she stooped, and pushing the branches aside felt about for her pistol. it lay at the root of a tree, and when she had picked it up and put it back in the holster, there occurred to her for the first time the thought that the shot in the dead stillness must have roused the camp. and now she was sincerely frightened. if she were found here, it would be more than disagreeable for landor. they must not find her. she started at a swift, long-limbed run, making a wide detour, to avoid the sentries, bending low, and flying silently among the bushes and across the shadowy sands. she could hear voices confusedly, men hurriedly calling and hallooing as she neared the back of the officers' line and crept into her tent. the door was barely closed when there came a knock, and the voice of the striker asking if she had heard the shot across the river. "yes," she said, "i heard it. but i was not frightened. what was it?" he did not know, he said, and she sent him back to the barracks. then she lit a lamp and took off her blood-stained gown. there was blood, too, on the knife and its case. she cleaned them as best she could and looked into the chamber of her revolver with a contemplative smile on the lips that less than half an hour before had been curled back from her sharp teeth like those of a fighting wolf. she wondered how badly the buck had been hurt. and the next day she knew. when she came out in front of her quarters in the morning, rather later than usual, there was a new tent beside the hospital, and when she asked the reason for it, they told her that a wounded apache had been found down by the river soon after the shot had been fired the night before. he was badly hurt, with a ball in his shoulder, and he was half drunk with tizwin, as well as being cut in a dozen places. she listened attentively to the account of the traces of a struggle among the willows, and asked who had fired the shot. it was not known, they said, and the sullen buck would probably never tell. when she saw the post surgeon come out from his house and start over to the hospital, she called to him. "may i see your new patient?" she asked. he told her that he was going to operate at once, to remove the ball and the shattered bone, but that she might come if she wished. his disapproval was marked, but she went with him, nevertheless, and sat watching while he picked and probed at the wound. the apache never quivered a muscle nor uttered a sound. it was fine stoicism, and appealed to felipa until she really felt sorry for him. but presently she stood up to go away, and her eyes caught the lowering, glazed ones of the indian. half involuntarily she made a motion of striking with a knife. neither the doctor nor the steward caught it, but he did, and showed by a sudden start that he understood. he watched her as she went out of the tent, and the surgeon and steward worked with the shining little instruments. vii landor came in a few weeks later. he had had an indecisive skirmish in new mexico with certain bucks who had incurred the displeasure of the paternal government by killing and eating their horses, to the glory of their gods and ancestors, and thereafter working off their enthusiasm by a few excursions beyond the confines of the reservation, with intent to murder and destroy. being shaved of the thick iron-gray beard, and once again in seemly uniform, and having reported to the commandant, he sat down to talk with his wife. she herself lay at full length upon a couch she had devised out of packing cases. it occurred to landor that she often dropped down to rest now, and that she was sallow and uneasy. he looked at her uncomfortably. "i am going to get you out of this, up into the mountains somewhere," he said abruptly; "you look peaked." she did not show the enthusiasm he had rather expected. "i dare say it is my bad conscience," she answered with some indifference. "i have a sin to confess." he naturally did not foresee anything serious, and he only said, "well?" and began to fill his pipe from a buckskin pouch, cleverly sketched in inks with indian scenes. "by the way," he interrupted as she started to speak, "what do you think of this?" he held it out to her. "that fellow cairness, who wouldn't stay to luncheon that day, did it for me. we camped near his place a couple of days. and he sent you a needle-case, or some such concern. it's in my kit." she looked at the pouch carefully before she gave it back; then she clasped her hands under her head again and gazed up at the manta of the ceiling, which sagged and was stained where the last cloud-burst had leaked through the roof. "well?" repeated landor. "i disobeyed orders," said felipa. "did you, though?" "and i went outside the post the night after you left, down to the river. some one will probably tell you about a wounded sierra blanca found down among the bushes in the river bottom that same night. i shot him, and then i hacked him up with my knife." he had taken his pipe from his mouth and was looking at her incredulously, perplexed. he did not understand whether it was a joke on her part, or exactly what it was. but she sat up suddenly, with one of her quick movements of conscious strength and perfect control over every muscle, clasped her hands about her knees, and went on. "it was very curious," and there came on her face the watchful, alert, wild look, with the narrowing of the eyes. "it was very curious, i could not have stayed indoors that night if it had cost me my life--and it very nearly did, too. i had to get out. so i took my revolver and my knife, and i went the back way, down to the river. while i was standing on the bank and thinking about going home, an indian stole out on me. i had an awful struggle. first i shot. i aimed at his forehead, but the bullet struck his shoulder; and then i fought with the knife. as soon as i could slip out of his grasp, i went at him and drove him off. but i didn't know how badly he was hurt until the next day. the shot had roused them up here, and they went down to the river and found him bleeding on the sand. "they put him in a tent beside the hospital, and the next morning i went over with the doctor to see him. he was all cut up on the arms and neck and shoulders. i must have been very strong." she stopped, and he still sat with the puzzled look on his face, but a light of understanding beginning to show through. "are you joking," he asked, "or what?" "indeed, i am not joking," she assured him earnestly. "it is quite true. ask any one. only don't let them know it was i who wounded him. they have never so much as suspected it. fortunately i thought of you and ran home all the way, and was in my tent before it occurred to any one to come for me." she burst into a low laugh at his countenance of wrath and dismay. "oh! come, jack dear, it is not so perfectly, unspeakably horrible after all. i was disobedient. but then i am so sorry and promise never, never to do it again." "you might have killed the indian," he said, in a strained voice. it did not occur to either of them, just then, that it was not the danger she had been in that appalled him. she was astonished in her turn. "killed him! why, of course i might have killed him," she said blankly, frowning, in a kind of hopeless perplexity over his want of understanding. "i came very near it, i tell you. the ball made shivers of his shoulder. but he was brave," she grew enthusiastic now, "he let the doctor probe and pick, and never moved a muscle. of course he was half drunk with tizwin, even then." "you didn't stay to see the operation?" his voice was ominously quiet. "for a while, yes. and before i came away i made a sign to show him it was i. you should have seen his surprise." there followed a fury-fraught silence. landor's face was distorted with the effort he was making to contain himself, and felipa began to be a little uneasy. so she did the most unwise thing possible, having been deprived by nature of the good gift of tact. she got up from the couch and drew the knife from its case, and took it to him. "that," she said, showing the red-brown stains on the handle, "that is his blood." he snatched it from her then, with a force that threw her to one side, and sent it flying across the room, smashing a water jug to bits. then he pushed her away and going out, banged the door until the whitewash fell down from the cracks. felipa was very thoroughly frightened now. she stood in wholesome awe of her husband, and it was the first time she had ever made him really angry, although frequently he was vaguely irritated by her. she had had no idea the thing would infuriate him so, or she would probably have kept it to herself. and she wished now that she had, as she went back to the couch and sat on the edge of it, dejectedly. when he returned at the end of a couple of hours she was all humility, and she had moreover done something that was rare for her: made capital of her beauty, putting on her most becoming white gown, and piling her hair loosely on the top of her head, with a cap of lace and a ribbon atop of it. landor liked the little morning caps, probably because they were a sort of badge of civilization, but they were incongruous for all that, and took from the character of her head. his anger was well in leash, and he gave her the mail which had just come in by the stage, quite as though nothing had occurred. "and now," he commenced, when he had glanced over the eastern papers, "i have seen the c. o.; he wants the line between here and apache fixed. he will give me the detail if you care to go." he plainly meant to make no further reference to her confession, but she would have been more than woman if she had known when to let a matter drop. her face lighted with the relief of a forgiven child, and she went to him and put her arms around his neck. "you are so good to me," she said penitently, "and i was so disobedient." he bit his lip and did not reply, either to the words or to the caress. "you need a month of the mountains, i think," he said. the telegraph between thomas and apache always gave something to think about. the indians had learned the use of the white-eye's talking wire very promptly. in the early '70's, when it first came to their notice, they put it to good use. as when an apache chief sent to a yuma chief the message that if the yumas did not hold to a certain promise, the apaches would go on the war-path and destroy them, root and branch. the indians and the cow-boys used the insulators to try their marksmanship upon, and occasionally--in much the same spirit that the college man takes gates from their hinges and pulls down street signs--the young bucks cut the wires and tied the ends with rubber bands. also trees blown down by storms fell crashing across the line, and some scheme for making it a little less tempting and a little more secure was much needed. landor had long nursed such an one. so a week later he and felipa, with a detail of twenty men and a six-mule wagon, started across the gila valley to the white mountains. by day felipa was left in camp with the cook, while landor and the men worked on ahead, returning at sundown. at times she went with them, but as a rule she wandered among the trees and rocks, shooting with pistol and bow, but always keeping close to the tents. she had no intention of disobeying her husband again. sometimes, too, she read, and sometimes cooked biscuits and game over the campfire in the dutch oven. her strength began to return almost from the first, and she had gone back, for comfort's sake, to the short skirts of her girlhood. the indians who came round talked with her amicably enough, mainly by signs. she played with the children too, and one day there appeared among them her protégé of the post, who thereafter became a camp follower. and on another morning there lounged into the space in front of the tents, with the indolent swing of a mountain lion, a big sierra blanca buck. he was wrapped from neck to moccasins in a red blanket, and carried an elaborate calf's-hide quiver. he stopped in front of felipa, who was sitting on the ground with her back against the trunk of a fallen tree reading, and held out the quiver to her. "how," he said gruffly. "how," answered felipa, as unconcernedly as though she had not recognized him almost at once for the buck she had last seen in the a tent beside the hospital, with the doctor picking pieces of bone and flesh from his shoulder. then she took the quiver and examined it. there was a bow as tall as herself, and pliable as fine steel, not a thing for children to play with, but a warrior's arm. also there were a number of thin, smooth, gayly feathered arrows. "_malas_," he told her, touching the heads. "_venadas_" and she knew that he meant that they were poisoned by the process of dipping them in putrid liver, into which a rattler had been made to inject its venom. even then the sort was becoming rare, though the arrow was still in use as a weapon and not merely as an attraction for tourists. the buck sat down upon the ground in front of felipa and considered her. by the etiquette of the tribe she could not ask him his name, but the boy, her protégé, told her that it was alchesay. all the afternoon he hung around the camp, taciturn, apparently aimless, while she went about her usual amusements and slept in the tent. once in a way he spoke to her in spanish. and for days thereafter, as they moved up along the rough and dangerous road,--where the wagon upset with monotonous regularity, big and heavy though it was,--he appeared from time to time. for some days felipa had noticed a change, indefinable and slight, yet still to be felt, in the manner of the indians all about. not that they were ever especially gracious, but now the mothers discouraged the children from playing hide-and-seek with her, and although there were quite as many squaws, fewer bucks came around than before. but alchesay could always be relied upon to stalk in, at regular intervals, and seat himself near the fire, or the hot ashes thereof. they had been four days camping on black river, a mountain stream rushing between the steep hills, with the roar of a niagara, hunting deer and small game, fishing with indifferent success,--to the disgust of the apaches, who would much rather have eaten worms than fish,--and entertaining visitors. there were any number of these. one party had come out from fort apache, another from a camp of troops on the new mexico road, and some civilians from boston, who were in search of a favorable route for a projected railway. in the opinion of landor, who knew the impracticable country foot for foot, they were well-intentioned lunatics. but they were agreeable guests, who exchanged the topics of the happy east for the wild turkey and commissary supplies of the far west, and in departing took with them a picturesque, if inexact, notion of army life on the frontier, and left behind a large number of books for felipa, who had dazzled their imaginations. she had read one of the books one afternoon when she was left alone, until the sun began to sink behind the mountain tops, and the cook to drag branches to the fire preparatory to getting supper. then she marked her place with a twig, and rose up from the ground to go to the tent and dress, against landor's return. the squaws and bucks who had been all day wandering around the outskirts of the camp, speaking together in low voices, and watching the cook furtively, crowded about the opening. she warned them off with a careless "_ukishee_." but they did not go. some ten pairs of eyes, full of unmistakable menace, followed her every movement. she let down the tent flaps and tied them together, taking her time about it. she was angry, and growing angrier. it was unendurable to her to be disobeyed, to have her authority put at naught on the few occasions when she chose to exercise it. she could keep her temper over anything but that. and her temper was of the silent sort, rolling on and on, like a great cold swell at sea, to break finally against the first obstacle with an uncontrollable force. she had never been really angry but twice in her life. once when she was in school, and when a teacher she liked, judging her by her frequent and unblushing lies to a teacher she disliked, doubted her word upon an occasion when she was really speaking the truth. it was after that that she had written to her guardian that she would run away. the second time had been when brewster had tried to bully her. she knew that it would soon be a third time, if the indians went on annoying her. and she was far more afraid of what she might do than of what they might do. but she took off the waist of her gown and began to brush her hair, not being in the least squeamish about letting the apaches see her fine white arms and neck, if they were to open the flaps again. which was what they presently did. she expected it. a long, wrinkled hand reached in, feeling about for the knots of the tape. she stood still with the brush in her hands, watching. another hand came, and another. she caught up her quirt from the cot, then realizing that the sting of the lash would only prove an exasperation and weaken her authority, if she had any whatever,--and she believed that she had,--she threw it down. the cook was probably in the kitchen tent and did not know what was going on. and she would have died before she would have called for help. the lean hands found the knots, untied them, and threw back the flaps defiantly. the ten pairs of eyes were fastened on her again. she returned the gaze steadily, backing to a little camp table and slipping her hand under a newspaper that lay upon it. "_ukishee, pronto_," she commanded, in the accepted argot. they stood quite still and unyielding; and she knew that if she were to be obeyed at all, it must be now. or if she were to die, it must be now also. but the hand that drew from beneath the newspaper the little black-butted smith and wesson, which was never out of her reach, did not so much as tremble as she aimed it straight between the eyes of the foremost buck. "_ukishee_," she said once again, not loudly, but without the shadow of hesitation or wavering. there answered a low muttering, evil and rising, and the buck started forward. her finger pressed against the trigger, but before the hammer had snapped down, she threw up the barrel and fired into the air, for a big, sinewy arm, seamed with new scars, had reached out suddenly and struck the buck aside. it was all done in an instant, so quickly that felipa hardly knew she had changed her aim, and that it was alchesay who had come forward only just in time. the cook came running, six-shooter in hand, but alchesay was driving them away and lowering the canvas flaps. felipa told the cook that it was all right, and went on with her dressing. although she had no gifts for guessing the moods and humors of her father's race, she understood her mother's considerably better, and so she did not even call a "_gracias_" after alchesay. she merely nodded amicably when she went out and found him sitting on the ground waiting for her. he returned the nod, a degree less graciously, if possible, and began to talk to her in bad spanish, evidently putting small faith in her command of the white mountain idiom, marvellous, to be sure, in a white-eye squaw, for such were of even greater uselessness than the average woman, but of no account whatever in a crisis. and such he plainly considered this to be. "_usted, vaya prontisimo_," he directed with the assumption of right of one to whom she owed her life. she looked down at him in a somewhat indignant surprise. "_pues porque?_" she asked, maintaining the haughtiness of the dominant race, and refusing to acknowledge any indebtedness. "why should i go away?" "_hombre!_" grunted the indian, puffing at a straw-paper cigarette, "_excesivamente peligroso aqui_." "why is it dangerous?" she wanted to know, and shrugged her shoulders. she was plainly not to be terrorized. "_matarán á usted._" "they will kill me? who will kill me, and what for?" he gave another grunt. "go away to-morrow. go to the fort." he pointed with the hand that held the bit of cigarette in the direction of apache. "tell your man." she threw him an indifferent "i am not afraid, not of anything." it was a boast, but he had reason to know that it was one she could make good. he rolled another cigarette, and sat smoking it unmoved. and she went into the mess tent. nevertheless she decided that it might be best to tell her husband, and she did so as they sat together by the fire after the moon had risen into the small stretch of sky above the mountain peaks. they had bought a live sheep that day from a mexican herder who had passed along the road, and they were now cutting ribs from the carcass that hung from the branch of a near-by tree, and broiling them on the coals. felipa finished an unimpassioned account of the afternoon's happenings and of alchesay's advice, and landor did not answer at once. he sat thinking. of a sudden there was a rustle and a step among the pines, and from behind a big rock a figure came out into the half shadow. felipa was on her feet with a spring, and landor scrambled up almost as quickly. the figure moved into the circle of red firelight and spoke, "it is cairness." felipa started back so violently that she struck against the log she had been sitting upon, and lost her balance. cairness jumped forward, and his arm went around her, steadying her. for a short moment she leaned against his shoulder. then she drew away, and her voice was quite steady as she greeted him. he could never have guessed that in that moment she had learned the meaning of her life, that there had flashed burningly through her brain a wild, unreasoning desire to stand forever backed against that rock of strength, to defy the world and all its restrictions. there was a bright i. d. blanket spread on the ground a little way back from the fire, and she threw herself down upon it. all that was picturesque in his memories of history flashed back to cairness, as he took his place beside landor on the log and looked at her. boadicea might have sat so in the depths of the icenean forests, in the light of the torches of the druids. so the babylonian queen might have rested in the midst of her victorious armies, or she of palmyra, after the lion hunt in the deserts of syria. her eyes, red lighted beneath the shadowing lashes, met his. then she glanced away into the blackness of the pine forest, and calling her dog to lie down beside her, stroked its silky red head. "i knew," cairness said, turning to landor after a very short silence, "that you and mrs. landor were somewhere along here. so i left my horse at a rancheria across the hill there," he nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the looming pile just behind, "and walked to where i saw the fire. i saw you for some time before i was near, but i ought to have called out. i really didn't think about startling you." "that's all right," landor said; "are you hunting?" he hesitated. "i have done some shooting. i am always shooting more or less, for that matter." landor went to the tree and cut another rib from the mutton and threw it on the coals. then he walked across the clearing to the tent. cairness and felipa were alone, and he leaned nearer to her. "do you know," he asked in a low voice, "that there have been all sorts of rumors of trouble among the indians for some time?" she nodded. "i have kept near you for a week, to warn you, or to help you if necessary." her lips parted, and quivered, and closed again. the winds from the wide heavens above the gap whined through the pines, the river roared steadily down below, and the great, irresistible hand of nature crushed without heeding it the thin, hollow shell of convention. the child of a savage and a black sheep looked straight and long into the face of the child of rovers and criminals. they were man and woman, and in the freemasonry of outlawry made no pretence. "you know that i love you?" he said unevenly. "i know it," she whispered, but she took her shaking hand from the dog's head, and, without another word, pointed to the shadow of landor's figure, thrown distorted by the candle light against the side of the tent. and he understood that the shadow must rise always between them. he had never expected it to be otherwise. it was bound to be so, and he bowed his head in unquestioning acceptance. the shadow was swallowed up in darkness. the candle had been blown out, and landor came back to the fire. "you must get mrs. landor into the post to-morrow," cairness said abruptly; "victorio's band is about." landor asked him to spend the night at the camp, and he did so, being given a cot in the mess tent. about an hour after midnight there came thundering through the quiet of the night the sound of galloping hoofs along the road at the foot of the ravine. cairness, lying broad awake, was the first to hear it. he sprang up and ran to the opening of the tent. he guessed that it was a courier even before the gallop changed to a trot, and a voice called from the invisible depths below, "captain landor?" with a rising intonation of uncertainty. "yes," cairness called back. "is that captain landor's camp?" a score of voices answered "yes." they were all aroused now. landor went down to meet the man, who had dismounted and was climbing up toward him, leading his horse. it was a courier, sent out from apache, as cairness had supposed. "sixty of victorio's hostiles have been at the agency, and are on their way back to new mexico. will probably cross your camp," the captain read aloud to the men, who crowded as near as was compatible with discipline. then he went off to inspect the stock and the pickets, and to double the sentries. "you had better sleep on your arms," he told the soldiers, and returned to his cot to lie down upon it, dressed, but feigning sleep, that felipa might not be uneasy. he need not have resorted to deception. felipa had not so much as pretended to close her eyes that night. before dawn cairness was out, hastening the cook with the breakfast, helping with it himself, indeed, and rather enjoying the revival of the days when he had been one of the best cooks in the troop and forever pottering about the mess chests and the dutch oven, in the field. as the sun rose,--though daybreak was fairly late there in the cañon,--the cold, crisp air was redolent of coffee and bacon and broiling fresh meat. felipa, lifting her long riding skirt, stepped out from the tent, and stood with hand upraised holding back the flap. a ray of sun, piercing white through the pines, fell full on her face. she had the look of some mysterious priestess of the sun god, and cairness, standing by the crackling fire, prodding it with a long, charred stick, watched her without a word. then she came forward, holding out her hand in the most matter-of-fact way, if, indeed, any action of a very beautiful woman can be matter of fact. "i shall ride into apache with you in captain landor's stead, if he will allow me," he told her, and added, "and if you will." she bowed gravely, "you are very kind." at the instant a cloud floated over the sun, and soon a black bank began to fill up the sky above the cañon. as they ate their breakfast in the tent, the morning darkened forebodingly. felipa finished the big quart cup of weak coffee hurriedly, and stood up, pushing back her camp-stool. her horse and four others were waiting. landor had agreed to trust her to cairness and an escort of three soldiers. he could ill spare time from the telegraph line, under the circumstances; it might be too imperatively needed at any moment. he mounted his wife quickly. "you are not afraid?" he asked. but he knew so well that she was not, that he did not wait for her answer. cairness mounted, and looked up anxiously at the sky, as he gathered his reins between his fingers. the wind had begun to howl through the branches of the trees. it promised to be a wild ride. "i will be back to-night, landor, to report," he said; "that is, if the storm doesn't delay us." and they started off down the hill. he rode beside mrs. landor along the road in the ravine bed, and the soldiers followed some twenty yards in the rear. they were making as much haste as was wise at the outset, and felipa bent forward against the ever rising wind, as her horse loped steadily on. there was a mutter of thunder and a far-off roar, a flame of lightning through the trees, and the hills and mountains shook. just where they rode the cañon narrowed to hardly more than a deep gulch, and the river ran close beside the road. "we must get out of this," cairness started to say, urging his little bronco; but even as he spoke there was a murmur, a rustle, a hissing roar, and the rain fell in one solid sheet, blinding them, beating them down. "take care!" yelled cairness, as felipa, dazed and without breath, headed straight for the stream. he bent and snatched at her bridle, and, swerving, started up the sheer side of the hill. she clung to the mane instinctively, but her horse stumbled, struggled, slipped, and scrambled. she had lost all control of it, and the earth and stones gave way beneath its hoofs just as a great wall of water bore down the bed of the river, sweeping trees and rocks away, and making the ground quiver. "let go your stirrup!" cried cairness, in her ear; and as she kicked her foot loose, he leaned far from the saddle and threw his arm around her, swinging her up in front of him across the mclellan pommel, and driving the spurs into his horse's belly. it had the advantage of her horse in that it was an indian animal, sure of foot as a burro, and much quicker. with one dash it was up the hillside, while the other rolled over and over, down into the torrent of the cloud burst. cairness slid to the ground, still holding her close, and set her upon her feet at once. he had not so much as tightened the grasp of his arm about her, nor held her one-half second longer than there was absolute need. he tried to see if the soldiers were safe, but though they were not a hundred feet away, the trunks and the mist of water hid them. the rain still pounded down, but the rush of the wind was lessening sensibly. felipa leaned against the tree under which they were, fairly protected from the worst of the storm; and cairness stood beside her, holding his winded horse. there was nothing to be said that could be said. she had lost for once her baffling control of the commonplace in speech, and so they stood watching the rain beat through the wilderness, and were silent. when the storm had fairly passed, they found felipa's gray lodged in the root of a tree some distance down the creek; in no way hurt, oddly enough, but trembling and badly frightened. the saddle, even, was uninjured, though the pigskin was water-soaked and slippery. cairness sent one of the soldiers back to report their safety to landor, and they mounted and hurried on again, swimming the river twice, and reaching the post some time after noon. the commandant's wife took mrs. landor in, and would have put her to bed with hot drinks and blankets, but that felipa would have nothing more than some dry clothes and a wrapper in place of her wet habit. the clothes were her own, brought by one of the men, safe in a rubber poncho, but the wrapper belonged to her hostess, who was portly, whereas felipa was slender. but to cairness, who had stopped for luncheon, she seemed, in the voluminous dull red draperies, more splendid than ever before. he rode away at once after they had lunched. and felipa went to her room, and dropped down shivering beside the little red-hot iron stove, moaning between her clenched teeth. viii six years of fighting, of bloodshed, of heavy loss in blood and treasure to the government, the careers of the incarnate devils juh, victorio, and geronimo--all the evils let loose on the southwest from '78 to '85 were traceable primarily to the selling of bad whiskey to a hunting party of chiricahuas by two storekeepers, greedy of gain. of course there were complications following, a long and involved list of them. of course the indians only sought the excuse, and very probably would have made it if it had not been made for them. and of course the interior department bungled under the guidance of politicians, of whom the best that possibly can be said is that they were stupid tools of corrupt men in the territories, who were willing to turn the blood of innocent settlers into gold for their own pockets. and still, those who hated the apache most--officers who had fought them for years, who were laboring under no illusions whatever; the commanders of the department of arizona and of the division of the missouri--reported officially that victorio and his people had been unjustly dealt with. and these were men, too, who had publicly expressed, time and again, their opinion that the apaches were idle and worthless vagabonds, utterly hopeless, squalid, untrustworthy; robbers and thieves by nature. they had none of crook's so many times unjustified faith in the red savage,--that faith which, wantonly betrayed, brought him to defeat and bitter disappointment at the last. since crook had gone to the northern plains, in the spring of '75, the unrest among the apaches had been steadily growing, until five years later it was beyond control, and there began the half decade which opened with victorio on the war-path, and closed with the closing of the career of the unfortunate general--most luckless example of the failing of failure--and the subjection of geronimo. the never ending changes of the service, which permitted no man to remain in one spot for more than two years at the utmost limit, had sent landor's troop back to grant, and it was from there that he was ordered out at the beginning of the summer. the curtain-raiser to the tragedy about to come upon the boards was a little comedy. one fine afternoon the post was moving along in its usual routine--that quiet which is only disturbed by the ever recurring military formalities and the small squabbles of an isolated community. there had been a lull in the war rumors, and hope for the best had sprung up in the wearied hearts of the plains service, much as the sun had that day come out in a scintillating air after an all-night rain-storm. mrs. landor sat on the top step of her porch. landor was with her, also his second lieutenant ellton, and brewster, who in the course of events had come into the troop. there had been, largely by felipa's advice, an unspoken agreement to let the past be. a troop divided against itself cannot stand well on the inspector general's reports. and as brewster was about to marry the commanding officer's daughter, it was well to give him the benefit of the doubt of his entire sanity when he had been under the influence of what had been a real, if short-lived, passion for felipa. they were all discussing the feasibility of getting up an impromptu picnic to the foot-hills. "miss mclane will go, i suppose?" asked felipa. brewster answered that she would, of course. he was rather annoyingly proprietary and sure of her. "but you have no jill," she said, smiling at ellton. his own smile was very strained, but she did not see that, nor the shade of trouble in his nice blue eyes. there fell a moment's pause. and it was broken by the sound of clashing as of many cymbals, the clatter of hoofs, the rattle of bouncing wheels, and around the corner of the line there came tearing a wagon loaded with milk tins. a wild-eyed man, hatless, with his hair on end, lashed his ponies furiously and drew up all of a heap, in front of the commanding officer's quarters. landor and his lieutenant jumped up and ran down the walk. "what's all this, dutchy?" they asked. dutchy was a little german, who kept a milk ranch some seven miles from the post. "apachees, apachees," he squealed, gasping for breath. "where?" the commandant asked. "i see dem pass by my ranch. dey weel run off all my stock, seexty of dem, a hundred mebee. i come queek to tell you." "you came quick all right enough," said landor, looking at the lathered broncos. but major mclane was inquiring, and the result of his inquiries was that two troops were hurried in hot pursuit. the post was tremendously excited. as the cavalry trotted off up the slope toward the foot-hills, the men left behind went to the back of the post and watched, women looked through field-glasses, from the upper windows, children balanced upon the fences of the back yards, and chinese cooks scrambled to the top of chicken coops and woodsheds, shading their eyes with their hands and peering in the direction of the gap. dogs barked and hens cackled and women called back and forth. down at the sutler's store the german was being comforted with beer at a dollar a bottle. in the storm-cleared atmosphere the troops could be seen until they turned into the gap, and shortly thereafter they reappeared, coming back at a trot. the milk ranch and the stock were unhurt, and there were not even any indian signs. it was simply another example, on the milkman's part, of the perfection to which the imagination of the frontier settler could be cultivated. "i see him, i see him all the same," he protested, with tears and evident conviction. "i guess not," said landor, tolerantly, as he turned his horse over to his orderly; "but, anyway," he added to ellton, "we had a picnic--of a sort." and before the next morning the picnic that kept the southwest interested for five years had begun. victorio and two hundred hostiles had left the mescalero agency for good and all, killing, burning, torturing, and destroying as they went, and troops from all the garrisons were sent out post haste. at noon landor got his orders. he was to leave at four o'clock, and when he told felipa she planned for dinner at three, with her usual manner of making all things as pleasant as possible, and indulging in no vain and profitless regrets. "we may as well have mr. brewster and nellie mclane, too," she decided, and went off in search of them, bareheaded and dancing with excitement. she dearly loved rumors of war. the prospect of a scout was always inspiriting to her. ellton messed with them regularly, but he was not to go out, because he was acting adjutant. to his intense disgust and considerable mortification--for he was young and very enthusiastic and burdened with ideals--he was obliged to appear spick and span in irreproachable undress, beside his superiors in their campaign clothes. "they're out from apache, two troops under kimball and dutton; morris has a band of scouts, bayard has sent two troops, wingate one. oh! it's going to be grim-visaged war and all that, this time, sure," brewster prophesied. ellton could not eat. he bewailed his hard fate unceasingly. "shut up," said brewster, with malicious glee. "they also serve who only stand and wait, you know," he chuckled. "you can serve your admiring and grateful country quite as well in the adjutant's office as summering on the verdant heights of the mogollons." ellton retaliated with more spirit. "or guarding a water hole on the border for two or three months, and that's quite as likely to be your fate." "true, too," brewster admitted perforce. "i've been talking to a fellow down at the q. m. corral," landor said, "englishman named cairness,--charley cairness. he's going as a scout. he can't resist war's alarms. he used to be in my troop a few years ago, and he was a first-rate soldier--knew his place a good deal better than if he had been born to it, which he very obviously wasn't." "squaw-man, isn't he?" brewster asked. landor shrugged his shoulder, but felipa would not have it so. "you know he is not, jack," she said a little petulantly, which was noticeably unwonted on her part. "i don't know anything whatever about it," he answered; "that is none of my affair. i should be surprised if he were, and i must say i am inclined to think he is not." "i know he is not," she said decisively. "i beg pardon," said brewster, pointedly, accentuating the slight awkwardness. but landor was not aware that there was any. "cairness is a very decent sort of a fellow," he said good-humoredly. "and, personally, i am indebted to him for having saved mrs. landor's life up black river way." ellton filled in the pause that threatened, with a return to the dominant topic. "this not having any pack-train," he opined, "is the very deuce and all. the only transportation the q. m. can give you is a six-mule team, isn't it?" "yes; but it happens to be enough for the next few weeks. we are going to camp around san tomaso to afford the settlers protection. we can't follow any trails, those are our orders, so the pack-train doesn't matter anyway. by that time they will have scared up one." as they came out from dinner the orderlies had the horses at the door. landor gave his wife parting instructions the while brewster took an ostentatiously affectionate farewell of miss mclane, who was herself neither so affectionate nor so sorrowful as she might have been expected to be. the adjutant watched them, furtively and unhappily. felipa herself was not as unmoved as usual. when landor had trotted off, and she and the girl were left alone, she went into the house and came back with a pair of field-glasses. through them she could see her husband riding at the head of the column, along the road, and another figure beside him, mounted on a bony little pinto bronco. so he was near her again. she had not seen him in many months, but she had felt that he must be always, as he had been through those days in the fastnesses of the sierra blanca, following her afar off, yet near enough to warn her, if need arose. she was too superstitious to watch him out of sight, and she turned back into the house, followed by miss mclane, just as stable call sounded, and the white-clad soldiers tramped off to the corrals. ix under the midnight sky, misty pale and dusted with glittering stars, the little shelter tents of landor's command shone in white rows. the campfires were dying; the herd, under guard, was turned out half a mile or more away on a low mesa, where there was scant grazing; and the men, come that afternoon into camp, were sleeping heavily, after a march of some forty miles,--all save the sentry, who marched up and down, glancing from time to time at the moving shadows of the herd, or taking a sight along his carbine at some lank coyote scudding across the open. but presently he saw, coming from down the road, two larger bodies, which showed themselves soon, in the light of the stars against the sands, to be a pair of horsemen and evidently no apaches. he watched them. they rode straight up to the camp and answered his challenge. they wished, they said, to speak to the officer in command. the sentry was of the opinion that it was an unseemly hour to arouse a man who had marched all day, but it was not for him to argue. he walked deliberately, very deliberately indeed, that the citizens might be impressed, over to landor's tent and awoke him. "there's two citizens here, sir, asking to see you, sir." his tone plainly disclaimed any part in the affair. landor came out, putting on his blouse, and went over to the horsemen. one of them dismounted and raised his hat. "my name, sir, is foster." landor expressed pleasure, without loss of words. "i represent, sir, the citizens of san tomaso." "yes?" said landor. he knew the citizens of the district, and attached no particular sacredness to the person of their envoy. "they have expressed the desire that i should convey to you, colonel--" "i am captain--captain landor." "captain landor," he corrected urbanely, "pleased to meet you, sir. they have expressed the desire that i should convey to you, sir, their wish to accompany you in the search for hostile apaches." that was evidently how it was to go into the papers. the officer knew it well enough, but he explained with due solemnity that he was acting under instructions, and was not to follow indians into the hills. "i am only to camp here to protect the citizens of the valley against possible raids." the civilian protested. "but there is a big company of us, sir, thirty or thirty-five, who can put you on the trail of a large band." landor explained again, with greater detail, vainly trying to impress the nature of a military order on the civilian brain. "it would not do for me to disobey my instructions. and besides there are several officers who are to follow trails, out with larger commands. i have no pack-train, and i can't." it did not seem to strike the representative of the citizens of san tomaso that that was much of an argument. he continued to urge. "of course," said the officer, "i understand that the hostiles are not in the immediate vicinity?" "well, not in the immediate vicinity," he admitted. "no; but they passed along the foot-hills, and stole some stock, an' killed three men no later than this evening." "say we were to get off at sun-up, then," objected landor, "they would even in that way have twelve hours' start of us." "yes, sir. but they ain't likely to travel fast. they'll think themselves safe enough up there in the mountains. we could easy overtake them, being as we wouldn't be hampered with drove stock. they stole about fifty head, an' we could most likely get it back if we started at once. it is the wish of the citizens of san tomaso, ain't it?" he turned to the man who had remained mounted, and who had not opened his mouth. the man nodded. "i couldn't follow more than two days," landor expostulated hopelessly. "as i tell you, i've no pack-train. the men would have to carry their rations in their saddle pockets." foster hastened to assure him that two days would easily do it. "we know the country round here, colonel, know it better than the hostiles themselves; and a big party of us volunteers to put you on the trail and bring you to them. you can't hardly refuse, seein' as you say you are here to protect us, and this is the protection we ask, to get back the stock we've lost." landor stood considering and pulling at his mustache, as his way was. then he turned on his heel and went back to the tent for brewster. he explained the matter to him. "i tell mr. foster," he said, "just what risk i would take if i acted contrary to orders, but the force of my argument doesn't seem to strike him. if any harm were to come to the citizens around here, i'd be responsible." "you won't, i don't guess, if it was the citizens' own wish," insisted the indomitable one. "you wouldn't be gone more than two days at the outside. and a big party of us will go with you." "how many did you say?" he wanted to know, having the laudable intention of committing the man before brewster. and foster answered him that there would be thirty or forty. was he quite certain that the trail was of hostiles, and not of cow-boys or of other troops? "certain, dead sure. it's a band of apaches that went across the river. why, half a dozen seen them." landor consulted with his lieutenant. "very well," he said in the end, "i'll go. i take serious risks, but i understand it to be the wish of the citizens hereabouts." their envoy assured him that it most certainly was, and became profuse in acknowledgments; so that landor shut him off. he had come many miles that day and must be on the march again at dawn, and wanted what sleep he could get. "when and where will you meet me?" he demanded with the curtness of the military, so offensive to the undisciplined. "at eight o'clock, sir," he answered resentfully, "in front of the dry-goods store on the main street. if that is convenient for your men." "that will do," said landor. "see there is no delay," and he wheeled about and went back to his tent with brewster. the citizens rode off. "they won't be ready. no use making haste, captain," cairness suggested at daybreak, as landor hurried the breakfast and saddling. they knew that the chances were ten to one that it would be a wild goose chase, and the captain already repented him. but at seven the men were mounted, with two days' rations in their saddle bags, and trotting across the flat in the fragrance of the yet unheated day, to the settlement of san tomaso. two aimless citizens lounged on their horses, rapt in argument and the heavy labor of chewing--so much so that they barely took notice of the troops. landor rode up to them and made inquiries for foster. "foster?" one drawled, "he'll be along presently, i reckon." landor went back to his command and waited. another man rode up and joined the two. ten minutes passed, and the troops grew restless. landor went forward again. "can you, gentlemen, tell me," he demanded a trifle wrathfully, "where i can find mr. foster?" they reckoned, after deliberation, that he might be in bob's saloon. which might bob's saloon be? the man pointed, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, and went on with his conversation and his quid. a dozen or more loafers, chiefly mexicans, had congregated in front of the dry-goods store. landor rode over to bob's place, and giving his horse to the trumpeter, strode in. there were eight men around the bar, all in campaign outfit, and all in various stages of intoxication. foster was effusive. he was glad to see the general. general landor, these were the gentlemen who had volunteered to assist uncle sam. he presented them singly, and invited landor to drink. the refusal was both curt and ungracious. "if we are to overtake the hostiles, we have got to start at once," he suggested. but it was full two hours, in the end, before they did start. flasks had to be replenished, farewell drinks taken, wives and families parted from, the last behests made, of those going upon an errand of death. citizens burning with ardor to protect their hearths and stock were routed out of saloons and dance halls, only to slip away again upon one pretext or another. the sun was now high and blazing down into the one street of the mud settlement. the enlisted men were angry that landor, fearing they, too, would be led astray into dives, would not dismount them. sitting still in the full sun, when even in the shade the mercury is many degrees above the hundreds, is not calculated to improve the disposition. but at length the volunteers were herded together. the thirty-five promised had dwindled to eight, and foster was not of the number. he came lurching up at the last moment to explain that he would be unable to go. his wife was in hysterics, he said. so the troops and the volunteers rode away without him, and a few miles off, among the foot-hills, struck the trail. here landor, giving ear to the advice of the citizens, found himself whirled around in a very torrent of conflicting opinions. no two agreed. the liquor had made them ugly. he dismounted the command for rest, and waited, filled with great wrath. "i ought to have known better than to come at all," he told brewster, as they stood beside their horses; "it is always like this." brewster nodded. he had seen the same thing himself. the territorial citizen was a known quantity to both of them. cairness came up. "are we going into camp, captain?" he wanted to know, "or are those fellows going to follow the trail?" landor took his arm from the saddle and stood upright, determinedly. "we are going to stop this mob business, that's what we are going to do," he said, and he went forward and joined in a discussion that was upon the verge of six-shooters. he set forth in measured tones, and words that reverberated with the restrained indignation behind them, that he had come upon the assurance that he was to strike indians, that his men had but two days' rations in their saddle bags, and that he was acting upon his own responsibility, practically in disobedience of orders. if the indians were to be hit, it must be done in a hurry, and he must get back to the settlements. he held up his hands to check a flood of protests and explanations. "there has got to be a head to this," his drill-trained voice rang out, "and i propose to be that head. my orders have got to be obeyed." there was a murmur. they had elected a captain of their own; they were indian fighters of experience themselves. landor suggested his own experience of close on two decades, and further that he was going to command the whole outfit, or going to go back and drop the thing right there. they assented to the first alternative, with exceedingly bad grace, and with worse grace took the place of advance guard he detailed them to, four hundred yards ahead. "you know the country. you are my guides, and you say you are going to lead me to the indians. now do it." there was nothing conciliating in his speech, whatever, and he sat on his horse, pointing them to their positions with arm outstretched, and the frown of an offended jove. when they had taken it, grumbling, the column moved. "it's only a small trail, anyway," cairness informed them as a result of a minute examination he had made, walking round and leading his bronco, bending double over the signs, "just some raiding party of twelve or fifteen bucks. shot out from the main body and ran into the settlements to steal stock probably." landor agreed with him, "i told the citizens so, but they knew better." "they are travelling rapidly, of course. we shan't overtake them." "i dare say not," said landor, his face growing black again; "they'll cover fifty or seventy-five miles a day. we can't do that, by a good deal. we couldn't even if those damned civilians would keep their distance ahead." but this the civilians were very plainly not minded to do. they dropped back, now to cinch up, now to take a drink from the flasks, now to argue, once for one of their number to recover from an attack of heart disease. landor swore. he would keep them their proper distance ahead, if he had to halt at all their halts from now to sunset. they were high among the mountains, and here and there in the shadows of the rocks and pines were patches of snow, left even yet from the winter. by all the signs the trail was already more than half a day old. landor's fear of leaving the settlements unguarded grew. "we will get up among these mountains and be delayed, and we are in no condition whatever to travel, anyway," he told brewster, as the advance guard halted again, and landor, with curses in his heart but a civil tongue withal, trotted up to them. they were fighting. "captain, what do you say to following this trail?" they clamored. landor explained to them that he was not doing the thinking, that it was their campaign. "you are my guides. you know the country, and i don't." he reminded them again that they had promised to lead him to indians, and that he was ready to be led. if they thought the hostiles were to be reached by following the trail, he would follow it. some of them did think so. some of them thought on the contrary, that it would be surer to make a detour, leaving the trail. they knew the spot, the bed of an ancient mountain lake, where the hostiles were sure to camp. landor sat and heard them out, silence on his lips and wrath upon his brow. "we will go wherever you say," he reiterated immovably. the captain they had elected for themselves was for following; the seven others agreed upon a detour. they had ideas of their own concerning obedience to superiors. they left the trail in spite of the vehement assurance of their captain that they would without doubt get all manner of profanity knocked out of them, and hasten their inevitable journey to gehenna if they went into the timber. the advance guard advanced less and less. half drunk and ever drinking, in quaking fear of the timber, it kept falling back. "i'll be hanged," opined landor, as his own horse bit at the croup of a citizen's horse, eliciting a kick and a squeal, "i'll be hanged if you shall demoralize my column like this. you'll keep ahead if i have to halt here all night to make you. i've given you the post of honor. if i put my men in the van, i'd choose the best ones, and they'd be flattered, too. you wouldn't catch them skulking back on the command." they spurred forward unwillingly, thus urged. at sundown they came to the old lake bed and camped there. according to the citizens it was a regular indian camping-place for the hostiles, since the days of cochise. the horses were tied to a ground line, to avoid the embarrassment of a loose herd, in the event of an engagement. pickets were sent out to give warning at the approach of indians. it was winter here in the mountains, while it was hot summer in the alkali flats below, but the men were forbidden fires. and it was a fierce grievance to the citizens, as was also that they were not allowed to go out to shoot wild turkeys. they remonstrated sulkily. landor's patience was worn out. "it's a confoundedly curious thing," he told them, "for men who really want to find indians, to go shooting and building fires." and he sent them to rest upon their arms and upon the cold, damp ground. but there was no night alarm, and at daybreak it began to be apparent to the troops that they had been led directly away from all chance of one. they made fires, ate their breakfast, resaddled, and took their way back to the settlements, doubling on their own trail. they came upon signs of a yet larger band, and it was more probable than ever that the valley had been in danger. landor cursed the malpais and the men who were leading him over it. "how much more of this rough country is there going to be?" he demanded, as they stopped to shoe two horses that had come unshod on the sharp rocks. "colonel," they made answer with much dignity, "we are more anxious than you to get back to our defenceless women and children." the defenceless women and children were safe, however: a captain, ranking landor, reported to that effect when he met them some dozen miles outside san tomaso. he reported further that he had a pack-train for landor and orders to absorb his troop. landor protested at having to retrace their trail at once. his men and his stock were in no state to travel. the men were footsore and blistered. they had led their horses, for the most part, up and down rough hills for two days. but the trail was too hot and too large to be abandoned. they unsaddled, and partaking together of coffee and bacon and biscuits, mounted and went off once more. their bones ached, and the feet of many of them bled; but the citizens had gone their way to their homes in the valley, and they felt that, on the whole, they had reason to be glad. x it was tea time at the circle k ranch. but no one was enjoying the hour of rest. kirby sat on the couch and abstractedly ate slice after slice of thin bread and butter, without speaking. mrs. kirby made shift to darn the bunch of stockings beside her, but her whole attention was strained to listening. the children did not understand, though they felt the general uneasiness, and whispered together as they looked at the pictures in the illustrated paper, months old. kirby's assistants, the two young englishmen, had not come back when they were due. one had gone to the mail station in the valley, three days before, and he should have returned at noon, at the furthest limit. by three o'clock, the other had jumped on a horse and gone out to look for him. and now, one was lying in the road five miles from the ranch, with an arrow through his eye. the other, a mile nearer home, was propped against a pine trunk, so that the ragged hole beneath his shoulder blade, where a barb had been torn out, did not show. his wide eyes, upon the lid of one of which the blood from a head wound had clotted, looked up sightless through the branches, at a patch of blue sky. their end had been a common enough one, and had come to them both without a moment of warning. at noon that day a cow-boy had ridden from the hills with a rumor that victorio's people were about. but kirby had kept it from his wife. it might not be true. and even if it were, the danger was really small. with the hands and the two englishmen, the quadrangle of log cabins, well stocked with food and ammunition, could withstand any attack. it had been built and planned to that end. the silence, cut by the nervous whispering of the children, became unendurable. "are you very uneasy about them?" mrs. kirby asked. "it's not so much that," he evaded, getting up to put a lump of sugar he did not need into his tea, "it's not so much that as it is the everlasting strain of fighting the hands. it would be easier to meet an open rebellion than it is to battle against their sullen ugliness." mrs. kirby could understand that very well. she had the same thing to oppose day after day with the woman, and of late it had been more marked. out in the corral the cow-boy was holding forth. the men had stopped work on the instant that kirby had turned his back. if kirby could loll on soft cushions and drink tea, as free-born americans and free-souled irishmen they might do the same. "it's all right," said the cow-boy, with a running accompaniment of profanity, as he cleaned his brutal mexican bit. "johnny bull don't have to believe in it if he don't like. but all the same, i seen a feller over here to the 3 c range, and he told me he seen the military camped over to san tomaso a week ago, and that there was a lot of stock, hundred head or so, run off from the settlements. you see, them apaches is making for the southern chiricahuas over in sonora to join the mexican apaches, and they're going to come this here way. you see!" and he rubbed at the rust vigorously with a piece of soft rawhide. the woman joined her voice. she had a meat cleaver in her hand, and there was blood on her apron where she had wiped the roast she was now leaving to burn in the stove. "like as not we'll all be massacred. i told bill to get off this place two weeks ago, and he's such an infernal loafer he couldn't make up his mind to move hisself." she flourished her cleaver toward the big texan, her husband, who balanced on the tongue of a wagon, his hands in his pockets, smiling ruefully and apologetically, and chewing with an ardor he never put to any other work. "we been here four years now," she went on raspingly, "and if you all feel like staying here to be treated like slaves by these john bulls, you can do it. but you bet i know when i've got enough. to-morrow i quits." her jaws snapped shut, and she stood glaring at them defiantly. the words of a woman in a community where women are few carry almost the weight of inspiration. be she never so hideous or so vile, she is in some measure a deborah, and the more yet, if she be moved to the lust and love of revenge of the prophetess who sang in the frenzy of blood drunkenness, "blessed above women shall jael the wife of heber, the kenite, be. blessed shall she be above women in the tent." the declaration of independence roused the screeching eagle of freedom in the breasts of all the white men. with the mexicans it was a slightly different sentiment. at best they could never be relied upon for steady service. a couple of months' pay in their pockets, and they must rest them for at least six. it is always to be taken into consideration when they are hired. they had been paid only the day before. and, moreover, the greaser follows the gringo's lead easily--to his undoing. the murmurs in the corral rose louder. it was not that kirby and his partners underpaid, underfed, or overworked the american citizens. it was that their language was decent and moderate; and the lash of the slave driver would have stung less than the sight of the black coats and the seven o'clock dinner. in the midst of white savages and red, the four clung to the forms of civilization with that dogged persistence in the unessential, that worship of the memory of a forsaken home, for which the englishman, time and again, lays down his life without hesitation. that was the grievance. while kirby went through the oppressive rite of afternoon tea within the slant-roofed log cabin, and tried to hide from his wife the fear which grew as the shadows lengthened across the clearing out in the corral, the men had reached open mutiny. the smouldering sullenness had at last burst into flaming defiance, blown by the gale of the woman's wrath. after he had had his tea kirby got up, went out to the corral, and called to one of the men, who hesitated for a moment, then slouched over, kicking with his heavy booted toe as he passed at the hocks of a horse in one of the stalls. kirby saw him do it, but he checked his wrath. he had learned to put up with many things. "don't you think," he suggested, "that it might be a good idea for you and some other man to ride down the road a bit--" the man interrupted, "i ain't going daown the road, nor anywheres else before supper--nor after supper neither, if i don't feel like it." he was bold enough in speech, but his eyes dropped before kirby's indignant ones. it was a fatal want of tact perhaps, characteristic of the race, but then the characteristic is so fine. "you will do whatever i tell you to do," the voice was low and strained, but not wavering. it reached the group by the harness-room door. with one accord they strode forward to the support of their somewhat browbeaten brother. what they would do was exactly as they pleased, they told the tyrant. they shook their fists in his face. it was all in the brutal speech of the frontier, mingled with the liquid ripple of argot spanish, and its vicious, musical oaths. the deep voice of the woman carried above everything, less decent than the men. it was a storm of injury. kirby was without fear, but he was also without redress. he turned from them, his face contracted with the pain of his impotence, and walked back to the house. "i could order them off the ranch to-night," he told his wife, as he dropped on a chair, and taking up the hearth brush made a feint of sweeping two or three cinders from the floor; "but it's ten to one they wouldn't go and it would weaken my authority--not that i have any, to be sure--and besides," he flung down the brush desperately and turned to her, "i didn't want to tell you before, but there is a pretty straight rumor that victorio's band, or a part of it, is in these hills. we may need the men at any time." neither spoke of the two who should have been back hours ago. the night closed slowly down. the texan woman went back to the kitchen and finished cooking the supper for the hands--a charred sort of saturnalian feast. "she can git her own dinner if she wants to," she proclaimed, and was answered by a chorus of approval. while the men sat at the long table, shovelling in with knife and three-pronged fork the food of the master their pride forbade them to serve, a horse came at a run, up to the quadrangle, and a cow-boy rushed into the open doorway. "apaches!" he gasped, clutching at the lintel, wild-eyed, "apaches!" they sprang up, with a clatter of dishes and overturning of benches and a simultaneous cry of "whereabouts?" he had seen a large band heading for the ranch, and had found a dead white man on the north road, he said, and he gesticulated madly, his voice choked with terror. had it been all arranged, planned, and rehearsed for months beforehand, the action could not have been more united. they crowded past him out of the door and ran for the corrals, and each dragged a horse or a mule from the stalls, flinging on a halter or rope or bridle, whatever came to hand, from the walls of the harness room. but there was more stock than was needed. "turn the rest loose," cried the woman, and set the example herself. kirby, hurrying from the house to learn the cause of the new uproar, was all but knocked down and trodden under the hoofs of all his stock, driven from the enclosure with cracking of whips and with stones. then a dozen ridden horses crowded over the dropped bars, the woman in the lead astride, as were the men. "what is this?" he shouted, grabbing at a halter-shank and clinging to it until a knife slashed down on his wrist. "apaches on the north road," they called back; and the woman screamed above it all a devilish farewell, "better have 'em to dinner in claw-hammer coats." it was a sheer waste of good ammunition, and it might serve as a signal to the indians as well; kirby knew it, and yet he emptied his six-shooter into the deep shadows of the trees where they had vanished, toward the south. then he ran into the corral, and, snatching up a lantern from the harness room, looked around. it was empty. there was only a pack-burro wandering loose and nosing at the grains in the mangers. he turned and went back to the cabin, where his wife stood at the door, with the children clinging to her. from down the north road there came a blood-freezing yell, and a shot, reverberating, rattling from hill to hill, muffling into silence among the crowding pines. as he shut the door and bolted it with the great iron rods, there tore into the clearing a score of vague, savage figures. it looked, when he saw it for an instant, as he put up the wooden blinds, like some phantom dance of the devils of the mountains, so silent they were, with their unshod ponies, so quick moving. and then a short silence was broken by cries and shots, the pinge of bullets, and the whizz of arrows. there were two rooms to the cabin where they were, the big sitting room and the small bedchamber beyond. kirby went into the bedroom and came out with two rifles and a revolver. he put the revolver into his wife's hands. "i'll do my best, you know, dear. but if i'm done for, if there is no hope for you and the children, use it," he said. and added, "you understand?" of a truth she understood only too well, that death with a bullet through the brain could be a tender mercy. "not until there is no hope," he impressed, as he put the barrel of his rifle through a knot hole and fired at random. she reloaded for him, and fired from time to time herself, and he moved from the little round hole in the wall to one in the window blind, in the feeble, the faithless hope that the indians might perhaps be deceived, might fancy that there was more than the one forsaken man fighting with unavailing courage for the quiet woman who stayed close by his side, and for the two children, huddled whimpering in one corner, their little trembling arms clasped round each other's necks. twenty, yes ten, of those who, as the sound of the firing reached their ears, were making off at a run down the south road for the settlement in the valley, could have saved the fair-haired children and the young mother, who helped in the fruitless fight without a plaint of fear. ten men could have done it, could have done it easily; but not one man. and kirby knew it now, as the light of flames began to show through the chinks of the logs, and the weight of heavy bodies thudded against the door. it was a strong door, built of great thick boards and barred with iron, but it must surely cede before fire and the blows. it wrenched on its huge hinges. kirby set down his gun and turned to his wife, holding out his arms. she went to him and he kissed her on the forehead and the lips, in farewell. "good-by," he said; "now take the children in there." no need to tell her that her courage must not falter at that last moment, which would soon come. he knew it, as he looked straight into those steadfast, loving eyes. she clung to his hand and stooped and kissed it, too; then she went to the children and took them, quivering and crying, into the other room, and closed the dividing door. kirby, with a revolver in each hand, placed himself before it. it would avail nothing. but a man must needs fight to the end. and the end was now. there was a stronger blow at the door, as of a log used by way of a ram. it gave, swayed, and fell crashing in, and the big room swarmed with screaming fiends, their eyes gleaming wildly in the light of the burning hay and the branches piled against the cabin, as they waved their arms over their feathered heads. the one man at bay whirled round twice, with a bullet in his heart and an arrow through his neck. "now!" he made one fierce effort to cry, as he staggered again and dropped on his face, to be trampled under forty feet. it was the signal to the woman in that other room behind the locked door, and above all the demoniacal sounds it reached her. only an instant she hesitated, until that door, too, began to give. then a cold muzzle of steel found, in the darkness, two little struggling, dodging faces--and left them marred. and once again the trigger was unflinchingly pulled, as greedy arms reached out to catch the white, woman's figure that staggered and fell. * * * * * * * * cairness and landor and a detachment of troops that had ridden hard all through the night, following an appalling trail, but coming too late after all, found them so in the early dawn. there was a mutilated thing that had once been a man's body on the floor in the half-burned log cabin. and in another room lay two children, whose smooth, baby foreheads were marked, each with a round violet-edged hole. beside them was their mother, with her face turned to the rough boards--mercifully. for there had been no time to choose the placing of that last shot, and it had disfigured cruelly as it did its certain work. xi it was not quite an all-summer campaign. the united states government drove the hostiles over the border into the provinces of the mexican government, which understood the problem rather better than ourselves, and hunted the apache, as we the coyote, with a bounty upon his scalp. thereafter some of the troops sat down at the water-holes along the border to watch, and to write back pathetic requests for all the delicacies supplied by the commissariat, from anchovy paste and caviare to tinned mushrooms and cove oysters. a man may live upon bacon and beans and camp bread, or upon even less, when his duty to his country demands, but it is not in the articles of war that he should continue to do so any longer than lack of transportation compels. others of the troops were ordered in, and among them was landor's. it had gone out for a twenty days' scout, and had been in the field two months. it was ragged and all but barefoot, and its pack-train was in a pitiable way. weeks of storm in the mogollons and days of quivering heat on the plains had brought its clothing and blankets to the last stages. moreover, landor was very ill. in the mogollons he had gathered and pressed specimens of the gorgeous wild flowers that turn the plateaux into a million-hued eden, and one day there had lurked among the blossoms a sprig of poison weed, with results which were threatening to be serious. he rode at the head of his column, however, as it made for home by way of the aravaypa cañon. were the cañon of the aravaypa in any other place than arizona, which, as the intelligent public knows, is all one wide expanse of dry and thirsty country, a parched place in the wilderness, a salt land, and not inhabited; were it in any other place, it would be set forth in railway folders, and there would be camping privileges and a hotel, and stages would make regular trips to it, and one would come upon groups of excursionists on burros, or lunching among its boulders. already it has been in a small way discovered, and is on the road to being vulgarized by the camera. the lover of nature, he who loves the soul as well as the face of her, receives when he sees a photograph of a fine bit of scenery he had felt in a way his own property until then, something the blow that the lover of a woman does when he learns that other men than he have known her caresses. but in the days of victorio and his predecessors and successors, aravaypa cañon was a fastness. men went in to hunt for gold, and sometimes they came out alive, and sometimes they did not. occasionally apaches met their end there as well. there was one who had done so now. the troops looking up at him, rejoiced. he was crucified upon an improvised cross of unbarked pine branches, high up at the top of a sheer peak of rock. he stood out black and strange against the whitish blue of the sky. his head was dropped upon his fleshless breast, and there was a vulture perched upon it, prying its hooked bill around in the eye sockets. two more, gorged and heavy, balanced half asleep upon points of stone. it was all a most charming commentary upon the symbol and practice of christianity, in a christian land, and the results thereof as regarded the heathen of that land--if one happened to see it in that way. but the men did not. it was hardly to be expected that they should, both because the abstract and the ethical are foreign to the major part of mankind, in any case; and also because, with this particular small group of mankind, there was too fresh a memory of a dead woman lying by the bodies of her two children in a smouldering log cabin among the mountains and the pines. they rode on, along the trail, at a walk and by file, and directly they came upon the other side of the question. landor's horse stopped, with its forefeet planted, and a snort of fright. landor had been bent far back, looking up at a shaft of rock that rose straight from the bottom and pierced the heavens hundreds of feet above, and he was very nearly unseated. but he caught himself and held up his hand as a signal to halt. there were two bodies lying across the trail in front of him. he dismounted, and throwing his reins to the trumpeter went forward to investigate. it was not a pleasant task. the men had been dead some time and their clothing was beginning to fall away in shreds. some of their outfit was scattered about, and he could guess from it that they had been prospectors. a few feet away was the claim they had been working. only their arms had been stolen, otherwise nothing appeared to be missing. there was even in the pockets considerable coin, in gold and silver, which landor found, when he took a long knife from his saddle bags, and standing as far off as might be, slit the cloth open. the knife was one he had brought from home, seizing it from the kitchen table at the last minute. it was very sharp and had been felipa's treasured bread cutter. it came in very well just now, chiefly because of its length. he called the first sergeant to his aid. brewster was in the rear of the command, and, as had occurred with increasing frequency in the last two months, showed no desire to be of any more use than necessary. as for cairness, who had been more of a lieutenant to landor than the officer himself, he had left the command two days before and gone back to the san carlos reservation. so the captain and the first sergeant took up the money and the loose papers, together with a couple of rings from the hands, and wrapping them in a poncho, carried them off to serve as possible means of identification, for it had got beyond all question of features. then two men moved the bodies from the trail, with long sticks, and covered them with a pile of stones. landor found a piece of board by the mouth of the claim and drew on it, with an end of charred stick, a skull and cross bones with a bow and arrow, and stood it up among the stones, in sign to all who might chance to pass thereby that since men had here died at the hands of the apaches, other men might yet meet a like fate. on the next day they were in the flat, nearing the post. there was a dust storm. earlier in the morning the air had grown suddenly more dry, more close and lifeless than ever, suffocating, and a yellow cloud had come in the western sky. then a hot wind began to blow the horses' manes and tails, to snarl through the greasewood bushes, and to snap the loose ends of the men's handkerchiefs sharply. the cloud had thinned and spread, high up in the sky, and the light had become almost that of a sullen evening. black bits floated and whirled high overhead, and birds beat about in the gale. gradually the gale and the dust had dropped nearer to the earth, a sand mist had gone into every pore and choked and parched. and now the tepid, thick wind was moaning across the plain, meeting no point of resistance anywhere. landor still rode at the head of his column, but his chin was sunk down on his red silk neckerchief, his face was swollen and distorted under its thick beard, and his eyes were glazed. they stared straight ahead into the sand whirl and the sulphurous glare. he had sent brewster on ahead some hours before. "you will want to see miss mclane as soon as possible," he had said, "and there is no need of both of us here." brewster had taken an escort and disappeared down the vista of white sands and scrub growth, though it was landor himself who should have gone. he swayed now in the saddle, his thick lips hung open, and he moved in a mental cloud as dense as the one of dust that poured round him. brewster reached the post some eighteen hours ahead of him. he reported, and saw miss mclane; then he made himself again as other men and went down to the post trader's, with a definite aim in view, that was hardly to be guessed from his loitering walk. there were several already in the officers' room, and they talked, as a matter of course, of the campaign. "seen the way landor's been catching it?" they asked. and brewster said he had not. they went on to tell him that it was all in the tucson papers, which brewster knew, however, quite as well as they did themselves. he had made friends among the citizen volunteers of san tomaso on the night they had camped by the old lake bed, and they had seen that he was kept supplied with cuttings. but he pleaded entire ignorance, and the others were at considerable pains to enlighten him. it appeared that landor was accused of cowardice, and that his name was handled with the delicate sarcasm usual with western journalism--as fine and pointed as a stone-age axe. brewster poured himself a glass of beer and drank it contemplatively and was silent. then he set it down on the bare table with a sharp little rap, suggesting determination made. it was suggestive of yet more than this, and caused them to say "well?" with a certain eagerness. he shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject, refusing pointedly to be brought back to it, and succeeding altogether in the aim which had brought him down there. but that same night he picked two for their reputation of repeating all they knew, and took them into his own rooms and told his story to them. and he met once again with such success that when landor rode into the post the next day at about guard-mounting, three officers, meeting him, raised their caps and passed on. it struck even through landor's pain-blurred brain that it was odd. but the few faculties he could command still were all engaged in keeping himself in the saddle until he could reach his own house, where ellton and felipa were waiting to get him to his room. he went upon the sick report at once, and for three days thereafter raved of crucified women with fair hair, of children lying dead in the cañon, of the holes in his boot soles, and a missing aparejo, also of certain cursed citizens, and the bad quality of the canned butter. then he began to come to himself and to listen to all that felipa had to tell him of the many things she had not put in her short and labored letters. he saw that she looked more beautiful and less well than when he had left her. there was a shadow of weariness on her face that gave it a soft wistfulness which was altogether becoming. he supposed it was because she had nursed him untiringly, as she had; but it did not occur to him to thank her, because she had done only what was a wife's duty, only what he would have done for her if the case had been reversed. toward the end of the day he began to wonder that no one had been to see him, and he spoke of it. "mr. ellton was here this morning," felipa told him, "and he will be in again before retreat." but he was not satisfied. his entry into the post and the cool greeting of the three officers began to come back to him. felipa could be untruthful with an untroubled soul and countenance to those she disliked. in her inherited code, treachery to an enemy was not only excusable, but right. but not even in order to save her husband worry could she tell him a shadow of an untruth. she did her best, which was far from good, to evade, however. the others would probably come, now that he could see them. but had they come? he insisted. the commandant had sent his orderly with a note. he raised himself from the pillows too abruptly for a very weak man. "what is the matter, felipa?" he demanded. she told him that she did not know, and tried to coax him back to quietness. "there is something," he insisted, dropping his head down again wearily. "perhaps there is," she admitted unwillingly. he lay thinking for a while, then had her send the striker for ellton, who promptly, and awkwardly, replied to the anxious question as to what might be the trouble, that he was not quite sure, but perhaps it had to do with these--"these" being a small roll of newspaper clippings he took from his portfolio. landor looked them over and gave them back contemptuously. "well?" he said, "there's nothing new in all that. it's devilish exasperating, but it's old as hamilcar. i made an enemy of a fellow from tucson, reporter named stone, over at the san carlos agency a few years ago. he's been waiting to roast me ever since. there must be something else." the adjutant agreed reluctantly. "i think there is. it wouldn't surprise me if some one had been talking. i can't get at it. but you must not bother about it. it will blow over." as an attempt at consolation, it failed. landor fairly sprang into a sitting posture, with a degree of impulsiveness that was most unusual with him. his eyes glistened from the greenish circles around them. "blow over! good lord! do you suppose i'll let it blow over? it's got to be sifted to the bottom. and you know that as well as i do." he lay weakly back again, and felipa came to the edge of the bed and, sitting upon it, stroked his head with her cool hand. ellton ventured some assistance. "i do know this much, that the c. o. got a telegram from some eastern paper, asking if the reports of your cowardice as given in the territorial press were true." landor asked eagerly what he had answered. "i didn't see the telegram, but it was in effect that he had no knowledge of anything of the sort, and put no faith in it." "doesn't he, though? then why doesn't he come around and see me when i'm lying here sick?" he was wrathful and working himself back into a fever very fast. felipa shook her head at ellton. "don't get yourself excited about it, jack dear," she soothed, and ellton also tried to quiet him. "he will come, i dare say. and so will the others, now that you are able to see them. brewster inquired." the captain's lips set. ellton wondered, but held his peace. and the commandant did go to landor's quarters within the next few hours. which was ellton's doings. "i don't know what has been said, major, but something more than just what's in the papers must have gotten about. that sort of mud-slinging is too common to cause comment, even. it must be some spite work. there's no reason to suppose, surely, that after a quarter of a century of gallant service he's been and shown the white feather. he's awfully cut up, really he is. he's noticed it, of course, and it's too deuced bad, kicking a man when he's down sick and can't help himself." the major stopped abruptly in his walk to and fro and faced him. "do you know more about it, then, than brewster who was with him?" ellton fairly leaped in the air. "brewster! so it's brewster! the in--" then he recollected that brewster was going to be the major's son-in-law, and he stopped short. "no wonder he keeps away from there," he simmered down. "he told me it was because he and landor had had some trouble in the field, and weren't on the best of terms." "i say, major, if he's got any charges to prefer why doesn't he put them on paper and send them in to you, or else shut up his head?" he was losing his temper again. the major resumed his walk and did not answer. ellton went on, lapsing into the judicial. "in the meantime, anyway, a man's innocent until he's proven guilty. i say, do go round and see him. the others will follow your lead. he's awfully cut up and worried, and he's sick, you know." so that evening when all the garrison was upon its front porches and the sidewalk, the major and the lieutenant went down the line to landor's quarters. and their example was followed. but some hung back, and constraint was in the air. because of which landor, as soon as he was up, went in search of the commanding officer, and found him in the adjutant's office, and the adjutant with him. he demanded an explanation. "if any one has been saying anything about me, i want to know it. i want to face him. it can't be that newspaper rot. we are all too used to it." "it seems, landor," the major said, "to be rather that which is left unsaid." landor asked what he meant by that. "i'm sick of all this speaking in riddles," he said. the major told him a little reluctantly. "well, it's this, then: brewster will not, or cannot, defend your conduct in the matter of the san tomaso volunteers." landor sat speechless for a moment. then he jumped up, knocking over a pile of registers. he seized a bone ruler, much stained with official inks, red and blue, and slapped it on the palm of his hand for emphasis. "i'll demand a court of inquiry into my conduct. this shan't drop, not until the strongest possible light has been turned on it. why doesn't brewster prefer charges? either my conduct was such that he can defend it openly, or else it was such as to call for a court-martial, and to justify him in preferring charges. certainly nothing can justify him in smirching me with damning silence. that is the part neither of an officer nor of a man." he kicked one of the registers out of the way, and it flapped across the floor and lay with its leaves crumpled under the fair leather covers. "by george! mclane, it strikes me as devilish odd that you should all give ear to the insinuations of a shave-tail like brewster, against an old hand like myself. be that as it may, however, until this thing has been cleared up, i shall thank all of you to continue in your attitude of suspicion, and not in any way draw on your charity by extending it to me. i shall demand a court of inquiry." he laid the ruler back on the desk. "i report for duty, sir," he added officially. it was the beginning of a self-imposed coventry. he sent in a demand for a court of inquiry, and brewster, with much show of reluctance and leniency, preferred charges. the post talked it over unceasingly, and commented on landor's attitude. "he stalks around in defiant dignity and makes everybody uncomfortable," they said. "everybody ought to be uncomfortable," ellton told them; "everybody who believed the first insinuation he heard ought to be confoundedly uncomfortable." he resigned from the acting adjutancy and returned to his troop duties, that landor, who had relieved brewster of most of the routine duties, and who was still fit for the sick list himself, might not be overburdened. so the demand and the charges lay before the department commander, and there was a lull, during which landor came upon further trouble, and worse. he undertook the examination of the papers he had found in the dead men's pockets. they had been buried in earth for two weeks. he found that it had been father and son come from the eastern states in search of the wealth that lay in that vague and prosperous, if uneasy, region anywhere west of the missouri. and among the papers was a letter addressed to felipa. landor held it in the flat of his hand and frowned, perplexed. he knew that it was cairness's writing. more than once on this last scout he had noticed its peculiarities. they were unmistakable. why was cairness writing to felipa? and why had he not used the mails? the old, never yet justified, distrusts sprang broad awake. but yet he was not the man to brood over them. he remembered immediately that felipa had never lied to him. and she would not now. so he took the stained letter and went to find her. she was sitting in her room, sewing. of late she had become domesticated, and she was fading under it. he had seen it already, and he saw it more plainly than ever just now. she looked up and smiled. her smile had always been one of her greatest charms, because it was rare and very sweet. "jack," she greeted him, "what have you done with the bread knife you took with you, dear? i have been lost without it." "i have it," he said shortly, standing beside her and holding out the letter. she took it and looked from it to him, questioningly. "what is this?" she asked. then it was the first, at any rate. his manner softened. "it smells horribly," she exclaimed, dropping it on the floor, "it smells of hospitals--disinfectants." but she stooped and picked it up again. "it is from cairness," said landor, watching her narrowly. her hand shook, and he saw it. "from cairness?" she faltered, looking up at him with frightened eyes; "when did it come?" her voice was as unsteady as her hands. she tore it open and began to read it there before him. he stood and watched her lips quiver and grow gray and fall helplessly open. if she had been under physical torture, she could have kept them pressed together, but not now. "where did you--" she began; but her voice failed, and she had to begin again. "where did you get this?" he told her, and she held it out to him. he started to take it, then pushed it away. she put down her work and rose slowly to her feet before him. she could be very regal sometimes. brewster knew it, and cairness guessed it; but it was the first time it had come within landor's experience, and he was a little awed. "i wish you to read it, john," she said quietly. he hesitated still. "i don't doubt you," he told her. "you do doubt me. if you did not, it would never occur to you to deny it. you doubt me now, and you will doubt me still more if you don't read it. in justice to me you must." it was very short, but he held it a long time before he gave it back. "and do you care for him, too?" he asked, looking her straight in the eyes. it was a very calm question, put--he realized it with exasperation--as a father might have put it. she told him that she did, quite as calmly. her manner and her tone said it was very unfortunate, that the whole episode was unfortunate, but that it was not her fault. he went over to the window and stood looking out of it, his hands clasped behind his back. some children were playing tag around the flag-staff, and he watched a long-limbed small daughter of the frontier dodging and running, and was conscious of being glad that she touched the goal. it was characteristic of felipa that she forgot him altogether and reread the letter, her breath coming in audible gasps. "i give this to a friend," it ran, "to be delivered into your own hands, because i must tell you that, though i should never see you again--for the life i lead is hazardous, and chance may at any time take you away forever--i shall love you always. you will not be angry with me, i know. you were not that night by the campfire, and it is not the unwaveringly good woman who resents being told she is loved, in the spirit i have said it to you. i do not ask for so much as your friendship in return, but only that you remember that my life and devotion are yours, and that, should the time ever come that you need me, you send for me. i will come. i will never say this to you again, even should i see you; but it is true, now and for all time." landor turned away from the window and looked at her. it was in human nature that she had never seemed so beautiful before. perhaps it was, too, because there was warmth in her face, the stress of life that was more than physical, at last. it struck him that he was coolly analytical while his wife was reading the love-letter (if that bald statement of fact could be called a love-letter) of another man, and telling him frankly that she returned the man's love. why could not he have had love, he who had done so much for her? there was always the subconsciousness of that sacrifice. he had magnified it a little, too, and it is difficult to be altogether lovable when one's mental attitude is "see what a good boy am i." but he had never reflected upon that. he went on telling himself what--in all justice to him--he had never thrown up to her, that his life had been one long devotion to her; rather as a principle than as a personality, to be sure, but then-and yet she loved the fellow whom she had not known twenty-four hours in all--a private, a government scout, unnoticeably below her in station. in station, to be sure; but not in birth, after all. it was that again. he was always brought up face to face with her birth. he tried to reason it down, for the hundredth time. it was not her fault, and he had taken her knowingly, chancing that and the consequences of her not loving him. and these were the consequences: that she was sitting rigid before him, staring straight ahead with the pale eyes of suffering, and breathing through trembling lips. but she would die before she would be faithless to him. he was sure of that. only--why should he exact so much? why should he not make the last of a long score of sacrifices? he had been unselfish with her always, from the day he had found the little child, shy as one of the timid fawns in the woods of the reservation, and pretty in a wild way, until now when she sat there in front of him, a woman, and his wife, loving, and beloved of, another man. he went and stood beside her and laid his hand upon her hair. she looked up and tried hard to smile again. "poor little girl," he said kindly. he could not help it that they were the words of a compassionate friend, rather than of an injured husband. she shook her head. "it is the first you have known of it, jack," she said; "but i have known it for a long while, and i have not been unhappy." "and you care for him?" she nodded. "are you certain of it? you have seen so very little of him, and you may be mistaken." if he had had any hope, it vanished before her unhesitating, positive, "no; i am not mistaken. oh, no!" he took a chair facing her, as she put the letter back in its envelope and laid it in her work-basket. it was very unlike anything he had ever imagined concerning situations of the sort. but then he was not imaginative. "should you be glad to be free to marry him?" he asked, in a spirit of unbiassed discussion. she looked at him in perplexity and surprise. "how could i be? there is no use talking about it." he hesitated, then blurted it out, in spite of the inward warning that it would be unwise. "i could let you free yourself." his glance fell before hers of dismay, disapproval, and anger--an anger so righteous that he felt himself to be altogether in the wrong. "do you mean _divorce_?" she said it like an unholy word. he had forgotten that the laws and rites of the church of rome had a powerful hold upon her, though she was quite devoid of religious sentiment. he admitted apologetically that he had meant divorce, and she expressed her reproach. in spite of himself and what he felt ought properly to be the tragedy of the affair, he smiled. the humor of her majestic disapproval was irresistible under the circumstances. but she had little sense of humor. "what would you suggest, then, if i may ask?" he said. he had to give up all pathos in the light of her deadly simplicity. "nothing," she answered; "i can't see why it should make any difference to you, when it hasn't with me." she had altogether regained the self-possession she had been surprised out of, with an added note of reserve. and so he had to accept it. he rose, with a slight sigh, and returned to the examination of his spoils. but when he was away from felipa and her blighting matter of fact, the pathos of it came uppermost again. troubles seemed to thicken around him. his voluntary coventry was making him sensitive. he had thought that his wife was at least giving him the best of her cool nature. cool! there was no coldness in that strained white face, as she read the letter. the control she had over herself! it was admirable. he thought that most women would have fainted, or have grown hysterical, or have made a scene of some sort. then he recalled the stoicism of the apache--and was back at her birth again. he realized for the first time the injury his thought of it did her. it was that which had kept them apart, no doubt, and the sympathy of lawlessness that had drawn her and cairness together. yet he had just begun to flatter himself that he was eradicating the savage. she had been gratifyingly like other women since his return. but it was as brewster had said, after all,--the apache strain was abhorrent to him as the venom of a snake. yet he was fond of felipa, too. someway it had not occurred to him to be any more angry with cairness than he had been with her. the most he felt was resentful jealousy. there was nothing more underhand about the man than there was about felipa. sending the note by the prospectors had not been underhand. he understood that it had been done only that it might make no trouble for her, and give himself no needless pain. cairness would have been willing to admit to his face that he loved felipa. that letter must have been written in his own camp. he heard his wife coming down the stairs, and directly she stood in the doorway. "will you let me have that knife, jack dear?" she asked amiably. he turned his chair and studied her in a kind of hopeless amusement. "felipa," he said, "if you will insist upon being told, i cut open the pockets of those dead men's clothes with it." "but i can have it cleaned," she said. he turned back abruptly. "you had better get another. you can't have that one," he answered. was it possible that twenty minutes before he had risen to the histrionic pitch of self-sacrifice of offering her her freedom to marry another man? xii it was unfortunate for landor, as most things seemed to be just then, that the department commander happened to have an old score to settle. it resulted in the charges preferred by brewster being given precedence over the request for a court of inquiry. the department commander was a man of military knowledge, and he foresaw that the stigma of having been court-martialled for cowardice would cling to landor through all his future career, whatever the findings of the court might be. an officer is in the position of the wife of cæsar, and it is better for him, much better, that the charge of "unsoldierly and unofficer-like conduct, in violation of the sixty-first article of war," should never come up against him, however unfounded it may be. it was a very poor case, indeed, that brewster made out, despite a formidable array of specifications. as it progressed, the situation took on a certain ludicrousness. the tale of woe was so very trivial; it seemed hardly worth the trouble of convening twelve officers from the four corners of the department to hear it. and there was about brewster, as he progressed, a suggestion of dragging one foot after the other, leaving out a word here, overlooking an occurrence there, cutting off a mile in one place, and tacking on an hour in another. landor's wrath was mighty, but he smiled as he sat balancing a ruler on his fingers and hearing how the citizens of san tomaso, eager to avenge their wrongs, had met him at early morning, had gone bravely forward, keen on the scent, had implored him to hasten, while he halted on worthless pretexts, and had, towards evening, reluctantly left a hot trail, going from it at right angles, "and camping," said brewster, regretfully, "as far away as it was possible to get, considering the halts." at one moment it appeared that landor had given his command into the hands of the citizens, at another that he had flatly refused to follow them into danger, that he had threatened and hung back by turns, and had, in short, made himself the laughing-stock of civilians and enlisted men, by what brewster called "his timid subterfuges." yet somehow "timid subterfuges" seemed hardly the words to fit with the hard, unswerving eye and the deep-lined face of the accused. it struck the court so. there were other things that struck the court, notably that brewster had criticised his captain to civilians and to enlisted men. the judge advocate frowned. the frown settled to a permanency when brewster sought out that honorable personage to complain, unofficially, that his case was being neglected. it was about upon a par with an accusation of bribery against a supreme judge in civil life, and naturally did not do the plaintiff much good when the judge advocate rose, terrible in his indignation, to repeat the complaint officially to the assembled court at the next sitting. the court was resentful. it listened and weighed for six days, and then it acquitted landor on every charge and specification "most honorably," to make it more strong, and afterward went over, in a body, to his quarters, to congratulate him. the rest of the post followed. landor was in the dining room, and felipa stood in the sitting room receiving the praises of her husband with much tact. if he were the hero of the hour, she was the heroine. the officers from far posts carried their admiration to extravagance, bewitched by the sphinx-riddle written somehow on her fair face, and which is the most potent and bewildering charm a woman can possess. when they went away, they sent her boxes of fresh tomatoes and celery and lemons, from points along the railroad, which was a highly acceptable and altogether delicate attention in the day and place. the garrison gave a hop in her honor and landor's. it was quite an affair, as many as five and thirty souls being present, and it was written up in the _army and navy_ afterward. the correspondent went into many adjectives over mrs. landor, and her fame spread through the land. brewster stood in his own window, quite alone, and watched them all crowding down to landor's quarters. the beauty of the triumph of virtue did not appeal to him. he was very uneasy. countercharges were looming on his view. to be sure, he had not lied, not absolutely and in so many words, but his citizen witnesses had not been so adroit or so careful. it would not have taken much to make out a very fair case of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. practical working texts, anent looking before leaping, and being sure you are right ere going ahead, occurred to him with new force. his morality at the moment was worthy the law and the prophets. he was experience in person, and as such would have been an invaluable teacher, if there had been any seeking instruction. but there was none. they were all with landor, drinking his wine and helping success succeed, than which one may find less pleasant occupations. yet there came a rap at his door directly. it was the mclane's striker, bearing a note from miss mclane. brewster knew what was in it before he opened it. but he went back to the window and read it by the fading light. when he looked up it was to see miss mclane and ellton going up the walk together, returning from landor's house. and at another window felipa also stood looking out into the dusk. there had been a shower in the afternoon, and the clouds it had left behind were like a soft moss of fire floating in the sky. a bright golden light struck slantwise from the sunset. they had all gone away to dine and to dress for the hop; landor had walked down to the post trader's for the mail, and she was left alone. she watched the figure of a man coming down the line. because of the dazzling, low light behind him, the outline was blurred in a shimmer. at first she thought without any interest in it, one way or another, that he was a soldier, then she could see that he was in citizen's clothes and wore a sombrero and top boots. even with that, until he was almost in front of the house, she did not realize that it was cairness, though she knew well enough that he was in the post, and had been one of landor's most valuable witnesses. he had remained to hear the findings, but she had kept close to the house and had not seen him before. he was a government scout, a cow-boy, a prospector, reputed a squaw-man, anything vagrant and unsettled, and so the most he might do was to turn his head as he passed by, and looking up at the windows, bow gravely to the woman standing dark against the firelight within. the blaze of glory had gone suddenly from the clouds, leaving them lifeless gray, when she turned her eyes back to them; and the outlook across the parade ground was very bare. she went and stood by the fire, leaning her arm on the mantel-shelf and setting her determined lips. three weeks later she left the post and the west. landor's health was broken from the effects of the poisonweed and the manifold troubles of the months past. in lieu of sick leave, he was given a desirable detail, and sent on to washington, and for a year and a half he saw his wife fitted into a woman's seemly sphere. she was heralded as a beauty, and made much of as such, and the little vanities that had rarely shown before came to the surface now. he was proud of her. sought after and admired, clothed in purple and scarlet and fine linen, within the limits of a captain's pay, a creature of ultra-civilization, tamed, she was a very charming woman indeed. there seemed to be no hint of the apache left. he all but forgot it himself. there was but one relapse in all the time, and it chanced that he had no knowledge of that. yet, in the midst of her little triumph, felipa fell ill, failing without apparent cause, and then the uneasiness that had only slept in landor for eighteen months came awake again. he did not believe when the doctors told him that it was the lassitude of the moist, warm springtime which was making the gray circles about her eyes, the listlessness of her movements. when she lay, one day, with her face, too white and sharp, looking out from the tangle of hair upon the pillow, he asked her almost abruptly if she had rather go back to the west. he could not bring himself to ask if she were longing to be near cairness. he shrank too much from her frank, unhesitating assent. the face on the pillow lighted quickly, and she put out her hand to him impulsively. "could we go back, jack, even before the detail is up?" she said. and yet her life of late had surely been one that women would have thought enviable--most women. he himself had never dreamed how it irked her until now. it was many years since he had been in the east, not, indeed, since felipa had been a small child. keeping his promise to cabot, as he understood it, had left him little for such pleasures as that. but he had done his duty then; he would do it again, and reap once more what seemed to him the inevitable reward, the reward which had been his all through his life,--sheer disappointment, in all he prized most, ashes and dust. "i can throw up the detail," he said indifferently, "i dare say i might as well. there is only half a year more of it. some one will be glad enough to take that." "but you," said felipa, wistfully, "you do not want to go back?" for a moment he stood looking straight into her eyes, yet neither read the other's thoughts. then he turned away with a baffled half laugh. "why should it matter to me?" he asked. xiii cairness rode at a walk round and round the crowding, snorting, restless herd of cattle that was gathered together in the pocket of the foot-hills under the night sky. there were five other cow-boys who also rode round and round, but they were each several hundred yards apart, and he was, to all intents, alone. now and then he quickened the gait of his bronco and headed off some long-horned steer or heifer, that forced itself out of the huddled, dark mass, making a break for freedom. but for the most part he rode heavily, lopsided in his saddle, resting both hands on the high pommel. he had had time to unlearn the neat horsemanship of the service, and to fall into the slouchy manner of the cow-boy, skilful but unscientific. it was a pitchy night, in spite of the stars, but in the distance, far off across the velvety roll of the hills, there was a forest fire on the top of a range of mountains. it glowed against the sky and lighted the pocket and the prairie below, making strange shadows among the cattle, or bringing into shining relief here and there a pair of mighty horns. a wind, dry and hot, blew down from the flames, and made the herd uneasy. not far from where those flames were licking up into the heavens, cairness thought as he watched them, had been the circle k ranch. in among the herd, even now, were circle k cattle that had not yet been cut out. those six people of his own race had been all that was left to him of his youth. to be sure, he had seen little of them, but he had known that they were there, ready to receive him in the name of the home they had all left behind. and since that gray dawn when he had picked his way through the ashes and charred logs, and had bent over the bodies of his friend and the dead mother and the two children, he had been possessed by a loathing that was almost physical repulsion for all indians. that was why he had left the stone cabin he had built for himself in the white mountains, forsaking it and the apaches who had been, in a way, his friends. but he had done it, too, with the feeling that now he had nowhere to lay his head; that he was driven from pillar to post, buffeted and chased; that he was cursed with the curse of the wanderer. if it had not been that he had an indefinite theory of his own concerning the kirby massacre, as it was known throughout the country, and that he meant to, some day, in some way, avenge it upon the whites who had abandoned them to their fate, he would have killed himself. he had been very near it once, and had sat on the edge of his bunk in the cabin with a revolver in his hand, thinking it all out for an entire evening, before deciding dispassionately against it. he was not desperate, merely utterly careless of life, which is much worse. desperation is at the most the keen agony of torture at the stake; but indifference toward all that is held by this world, or the next, is dying in a gradual vacuum. he believed that he had no ties now, that friendships, the love of woman, and the kiss of children all had missed him, and that his, thenceforth, must be but vain regret. so far as he knew, felipa had gone away without ever having received his letter. the man he had intrusted it to had been killed in the aravaypa cañon: that he was certain of; and it never entered his head that his papers might have fallen into other hands, and the note have finally been delivered to her. she was leading the sort of life that would most quickly put him entirely out of her mind. he was taking the washington papers, and he knew. she had gone away, not even sure that he had given her a thought since the night in the sierra blanca when black river had roared through the stillness, and they had been alone in all the wild world. what a weird, mysterious, unearthly scene it had been, quite outside the probabilities of anything he had imagined or contemplated for a single minute. he had never regretted it, though. he believed in impulses, particularly his own. two steers, locking their horns, broke from the herd and swaying an instant so, separated and started side by side across the prairie. he settled in his saddle and put his cow-pony to a run, without any preliminary gait, going in a wide circle to head them back. running across the ground, thick with coyote and dog holes, was decidedly perilous; men had their necks broken in that way every few days; but it would not have mattered to him especially to have ended so. wherefore he did not, but drove the steers back to the herd safely. and then he returned to the monotonous sentry work and continued thinking of himself. what had he done with four and thirty years, putting it at the very highest valuation? he had sunk so far below the standard of his youth that he would not be fit for his old companions, even if he had wanted to go back to them, which, except in certain fits of depression, he did not. his own mother cared very little what became of him. at christmas time she always sent him a letter, which reached him much later, as a rule, and he answered it. his brothers had forgotten him. his sister, of whom he had been very fond once, and for whom he had hoped a great deal, had married well enough and gone to london; but she, too, had forgotten him long since. so much for his past. as for his present. his only friends were treacherous savages and some few settlers and cow-boys. they would none of them miss him if he were to be laid under a pile of stones with a board cross at his head anywhere by the roadside, in the plains or among the hills. some of them were honest men, some were desperadoes; none were his equals, not one understood the things that meant life to him. he had no abode, not so much as the coyote over there on the top of the little swell. he made his living in divers and uncertain ways. sometimes he sent pictures to the east, studies of the things about him. they sold well. sometimes he was a scout or a guide. sometimes he prospected and located claims with more or less good luck. sometimes he hired himself out as a cow-boy at round-ups, as he was doing now. on the whole, he was, from the financial standpoint, more of a success than from any other. also he was in love with the wife of a man he liked and respected--and who trusted him. yet in spite of that, he had come near--so near that it made him cold to think about it--to following in the way of many frontiersmen and marrying a mexican. it had been when he had first learned that felipa landor had gone east for two years; and the mexican had been very young and very pretty, also very bad. it was not a nice outlook. but he found it did not grow any better for the thought that felipa might have forgotten all about him, though that would unquestionably have been the best thing that could have happened for all concerned, from the standpoint of common sense. but there were two chances, of a sort, that made it worth while worrying along. one was that felipa might some day, in the working out of things, come into his life. the other was that he could ferret out the truth of the kirby massacre. love and revenge are mighty stimulants. as for the kirby affair, there had been no hint of treachery in the published or verbal accounts of it. the ranch hands who had escaped had told a plain enough tale of having fled at the approach of the indians, vainly imploring the kirbys to do the same. it seemed that the most they could be accused of was cowardice. it had all been set forth in the papers with much circumstance and detail. but cairness doubted. he remembered their dogged ugliness, and that of the raw-boned texan woman. that very day the doubt had attained the proportions of a certainty. the sight of a circle k cow had called up the subject of the massacre, and a cow-boy had said, "them are the property of bill lawton, i reckon." cairness asked who bill lawton might be, and was told that he had been one of the kirby men, "big fellow with a big wife. if you was ever there, you'd ought to remember her. she was a venus and a cleopatrer rolled into one, you bet." the cow-boy was not devoid of lore for all his lowly station. cairness did remember, but he did not see fit to say so. a half dozen cow-boys came riding over from the camp of the outfit to relieve those on duty. cairness was worn out with close on eighteen hours in the saddle, tearing and darting over the hills and ravines, quick as the shadow from some buzzard high in the sky, scrambling over rocks, cutting, wheeling, chasing after fleet-footed, scrawny cattle. he went back to camp, and without so much as washing the caked dust and sweat from his face, rolled himself in a blanket and slept. the round-up lasted several days longer, and then the men were paid off, and went their way. the way of most was toward tombstone, because the opportunities for a spree were particularly fine there. not because of these, but because the little parson lived there now, cairness went also. moreover, it was as good a place as another to learn more about the massacre. cow-boys coming from other round-ups and getting drunk might talk. the famous mining town was two years old. it had ceased to be a "wind city" or even a canvas one, and was settling down to the dignity of adobe, or even boards, having come to stay. but it was far too new, too american, to have any of the picturesqueness of the mexican settlements of the country. cairness tied his cow-pony to a post in front of a low calcimined adobe, and going across the patch of trodden earth knocked at the door. the little parson's own high voice called to him, and he went in. the reverend taylor was tipped back in his chair with his feet upon the table, reading the tucson papers. he sprang up and put out his hand in a delighted welcome, his small face turning into a very chart of smiling seams and wrinkles. but his left hand hung misshapen, and cairness saw that it did not bend at the wrist as he motioned to an empty soda-pop bottle and a glass on the table beside a saucer of fly-paper and water. "that's what i still take, you see," he said, "but i'll serve you better;" and he opened a drawer and brought out a big flask. "i reckon you've got a thirst on you this hot weather." he treated himself to a second bottle of the pop, and grew loquacious, as another man might have under the influence of stronger drink; and he talked so much about himself and so little about his guest that cairness wondered. presently the reason made itself manifest. it was the egotism of the lover. the reverend taylor was going to be married. he told cairness so with an expression of beatitude that answered to a blush, and pointed to a photograph on his mantel-shelf. "she ain't so pretty to look at," he confided, which was undoubtedly true, "nor yet so young. but i ain't neither, 'sfar as that goes. she's amiable. that's the great thing after all, for a wife. she's amiable." cairness congratulated him with all solemnity, and asked if she were a widow. he was sure she must be, for the gallantry of the west in those days allowed no woman to pass maturity unwed. but she was, it appeared, a maiden lady, straight from virginia. the reverend taylor was the first man she had ever loved. "it was right funny how it come about," he confided, self absorbed still. "her mother keeps the res'rant acrost the street where i take my meals (i used to have a greaser woman, but i got sick of _frijoles_ and _gorditas_ and _chili_ and all that stuff), and after dinner every afternoon, she and me would put two saucers of fly-paper on a table and we would set and bet on which would catch the most flies before four o'clock. you ain't no idea how interestin' it got to be. the way we watched them flies was certainly intense. sometimes, i tell you, she'd get that excited she'd scream when they couldn't make up their minds to light. once her mother come runnin' in, thinkin' i was tryin' to kiss her." he beamed upon cairness, and accepted congratulations charmingly, sipping his soda-pop with quite a rakish little air. "what brought you here?" he remembered to ask, at length. cairness told him that he had been in the 3 c round-up, and then went on to his point. "taylor, see here. i want to find out more about the kirby massacre. there is more to that than has appeared in print." the minister nodded his head. "yes, i reckon there is," he agreed. "you remember that woman," cairness went on, making and rolling adroitly a straw-paper cigarette, "the one who was cook on the ranch for so long? she could tell us what it is, and i'll bet on it." the reverend taylor nodded again. "reckon she could. but--" he grabbed at a fly with one hand, and caught and crushed it in his palm with much dexterity, "but--she's lit out." "so?" said cairness, with the appearance of stolidity he invariably assumed to cover disappointment or any sort of approach to emotion. "where's she gone to?" taylor shrugged his shoulders. "_quien sabe?_ can't prove it by me. just _vamoosed_. fell in love with a little terrier of a greaser half her size, and cleaned out. lawton was in here a day or two ago, lookin' for her and raisin' particular cain with whiskey and six-shooters--bawlin' about her all over the place." "is he here now?" he had gone back. cairness made another cigarette and considered. "i think i'll hire to him," he said, after a while. "hire to him!" exclaimed taylor, "what for?" "for the fun of it, and 'found.' can you give me a recommendation?" the parson said that he could not. "lawton ain't any use for me. i guess it's because he remembers me, that's why. he'll remember you, too." "no," said cairness, "he won't. i've met him since. that was a long time ago, and i was smooth shaven." taylor smiled. cairness's small, brown mustache, curving up at the ends, was hardly a disguise. "there's a fellow here who could get you the job, though," he suggested. "fellow named stone. newspaper man, used to be in tucson. he seems to have some sort of pull with that lawton fellow." "i know him," cairness said; "he used to be round san carlos when i was an enlisted man. he won't remember me, either. and you needn't necessarily mention that i was with landor in the san tomaso affair, or that i was a scout. he may know it, of course. and again, he may not." he got up and went to the window, which was iron-barred, after the mexican fashion, and stood, with his hands run into his belt, looking down at a row of struggling, scraggly geraniums in tin cans. they were the most disheartening part of the whole disheartening prospect, within or without. the reverend taylor got his hat. it was still a silk one, but new, and without holes. they went over to the false front board structure which was stone's office. it appeared from the newspaper man's greeting that it was a case of the meeting of prominent citizens. taylor presented cairness, with the elegant, rhetorical flourishes he was capable of when he chose. "he is a friend of mine," he added, "and anything that you can do for him will be appreciated, you _sabe_?--" stone did understand, and taylor left them alone together. they opened upon non-committal topics: the weather, which had been scorching and parched since april, and would continue so, in all probability, until september; the consequent condition of the crops, which was a figure of speech, for there were none, and never had been, deserving of the name; and then cairness, having plenty of time, brought it round to the troops. in the tirade that followed he recognized a good many of the sentiments, verbatim, of the articles in the tucson papers of the time of landor's scout. but he half shut his eyes and listened, pulling at the small, brown mustache. stone set him down, straightway, as an ass, or english, which was much the same thing. cairness was still in his dust-grayed outfit, his hair was below where his collar would have been had he been wearing one, and his nose was on its way to at least the twentieth new skin that summer. in all his years of the frontier, he had never become too well tanned to burn. his appearance was not altogether reassuring, stone thought. he was not only an ass, he was also tough--the sort of a fellow with whom it was as well to remember that your six-shooter is beneath the last copy of your paper, on the desk at your elbow. "i have never especially liked you," cairness decided, for his part, "and i can't say that you improve upon acquaintance, you know. you wrote those articles about landor, and that's one i owe you." stone wore his oratory out after a time, and cairness closed his eyes rather more, to the end that he might look a yet greater ass, and said that he wanted to hire out as a cow-boy or ranch hand of some sort. "taylor told me you knew a fellow named lawton, i think it was. would he be wanting one now?" he took considerable satisfaction in his own histrionic ability, and lapsed into the phraseology of the job-hunter. stone thought not. he had not heard lawton speak of needing help. but he wrote a very guarded note of recommendation, falling back into the editorial habit, and dashing it off under pressure. cairness, whose own writing was tiny and clear and black, and who covered whole sheets without apparent labor, but with lightning rapidity, watched and reflected that he spent an amount of time on the flourish of his signature that might have been employed to advantage in the attainment of legibility. "i'm a busy man," said stone, "a very busy man, the busiest man in the territory." no one in the territory was busy. the atmosphere was still too much that of the mexican possession; but cairness said it was undoubtedly so, and took his leave, clanking his spurs, heavy footed, and stooping his long form, in continuance of the rôle of ass. he knew well enough that he had been so summed up. it is a disadvantage the british citizen labors under in the west. the next day he left for the circle k ranch. lawton did not appear to need help. but he fired a greaser, nevertheless, and took cairness on. he seemed to stand in as abject awe of stone's note as an arab might have stood of a bit of the black covering of the kaabah stone. and cairness stayed with him, serving seven months, and seeking what he might discover. but he discovered nothing more than that the circle k ranch, for all that it might be the texan's in name, was stone's in point of fact, and that lawton's dread of that mighty man was very much greater than his hope of heaven. the knowledge was slight and of no plain value; but it might be of use some day. life had taught cairness, amongst other things, that it usually proved so. he stored it away with the other gleanings of experience in his mental barns, and went in search of new adventures. xiv the chief alchise and a half hundred of his kind--one so deaf that he held to his savage old ear a civilized speaking-trumpet--squatted about on the ground, and explained to crook the nature of their wrongs. "we were planting our own corn and melons," said alchise, "and making our own living. the agent at san carlos never gave us any rations, but we didn't mind about that. we were taking care of ourselves. one day the agent--" he stopped and scowled at a squaw a few yards away, whose papoose was crying lustily. the squaw, having her attention thus called to the uproar of her offspring, drew from somewhere in the folds of her dirty wrappings a nursing-bottle, and putting the nipple in its mouth, hushed its cries. the chief went on: "one day the agent sent up and said that we must give up our own country and our corn patches, and go down there to the agency to live. he sent indian soldiers to seize our women and children, and drive us down to the hot land." he was a simple, sullen apache, and his untutored mind could only grasp effects. causes were beyond it. he did not, therefore, understand that coal had been discovered on his reservation, also silver, and that the agent and the agent's friends were trying to possess themselves of the land in order to dispose of it to the eastern capitalist. he knew that his cattle were driven off by the white cow-boys and could not be gotten back, that he was given but one cup of flour every seven days, that beef was so difficult to obtain that it practically formed no part of his diet; but he did not know of the "boys" in tucson and officials in washington who were profiting from the sale of indian supplies to white squatters. he knew that the stores which should have gone to him were loaded upon wagon-trains and hurried off the reservation in the dead of night; but he did not know why the apache who was sent to humbly ask the agent about it was put in the guard-house for six months without trial. he knew that his corn patches were trampled down, but not that it was to force him to purchase supplies from the agent and his friends, or else get out. he knew that his reservation--none too large, as it was, for three thousand adults more or less--had been cut down without his consent five different times, and that mormon settlers were elbowing him out of what space remained. but, being only a savage, it were foolish to expect that he should have seen the reason for these things. he has not yet learned to take kindly to financial dishonesty. does he owe you two bits, he will travel two hundred miles to pay it. he has still much to absorb concerning civilization. another thing he could not quite fathom was why the religious dances he had, in pursuance of his wild pleasure, seen fit to hold on cibicu creek, had been interfered with by the troops. to be sure, the dances had been devised by his medicine men to raise the dead chiefs and braves with the end in view of re-peopling the world with apaches and driving out the whites. but as the dead had not consented to the raising, it might have been as well to allow the indians to become convinced of the futility of it in that way. however, the government thought otherwise, and sent its troops. because they were sent, a fine officer had fallen victim to apache treachery of the meanest sort and to the gross stupidity of others, and arizona was on the verge of the worst disorder of all its disorderly history. so crook was sent for, and he came at once, and looked with his small, piercing eyes, and listened with his ears so sharp to catch the ring of untruth, and learned a pretty tale of what had gone on during his absence on the troubled northern plains. a great many delightful facts, illustrative of the rule of the anglo-saxon in for gain, came to his knowledge. there were good men and just in arizona, and some of these composed the federal grand jury, which reported on the condition of affairs at the agency. when a territorial citizen had anything to say in favor of the redskin, it might be accepted as true. and these jurymen said that the happenings on the san carlos agency had been a disgrace to the age and a foul blot upon the national escutcheon. they waxed very wroth and scathing as they dwelt upon how the agent's vast power made almost any crime possible. there was no check upon his conduct, nor upon the wealth he could steal from a blind government; and to him, and such as him, they attributed the desolation and bloodshed which had dotted the plains with the graves of murdered victims. it was the rather unavailing wail of the honest citizen caught between the upper and nether millstones of the politician and the hostile. crook had been recalled too late, and he knew it. every apache on the reservation was ready for the war-path. it was not to be averted. one man, even a very firm and deft one, could not straighten out in a few weeks the muddle of ten years of thievery, oppression, and goading. it takes more than just a promise, even though it is one likely to be kept, to soothe the hurt feelings of savages who have seen eleven of their friends jailed for fourteen months without the form of accusation or trial. they feel bitter toward the government whose minions do those things. the new general was hailed by the territories as deliverer until he found the truth and told it, after which they called him all manner of hard names, for that is the sure reward of the seeker after fact. he prepared for war, seeing how things were, but he tried for peace the while. he sent to the bucks who lurked in the fastnesses and strongholds, and said that he was going out alone to see them. he left his troops and pack-train, and with two interpreters and two officers repaired to the cañon of the black river, where he scrambled and slid, leading his scrambling, sliding mule down the precipices of basalt and lava among the pines and junipers. bright, black eyes peered down from crevasses and branches. an apache lurked behind every boulder and trunk. but only the squaws and the children and twenty-six bucks in war toilet, naked from shoulder to waist, painted with blood and mescal, rings in their noses, and heads caked thick with mud, came down to the conference. it was not of much avail in the end, the conference. there was more than one tribe to be pacified. the restlessness of the wild things, of the goaded, and of the spring was in their blood. the last straw was laid on when an indian policeman arrested a young buck for some small offence. the buck tried to run away, and would not halt when he was told to. the chief of police fired and killed a squaw by mistake; and though he was properly sorry for it, and expressed his regret, the relatives and friends of the deceased squaw caught him a few days later, and cutting off his head, kicked it round, as they had seen the white-eye soldier do with his rubber foot-ball. then they, aroused and afraid too of punishment, fled from the reservation and began to kill. it was a halcyon time for the press. it approved and it disapproved, while the troops went serenely on their way. it gave the government two courses,--removal of the apaches, one and all, to the indian territory (as feasible as driving the oxen of geryon), or extermination--the catchword of the non-combatant. the government took neither course. there was but one other resort. the exasperated, impotent press turned to it. "if the emergency should arise, and it now looks as though it may come soon," flowed the editorial ink, "enough resolute and courageous men can be mustered in tombstone, globe, tucson, and other towns and settlements to settle the question, once and forever: to settle it as such questions have often been settled before." in pursuance of which the resolute and courageous men arose at the cry of their bleeding land. they have gone down to history (to such history as deigns to concern itself with the reclaiming of the plains of the wilderness, in area an empire of itself) as the tombstone toughs. the exceedingly small respectable element of tombstone hailed their departure with unmixed joy. they had but one wish,--that the toughs might meet the apaches, and that each might rid the face of the desert of the other. but the only apaches left to meet were the old and feeble, and the squaws and papooses left at san carlos. the able-bodied bucks were all in the field, as scouts or hostiles. the resolute and courageous men, led by a resolute and courageous saloon-keeper, found one old indian living at peace upon his rancheria. they fired at him and ran away. the women and children of the settlers were left to bear the brunt of the anger of the apaches. it was too much for even the tucson journalist. he turned from denunciation of the military, for one moment, and applied his vigorous adjectives to the tombstone toughs. arizona had its full share of murder and sudden death. but new mexico had more than that. spring passed on there, with warmth for the snow-wrapped mountains, and blistering heat for the dead plains, and her way was marked with lifeless and mutilated forms. landor's troop was stationed at stanton, high up among the hills. it had come there from another post down in the southern part of the territory, where anything above the hundreds is average temperature, and had struck a blizzard on its march. once when felipa got out of the ambulance to tramp beside it, in the stinging snow whirls, and to start the thin blood in her veins, she had looked up into his blanket-swathed face, and laughed. "i wonder if you looked like that when you took me through this part of the world twenty years ago," she said. he did not answer, and she knew that he was annoyed. she had come to see that he was always annoyed by such references, and she made them more frequent for that very reason, half in perversity, half in a fixed determination not to be ashamed of her origin, for she felt, without quite realizing it, that to come to have shame and contempt for herself would be to lose every hold upon life. she was happier than she had been in washington. landor saw that, but he refused to see that she was also better. however much a man may admire, in the abstract, woman as a fine natural animal, unspoiled by social pettiness, he does not fancy the thing in his wife. from the artistic standpoint, a regal barbarian, unconfined, with her virtue and her vices on a big scale, is very well; from the domestic, it is different. she is more suitable in the garb of fashion, with homemade character of parlor-ornament proportions. felipa had discarded, long since, the short skirt and moccasins of her girlhood, and had displayed no inconsiderable aptitude in the matter of fashions; but she was given to looseness of draperies and a carelessness of attire in her own home that the picturesqueness of her beauty alone only saved from slatternliness. there was one manifestation of ill taste which she did not give, however, one common enough with the wives of most of the officers. she was never to be found running about the post, or sitting upon the porches, with her husband's cape around her shoulders and his forage-cap over her eyes. her instinct for the becoming was unfailing. this was a satisfaction to landor. but it was a secret grievance that she was most contented when in her riding habit, tearing foolhardily over the country. another grievance was the ellton baby. felipa adored it, and for no reason that he could formulate, he did not wish her to. he wanted a child of his own. altogether he was not so easy to get on with as he had been. she did not see why. being altogether sweet-humored and cheerful herself, she looked for sweet humor and cheerfulness in him, and was more and more often disappointed. not that he was ever once guilty of even a quick burst of ill temper. it would have been a relief. sometimes when she was quite certain of being undisturbed, she took cairness's one letter from the desk, and read and reread it, and went over every word and look she had had from him. she had forgotten nothing, but though her olive skin would burn and then grow more colorless than ever when she allowed herself to recall, not even a sigh would come from between the lips that had grown a very little set. yet she not only loved cairness as much as ever, but more. her church had the strong hold of superstition upon her, but she might have thrown it off, grown reckless of enforced conventions, and have gone to him, had not faithfulness and gratitude held her yet more powerfully. landor had been good to her. she would have gone through anything rather than have hurt him. and yet it was always a relief now when he went away. she was glad when he was ordered into the field at the beginning of the spring. of old she had been sufficiently sorry to have him go. but of old she had not felt the bit galling. life went on very much the same at the post when there was only the infantry left in possession. as there was nothing to do at any time, there was nothing the less for that. on the principle that loneliness is greatest in a crowd, stanton was more isolated now than grant had been in the days when there had been no railroad west of kansas. the railroad was through the southwest now, but it was a hundred miles away. it was unsafe to ride outside the reservation, there was no one for hops, the only excitement was the daily addition to the list of slaughtered settlers. felipa spent most of her time with the ellton baby. miss mclane had been married to landor's second lieutenant for a year and a half, and they were very happy. but felipa in the knowledge of the strength of her own love, which gained new might each time that she wrestled with it and threw it back upon the solid ground of duty, found their affection decidedly insipid. like the majority of marital attachments, it had no especial dignity. it was neither the steadfast friendship she felt for her husband, nor the absolute devotion she would have given cairness. but the baby was satisfactory. she amused it by the hour. for the rest, being far from gregarious, and in no way given to spending all the morning on some one else's front porch, and all the afternoon with some one else upon her own, she drew on the post library and read, or else sat and watched the mountains with their sharp, changing shadows by day, and their indian signal flashes by night,--which did not tend to enhance the small degree of popularity she enjoyed among the post women. some thirty miles to the southeast was the mescalero indian agency. landor had consented with the worst possible grace to take her there sometime when the road should be passable and safe. she had openly resented his disinclination, though she usually appeared not to notice it. "it is very natural i should want to see the place where i was born," she had said, "and i think we should both be more comfortable if you would not persist in being so ashamed of it." the story of her origin was an open secret now. landor had never been able to discover who had spread it. the probabilities were, however, that it had been brewster. he had been suspended for a year after landor's trial, and driven forth with contempt, but he was back again, with a bold front, and insinuating and toadying himself into public favor, destined by that providence which sometimes arouses itself to reward and punish before the sight of all men, to be short-lived. xv landor sat at the centre table and went over requisition blanks by the light of a green-shaded student lamp. the reflection made him look livid and aging. felipa had noticed it, and then she had turned to the fire and sat watching, with her soft eyes half closed, the little sputtering sparks from the mesquite knot. she had been immovable in that one position for at least an hour, her hands folded with a weary looseness in her lap. if it had not been that her face was very hard to read, even her husband might have guessed that she was sad. but he was not thinking about her. he went on examining the papers until some one came upon the front porch and knocked at the door. then he got up and went out. it was the post-trader, he told felipa when he came back, and he was asking for help from the officer-of-the-day. some citizens down at the store were gambling and drinking high, and were becoming uproarious. landor sent for a squad of the guard and went to put them out. it was just one of the small emergencies that go to make up the chances of peace. he might or he might not come back alive; the probabilities in favor of the former, to be sure. but the risks are about equal whether one fights indians or citizens drunk with liquor and gaming. the men went away, however, without much trouble beyond tipsy protests and mutterings, and the sutler rewarded the guard with beer, and explained to landor that several of the disturbers were fellows who were hanging round the post for the beef contract; the biggest and most belligerent--he of the fierce, drooping mustachios--was the owner of the ranch where the kirby massacre had taken place, as well as of another one in new mexico. landor paid very little attention just then, but that same night he had occasion to think of it again. it was his habit to go to bed directly after taps when he was officer-of-the-day, and to visit the guard immediately before reveille the next morning. but the requisitions and some troop papers kept him until almost twelve, so that he decided to make his rounds as soon as the clock had struck twelve, and to sleep until sunrise. felipa had long since gone off to bed. he turned down the lamp, put on his cape and cap, and with his revolver in his pocket and his sabre clicking a monotonous accompaniment went out into the night. it was not very dark. the sky was thick with clouds, but there was a waning moon behind them. the only light in the garrison was in the grated windows of the guard-house. visiting the guard is dull work, and precisely the same round, night after night, with hardly ever a variation. but to-night there occurred a slight one. landor was carrying his sabre in his arm, as he went by the back of the quarters, in order that its jingle might not disturb any sleepers. for the same reason he walked lightly, although, indeed, he was usually soft-footed, and came unheard back of brewster's yard. brewster himself was standing in the shadow of the fence, talking to some man. landor could see that it was a big fellow, and the first thing that flashed into his mind, without any especial reason, was that it was the rancher who had been in trouble down at the sutler's store. it gave cause for reflection; but an officer was obviously at liberty to talk to whomsoever he might choose around his own premises, at any hour of the day or night. so the officer of the day went on, treading quietly. but he had something to think about now that kept off drowsiness for the rest of the rounds. brewster's fondness for the society of dubious civilians was certainly unfortunate. and the conjunction of the aspiring beef contractor and the commissary officer was also unfortunate, not to say curious. because of this. the beef contract was about to expire, and the commandant had advertised for bids. a number of ranchers had already turned their papers in. furnishing the government's soldiers with meat is never an empty honor. the bids, duly sealed, were given into the keeping of the commissary officer to be put in his safe, and kept until the day of judgment, when all being opened in public and in the presence of the aspirants, the lowest would get the contract. it was a simple plan, and gave no more opportunity for underhand work than could be avoided. but there were opportunities for all that. it was barely possible--the thing had been done--for a commissary clerk or sergeant, desirous of adding to his pittance of pay, or of favoring a friend among the bidders, to tamper with the bids. by the same token there was no real reason why the commissary officer could not do it himself. landor had never heard, or known, of such a case, but undoubtedly the way was there. it was a question of having the will and the possession of the safe keys. there were only the bids to be taken out and steamed open. the lowest found, it was simple enough for the favored one to make his own a quarter of a cent less, and to turn it in at the last moment. but one drawback presented itself. some guileful and wary contractors, making assurance twice sure, kept their bids themselves and only presented them when the officers sat for the final awarding. certainly brewster would have been wiser not to have been seen with the big civilian. during the two days that elapsed before the awarding of the contract, landor thought about it most of the time. it came to pass in the working out of things that the commandant elected to spend the night before the opening of the bids, in the small town some miles away, where one of the first families was giving a dinner. this left landor, as next in rank, in temporary command. it had happened often enough before, in one way or another, but this time the duties of the position seemed to weigh upon him. he was restless and did not care to sleep. he sent felipa off to bed, and sat watching where her lithe young figure had gone out of the door for some minutes. then he ran his hand across his mouth contemplatively, stroked his mustache, and finally went out of the house and down to ellton's quarters. when the baby began to cry, as it was always quite sure to do sooner or later, and mrs. ellton went up to it, landor spoke. "if i should come for you at any hour to-night, i wish you would hold yourself in readiness to go out with me immediately." he was not the sort of a man of whom to ask explanations. ellton said "very well," and proceeded to talk about the troop's hogs and gardens, both of which were a source of increase to the troop funds. mrs. ellton returned before long, and landor went back home. "i shall be in and out all night, more or less," he told felipa. she reached her hands from the bedclothes and stroked the deep lines on his forehead, the lines she had had most to do with putting there. but she did not ask for confidences. she never did. it was not her way. he kissed her and went out into the night again, to sit upon his porch at a spot where, through the cottonwood branches, he commanded a view of brewster's front door and of the windows of the commissary office. the silence of the garrison was absolute. over in the company clerk's office of one of the infantry barracks there was a light for a time. then, at about midnight, it too was put out. a cat came creeping from under the board walk and minced across the road. he watched it absently. when he looked up again to brewster's house, there was a chink of faint light showing through a curtain. he got up then and went down to ellton's quarters. ellton himself answered the muffled knock. "i didn't turn in," he said to the mysterious figure, shrouded in a cape, with a visor down to its peering eyes. landor told him to get his cap and come out. he followed the shadows of the trees near the low commissary building, and they stood there, each behind a thick cottonwood trunk. landor watched the light in brewster's window. it disappeared before long, and they held their breaths. ellton began to guess what was expected to happen. yet brewster himself did not come out. landor had almost decided that he had made an ungenerous mistake, when ellton came over with one light spring and, touching him on the shoulder, pointed to the window of the commissary office. a thick, dark blanket had evidently been hung within, but the faintest red flicker showed through a tiny hole. then landor remembered for the first time that there was a back door to brewster's quarters and to the commissary. he crept over to the commissary and tried the door gently. it was fast locked. then he went to the window. it was a low one, on a level with his chest, with wide-apart iron bars. he ran his hand between them now, and, doubling his fist, broke a pane with a sudden blow. as the glass crashed in, he grasped the gray blanket and drew it back. brewster was standing in front of the open safe, the package of bids in his hands, and the big rancher was beside him holding a candle and shading it with his palm. they had both turned, and were staring, terror-eyed, at the bleeding hand that held back the blanket. "can you see, ellton?" landor asked in his restrained, even voice. he evidently meant that there should be no more noise about this than necessary, that the post should know nothing of it. "i can see, sir," the lieutenant answered. then landor spoke to the commissary officer. "you will oblige me, mr. brewster, by returning those bids to the safe and by opening the door for me." he dropped the blanket, drew back his cut hand, warm and wet with blood, and wrapped it in a handkerchief very deliberately, as he waited. presently the front door opened. the commissary officer evidently had all the keys. landor and ellton, who were commandant and adjutant as well, went through the close-smelling storeroom, which reeked with codfish and coffee, into the office. the citizen was still there, still holding the candle and shading it, scared out of the little wits he had at the best of times. he was too frightened as yet to curse brewster and the wary scoundrel back in arizona, who had set him on to tampering with the military, and had put up the funds to that end--a small risk for a big gain. landor pointed to him. "who is this?" he asked. brewster told him. "it is mr. lawton, of the circle k ranch." "what is he doing here?" "he was helping me." "helping you to do what?" "to get out the bids." his courage was waxing a little. "for what purpose?" went on the cross questions. "to take them over to my quarters and keep them safe." "yes?" said landor. the inflection was not pleasing. it caused brewster to answer somewhat weakly, "yes." "do you think, sir, that you could tell that to twelve officers and make them believe it?" brewster was silent, but he neither flinched nor cowered, nor yet shifted his eyes. landor turned to the citizen. "where is your bid, mr. lawton?" "i ain't put it in yet," he stammered feebly. "don't put it in, then. leave the reservation to-night. you understand me, do you? now go!" lawton set down the candle upon the desk, and crept away by the rear door. after he had gone, landor turned to brewster once more. "are all the bids in the safe again?" they were. "is it closed?" it was. "give me the keys--all the keys." he handed them over. ellton stood by the door, with his hands in his pockets, and a countenance that tried hard to maintain the severity of discipline. but he was plainly enjoying it. "now, mr. brewster," said landor, going to the safe and resting his elbow upon it, and leaning forward in his earnestness, "i am going to tell you what you are to do. it would be better for the service and for all concerned if you do it quietly. i think you will agree with me, that any scandal is to be avoided. come to the opening of the bids to-morrow, at noon, quite as though nothing of this disgraceful sort had happened. i will keep the keys until then. but by retreat to-morrow evening i want your resignation from the service in the hands of the adjutant. if it is not, i shall prefer charges against you the next morning. but i hardly think you will deem it advisable to stand a court-martial." he stopped and stood erect again. brewster started to protest, still with the almost unmoved countenance of an innocent man. at any rate, he was not an abject, whining scoundrel, thought ellton, with a certain amount of admiration. landor held up a silencing hand. "if you have any explanations that you care to make, that it would be worth any one's time to listen to, you may keep them for a judge advocate." he pointed to the door. brewster hesitated for a moment, then walked out, a little unsteadily. they blew out the candle and took down the gray blanket. "a stone can have broken that pane, and i cut my hand on a bottle," said landor. ellton answered "very good," and they went out, locking the door. xvi the contract went to a needy and honest contractor when the bids were opened. and by night the whole garrison was in excitement over brewster's inexplicable resignation. it was inexplicable, but not unexplained. he went around to all the officers with the exception only of landor and ellton, and told that he had some time since decided to give up the service and to read and practise law in tucson. no one was inclined to believe it. but no one knew what to believe, for ellton and his captain held their tongues. they left the commandant himself in ignorance. brewster got hunting leave, pending the acceptance of his resignation, and went to the railway. in less than a week he was all but forgotten in a newer interest. a raiding party of hostiles had passed near the fort, and had killed, with particular atrocity, a family of settlers. the man and his wife had been tortured to death, the baby had had its brains beaten out against the trunk of a tree, a very young child had been hung by the wrist tendons to two meat hooks on the walls of the ranch-house, and left there to die. one big boy had had his eyelids and lips and nose cut off, and had been staked down to the ground with his remains of a face lying over a red-ant hole. only two had managed to escape,--a child of ten, who had carried his tiny sister in his arms, twenty miles of cañons and hills, to the post. felipa had taken charge of the two, being the only woman in the place not already provided with children of her own, and had roused herself to an amount of capability her husband had never suspected her of. she belonged to the tribe of unoccupied women, as a rule, not that she was indolent so much as that she appeared to have no sense of time nor of the value of it. landor, who had always one absorbing interest or another to expend his whole energy upon, even if it were nothing larger than running the troop kitchen, thought her quite aimless, though he never addressed that or any other reproach to her. he was contented at the advent of the hapless orphans for one thing, that they superseded the ellton baby, which he secretly detested with a kind of unreasonable jealousy. his contentment was not to last for long, however. the quartermaster broke in upon it rudely as he sat on the porch one morning after guard-mounting, "have you seen the man who came up with the scouts from grant?" landor knew that the scouts had come in the afternoon before, and were in camp across the creek; but he had not seen their chief, and he said so. "handsome fellow," went on the quartermaster, "and looks like a gentleman. glories in the ouida-esque name of charles morely cairness, and signs it in full." "sounds rather like a family magazine novel hero, doesn't it?" landor said, with a hint of a sneer, then repented, and added that cairness had been with him as guide, and was really a fine fellow. he turned his eyes slowly, without moving, and looked at felipa. she was sitting near them in a patch of sun-sifted shade behind the madeira vines, sewing on a pinafore for the little girl who was just then, with her brother, crossing the parade to the post school, as school call sounded. he knew well enough that she must have heard, her ears were so preternaturally sharp. but the only sign she gave was that her lips had set a little. so he waited in considerable uneasiness for what might happen. he understood her no more than he had that first day he had met her riding with the troops from kansas, when her indifferent manner had chilled him, and it was perhaps because he insisted upon working his reasoning from the basis that her character was complicated, whereas it was absolutely simple. he met constantly with her with much the same sort of mental sensation that one has physically, where one takes a step in the dark, expecting a fall in the ground, and comes down upon a level. the jar always bewildered him. he was never sure what she would do next, though she had never yet, save once, done anything flagrantly unwise. he dreaded, however, the moment when she might chance to meet cairness face to face. which happened upon the following day. and he was there to see it all, so that the question he had not cared to ask was answered forever beyond the possibility of a misunderstanding. it was stable time, and she walked down to the corrals with him. he left her for a moment by the gate of the quartermaster's corral while he went over to the picket line. the bright clear air of a mountain afternoon hummed with the swish click-clock, swish click-clock of the curry-combs and brushes, and the busy scraping of the stable brooms in the stalls. felipa stood leaning against the gate post, her bare head outlined in bold black and white against the white parasol that hung over her shoulders. she was watching one of the troop herds coming up from water,--the fine, big horses, trotting, bucking, rearing, kicking, biting at each other with squeals and whinnyings, tossing their manes and whisking their tails. some of them had rolled in the creek bed, and then in the dust, and were caked with mud from neck to croup. they frisked over to their own picket line, and got into rows for the grooming. she was looking at them with such absorbed delight that she started violently when close behind her a voice she had not heard in four long, repressed years spoke with the well-remembered intonation: "he had better go to the farrier the first thing in the morning. i can't have him stove-up," and cairness came out of the gate. he saw her, and without the hesitation of an instant raised his slouch hat and kept on. a government scout does not stop to pass the time of day with an officer's wife. it would have been best so, and she knew it, had indeed meant to make it like this on her part, but a feeling swept over her that if they did not speak now, they would pass down to their deaths in silence. she reached out her hand to stop him, and spoke. he turned about and stood still, with his head uncovered, looking straight into her face. another man might have wished it a little less open and earnest, a little more downcast and modest, but he liked it so. yet he waited, erect and immovable, and she saw that he meant that every advance should come from her. he was determined to force her to remember that he was a chief of scouts. she waited, too, made silent by sudden realization of how futile anything that she might say would be. "i am glad to see you again," she faltered; "it is four years since black river and the cloud-burst." she was angry at her own stupidity and want of resource, and her tone was more casual than she meant it to be. his own was instantly as cold. "i supposed you had quite forgotten all that," he said. she had done very well, up to then, but she was at the end of her strength. it had been strained to the snapping for a long while, and now it snapped. slowly, painfully, a hot, dark flush spread over her face to the black line of her hair. the squaw was manifested in the changed color. it altered her whole face, while it lasted, then it dropped back and left a dead gray pallor. her lips were quivering and yellow, and her eyes paled oddly, as those of a frightened wild beast do. but still they were not lowered. cairness could not take his own from them, and they stood so for what seemed to them both a dumb and horrible eternity, until landor came up, and she caught at his arm to steady herself. the parasol whirled around on its stick and fell. cairness picked it up, knocked off the dust, and handed it to landor. he could see that he knew, and it was a vast relief. it is only a feeble love in need of stimulants and spicing that craves secrecy. a strong one seeks the open and a chance to fight to the end, whatever that may be, before the judges of earth and heaven. they stood facing each other, challenging across the woman with the look in their eyes that men have worn since long ere ever the warriors of old disputed the captive before the walls of troy. it made it none the better that only landor had the right to give her the strength of his arm, and that only cairness had the right to the desperate, imploring look she threw him. it was a swift glance of a moment, and then she reached out a steady enough hand for the parasol, and smiled. it had been much too tragic to last--and in those surroundings. it was a flash of the naked swords of pain, and then they were sheathed. but each had left a sharp gash. no one had seen it. perhaps to many there would have been nothing to see. landor was the first to find speech. in the harsh light of the pause he saw that it was foolish as well as useless to beg the issue. "has mrs. landor told you that i found your letter to her on the body of the prospector, and delivered it to her?" the words were sufficiently overbearing, but the manner was unendurable. it occurred to cairness that it was ungenerous of landor to revenge himself by a shot from the safe intrenchment of his rank. "mrs. landor has had time to tell me nothing," he said, and turned on his spurred heel and went off in the direction of the post. but it was not a situation, after all, into which one could infuse much dignity. he was retreating, anyway it might be looked at, and there is bound to be more or less ignominy in the most creditable retreat. as they walked back to the post, landor did not speak to felipa. there was nothing he could say unless he were to storm unavailingly, and that was by no means his way. and there was nothing for which he could, with reason, blame her. all things considered, she had acted very well. she moved beside him serenely, not in the least cowed. later, when he came in from dress parade, he found her reading in the sitting room. she looked up and smiled, but his face was very angry, and the chin strap of his helmet below his mouth and the barbaric yellow plume added to the effect of awful and outraged majesty. he stopped in front of her. "i have been thinking things over," he said. she waited. "three years ago i offered you your liberty to marry that man. i repeat the offer now." she stood up very deliberately and faced him with a look he had never seen before in her eyes, dark and almost murderous. but she had her fury under control. he had guessed that her rage might be a very ugly thing, but he drew back a step at the revelation of its possibilities. twice she tried hard to speak. she put her hand to her throat, where her voice burned away as it rose. then it came from the depths of that being of hers, which he had never fathomed. "are you trying to drive me off?" she said measuredly. "do you wish me to go away from you? if you do, i will go. i will go, and i will never come back. but i will not go to him--not on my own account. it doesn't matter what happens to me; but on your account and on his, i will never go to him--not while you are alive." she stopped, and every nerve in her body was tense to quivering, her drawn lips worked. "and if i were out of the way?" he suggested. she had never been cruel intentionally before, and afterward she regretted it. but she raised her eyebrows and turned her back on him without answering. xvii lawton believed himself to be ill-used. he had written to stone a strangely composed and spelled account of the whole matter, and mingled reproaches for having gotten him into it; and stone had replied that it was no affair of his one way or another, but so far as he could make out lawton had made a mess of it and a qualified fool of himself. whereupon the rancher, his feelings being much injured, and his trust in mankind in general shattered, did as many a wiser man has done before him,--made himself very drunk, and in his cups told all that he knew to two women and a man. "i'd like to know whose affair it is, if it ain't his, the measly sneak. he sicked me on,"--oaths, as the grammars phrase it, "understood." the tears dribbled off his fierce mustache, and the women and the man laughed at him, but they were quite as drunk as he was, and they forgot all about it at once. lawton did not forget. he thought of it a great deal, and the more he thought, the more he wanted revenge. now if one cannot have revenge upon the real malefactor himself, because one is afraid of him, there is still satisfaction to be derived, to a certain extent, from wreaking it upon the innocent, of whom one is not afraid. lawton felt, in his simple soul, that stone was astute with the astuteness of the devil and all his angels. on the other hand, he believed the government to be dull. it was big, but it was stupid. was not the whole frontier evidence of that fact to him? clearly, then, the government was the one to be got even with. he had been in hiding three weeks. part of the time he had stayed in the town near the post, small, but as frontier towns went, eminently respectable and law-abiding. for the rest he had lain low in a house of very bad name at the exact edge of the military reservation. the poison of the vile liquor he had drunk without ceasing had gotten itself into his brain. he had reached the criminal point, not bold,--he was never that,--but considerably more dangerous, upon the whole. he drank more deeply for two days longer, after he received stone's letter, and then, when he was quite mad, when his eyes were bleared and fiery and his head was dry and hot and his heart terrible within him, he went out into the black night. it was still early. the mountain echoes had not sung back the tattoo of the trumpets as yet. there was a storm coming on from the snow peak in the west, and the clouds, dark with light edges, were thick in the sky. lawton was sober enough now. not so far away in its little pocket among the hills he could see the post, with all its lights twinkling, as though one of the clear starry patches in the heavens were reflected in a black lake in the valley. and the road stretched out faint and gray before him. he went in through the gate, and was once more upon that reservation he had been commanded by the overbearing tyrant representative of the military to leave, several weeks before. as he trudged along, tattoo went. in the clear silence, beneath the sounding-boards of the low clouds, he heard the voice of one of the sergeants. he shook his fist in the direction. tattoo being over, some of the lights were put out, but there were still plenty to guide him. he did not want to get there too early, so he walked more slowly, and when he came to the edge of the garrison, he hesitated. the chances of detection would certainly be less if he should go back of the officers' quarters, instead of the barracks. but to do that he would have to cross the road which led from the trader's to the quadrangle, and he would surely meet some one, if it were only some servant girl and her lover. he had observed and learned some things in his week of waiting in the post--that week which otherwise had gone for worse than nothing. he took the back of the barracks, keeping well away from them, stumbling in and out among rubbish heaps. he had no very clear idea of what he meant to do, or of why he was going in this particular direction; but he was ready for anything that might offer to his hand. if he came upon landor or the adjutant or any of them, he would put a knife into him. but he was not going to the trouble of hunting them out. and so he walked on, and came to the haystacks, looming, denser shadows against the sky. then taps sounded, ringing its brazen dirge to the night in a long, last note. it ended once, but the bugler went to the other side of the parade and began again. lawton repeated the shaking of his fist. he was growing impatient, and also scared. a little more of that shrill music, and his nerves would go into a thousand quivering shreds--he would be useless. would the cursed, the many times cursed military never get to bed? he waited in the shadow of the corrals, leaning against the low wall, gathering his forces. the sentry evidently did not see him. the post grew more and more still, the clouds more and more thick. gradually it began to form itself in his softened brain what he meant to do. it is safest to avenge oneself upon dumb beasts, after all. by and by he began to feel along the adobe wall, and when he found a niche for his foot, he started to clamber up. he had climbed so many corral walls, to sit atop of them with his great, booted legs dangling, and meditatively whittle when he should have been at work, that it was easy for him, and in a moment he was on the shingled roof, lying flat. in another he had dropped down upon a bed of straw. he put out his hand and touched a warm, smooth flank. the horse gave a little low whinny. quick as a flash he whipped out his knife and hamstrung it, not that one only, but ten other mules and horses before he stopped. he groped from stall to stall, and in each cut just once, unerringly and deep, so that the poor beast, which had turned its head and nosed at the touch of the hand of one of those humans who had always been its friends, was left writhing, with no possible outcome but death with a bullet in its head. he was waking now to his work. but he had enough of horses. he stopped, sheathed his knife, and, feeling in his pockets, drew out a box of matches. a little spluttering flame caught in a pile of straw, and showed a hind foot dragging helplessly. it crept up, and the mule plunged on three legs, dragging the other along. it snorted, and then every animal in that corral, which was the quartermaster's, smelt danger and snorted too, and struck from side to side of its stall. those in the next corral caught the fear. if the sentry outside heard, he paid no attention. it was common enough for the horses to take a simultaneous fit of restlessness in the night, startled by some bat flapping through the beams or by a rat scurrying in the grain. in ten minutes more a flame had reached the roof. in another ten minutes the sentry had discharged his carbine three times, fire call had been sounded in quick, alarming notes, and men and officers, half dressed, had come running from the barracks and the line. any other fire--excepting always in an ammunition magazine--is easier to handle than one in a stable. it takes time to blind plunging horses and lead them out singly. and there is no time to take. hay and straw and gunny-sacks and the dry wood of the stable go up like tinder. it has burned itself out before you can begin to extinguish it. there were four corrals in the one, and two of them were on fire. they had spread wet blankets on the roof of the third, but it, too, caught directly. the big, yellow-hearted flames poured up into the sky. the glow was cast back again from the blackness of the low clouds, and lit up the ground with a dazing shimmer. it blinded and burned and set the rules of fire drill pretty well at naught, when the only water supply was in small buckets and a few barrels, and the horses had kicked over two of the latter. in the corral where the fire had started and was best under way, and in the stall farthest from the gate, a little pinto mustang was jerking at its halter and squealing with fear. it was cairness's horse. he had been allowed to stable it there, and he himself was not down with his scouts in the ill-smelling camp across the creek, but had a room at the sutler's store, a good three-quarters of a mile from the corrals. as soon as the bugle call awoke him, he started at a run; but the fire was beyond fighting when he got there. he grabbed a man at the gate, who happened to be the quartermaster sergeant himself, and asked if his horse had been taken out. the sergeant spent more time upon the oaths with which he embellished the counter-question as to how he should know anything about it, than would have been consumed in a civil explanation. cairness dropped him and went into the corrals to see for himself. the fire roared and hissed, flung charred wood into the air, and let it fall back again. he remembered, in an inconsequent flash, how one night in the south pacific he had taken a very pretty girl below to see the engines. they had stood in the stoke-hole on a heap of coal, hand in hand, down beneath the motion of the decks where the only movement seemed to be the jar of the screw working against the thrust block and the reverberation of the connecting-rod and engines. a luckless, dust-caked wretch of a stoker had thrown open the door of a furnace in front of them, and they had seen the roaring, sputtering, seething whirl of fire within. they had given a simultaneous cry, hiding their scorched faces in their arms, and stumbled blindly over the coal beds back to the clattering of the engine rooms. it had all been very like this, only that this was a little worse, for there were half a dozen dead animals lying across the stalls, and others were being shot. the pistols snapped sharply, and the smell of powder was more pungent than all the other smells. he passed an officer who had a smoking six-shooter in his hand, and yelled in his ear, "why are you doing that?" he had forgotten that it was by no means his place to question. "been hamstrung," the officer bawled back hoarsely. in the end stall the bronco was still squealing and whimpering in an almost human key. he struck it on the flank with his open palm and spoke, "get over there." it had been made so much of a pet, and had been so constantly with him, that it was more intelligent than the average of its kind. it got over and stood quiet and still, trembling. he cut the halter close to the knot, turned it out of the stall, and flinging himself across its back dug his heels into its belly. just for a moment it hesitated, then started with the bronco spring, jumping the dead mules, shying from right to left and back again, and going out through the gates at a run. cairness held on with his knees as he had learned to do when he had played at stock-rider around katâwa and glen lomond in the days of his boyhood, as he had done since with the recruits at hurdle drill, or when he had chased a fleet heifer across the prairie and had had no time to saddle. he could keep his seat, no fear concerning that, but it was all he could do. the pony was not to be stopped. he had only what was left of the halter shank by way of a bridle, and it was none at all. a mexican knife bit would hardly have availed. they tore on, away from the noise of the flames, of the falling timber and the shouted commands, around the haystacks so close to the barbed-wire fence that the barbs cut his boot, off by the back of the quarters, and then upon the road that led from the reservation. if the pony could be kept on that road, there was small danger from dog holes. he would run himself out in time. the length of time was what was uncertain, however. a cow-pony can go a good many hours at a stretch. cairness sat more erect, and settled down to wait. the motion was so swift that he hardly felt it. he turned his head and looked back at the flaming corrals, and, remembering the dead animals, wondered who had hamstrung them. then he peered forward again the little way he could see along the road, and began to make out that there was some one ahead of him. whoever it was scurrying ahead there, bent almost double in his speed, was the one who had hamstrung the mules and horses, and who had set fire to the corrals. the pony was rather more under control now. it could be guided by the halter shank. the man, still running, dodged from the road and started across country. cairness wheeled and followed him. it was open ground, with not so much as a scrub oak or a rock in sight. the thick darkness offered the only chance of escape. but cairness had chased yearlings in nights as black, and had brought them back to the herd. down by the creek where the trees were thick, there would have been a good chance for escape, almost a certainty indeed, but there was little here. the man dodged again. it was just to that very thing that the pony had been trained. habit got the better of stampede with it. it, too, dodged sharply. cairness leaned far over and made a grab, but the first time he missed. the second he caught the neckerchief and held it, dragging the man, who resisted with all his giant strength, digging his toes into the ground as they tore along. and he was heavy. cairness had no stirrup or pommel to trust to. he saw that it was a case of falling or of leaving go, and he decided to fall. the man would go underneath anyway. the man did go underneath and bravely offered resistance. cairness had the twofold strength of his wiry build and of his bull-dog race. but lawton--he knew it was lawton now--would have been stronger yet, save that the three weeks' spree had told, and he was breathless. cairness sat across him and held a revolver to his mouth. the life of the plains teaches agility of various sorts, but chiefly in the matter of drawing a six-shooter. "you fired the corrals," cairness gasped. the fall had knocked the breath from his body. the under dog did not answer. "and you hamstrung those horses." no answer still. "why did you do it?" no answer. "i'll break your jaws if you don't open them." the jaws opened forthwith, but no sound came, and lawton struggled feebly. it occurred to cairness then that with no breath in your lungs and with twelve stone on your chest, speech is difficult. he slid off and knelt beside the rancher, still with the revolver levelled. "now, why did you do it, eh?" he enforced the "eh" with a shake. "i dunno. i didn't." "didn't you, then? you did, though, and you can go back with me till we find out why. give me your firearms. lively!" lawton produced a brace of revolvers. "and your knife." he handed it over also. "now you get up and walk in front of me, and don't you try to bolt. i can run faster than you can, and, anyway, i'll shoot you if you try it." lawton moved ahead a few steps; then he began to cry, loudly, blubbering, his nerves gone all to shreds. he implored and pleaded and wailed. he hadn't known what he was doing. he had been drunk. they had treated him badly about the beef contract. stone had gone back on him. the oaths that he sobbed forth were not new to cairness, but they were very ugly. "cheese that cussing, do you hear?" he ordered. lawton stopped. to forbid him swearing was to forbid him speech. he shuffled ahead in silence. when cairness got him to the post and turned him over to the officer-of-the-day, the fire had burned itself out and quiet was settling down again. big warm drops were beginning to splash from the clouds. the officer-of-the-day put lawton into the care of the guard and asked cairness in to have a drink, calling him "my good man." cairness was properly aware of the condescension involved in being asked into an officer's dining room, but he objected to being condescended to by a man who doubled his negatives, and he refused. "is there anything, then, that i can do for you? the officer asked. his intentions were good; cairness was bound to realize that, too. "yes, sir," he answered; "you can see that i get a mounted man and a horse at reveille to-morrow. i want to hunt for my pony. i lost it when i caught that man." the officer-of-the-day agreed. and cairness, not having a hat to raise, forgot himself and saluted. then he went back to the sutler's through the already pelting rain. he was glad he had caught lawton, mainly because of what he hoped to get out of him yet, about the kirby affair. but he was sorry for the big clumsy fool, too. he had been an easy-going, well-intentioned boss in the days when cairness had been his hand. and, too, he was sorry, very sorry, about the pony. if it were to fall into the hands of mexicans or even of some of the mescalero indians, his chances of seeing it again would be slight. and he was fond of it, mainly because it had helped him to save mrs. landor's life. xviii cairness had made a tune for himself and was putting to it the words of the ill-fated poet of his own land of the dawning. "oh! wind that whistles, o'er thorns and thistles of the fruitful earth, like a goblin elf, why should he labor to help his neighbor, who feels too reckless to help himself?" he felt altogether reckless. in just such a mood, he reflected, his grandmother had probably poisoned her first husband. he could almost have poisoned landor, the big duty-narrowed, conventional, military machine. why could he not have married some one of his own mental circumspection?--mrs. campbell, for instance. he had watched that affair during his enlistment. more the pity it had come to nothing. landor could have understood mrs. campbell. then he thought of felipa, as he had seen her first, looking full into the glare of the sunset, and afterward at him, with magnificent impersonality. "he has caught a lioness and tricked her out in fashionable rags and taught her some capers, and now he thinks he has improved the animal," he said to himself, and raged inwardly, asking the intangible fate, which was always opposing him, if there was not enough little doll women in the world that such an one as felipa must be whittled down to the size. the probable outcome of things at the rate they were going was perfectly apparent. landor would advance in age, respectability, and rank, and would be retired and settle down on three-fourths pay. he himself would end up in some cow-boy row, degraded and worthless, a tough character very probably, a fine example of nothing save atavism. and felipa would grow old. that splendid triumphant youth of hers would pass, and she would be a commonplace, subdued, middle-aged woman, in whom a relapse to her nature would be a mere vulgarity. he recalled the dark, unbecoming flush that had deepened the color of her skin just enough to show the squaw, beyond mistaking, at least to one who knew. it was all very well now. but later, later she would look like that frequently, if not all the time. with youth she would lose her excuse for being. he knew that very well. but it was the youth, the majestic, powerful youth, that he loved. he had seen too many old hags of squaws, disfigurers of the dead and wounded, drudges of the rancheria, squatting on hides before their tepees, not to know what felipa's decline would be in spite of the anglo-saxon strain that seemed to show only in her white skin. her only salvation, he knew that too, was to keep that strain always uppermost, to force it to the surface, exactly as landor was doing now. conventional, stately, reserved, in the garb of civilization, she would have a certain dignity. but youth was too good to sell for that. "where is the use of the lip's red charm, the heaven of hair, the pride of the brow, and the blood that blues the inside arm?"-he laughed crossly. evidently he was dropping back into the poetical tendencies of his most callow youth. he would be doing her a sonnet next, forsooth. he had done two or three of them in his school days for sydney damsels. that was when he had aspired to be ranked in his own country with gordon. good lord! how many aspirations of various sorts he had had. and he was a cow-boy. somewhere in that same poem, he remembered, there had been advice relative to a man's contending to the uttermost for his life's set prize, though the end in sight were a vice. he shrugged his shoulders. it might be well enough to hold to that in florence and the middle ages. it was highly impracticable for new mexico and the nineteenth century. so many things left undone can be conveniently laid to the prosaic and materialistic tendencies of the age. things were bad enough now--for landor, for himself, and most especially for felipa. but if one were to be guided by the romantic poets, they could conceivably be much worse. he struck his pony with the fringed end of the horse-hair lariat that hung around his pommel, and cantered on in the direction of the post. the pony had been found among the foot-hills, without any trouble. that, at any rate, had been a stroke of luck. he had led it into the fort just at the end of guard-mounting, and had met a party of riders going out. mrs. landor was with them. she had a little battered, brass trumpet hanging from her horn, and he knew that they were going to play at hare and hounds. she and the three with her were evidently the hares. they would take a ten minutes' start; then, at the sound of the trumpet, the hounds would follow. the riding was sometimes reckless. a day or two before he had seen felipa leap an arroyo, the edges of which were crumbling in, and take a fallen tree on very dangerous ground. he looked about now for a sign of either party. across the creek was some one riding slowly along the crest of a hill, seeming so small and creeping that only a very trained eye could have made it out. it was probably a hound. the hares lay low, in cañons and gullies and brush, as a rule. as he scanned the rest of the valley, his horse stopped short, with its fore legs planted stiffly. he looked down and saw that he was at the brink of a sheer fall of twenty feet or more, like a hole scooped in the side of the little rise he was riding over. he remembered, then, that there was a cave somewhere about. he had often heard of it, and probably it was this. he dismounted, and, tying the pony in a clump of bushes, walked down and around to investigate. it was plainly the cave. he went and stood in the mouth and looked into the dark, narrowing throat. a weird silence poured up with the damp, earthy smell. he went farther in, half sliding down the steep bank of soft, powdery, white earth. there was only the uncanny light which comes from reflection from the ground upward. but by it he could see innumerable tiny footprints, coyote, squirrel, prairie-dog, polecat tracks and the like. it took very little imagination to see yellow teeth and eyes gleaming from black shadows also, although he knew there were no dangerous animals in those parts. when he was well within, he began to investigate, and he recalled now that he had heard a great deal of this cave. it was very large, supposedly, but almost unexplored. tradition ran that the spaniards, in the long-past days of their occupation, had had a big silver mine in there, worked by padres who had taught the timid indians to believe that it was haunted, that they might not take it for themselves, nor yet guide others to it. and, too, it had been the refuge and hiding-place of billy the kid for years. it was said that since then a corporal and three men had gone in once, and that a search party had found their gnawed skeletons by the edge of the river that flowed there underground. oddly enough, and thanks to the missionary fathers, it had never served as an indian stronghold, though its advantages for such a use were manifest. cairness sat himself down and tried to listen for the flow of the great black river yonder in the great black hollow. by dint of straining his ears he almost fancied that he did catch a sound. but at the same instant, there came a real and unmistakable one. he started a little, not quite sure, just at first, what manner of wild beast, or man, or genius of the cave might pounce out upon him. it was only some one standing at the mouth of the hole, however, a shadow against the shimmering sunlight. and it was a woman--it was felipa. he sat quite still, clinching his teeth and clawing his fingers tensely. in the great crises of life, training and upbringing and education fall away, and a man is governed by two forces, his instincts and his surroundings. and cairness's instincts were in entire accord with his surroundings; they were of the stone age, when men fought with the beasts of the wilderness in their cave homes, and had only the law of sheer strength. he leaned forward, holding his breath, and watched her. had she seen his horse tied up above, and come here to find him--because he was here? she might have seen two dots of light fixed on her from the shadow, if she had looked that way. but she did not, and came unconcernedly down. she was sure-footed and agile, and she was daring, too. he himself had felt a qualm at coming here. but she did not appear to hesitate once. she came on, close by where he sat, and going to the dark passage peered in. then she turned away and caught sight of him. he was accustomed to the gloom by now, but she was not. she could only see that there was some one in the shadow. it flashed through his mind that she would scream, but the next moment he knew that she would not. she drew herself up and grasped her loaded quirt more firmly. there are some natures to which flight from a thing feared is physically impossible. they must not only face danger, they must go up to it. it is a trait, like any other. felipa took two steps toward him. he came out of the rock nook into the half light and spoke her own name. she was frightened now. the quirt fell from her hand with a thud. she loosed her hold upon her long riding skirt and tripped over it. if he had not sprung forward, with his arms outstretched to catch her, she would have fallen, face downward in the dust. it was three times now he had so saved her. he knew even then while her hand grasped at his arm, that he should have set her upon her feet, as he had done before. he knew that she had merited at least that. but he held her tight and close, and bending back her head, his own very close above it, looked into her eyes. then he stopped, with every muscle drawn, for he had seen in her answering, unflinching gaze that he was losing her, surely, irrevocably losing her. he let her go, almost throwing her away, and she caught hold of a ledge of rock to steady herself. he picked up the heavy quirt and held it out to her, with a shaking hand, shame-faced, and defiant, too. she took it, and they both stood for a time without speaking. then she turned her head and looked up at the sunshine. "i think i must go," she whispered. but she did not move. he asked her angrily why she had ever come at all, and she explained, with a piteous whimper, like a penitent child's, that she had left her horse tied in a little hollow and had come to explore. she had often meant to explore before this. he was still more exasperated, with himself and with her, that he had allowed himself to think for one moment that she had come on purpose to find him. where were the others? how did she happen to be here alone? he asked. she told him that they had all scattered some time before, with the hounds in full cry. "i must go," she repeated more firmly now, "they will be looking--" she stopped short. there was the crunching of heavy feet up above, on the gravel. it came to them both, even to her, that for them to be seen there together would be final. there would be no explaining it away. cairness thought of her. she thought of her husband. it would ruin him and his life. it was done before either of them was conscious of doing it. the black throat of the cave was open behind him. cairness jumped back into it, and she turned away and stood waiting, stiff with fear, not of the man whoever it might prove to be up there, but for the one who had stepped into the unknown dangers of the darkness behind her. the man up above showed himself, and putting his hands to his mouth shouted, "felipa!" she gave a cry of relief. "mr. cairness, mr. cairness," she called, "it is only my husband." she went herself a little way into the passage. "jack, mr. cairness has gone in there, call to him." and she called again herself. landor came sliding and running down. his face was misshapen with the anger that means killing. she saw it, and her powers came back to her all at once. she put both hands against his breast and pushed him back, with all the force of her sinewy arms. his foot slipped on a stone and he fell. she dropped beside him and tried to hold him down. "he did not know i was coming here," she pleaded. "it was a mistake, jack! will you wait until i tell you? will you wait?" she was clinging around his neck and would not be shaken off. he dragged her in the dust, trying to get free himself. cairness had groped his way back. he stood watching them. and he, too, was ready to kill. if landor had raised his hand against her, he would have shot him down. but, instead, landor stopped abruptly, rigid with the force of will. "i will wait. go on," he said. his voice was low and rasping. it dawned upon cairness that this was rather more than a military machine after all, that he had underestimated it. felipa stood up and told the truth shortly. "it was my fault, if it was any one's," she ended. "you may kill me, if you like. but if you hurt him, i will kill myself." it was she who was threatening now, and she never said more than she meant. she turned almost disdainfully from them, and went up and out of the cave. landor stopped behind, looking at cairness undecidedly for a moment longer. "it is well for you that i can believe her implicitly," he said. it had been a relapse to the stone age, but the rebound to the nineteenth century was as quick. cairness bowed, with no realization of the humor of it. "you are equally fortunate," he said easily, and motioned with his hand to the opening above, where felipa was going. he might have been under his own roof, and that the door. landor went. felipa waited for him, already mounted. he mounted his own horse and rode beside her back to the post. they did not speak, and he was conscious above his anger that his fondness for her had been gradually turning to dislike, and was now loathing. he had seen her dragging in the dust before him, pleading abjectly. she had humiliated him and herself in the presence of cairness, of all men, and he would never forget it. a woman who once grovels at a man's feet has lost thenceforth her power over him. xix if you take even a good-humored puppy of a savage breed and tie him to a kennel so that all his natural energy strikes in; if you feed him upon raw meat, when you feed him at all, but half starve him for the most part; and if you tantalize and goad him whenever you are in search of a pastime, he is more than likely to become a dangerous beast when he grows up. he is then a menace to the public, so you have but one course left--to take him out and shoot him. that is the proper way to bring up dogs. it makes them useful members of society. and it applies equally well to indians. it has worked beautifully with them for several hundred years. in canada they have run it on another principle. but they have missed much of the fun we have had out of it. in the territories there was plenty of such fun. and it had pretty well reached its height in the spring of '83. the indians, being wicked, ungrateful, suspicious characters, doubted the promises of the white-eyes. but it is only just to be charitable toward their ignorance. they were children of the wilderness and of the desert places, walking in darkness. had the lights of the benefits of civilization ever shone in upon them, they would have realized that the government of these united states, down to its very least official representative, never lies, never even evades. "have i ever lied to you?" crook asked them. and the deaf old chief pedro answered for them: "no," he said, "when you were here before, whenever you said a thing, we knew that it was true, and we kept it in our minds. when you were here, we were content; but we cannot understand why you went away. why did you leave us? everything was all right when you were here." he was but an unlearned and simple savage, and the workings of a war department were, of course, a mystery to him. he and his people should have believed crook. the thoughtful government which that much-harassed general represented had done everything possible to instill sweet trustfulness into their minds. but the apache, as all reports have set forth, is an uncertain quantity. the quiet, observant, capable man, whose fate it was to be always called in for the thankless task of undoing the evil work of others, made every effort to pacify this time, but he failed. "yes, we believe you," said the apache; "but you may go away again." so he refused to be cajoled, and going upon the war-path, after much bloodshed, fled into mexico. the general took a couple of hundred indian scouts, enlisted for six months' service, a troop of cavalry, and a half-dozen guides and interpreters, and followed across the border. there was a new treaty, just made to that end. it was the fiercest of all the apache tribes, the chiricahuas, that had hidden itself in the fastnesses of the sierra madre, two hundred miles south of the boundary line. geronimo and juh and chato, and other chiefs of quite as bloody fame, were with him. to capture them would be very creditable success. to fail to do so would entail dire consequences, international complications perhaps, and of a certainty the scorn and abuse of all the wise men who sat in judgment afar off. the general kept his own counsel then, but afterward, when it was all over, he confessed,--not to the rejoicing reporter who was making columns out of him for the papers of this, and even of many another, land,--but to the friends who had in some measure understood and believed in him, that the strain and responsibility had all but worn him out. and he was no frail man, this mighty hunter of the plains. the general of romance is a dashing creature, who wears gold lace and has stars upon his shoulder straps, and rides a fiery charger at the head of his troops. he always sits upon the charger, a field-glass in his hand and waiting aides upon every side, or flourishes a sword as he plunges into the thick of the battle smoke. but crook was not dashing, only quiet and steady, and sure as death. upon parade and occasions of ceremony he wore the gold lace and the stars. to do his life's work he put on an old flannel shirt, tied a kerchief around his neck, and set a pith helmet over those farseeing, keen little eyes. he might have been a prospector, or a cow-boy, for all the outward seeming of it. his charger was oftenest a little government mule, and he walked, leading it over many and many a trail that even its sure feet could not trust. there were plenty such trails in the sierra madre, through which the apache scouts were guiding him to their hostile brothers. cairness had come along with his own band of scouts. he had seen rough work in his time, but none equal to this. eight mules stepped a hand's breadth from the path, and lay hundreds of feet below at the base of the precipice, their backs broken under their aparejos. the boots were torn from the men's feet, their hands were cut with sharp rocks. they marched by night sometimes, sometimes by day, always to the limit of their strength. and upon the fourteenth morning they came upon the chiricahua stronghold. without the scouts they could never have found it. the indian has betrayed the indian from first to last. it was a little pocket, a natural fortress, high up on a commanding peak. cairness crept forward flat along the rocks, raised his head cautiously and looked down. there in the sunrise light,--the gorgeous sunrise of the southern mountain peaks where the wind is fresh out of the universe and glitters and quivers with sparks of new life,--there was the encampment of the hostiles. it was a small eden of green grass and water and trees high up in the sierra--that strange mountain chain that seems as though it might have been the giant model of the aztec builders, and that holds the mystery of a mysterious people locked in its stone and metal breasts, as securely as it does that of the rich, lost mines whose fabled wonders no man can prove to-day. there is a majesty about the mountains of the desolate regions which is not in those of more green and fertile lands. loneliness and endurance are written deep in their clefts and cañons and precipices. in the long season of the sun, they look unshrinking back to the glaring sky, with a stern defiance. it is as the very wrath of god, but they will not melt before it. in the season of the rains, black clouds hang low upon them, guarding their sullen gloom. but just as in the sternest heart is here and there a spot of gentleness, so in these forbidding fastnesses there are bits of verdure and soft beauty too. and the indian may be trusted to know of these. here where the jacales clustered, there was grass and wood and water that might last indefinitely. the fortifications of nature had been added to those of nature's man. it was a stronghold. but the apaches held it for only a day, for all that. they were unprepared and overconfident. their bucks were for the most part away plundering the hapless mexican settlements in the desert below. they had thought that no white troops nor mexicans could follow here, and they had neglected to count with the scouts, who had been hostiles themselves in their day, and who had the thief's advantage in catching a thief. and so while the bucks and children wandered round among the trees or bathed in the creek, while the hobbled ponies grazed leisurely on the rank grass, and the squaws carried fuel and built fires and began their day of drudgery, they were surprised. the fight began with a shot fired prematurely by one of the scouts, and lasted until nightfall--after the desultory manner of indian mountain fights, where you fire at a tree-trunk or lichened rock, or at some black, red-bound head that shoots up quick as a prairie dog's and is gone again, and where you follow the tactics of the wary apache in so far as you may. the curious part of it is that you beat him at his own game every time. it is always the troops that lose the least heavily! the indian wars of the southwest have been made a very small side issue in our history. the men who have carried them on have gained little glory and little fame. and yet they have accomplished a big task, and accomplished it well. they have subdued an enemy many times their own number. and the enemy has had such enormous advantages, too. he has been armed, since the 70's, even better than the troops. he has been upon his own ground--a ground that was alone enough to dismay the soldier, and one that gave him food, where it gave the white man death by starvation and thirst. he knew every foot of the country, fastnesses, water holes, creeks, and strongholds over thousands of miles. the best cavalry can travel continuously but twenty-five or thirty miles a day, carrying its own rations. the apache, stealing his stock and food as he runs, covers his fifty or seventy-five. the troops must find and follow trails that are disguised with impish craft. the apache goes where he lists, and that, as a general thing, over country where devils would fear to tread. then throw into the scale the harassing and conflicting orders of a war department, niggardly with its troops, several thousand miles away, wrapped in a dark veil of ignorance, and add the ever ready blame of the territorial citizen and press, and the wonder is, not that it took a score of years to settle the apache question, but that it was ever settled at all. the all-day fight in the sierra madre stronghold was a very uneven one. there were two hundred and fifty of the government forces against some thirty-five bucks. but, after all, the number comes to nothing. you may as well shoot at one enemy as at a thousand, if he is not to be seen anyway, and you cannot hit him. cairness reflected upon this as he fired for exactly the seventh time at a pair of beady eyes that flashed at him over a bush-topped rock by the creek, not five and twenty yards away, and then vanished utterly. there was something uncanny about it, and he was losing patience as well as ammunition. three bullets from a repeating rifle had about finished him. one had gone through his hat. the eyes popped up again. cairness fired again and missed. then he did a thoroughly silly thing. he jumped out from behind his shelter and ran and leapt, straight down, and over to the rock by the stream. the beady eyes saw him coming and sparkled, with an evil sort of laughter. if cairness had not slipped and gone sprawling down at that moment, the fourth bullet would have brought him up short. it sung over him, instead, and splashed against a stone, and when he got to his feet again the eyes had come out from their hiding-place. they were in the head of a very young buck. he had sprung to the top of his rock and was dancing about with defiant hilarity, waving his hands and the winchester, and grimacing tantalizingly. "_yaw! ya!_" he screeched. cairness discharged his revolver, but the boy whooped once more and was down, dodging around the stone. cairness dodged after him, wrath in his heart and also a vow to switch the little devil when he should get him. but he did not seem to be getting him. the fighting stopped to watch the ojo-blanco playing tag with the little apache, right in the heart of the stronghold. the general stood still, with a chuckle, and looked on. "naughty little boy," he remarked to the captain of the scouts; "but your man cairness won't catch him, though." with the sublime indifference to the mockery of the world, characteristic of his race, cairness kept at it. it was ridiculous. he had time to be dimly aware of that. and it certainly was not war. he did not know that they were affording the opposing forces much enjoyment. he had not even observed that the firing had stopped. but he meant to catch that much qualifiedly impudent little beast, or to know the reason why. and he would probably have known the reason why, if one of the apache scouts, embarrassed by no notions of fair play, had not taken good aim and brought his youthful kinsman down, with a bullet through his knee. the black eyes snapped with pain as he fell, but when cairness, with a breathless oath at the spoiler of sport, whoever he might be, pounced down upon him, the snap turned to a twinkle. the little buck raised himself on his elbow. "how! cairness," he grinned. "how mees landor?" cairness stopped short, speechless, with his mouth open. he did not even dodge after a bullet had hummed past his head. "who the devil--!" he began. then it dawned upon him. it was felipa's protégé of the old camp thomas days. he was standing, and the boy was lying, and the shots of the apaches flew about them. he stooped, and catching up his defeated foe, whose defeat was not half so entire as his own, scrambled out of the pocket and back among the troops. he carried his prisoner, who kicked vigorously with his good leg, and struck with both fists in protest against the ignominy of being held under anybody's arm like a sack of grain, back to the tied horses. "look out for the little customer, will you?" he said to the medical officer. "he's a great chum of mine. many's the can of condensed milk and bag of peanuts the ungrateful young one has had out of me." "what are you doing here?" he asked in the white mountain idiom; "you aren't a chiricahua." the boy grinned again. "how mees landor?" he repeated. his savage perception had noted that those words had some "medicine" or other that paralyzed the ojo-blanco temporarily. cairness swore at him in good english, and went off abruptly. at sunset the camp surrendered. there were seven dead bucks found, but no one ever knew, of course, how many had fallen into ravines, or dragged themselves off to die in nooks. the apache does not dread death, but he dreads having the white-man know that he has died. the spoils of the rancheria were varied, and some of them interesting as well. there were quite a hundred mules and horses, and there was money, to the sum of five thousand dollars or more. also there were gold and silver watches and clothes and saddles and bridles--all the loot of the unhappy haciendas and pueblas down on the flat. but the most treasured of all their possessions was a little photograph album which had begun its varied career in the particular home of the misguided indian philanthropist, boston. there was human plunder, too--women from the villages, all mexicans but one, and that one was american. cairness, having gone off with some scouts to reconnoitre, did not see them that night. when he came back it was already dark, and he took his supper; and rolling himself in his blanket slept, as he had always for the past fortnight, with only the faintly radiant night sky above him. in the morning, while the cooks were getting breakfast and the steam of ration-rio mounted as a grateful incense to the pink and yellow daybreak heavens, having bathed in the creek and elaborated his toilet with a clean neckerchief in celebration of victory, he walked over to the bunch of tepees to see the women captives. he knew while he was yet afar off which was the american. she stood, big and gaunt, with her feet planted wide and her fists on her hips, looking over toward the general's tent. and when cairness came nearer, strolling along with his hands in his pockets, observing the beauties of nature and the entire vileness of man, she turned her head and gave him a defiant stare. he took his hands from his pockets and went forward, raising his disreputable campaign hat. "good morning, mrs. lawton," he said, not that he quite lived up to the excellent standard of miss winstanley, but that he understood the compelling force of civility, not to say the bewilderment. if you turn its bright light full in the face of one whose eyes are accustomed to the obscurity wherein walk the underbred, your chances for dazzling him until he shall fall into any pit you may have dug in his pathway are excellent. nor was he disconcerted that she met him with a stony front and a glare of wrath. she glanced down at his outstretched hand, and kept her own great bony one on her hip still. then she looked at him squarely again. she did not say "well?" but she meant it. so he answered it blandly, and suggested that she had probably forgotten him, but that he had had the pleasure of meeting her once in the states. she continued to stare. he held that a husband is a husband still until the law or death says otherwise, and that it was no part of a man's business to inquire into the domestic relations of his friends; so he said that he had had the pleasure of meeting her husband recently. "he was at fort stanton," he added, "upon some little matter of business, i believe. you will be glad to hear that he was well." he did not see fit to add that he was also in the county jail, awaiting trial on charge of destruction of government property. "what's your name, young feller?" she demanded. cairness was hurt. "surely, mrs. lawton, you have not so entirely forgotten me. i am charles cairness, very much at your service." but she had forgotten, and she said so. he hesitated with a momentary compunction. she must have suffered pretty well for her sins already; her work-cut, knotty hands and her haggard face and the bend of her erstwhile too straight shoulders--all showed that plainly enough. it were not gallant; it might even be said to be cruel to worry her. but he remembered the dead englishwoman, with her babies, stiff and dead, too, beside her on the floor of the charred cabin up among the mountains, and his heart was hardened. "i spent a few days with the kirbys once," he said, and looked straight into her eyes. they shifted, and there was no mistaking her uneasiness. he followed it up instantly on a bold hazard. it had to be done now, before she had time to retreat to the cover of her blank stolidity. "why did you leave them to be massacred? what did you have against her and those little children?" "i didn't. none of your business," she defied him. "i beg your pardon, madam," he said. "it happens to be my business, though." breakfast call sounded. at the first shrill note she started violently. she was very thoroughly unnerved, and he decided that an hour of thinking would make her worse so. he told her that he would see her after breakfast, and raising his hat again left her to the anticipation, and to helping the mexican captives cook their meal of mescal root and rations. later in the day, when the general and the interpreters were engaged in making clear to the bucks, who came straggling in to surrender, the wishes and intentions of the great father in washington as regarded his refractory children in arizona, he went back to the captives' tepee. the texan was nowhere to be seen. he called to her and got no answer, then he looked in. she was not there. one of the mexican women was standing by, and he went up to her and asked for the gringa. the woman shrugged her round brown shoulders from which the rebozo had fallen quite away, and dropped her long lashes. "_no se_," she murmured. "_ay que si!_ you do know," he laughed; "you tell me _chula_, or i will take you back to the united states with me." she laughed too, musically, with a bewitching gurgle, and gave him a swift glance, at once soft and sad. "_ella es muy fea, no es simpatica, la gringa._" undoubtedly, as she said, the american was ugly and unattractive; but the mexican was pretty and decidedly engaging. cairness had been too nearly trapped once before to be lured now. he met the piece of brown femininity upon her own ground. "you are quite right, _querida mia_. she is ugly and old, and you are beautiful and young, and i will take you with me to the states and buy a pink dress with lovely green ribbons, if you will tell me where the old woman is." "_'stá bajo_," she stuck out her cleft chin in the direction of the trail that led out of the pocket down to the flat, far below. "_de veras?_" asked cairness, sharply. he was of no mind to lose her like this, when he was so near his end. "truly," said the little thing, and nodded vehemently. he left her ignominiously, at a run. she stood laughing after him until he jumped over a rock and disappeared. "she is his sweetheart, the _vieja_," she chattered to her companions. cairness called to four of his scouts as he ran. they joined him, and he told them to help him search. in half an hour they found her, cowering in a cranny of rocks and manzanita. he dismissed the indians, and then spoke to her. "now you sit on that stone there and listen to me," he said, and taking her by the shoulder put her down and stood over her. she kept her sullen glance on the ground, but she was shaking violently. "your husband is in jail," he said without preface. he had done with the mask of civility. it had served its purpose. "no he ain't." "yes he is. and i put him there." he left her to what he saw was her belief that it was because of the kirby affair. "you'll see when you get back. and i'll put you there, too, if i care to. the best chance you have is to do as i tell you." she was silent, but the stubbornness was going fast. she broke off a bunch of little pink blossoms and rolled it in her hands. "your best chance for keeping out of jail, too," he insisted, "is to keep on the right side of me. _sabe?_ now what i want to know is, what part stone has in all this." he did not know what part any one had had in it, as a matter of fact, for he had failed in all attempts to make lawton talk, in the two days he had had before leaving the post. "why don't you ask him?" said mrs. lawton, astutely. "because i prefer to ask you, that's why--and to make you answer, too." he sat down cross-legged on the ground, facing her. "i've got plenty of time, my dear woman. i can stop here all day if you can, you know," he assured her. afterward he made a painting of her as she had sat there, in among the rocks and the scrub growth, aged, bent, malevolent, and in garments that were picturesque because they were rags. he called it the sibyl of the sierra madre. and, like the trojan, he plied her with questions--not of the future, but of the past. "well," he said, "are you going to answer me?" "didn't you find out from him?" she asked. he changed his position leisurely, stretching out at full length and resting his head on his hand by way of gaining time. then he told her that it was not until after he had caught and landed her husband that he had discovered that stone was in it. "who told you he was?" she asked. "never mind all that. i'm here to question, not to be questioned. now listen to me." and he went on to point out how she could not possibly get away from him and the troops until they were across the border, and that once there, it lay with him to turn her over to the authorities or to set her free. "you can take your choice, of course. i give you my word--and i think you are quite clever enough to believe me--that if you do not tell me what i want to know about stone, i will land you where i've landed your husband; and that if you do, you shall go free after i've done with you. now i can wait until you decide to answer," and he rolled over on his back, put his arms under his head, and gazed up at the jewel-blue patch of sky. there was a long pause. a hawk lighted on a point of rock and twinkled its little eyes at them. two or three squirrels whisked in and out. once a scout came by and stood looking at them, then went on, noiselessly, up the mountain side. "what do you want to know for?" asked the woman, at length. he repeated that he was not there to be questioned, and showed her that he meant it by silence. presently she began again, "well, he wasn't in it at all. stone wasn't." this was not what cairness wanted either. he persisted in the silence. a prolonged silence will sometimes have much the same effect as solitary confinement. it will force speech against the speaker's own will. mrs. lawton gritted her teeth at him as though she would have rejoiced greatly to have had his neck between them. by and by she started once more. "bill jest told him about it--like a goldarned fool." "that," said cairness, cheerfully, "is more like it. go on." "that's all." "begging your pardon, it's not all." "what the devil do you want to know, then?" he considered. "let me see. for instance, when did lawton tell him, and why, and exactly what?" "you don't say!" she mocked. "you want the earth and some sun and moon and stars, don't you, though? well, then, bill told him about a week afterward. and he told him because stone had another hold on him (it ain't any of your business what that was, i reckon), and bullied it out of him (bill ain't got any more backbone than a rattler), and promised to lend him money to set up for hisself on the circle k ranch. want to know anything else?" she sneered. "several things, thanks. you haven't told me yet what version of it your husband gave to stone." cairness was a little anxious. it was succeed or fail right here. "told him the truth, more idjit he." "i didn't ask you that," he reminded her calmly. "i asked what he told." "say!" she apostrophized. "yes?" "you're english, i reckon, ain't you?" "yes, and you don't like the english, i know that perfectly." "you're right, i don't. you're as thick-headed as all the rest of them." "thanks. but you started out to tell me what lawton told stone." "he told him the truth, i tell you: that when we heard the apaches were coming, we lit out and drove out the stock from the corrals. i don't recollect his words." so that was it! it took all the self-command that thirty-five varied years had taught him not to rise up and knock her head against the sharp rocks. but he lay quite still, and presently he said: "that is near enough for my purposes, thank you. but i would be interested to know, if you don't mind, what you had against a helpless woman and those two poor little babies. i wouldn't have supposed that a woman lived who could have been such a fiend as all that." the woman launched off into a torrent of vituperation and vile language that surprised even cairness, whose ears were well seasoned. "shut up!" he commanded, jumping to his feet. "you killed her and you ought to be burned at the stake for it, but you shall not talk about her like that, you devilish old crone." she glared at him, but she stopped short nevertheless, and, flinging down the stone she had been holding, stood up also. "all right, then. you've done with me, i reckon. now suppose you let me go back to the camp." he turned and walked beside her. "don't you believe i know all that i want to. i've only just begun. so that scoundrel knew the whole murderous story, and went on writing lies in his papers and covering you, when you ought to have been hung to the nearest tree, did he?--and for the excellent reason that he wanted to make use of your husband! i worked on the circle k ranch and on that other one over in new mexico, which is supposed to be lawton's, and it didn't take me long to find out that stone was the real boss." "he's got bill right under his thumb," she sneered at her weak spouse. they clambered up the mountain side, back to the camp, and cairness escorted her to the tepee in silence. then he left her. "don't try to run away again," he advised. "you can't get far." he started off and turned back. "speaking of running away, where's the greaser you lit out with?" she replied, with still more violent relapse into foul-tongued abuse, that he had gone off with a woman of his own people. "got me down into this hell of a country and took every quartillo i had and then skedaddled." cairness smiled. there was, it appeared, a small supply of poetic justice still left in the scheme of things to be meted out. "and then the apache came down and bore you off like a helpless lamb," he said. "if i'd been the apache i'd have made it several sorts of hades for you, but i'd have scalped you afterward. you'd corrupt even a chiricahua squaw. however, i'm glad you lived until i got you." and he left her. but he kept a close watch upon her then and during all the hard, tedious march back to the states, when the troops and the scouts had to drag their steps to meet the strength of the women and children; when the rations gave out because there were some four hundred indians to be provided for, when the command ate mescal root, digging it up from the ground and baking it; and when the presence of a horde of filthy savages made the white-man suffer many things not to be put in print. but they were returning victorious. the chiricahuas were subdued. the hazard had turned well. there would be peace; the san carlos agency, breeding-grounds of all ills, would be turned over to military supervision. the general who had succeeded--if he had failed it would have been such a very different story--would have power to give his promise to the apaches and to see that it was kept. the experiment of honesty and of giving the devil his due would have a fair trial. the voices that had cried loudest abuse after the quiet soldier who, undisturbed, went so calmly on his way, doing the thing which seemed to him right, were silenced; and the soldier himself came back into his own land, crossing the border with his herds and his tribes behind him. there was no flourish of trumpets; no couriers were sent in advance to herald that the all but impossible had been accomplished. on a fine sunday morning in june the triumphant general rode into a supply camp twelve miles north of the line, and spoke to the officer in command. "nice morning, colonel," he said. and then his quick eyes spied the most desirable thing in all the camp. it was a tin wash basin set on a potato box. the triumphant general dismounted, and washed his face. xx there was peace and harmony in the home of the reverend taylor. an air of neatness and prosperity was about his four-room adobe house. the mocking-bird that hung in a willow cage against the white wall, by the door, whistled sweet mimicry of the cheep of the little chickens in the back yard, and hopped to and fro and up and down on his perches, pecking at the red chili between the bars. from the corner of his eyes he could peek into the window, and it was bright with potted geraniums, white as the wall, or red as the chili, or pink as the little crumpled palm that patted against the glass to him. he whistled more cheerily yet when he saw that small hand. he was a tame mocking-bird, and he had learned to eat dead flies from it. that was one of the greatest treats of his highly satisfactory life. the hand left the window and presently waved from the doorway. the reverend taylor stood there with his son in his arms. the mocking-bird trilled out a laugh to the evening air. it was irresistible, so droll that even a bird must know it,--the likeness between the little father and the little son. there was the same big head and the big ears and the big eyes and the body that was too small for them all, a little, thin body, active and quivering with energy. there were the very same wrinkles about the baby's lids, crinkles of good humor and kindly tolerance, and the very same tufts of hair running the wrong way and sticking out at the temples. the tufts were fuzzy yellow instead of gray, and the miniature face had not yet grown tanned and hard with the wind and the sun, but those were mere details. the general effect was perfect. there was no mistaking that the lively fraction of humanity in the reverend taylor's arms was the little reverend. that was the only name he went by, though he had been christened properly on the day he was six months old, joshua for his father and randolph for his mother, in memory of virginia, and her own long maidenhood. she was herself a randolph, and she wanted the fact perpetuated. but in tombstone, joshua randolph taylor was simply the little reverend. the little reverend was the first thing on earth to his father. for the wife had made that step in advance, which is yet a step in descent in a woman's life, when she becomes to her husband less herself than the mother of his child. the reverend taylor grabbed at a fly and caught it in his palm. he had become very expert at this, to his wife's admiration and his son's keen delight. it was because the little reverend liked to see him do it, and derived so much elfish enjoyment from the trick, that he had perfected himself in it. he gave the crushed fly to the baby, and held him up to feed the bird. the bird put its head through the bars and pecked with its whiskered bill, and the little reverend gurgled joyfully, his small face wrinkling up in a way which was really not pretty, but which his father thought the most engaging expression in the world. the puppy which had been born the same day as the little reverend, a beast half coyote, half shepherd, and wholly hideous, came and sat itself down beside them on the sill, looked up with its tongue hanging out to one side, and smiled widely. the beaming good nature of the two reverends was infectious. the baby squealed gleefully, and kicked until it was set down on the doorstep to pat the dog. presently the nurse came, a big, fat mexican woman, with all her people's love of children showing on her moon face as she put out her arms. she had been with the taylors since before the baby's birth, and she had more of its affection than the mother. the little reverend understood only spanish, and his few words, pronounced with a precision altogether in keeping with his appearance, were spanish ones. the old nurse murmured softly, as she took him up, "_quieres leche hombrecito, quieres cenar? el chuchu tiene hambre tambien. vamos á ver mamá._" the little reverend was not to be blandished. he was willing to go because it was his supper time and he knew it, but the big-eyed look of understanding he turned up to the gentle, fat face said plainly enough that he was too wise a creature to be wheedled. he submitted to be carried in, but he cast a regretful glance at the "chuchu," which sat still in the doorway, and at his father, who was watching the line of flying ants making their way, a stream of red bodies and sizzing white wings, out of the window and across the street. they had been doing that for three days. they came down the chimney, made across the floor in a line that never changed direction, nor straggled, nor lessened, up the wall and out a crack in the window. they did no harm, but followed blindly on in the path the first one had taken. and the minister had said they should not be smoked back or thwarted. the little reverend had been much interested in them also. he had sat for several hours sucking an empty spool, and observing them narrowly, in perfect silence. his father had great hopes of him as a naturalist. finally the minister raised his eyes and looked down the street. it was almost empty, save for two men in high-heeled top boots and sombreros who sat in chairs tilted back against the post-office wall, meditating in mutual silence. the only sounds were the rattling of dishes over in his mother-in-law's restaurant across the street, and the sleepy cheeping of the little chickens in his own back yard, as they cuddled under their mother's wing. the reverend taylor was about to go to the coops and close them for the night, when he saw a man and a woman on horseback coming up the street. the woman was bending forward and swaying in her saddle. he stood still and watched. the red sunset blaze was in his face so that he could not see plainly until they were quite near. then he knew that it was cairness and--yes, beyond a doubt--bill lawton's runaway wife. they halted in front of him, and the woman swayed again, so much that he ran to her side. but she righted herself fiercely. cairness was dismounted and was beside her, too, in an instant. he lifted her from the horse, pulled her down, more or less; she was much too ungainly to handle with any grace. "may i take her in?" he said, nodding toward the open door. "surely," said the minister, "surely." there might have been men who would have remembered that mrs. lawton was a tough woman, even for a mining town, and who would in the names of their own wives have refused to let her cross the threshold of their homes. but he saw that she was ill, and he did not so much as hesitate. cairness put his arm around the big angular shoulders and helped her into the sitting room. she dropped down upon the sofa, and sat there, her head hanging, but in sullenness, not humility. mrs. taylor came to the dining-room door and looked in. "can i do anything?" she asked. "come in," said her husband. he was pouring out a drink of whiskey. she came and stood watching, asking no questions, while the woman on the sofa gulped down the raw whiskey and gave back the glass. cairness had gone out to hitch the horses. when he came in he spoke to mrs. lawton, as one possessed of authority. he told her to lie down if she wanted to. "with your leave, mrs. taylor?" he added. mrs. taylor was already beside her, fussing kindly and being met with scant courtesy. cairness took the reverend taylor to the door. "you know that is bill lawton's wife?" he said. taylor nodded. "the one who sloped with the greaser?" the parson nodded again. "do you object to taking her into your house for a short time?" the reverend taylor did not object. "and your wife?" "she will shrink, i guess, at first," he admitted. "women who ain't seen much of life kind of think they ought to draw aside their skirts, and all that. they were taught copy-book morals about touching pitch, i reckon,"--he was wise concerning women now--"and it takes a good deal of hard experience to teach them that it ain't so. but she'll take my word for it." "she is ill, you see?" the parson had seen. "she may be ill some time. would it be asking too much of you to look after her?" the bachelor showed in that. taylor realized from the benedict's greater knowledge that it was asking a great deal, but still not too much. he assured cairness that she should be cared for. "she was a captive among the chiricahuas up in the sierra madre. she's had a hard time of it. that and the return march have been too much for her." the parson expressed pity--and felt it, which is more. "yes," cairness said, "of course it's hard luck, but she's deserved it all, and more too. you may as well know the whole thing now. it's only fair. she and her husband were the cause of the kirby massacre. drove off the stock from the corrals and left them no escape." his teeth set. the little man gasped audibly. "good god!" he said, "i--" he stopped. "i rather thought that might be too much for even you," said cairness. "no, no; it's a good deal, but it ain't too much. not that it could be more, very well," he added, and he glanced furtively at the woman within, who had stretched out on the lounge with her face to the wall. mrs. taylor was fanning her. "you will still keep her then?" cairness wished to know. he would still keep her, yes. but he did not see that it would be in the least necessary to tell his wife the whole of the woman's iniquity. it took quite all his courage, after they had gotten her safely in bed, to remind her that this was the same woman who had gone off with the mexican. mrs. taylor folded her hands in her lap, and simply looked at him. "well?" said he, questioningly, setting his mouth. it answered to the duellist's "on guard!" she had seen him set his mouth before, and she knew that it meant that he was not to be opposed. nevertheless there was a principle involved now. it must be fought for. and it would be the first fight of their marriage, too. as he had told cairness once, she was very amiable. "well," she answered, "i think you have done an unspeakable thing, that is all." "such as--" "to have brought an abandoned woman into our home." "if her presence blackens the walls, we will have them whitewashed." but she was not to be turned off with levity. it was a serious matter, involving consequences of the sternest sort. mrs. taylor was of the class of minds which holds that just such laxities as this strike at the root of society. "it is not a joke, joshua. she pollutes our home." "are you afraid she will contaminate me?" he asked. he was peering at her over the top of a newspaper. she denied the idea emphatically. "baby, then?" equally absurd. "or the nurse?" it was too foolish to answer. "then," said the reverend taylor, laying down the paper, "you must be scared for yourself." "never!" she declared; it was merely because she could not breathe the same air with that creature. "i wonder, my dear, what sort of air you breathed in your mother's restaurant at meal times?" mrs. taylor was silent. her pop blue eyes shifted. "trouble is," he went on evenly, "trouble is, that, like most women, you've been brought up to take copy-book sentiments about touchin' pitch, and all that, literal. you don't stop to remember that to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man. if she can't do you any harm spiritually, she certainly ain't got the strength to do it physically. i can't say as i'd like to have her about the place all the time unless she was going to reform,--and i don't take much stock in change of heart, with her sort,--because she wouldn't be a pleasant companion, and it ain't well to countenance vice. but while she's sick, and it will oblige cairness, she can have the shelter of my manta. you think so too, now, don't you?" he soothed. but she was not sure that she thought so. she wanted to know why the woman could not be sent to the hotel, and he explained that cairness wished a very close watch kept on her until she was able to be up. curiosity got the better of outraged virtue then. "why?" she asked, and leaned forward eagerly. but the reverend taylor's lips set again, and he shrugged his narrow shoulders. "i'm not certain myself," he said shortly. an eminent student of the sex has somewhere said that women are like monkeys, in that they are imitative. the comparison goes further. there is a certain inability in a monkey to follow out a train of thought, or of action, to its conclusion, which is shared by the major part of womankind. it is a feminine characteristic to spend life and much energy on side issues. the lady forgot almost all about her original premise. she wished especially to know that which no power upon earth would induce her lord to tell. he took up his paper again. "he ain't told me the whole thing yet," he said. she wished to hear as much as he had confided. the reverend taylor shook his head. "i may tell you sometime, but not now. in the meanwhile i'm sure you think we had better keep mrs. lawton here, don't you now?" she did not. she would as lief touch a toad. "ain't it funny how narrow-minded some good women can be, though?" he speculated, looking at her very much as he was in the habit of looking at his specimens. and he quoted slowly, as if he were saying over the names and family characteristics of a specimen. "'and though i bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though i give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.' i wonder how many women who have lived up to every word of the decalogue have made it all profitless for want of a little charity?" she asked, with the flat virginia accent of the vowels, if he would like her to go and embrace the woman, and request her to make their home henceforth her own. "no," he said, "i wouldn't like you to, and she wouldn't want it, i reckon." he dropped back into his usual speech. "she ain't any repentant sinner, by a good deal. but as cairness wants me to keep an eye on her, and as she's sick, i wish you to let her stay in the house, and not to make a rumpus about it. if you really don't like to go near her, though," he finished, "i'll tell you what i'll do, i'll take her in her food myself, and nurse can clean out her room." perhaps the scripture texts had taught their lesson, or perhaps there yet lingered a hope of learning that which her husband would not tell. anyway, for the week which the woman lay on the cot in the little whitewashed chamber, which had no outlet save through the sitting room where some one was always on guard night and day, mrs. taylor served her with a good enough grace. when she was able to be up, cairness went in to see her. she was sitting on a chair, and looking sulkily out of the window. "you got me jailed all right," she sneered, "ain't you?" and she motioned to the grating of iron. "you can go whenever you like now," cairness told her. she demanded to know where she was to go to, and he answered that that was not his affair, but that he would suggest a safe distance. "somebody else getting hold of the truth of the kirby business mightn't be so easy on you as i am." "how do i know you're done with me yet?" she snapped. he told her that she didn't know it, because he was not; and then he explained to her. "what i want of you now is for you to come over with taylor and me to see stone." she jumped to her feet. "i ain't going to do it." "yes," he assured her unmoved, "you are. at least you are going to do that, or go to jail." "what do you want me to say to stone?" "nothing much," he told her. he and taylor could take care of the talking. her part would be just to stand by and pay attention. "and after that?" "after that, as i said before, you may go." he suggested that the sooner she felt that she could go the better, as she had been a good deal of a burden to the taylors. she laughed scornfully. "it ain't me that asked them to take me in," she said; "i'm as glad to go as they are to have me." she wore a calico wrapper that cairness had bought for her, and other garments that had been gathered together in the town. now she put a battered sombrero on her head, and told him she was ready. he and the parson followed her out of the house. she had not cared to say good-by to mrs. taylor, and she glared at the little reverend, who balanced himself on his uncertain small feet and clutched at a chair, watching her with his precocious eyes and an expression combined of his mother's virtuous disapproval and his father's contemplative scrutiny, the while the tufts of his hair stood out stiffly. the reverend taylor and cairness had managed, with a good deal of adroitness, to keep the identity of their patient a secret. stone was consequently not at all prepared to have her stride in upon him. but he was not a man to be caught exhibiting emotions. the surprise which he showed and expressed was of a perfectly frank and civil, even of a somewhat pleased, sort. he called her "my dear madam," and placed a chair for her. she sat in it under protest. he kept up the social aspect of it all for quite five minutes, but sociability implies conversation, and cairness and the minister were silent. so was the woman--rigidly. when all his phrases were quite used up, stone changed the key. what could be done for mr. taylor? mr. taylor motioned with his usual urbanity that the burden of speech lay with cairness. what could he do for mr. cairness, then? "well," said cairness, twisting at the small mustache, and levelling his eyes straight as the barrels of a shot-gun--and they gave the journalist a little of the same sensation--"i think, mr. stone, that you can get out of the country within the next three days." stone did not understand. he believed that he missed mr. cairness's meaning. "i don't think you do," said cairness; "but i'll make it plainer, anyway. i want you to get out of the country, for the country's good, you know, and for your own. and i give you three days to do it in, because i don't wish to hurry you to an inconvenient extent." stone laughed and inquired if he were joking, or just crazy. "neither," drawled cairness. "but mrs. lawton, here, has been good enough to tell me that you have known the exact truth about the kirby massacre ever since a week after its occurrence, and yet you have shielded the criminals and lied in the papers. then, too," he went on, "though there is no real proof against you, and you undoubtedly did handle it very well, i know that it was you that set lawton on to try and bribe for the beef contract. you see your friends are unsafe, mr. stone, and i have been around yours and lawton's ranches enough to have picked up a few damaging facts." "always supposing you have," interposed stone, hooking his thumbs in his sleeve holes and tipping back his chair, "always supposing you have, what could you do with the facts?" "well," drawled cairness again,--he had learned the value of the word in playing the yankee game of bluff,--"with those about the beef contract and those about the kirby massacre, also a few i gathered around san carlos (you may not be aware that i have been about that reservation off and on for ten years), with those facts i could put you in the penitentiary, perhaps, even with an arizona jury; but at any rate i could get you tarred and feathered or lynched in about a day. or failing all those, i could shoot you myself. and a jury would acquit me, you know, if any one were ever to take the trouble to bring it before one, which is doubtful, i think." stone glanced at the lawton woman. she was grinning mirthlessly at his discomfiture. "what have you been stuffing this fellow here with?" he asked her contemptuously. "just what he's dishin' up to you now," she told him. "it's a lot of infernal lies, and you know it." but she only shook her head and laughed again, shortly. stone made a very creditable fight. a man does not throw up the results of years of work without a strong protest. he treated it lightly, at first, then seriously. then he threatened. "i've got a good deal of power myself," he told cairness angrily; "i can roast you in the press so that you can't hold up your head." "i don't believe you can," cairness said; "but you might try it, if it will give you any pleasure. only you must make haste, because you've got to get out in three days." "i can shoot, myself, when it comes to that," suggested stone. cairness said that he would of course have to take chances on that. "you might kill me, or i might kill you. i'm a pretty fair shot. however, it wouldn't pay you to kill me, upon the whole, and you must take everything into consideration." he was still twisting the curled end of his small mustache and half closing his eyes in the way that stone had long since set down as asinine. "my friend mr. taylor would still be alive. and if you were to hurt him,--he's a very popular man,--it might be bad for your standing in the community. it wouldn't hurt me to kill you, particularly, on the other hand. you are not so popular anyway, and i haven't very much to lose." then the journalist tried entreaty. he had a wife and children. cairness reminded him that kirby had had a wife and children, too. "well, i didn't kill them, did i?" he whined. "not exactly, no. but you were an accessory after the fact." "why are you so all-fired anxious to vindicate the law?" he dropped easily into phrases. cairness assured him that he was not. "it is not my mission on earth to straighten out the territories, heaven be praised. this is purely a personal matter, entirely so. you may call it revenge, if you like. lawton's in jail all safe, as you know. i got him there, and if he gets out anyway, i'll put him back again on this count." mrs. lawton started forward in her chair. "what's he in for now? ain't it for this?" she demanded. "for destruction of government property," cairness told her, and there was just the faintest twinkle between his lids. "i didn't know all these interesting details about the kirbys until you told me, mrs. lawton." she sat with her jaw hanging, staring at him, baffled, and he went on. "i've got lawton jailed, as i was saying. i'll have you out of the country in three days, and as for mrs. lawton, i'll keep an eye on her. i'll know where she is, in case i need her at any time. but i'm not fighting women." he stood up. "i'll see you off inside of three days then, stone," he said amicably. "where do you want me to go?" he almost moaned, and finished with an oath. "anywhere you like, my dear chap, so that it's neither in arizona or new mexico. i want to stop here myself, and the place isn't big enough for us both. you'll be a valuable acquisition to any community, and you can turn your talent to showing up the life here. you are right on the inside track. now i won't ask you to promise to go. but i'll be round to see that you do." he held the door open for the texan woman and the parson to go out. then he followed, closing it behind him. two days later stone left the town. he took the train for california, and his wife and children went with him. he was a rich man by many an evil means, and it was no real hardship that had been worked him, as cairness well knew. the lawton woman had heard of an officer's family at grant, which was in need of a cook, and had gone there. "and now," said the reverend taylor, fingering the lock of hair over the little reverend's right ear, as that wise little owl considered with uncertain approval a whistle rattle cairness had bought for him, "and now what are you going to do?" cairness stood up, ran his hands into his pockets, and going over to the window looked down at the geraniums as he had done once, long before. "i am going back to my ranch on the reservation," he said measuredly. "cairness," said the parson, fixing his eyes upon the back of the bent head, as if they were trying to see through into the impenetrable brain beneath, "are you going to spend the rest of your life at this sort of thing?" "i don't know," cairness answered, with a lightness that was anything but cheering. "you are too good for it." "i am certainly not good enough for anything else." he began to whistle, but it was not a success, and he stopped. "see here," insisted taylor; "turn round here and answer me." cairness continued to stand with his head down, looking at the geraniums. the parson was wiser than his wife in that he knew when it was of no use to insist. "what's keeping you around here, anyway? you ought to have gotten out when you left the service--and you half meant to then. what is it?" cairness raised his shoulders. "my mines," he said, after a while. the reverend taylor did not believe that, but he let it go. "well," he said more easily, "you've accomplished the thing you set out to do, anyway." "one thing," muttered cairness. "eh?" the parson was not sure he had heard. "just nothing," cairness laughed shortly, and breaking off one of the treasured geranium blossoms, stuck it in a buttonhole of his flannel shirt. "i heard you," said the little man; "what's the other?"--"oh, i dare say i'll fail on that," he answered indifferently, and taking up his sombrero went out to saddle his horse. xxi the civilization of the englishman is only skin deep. and therein lies his strength and his salvation. beneath that outer surface, tubbed and groomed and prosperous, there is the man, raw and crude from the workshops of creation. back of that brain, trained to a nicety of balance and perception and judgment, there are the illogical passions of a savage. an adaptation of the proverb might run that you scratch an englishman and you find a briton--one of those same britons who stained themselves blue with woad, who fell upon their foes with clumsy swords and flaming torches, who wore the skins of beasts, and lived in huts of straw, and who burned men and animals together, in sacrifice to their gods. and the savage shows, too, in that your englishman is not gregarious. his house is his castle, his life is to himself, and his sentiments are locked within him. he is a lonely creature, in the midst of his kind, and he loves his loneliness. but it is because of just this that no scion of ultra-civilization degenerates so thoroughly as does he. retrogression is easy to him. he can hardly go higher, because he is on the height already; but he can slip back. set him in a lower civilization, he sinks one degree lower than that. put him among savages, and he is nearer the beasts than they. it does not come to pass in a day, nor yet at all if he be part of a community, which keeps in mind its traditions and its church, and which forms its own public opinion. then he is the leaven of all the measures of meal about him, the surest, steadiest, most irresistible civilizing force. but he cannot advance alone. he goes back, and, being cursed with the wisdom which shows him his debasement, in loathing and disgust with himself, he grows sullen and falls back yet more. it was so with cairness. he was sinking down, and ever down, to the level of his surroundings; he was even ceasing to realize that it was so. he had begun by studying the life of the savages, but he was so entirely grasping their point of view that he was losing all other. he was not so dirty as they--not yet. his stone cabin was clean enough, and their villages were squalid. a morning plunge in the river was still a necessity, while with them it was an event. but where he had once spent his leisure in reading in several tongues--in keeping in touch with the world--and in painting, he would now sit for hours looking before him into space, thinking unprofitable thoughts. he lived from hand to mouth. eventually he would without doubt marry a squaw. the thing was more than common upon the frontier. he was in a manner forgetting felipa. he had forced himself to try to do so. but once in a way he remembered her vividly, so that the blood would burn in his heart and head, and he would start up and beat off the thought, as if it were a visible thing. it was happening less and less often, however. for two years he had not seen her and had heard of her directly only once. an officer who came into the agency had been with her, but having no reason to suppose that a scout could be interested in the details of the private life of an officer's wife, he had merely said that she had been very ill, but was better now. he had not seen fit to add that it was said in the garrison--which observed all things with a microscopic eye--that she was very unhappy with landor, and that the sympathy was not all with her. "mrs. landor is very beautiful," cairness hazarded. he wanted to talk of her, or to make some one else do it. "she is very magnificent," said the officer, coldly. it was plain that magnificence was not what he admired in woman. and there it had dropped. cairness remembered with an anger and disgust with himself he could still feel, that last time he had seen her in the mouth of the cave. that had been two springs ago. since then there had been no occupation for him as a guide or scout. the country had been at peace. the war department and the indian department were dividing the control of the agency, with the war department ranking. crook had been trying his theories as practice. he had been demonstrating that the indian can work, with a degree of success that was highly displeasing to the class of politicians whose whole social fabric for the southwest rested on his only being able to kill. but the star of the politician was once more in the ascendant. for two years there had been not one depredation, not one outrage from the indians, for whose good conduct the general had given his personal word. they were self-supporting, and from the products of their farms they not only kept themselves, but supplied the neighboring towns. it was a state of affairs entirely unsatisfactory to the politician. so he set about correcting it. his methods were explained to cairness by an old buck who slouched up to the cabin and sat himself down cross-legged in front of the door. he meant to share in the venison breakfast cairness was getting himself. "so long as these stones of your house shall remain one upon the other," began the apache, "so long shall i be your friend. have you any tobacco?" cairness went into the cabin, got a pouch, and tossed it to him. he took a package of straw papers and a match from somewhere about himself and rolled a cigarette deftly. "i have been lied to," came the muttering voice from the folds of the red i. d. blanket, which almost met the red flannel band binding down his coarse and dirty black hair. it was early dawn and cold. cairness himself was close to the brush fire. "i have been cheated." cairness nodded. he thought it very likely. "the sun and the darkness and the winds were all listening. he promised to pay me _dos reales_ each day. to prove to you that i am now telling the truth, here is what he wrote for me." he held it out to cairness, a dirty scrap of wrapping-paper scrawled over with senseless words. "yes," said cairness, examining it, "but this has no meaning." "that is a promise," the indian insisted, "to pay me _dos reales_ a day if i would cut hay for him." the white explained carefully that it was not a contract, that it was nothing at all, in fact. "then he lied," said the buck, and tucked the scrap back under his head band. "they all lie. i worked for him two weeks. i worked hard. and each night when i asked him for money he would say to me that to-morrow he would pay me. when all his hay was cut he laughed in my face. he would pay me nothing." he seemed resigned enough about it. cairness gave a grunt that was startlingly savage--so much so that he realized it, and shook himself slightly as a man does who is trying to shake himself free from a lethargy that is stealing over him. "and then, there was the trouble about the cows. they promised us one thousand, and they gave us not quite six hundred. and those--the dawn and the sky hear that what i tell you is true--and those were so old we could not use them." cairness nodded. he knew that the interior department had sent an agent out to investigate that complaint, and that the agent had gone his way rejoicing and reporting that all was well with the indian and honest with the contractor. it was not true. every one who knew anything about it knew that. cairness supposed that also was the work of the politicians. but there are things one cannot make plain to a savage having no notions of government. the buck went on, the while he held a piece of venison in his dirty hand and dragged at it with his teeth, to say that there was a feeling of great uneasiness upon the reservation. the chiricahuas could see that there was trouble between the officials, both military and civil, and the government. they did not know what it was. they did not understand that the harassed general, whose word--and his alone--had their entire belief, nagged and thwarted, given authority and then prevented from enforcing it, had rebelled at last, had asked to be relieved, and had been refused. but they drew in with delight the air of strife and unrest. it was the one they loved best, there could and can be no doubt about that. "geronimo," mumbled the apache, "has prayed to the dawn and the darkness and the sun and the sky to help him put a stop to those bad stories that people put in the papers about him. he is afraid it will be done as they say." the press of the country was full just then, and had been for some time past, of suggestions that the only good use the much-feared geronimo could be put to would be hanging, the which he no doubt richly deserved. but if every one in the territories who deserved hanging had been given his dues, the land would have been dotted with blasted trees. "geronimo does not want that any more. he has tried to do right. he is not thinking bad. such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers." cairness also thought that they should not, chiefly because they had a tendency to frighten the timid apaches. but he went on quietly eating his breakfast, and said nothing. he knew that only silence can obtain loquacity from silent natures. he was holding his meat in his fingers, too, and biting it, though he did not drag it like a wild beast yet; and, moreover, he had it upon a piece of bread of his own baking. "there will be trouble with geronimo's people soon." "shall you go with them?" asked cairness. "no, i am a friend of the soldier. and i am a friend of chato, who is the enemy of geronimo. i have no bad thoughts," he added piously. "and you think there will be trouble?" he knew that the buck had come there for nothing but to inform. "i think that geronimo will make trouble. he knows that the agent and the soldiers are quarrelling, and he and his people have been drinking tizwin for many days." cairness stood up and walked down to the water to wash his hands. then he went into the cabin and brought out a small mirror, and all the shaving apparatus he had not used for months, and proceeded to take off his thick brown beard, while the indian sat stolidly watching him with that deep interest in trifles of the primitive brain, which sees and marks, and fails to learn or to profit correspondingly. and later in the day, when the buck had shuffled off again, cairness brought out his pony,--a new one now, for the little pinto one had died of a rattlesnake bite, from which no golondrina weed had been able to save it,--and saddled it. then he went again into the cabin. there was but one thing there that he valued,--a life-size head of felipa he had done in charcoal. it was in a chest beneath his cot. he locked his chest, and going out locked the door also, and putting both keys upon a ring, mounted and rode off along the trail. it was his intention to go to crook and to warn him if he needed warning, which was not probable, since he was never napping. he would then offer his services as a scout. he was sincerely attached to the general, and felt his own career in a way involved with that of the officer, because he had been with him, in one capacity or another, in every campaign he had made in the southwest. already he felt more respectable at the mere prospect of contact with his kind again. he was glad that the unkempt beard was gone, and he was allowing himself to hope, no, he was deliberately hoping, that he would see felipa. xxii he failed in the warning. he had barely gotten off the reservation before geronimo and nachez and their sympathizers broke out and started to reach again that fastness in the sierra madre from which they had been routed two years before. but he succeeded without the least difficulty in obtaining the position of chief of scouts. and he succeeded in seeing felipa. it was most unexpected. he had believed her to be in stanton, a good many hundred miles away. but landor having been sent at once into the field, she had come on to grant to visit the campbells, who were again stationed there. he met her face to face only once, and he measured with one quick look all the changes there were between the girl of ten years before and the woman of to-day. the great, sad pity that rose within him, and seemed to grasp at his throat chokingly, was the best love he had felt for her yet. it wiped out the wrong of the short madness in the cave's mouth. she was quite alone, wandering among the trees and bushes in the creek bottom, and her hands were full of wild flowers. she had pinned several long sprays of the little ground blossoms, called "baby-blue eyes," at her throat, and they lay along her white gown prettily. she stopped and spoke to him, with a note of lifelessness in her high, sweet voice; and while he answered her question as to what he had been doing since she had seen him last, she unpinned the "baby-blue eyes" and held them out to him. "would you like these?" she asked simply. he took them, and she said "good-by" and went on. she was broken to the acceptance of the inevitable now,--he could see that, any one could see it. she had learned the lesson of the ages--the futility of struggle of mere man against the advance of men. that it had been a hard lesson was plain. it showed in her face, where patience had given place to unrest, gentleness to the defiance of freedom. she had gained, too, she had gained greatly. she was not only woman now, she was womanly. but cairness did not need to be told that she was not happy. he went on the next day with his scouts, and eventually joined landor in the field. landor was much the same as ever, only more gray and rather more deeply lined. perhaps he was more taciturn, too, for beyond necessary orders he threw not one word to the chief of scouts. cairness could understand that the sight of himself was naturally an exasperation, and in some manner a reproach, too. he was sorry that he had been thrown with this command, but, since he was, it was better that landor should behave as he was doing. an assumption of friendliness would have been a mockery, and to some extent an ignoble one. landor's troop, with one other, was in the san andres mountains of new mexico when cairness joined it. they were on the trail of a large band of renegades, and it led them through the mountains, across the flats, and down to the lava beds. once in the æons which will never unfold their secrets now, when the continent of the western seas was undreamed of by the sages and the philosophers of the eastern world, when it was as alone, surrounded by its wide waters, as the planets are alone in their wastes of space, when it was living its own life,--which was to leave no trace upon the scroll of the wisdom of the ages,--the mountains and the bowels of the earth melted before the wrath of that same lord whose voice shook the wilderness of judæa. at his bidding they ran as water, and poured down in waves of seething fire, across the valley of death. it is a valley of death now, parched and desolate, a waste of white sand--the dry bone dust of the cycles. but then, when the lava came surging and boiling and flaming across the plain, not a thin stream, but a wide, irresistible current, there was life; there was a city--one city at least. it is there now, under the mass of sharp, gray, porous rock; how much of it no one knows. but it is there, and it has given up its unavailing hints of a life which may have been older than that of herculaneum and pompeii, and is as much more safely hidden from the research of the inquiring day as its walls are more hopelessly buried beneath the ironlike stone than are those of the cisalpine cities beneath their ashen drift. and the great river of rock is there, too, frozen upon the land like some devouring monster changed by a gorgon head into lifeless stone. it is a formidable barrier across the hardly less formidable bad lands. it can be crossed in places where it is narrowest, not quite a mile in width, that is. but horses slip and clamber, and men cut through the leather of their heaviest shoes. if the sea, whipping in huge waves against the fury of a typhoon, were to become on the instant rocks, it would be as this. there are heights and crevasses, hills and gulches, crests and hollows, little caves and crannies, where quail and snakes and cotton-tails and jack-rabbits, lizards and coyotes, creatures of desolation and the barrens, hide and scamper in and out. it is an impregnable stronghold, not for armies, because they could not find shelter, but for savages that can scatter like the quail themselves, and writhe on their bellies into the coyotes' own holes. and so the hostiles took shelter there from the cavalry that had pursued them hard across the open all night, and gave battle after the manner of their kind. it was a very desultory sort of a skirmish, for the troops did not venture into the traps beyond the very edge, and the indians were simply on the defensive. it was not only desultory, it promised to be unavailing, a waste of time and of ammunition. the chiricahuas might stay there and fire at intervals as long as they listed, killing a few men perhaps. and then they might retreat quite safely, putting the barrier between themselves and the pursuers. obviously there were only two courses wherein lay any wisdom,--to retreat, or to cut off their retreat. landor said so to the major in command. "and how, may i ask, would you suggest cutting off their retreat?" the major inquired a little sharply. his temper was not improved by the heat and by twelve hours in the saddle. it was certainly not apparent, on the face of it, how the thing was to be done, but the captain explained. "i've been stationed here, you know, and i know the roads. we are about a half a mile or more from where the stanton road to the railway crosses the lava. it is narrow and rough, and about from three-quarters of a mile to a mile wide, but cavalry can go over it without any trouble. i can take my troop over, and then the indians will be hemmed in between us. we might capture the whole band." the major offered the objection that it would be foolhardy, that it would be cutting through the enemy by file. "they'll pick you off, and you'll be absolutely at their mercy," he remonstrated. "no, i can't hear of it." "suppose you let me call for volunteers," suggested landor. he was sure of his own men, down to the last recruit. the major consented unwillingly. "it's your lookout. if you come out alive, i shall be surprised, that's all. take some scouts, too," he added, as he lit a cigar and went on with his walk up and down among his men. the entire command volunteered, as a matter of course, and landor had his pick. he took thirty men and a dozen scouts. cairness rode up and offered himself. they looked each other full in the face for a moment. "very well," said landor, and turned on his heel. cairness was properly appreciative, despite the incivility. he knew that landor could have refused as well as not, and that would have annoyed and mortified him. he was a generous enemy, at any rate. the volunteers mounted and trotted off in a cloud of dust that hung above them and back along their trail, to where the road, as landor had said, entered the malpais. just at the edge of the rock stream there was an abandoned cabin built of small stones. whatever sort of roof it had had in the beginning was now gone altogether, and the cabin itself was tumbling down. through the doorway where there was no door, there showed a blackened fireplace. once when a party from the post had been taking the two days' drive to the railroad, they had stopped here, and had lunched in the cabin. landor remembered it now, and glanced at the place where felipa had reclined in the shade of the walls, upon the leather cushion of the ambulance seat. she very rarely could be moved to sing, though she had a sweet, plaintive voice of small volume; but this time she had raised her tin mug of beer and, looking up to the blue sky, had launched into the "last carouse," in a spirit of light mockery that fitted with it well, changing the words a little to the scene. "we meet 'neath the blazing heavens, and the walls around are bare; they shout back our peals of laughter, and it seems that the dead are there. then stand to your glasses steady, we drink to our comrades' eyes one cup to the dead already. hurrah! for the next that dies." "hurrah! for the next that dies," thought landor himself, with a careless cynicism. the barrel of a winchester gleamed above a point of rock, a little sharp sparkle of sunlight on steel, and a bullet deflected from the big leather hood of his stirrup. he rode on calmly, and his horse's shoes clicked on the lava. the men followed, sitting erect, toes in. they might have been on mounted inspection except for the field clothes, stained and dusty. they were to go down a narrow path for close on a mile, between two rows of rifle barrels, and that not at a run or a gallop, but at a trot, at the most, for the lava was slippery as glass in spots. they were willing enough to do it, even anxious--not that there was any principle involved, or glory to be gained, but because their blood was up and it was part of the chances of the game. they were not destined to get beyond the first fifty yards, nevertheless. the rifle that had fired at landor as he came upon the malpais went glistening up again. there was a puff of blue-hearted smoke in the still air, and cairness's bronco, struck on the flanks, stung to frenzy, stopped short, then gathering itself together with every quivering sinew in a knot, after the way of its breed, bounded off straight in among the jagged boulders. it was all done in an instant, and almost before landor could see who had dashed ahead of him the horse had fallen, neck to the ground, throwing its rider with his head against a point of stone. landor did not stop to consider it. it was one of the few impulses of his life, or perhaps only the quickest thinking he had ever done. cairness was there among the rocks, disabled and in momentary danger of his life. if it had been a soldier, under the same circumstances, landor might have gone on and have sent another soldier to help him. it was only a chief of scouts, but it was a man of his own kind, for all that--and it was his enemy. instinct dismounted him before reason had time to warn him that the affair of an officer is not to succor his inferiors in the thick of the fighting when there are others who can be better spared to do it. he threw his reins over his horse's head and into the hands of the orderly-trumpeter, and jumped down beside cairness. when the sergeant reported it to the major afterward, he said that the captain, in stooping over to raise the chief of scouts, had been struck full in the temple by a bullet, and had pitched forward with his arms stretched out. one private had been wounded. they carried the two men back to the little cabin of stones, and that was the casualty list. but the dash had failed. they laid landor upon the ground, in the same patch of shade he had glanced at in coming by not five minutes before. his glazed eyes stared back at the sky. there was nothing to be done for him. but cairness was alive. they washed the blood from his face with water out of the canteens, and bound his head with a wet handkerchief. and presently he came back to consciousness and saw landor stretched there, with the bluing hole in his brow, and the quiet there is no mistaking on his sternly weary face. and he turned back his head and lay as ashy and almost as still as the dead man, with a look on his own face more terrible than that of any death. after a time, when a soldier bent over him and held a flask to his teeth, he drank, and then he pointed feebly, and his lips framed the question he could not seem to speak. the soldier understood. "trying to save you, sir," he said a little resentfully. but cairness had known it without that. it was so entirely in keeping with the rest of his fate, that every cup which ought to have been sweet should have been embittered like this. he rolled his cut and throbbing head over again, and watched the still form. and he was conscious of no satisfaction that now there was nothing in all the world to keep him from felipa, from the gaining of the wish of many years, but only of a dull sort of pity for landor and for himself, and of a real and deep regret. xxiii it was a splendid spring morning. there had been a shower overnight, and the whole mountain world was aglitter. the dancing, rustling leaves of the cottonwoods gleamed, the sparse grass of the parade ground was shining like tiny bayonets, the flag threw out its bright stripes to the breeze, and when the sun rays struck the visor of some forage cap, they glinted off as though it had been a mirror. all the post chickens were cackling and singing their droning monotonous song of contentment, the tiny ones cheeped and twittered, and in among the vines of the porch felipa's mocking-bird whistled exultantly. the sound shrilled sweetly through the house, through all the empty rooms, and through the thick silence of that one which was not empty, but where a flag was spread over a rough box of boards, and ellton sat by the window with a little black prayer-book in his hand. he was going over the service for the burial of the dead, because there was no chaplain, and it fell to him to read it. now and then one of the officers came in alone or with his wife and stood about aimlessly, then went away again. but for the rest, the house was quite forsaken. felipa was not there. at the earliest, she could not return for a couple of days, and by then landor's body would be laid in the dreary little graveyard, with its wooden headboards and crosses, and its neglected graves among the coyote and snake holes. the life of the service would be going on just as usual, after the little passing excitement was at an end. for it was an excitement. no one in the garrison would have had it end like this, but since what will be will be, and the right theory of life is to make the most of what offers and to hasten--as the philosopher has said--to laugh at all things for fear we may have cause to weep, there was a certain expectation, decently kept down, in the air. it rose to a subdued pitch as there came the gradual rattling of wheels and the slow tramp of many feet. a buckboard, from which the seats had been removed, came up the line, and behind it marched the troops and companies, landor's own troop in advance. they halted in front of his quarters, and four officers came down the steps with the long box between them. the mocking-bird's trill died away to a questioning twitter. the box was laid in the buckboard, and covered with the flag once more. then the mules started, with a rattle of traces and of the wheels, and the tramp of feet began again. the drums thrummed regularly and slowly, the heart beats of the service, and the fifes took up the dead march in a weird, shrill banshee wail. they went down the line, the commandant with the surgeon and the officers first, and after them the buckboard, with its bright-draped burden. then landor's horse, covered with black cloths, the empty saddle upon its back. it nosed at the pockets of the man who led it. it had been taught to find sugar in pockets. and then the troops, the cavalry with the yellow plumes of their helmets drooping, and the infantry with the spikes glinting, marching with eyes cast down and muskets reversed. a gap, then the soldiers' urchins from the laundress row, in for anything that might be doing. the roll of the drums and the whistle of the fifes died away in the distance. there was a long silence, followed by three volleys of musketry, the salute over the open grave. and then taps was pealed in notes of brass up to the blue sky, a long farewell, a challenge aforetime to the trumpet of the last day. they turned and came marching back. the drums and fifes played "yankee doodle" in sarcastic relief. the men walked briskly with their guns at carry arms, the black-draped horse curved its neck and pranced until the empty stirrups danced. the incident was over--closed. the post picked up its life and went on. two afternoons later the ambulance which had been sent for felipa came into the post. she stepped out from it in front of the elltons' quarters so majestic and awe-inspiring in her black garments that mrs. ellton was fairly subdued. she felt real grief. it showed in her white face and the nervous quiver of her lips. "i am going out to the graveyard," she told mrs. ellton almost at once. mrs. ellton prepared to accompany her, but she insisted that she was going alone, and did so, to the universal consternation. in the late afternoon the lonely dark figure crossed the open and dropped down on the new grave, not in an agony of tears, but as if there was some comfort to be gotten out of contact with the mere soil. the old feeling of loneliness, which had always tinged her character with a covert defiance, was overwhelming her. she belonged to no one now. she had no people. she was an outcast from two races, feared of each because of the other's blood. the most forsaken man or woman may claim at least the kinship of his kind, but she had no kind. she crouched on the mound and looked at the sunset as she had looked that evening years before, but her eyes were not fearless now. as a trapped animal of the plains might watch a prairie fire licking nearer and nearer, making its slow way up to him in spurts of flame and in dull, thick clouds of smoke that must stifle him before long, so she watched the dreary future rolling in about her. but gradually the look changed to one farther away, and alight with hope. she had realized that there was, after all, some one to whom she belonged, some one to whom she could go and, for the first time in her life, be loved and allowed to love. it had not occurred to her for some hours after mrs. campbell had told her of landor's death that she was free now to give herself to cairness. she had gasped, indeed, when she did remember it, and had put the thought away, angrily and self-reproachfully. but it returned now, and she felt that she might cling to it. she had been grateful, and she had been faithful, too. she remembered only that landor had been kind to her, and forgot that for the last two years she had borne with much harsh coldness, and with a sort of contempt which she felt in her unanalyzing mind to have been entirely unmerited. gradually she raised herself until she sat quite erect by the side of the mound, the old exultation of her half-wild girlhood shining in her face as she planned the future, which only a few minutes before had seemed so hopeless. and when the retreat gun boomed in the distance, she stood up, shaking the earth and grasses from her gown, and started to carry out her plans. a storm was blowing up again. clouds were massing in the sky, and night was rising rather than the sun setting. there was a cold, greenish light above the snow peak, and darkness crept up from the earth and down from the gray clouds that banked upon the northern horizon and spread fast across the heavens. a bleak, whining wind rustled the leaves of the big trees down by the creek, and caught up the dust of the roadway in little eddies and whirls, as felipa, with a new purpose in her step, swung along it back to the post. she would not be induced to go near her own house that night. when ellton suggested it, she turned white and horrified. it had not occurred to him before that a woman so fearless of everything in the known world might be in abject terror of the unknown. "it's her nature," he told his wife. "underneath she is an apache, and they burn the wigwams and all the traps of their dead; sometimes even the whole village he lived in." mrs. ellton said that poor captain landor had had a good deal to endure. the two children whom felipa had taken in charge two years before had been left in the care of the sergeant of landor's troop and his wife, and they manifested no particular pleasure at seeing her again. they were half afraid of her, so severely black and tall and quiet. they had been playing with the soldier's children, and were anxious to be away again. the young of the human race are short of memory, and their gratefulness does not endure for long. there is no caress so sweet, so hard to win, as the touch of a child's soft hand, and none that has behind it less of nearly all that we prize in affection. it is sincere while it lasts, and no longer, and it must be bought either with a price or with a wealth of love. you may lavish the best that is within you to obtain a kiss from baby lips, and if they rest warm and moist upon your cheek for a moment, the next they are more eager for a sweetmeat than for all your adoration. "yes," whispered the little girl, squirming in felipa's arms, "i am dlad you's come. let me doe." "kiss me," said felipa. the child brushed at her cheek and struggled away. "come, billy," she called to the brother who had saved her life; and that small, freckle-faced hero, whose nose was badly skinned from a fall, flung his arms around his benefactress's neck perfunctorily and escaped, rejoicing. the elltons' pretty child was like its mother, gentler and more caressing. it lay placidly in her arms and patted her lips when she tried to talk, with the tips of its rosy fingers. she caught them between her teeth and mumbled them, and the child chuckled gleefully. but by and by it was taken away to bed, and then felipa was alone with its father and mother. through the tiresome evening she felt oppressed and angrily nervous. the elltons had always affected her so. she asked for the full particulars of her husband's death, and when ellton had told her, sat looking straight before her at the wall. "it was very like jack," she said finally, in a low voice, "his whole life was like that." and then she turned squarely to the lieutenant. "where is mr. cairness? where did they take him?" she was surprised at herself that she had not thought of that before. he told her that he had gone on to arizona, to tombstone, he believed. "by the way," he added, "did you hear that brewster has married a rich jewish widow down in tucson?" "yes, i heard it," she said indifferently. "was mr. cairness really much hurt?" "very much," said ellton; "it was a sharp cut on the forehead--went through the bone, and he was unconscious, off and on, for two or three days. he seemed to take it hard. he went off yesterday, and he wasn't fit to travel either, but he would do it for some reason. i think he was worse cut up about landor than anything, though he wasn't able to go to the funeral. i like cairness. he's an all-round decent fellow; but after all, his life was bought too dear." felipa did not answer. he did not try to discuss her plans for the future with her that night; but two days afterward, when she had disposed of all her household goods and had packed the few things that remained, they sat upon two boxes in the bare hallway, resting; and he broached it. "i am going to ask the quartermaster to store my things for the present, and of course the first sergeant's wife will look out for the children," she said. but that was not exactly what he wanted to know, and he insisted. "but what is going to become of you? are you going back to the campbells?" he had asked her to stay with his wife and himself as long as she would, but she had refused. "no," she said, "i told the campbells i would not go to them." and he could get nothing definite from her beyond that. it annoyed him, of course; felipa had a gift for repulsing kindness and friendship. it was because she would not lie and could not evade. therefore, she preserved a silence that was, to say the least of it, exasperating to the well-intentioned. early in the morning of the day she was to leave she went to the graveyard alone again. she was beginning to realize more than she had at first that landor was quite gone. she missed him, in a way. he had been a strong influence in her life, and there was a lack of the pressure now. but despite the form of religion to which she clung, she had no hope of meeting him in any future life, and no real wish to do so. she stood by the mound for a little while thinking of him, of how well he had lived and died, true to his standard of duty, absolutely true, but lacking after all that spirit of love without which our actions profit so little and die with our death. she had a clearer realization of it than ever before. it came to her that charles cairness's life, wandering, aimless, disjointed as it was, and her own, though it fell far below even her own not impossibly high ideals, were to more purpose, had in them more of the vital force of creation, were less wasted, than his had been. to have known no enthusiasms--which are but love, in one form or another--is to have failed to give that impulse to the course of events which every man born into the world should hold himself bound to give, as the human debt to the eternal. felipa felt something of this, and it lessened the vague burden of self-reproach she had been carrying. she was almost cheerful when she got back to the post. through the last breakfast, which the elltons took for granted must be a sad one, and conscientiously did their best to make so, she had some difficulty in keeping down to their depression. it was not until they all, from the commandant down to the recruits of landor's troop, came to say good-by that she felt the straining and cutting of the strong tie of the service, which never quite breaks though it be stretched over rough and long years and almost forgotten. the post blacksmith to whom she had been kind during an illness, the forlorn sickly little laundress whose baby she had eased in dying, the baker to whose motherless child she had been good--all came crowding up the steps. they were sincerely sorry to have her go. she had been generous and possessed of that charity which is more than faith or hope. it was the good-bys of landor's men that were the hardest for her. he had been proud of his troop, and it had been devoted to him. she broke down utterly and cried when it came to them, and tears were as hard for her as for a man. but with the officers and their women, it rose up between her and them that they would so shortly despise and condemn her, that they would not touch her hands could they but know her thoughts. ellton was going with her to the railroad. they were to travel with a mounted escort, as she had come, on account of the uncertain state of the country. and they must cross, as she had done in coming also, the road over the malpais, where landor had fallen. as the hoofs of the mules and the tires of the wheels began to slip and screech on the smooth-worn lava, and the ambulance rattled and creaked up the incline, ellton leaned forward and pointed silently to a hollow in the gray rock a few yards away. it was where landor had pitched forward over the body of the mounted chief of scouts. felipa nodded gravely, but she did not speak, nor yet weep. ellton, already thrown back upon himself by her persistent silence with regard to her intentions, recoiled even more. he thought her hard beyond all his previous experience of women. "i will write to you where you are to send my mail," she told him, when the train was about to pull out. he bowed stiffly, and raising his hat was gone. she looked after him as he went across the cinder bed to the ambulance which was to take him back, and wondered what would have been the look upon his nice, open face, if she had told him her plans, after all. but she was the only one who knew them. and cairness himself was startled and utterly unprepared when the reverend taylor opened the door of the room where he lay and let her pass in. the little parson uttered no word, but there was a look on his face which said that now the questions he had put with no result were answered. it was for this that cairness had given the best of his life. cairness lay white and still, looking up at her. he was very weak and dazed, and for the instant he could only remember, absurdly enough, the andromaque he had seen a french actress play once in his very early youth when he had been taken with all the children of the lycée, where he was then at school, to the theatre on a thursday afternoon. the andromaque had been tall and dark and superb, and all in black, like that woman in the doorway there. and then his thoughts shot back to the present with quick pain. she should not have come here, not so soon. he had taken a long, hard trip that had nearly ended in his death, to avoid this very thing, this meeting, which, just because it made him so terribly happy, seemed a treachery, a sacrilege. had she less delicacy of feeling than himself? or had she more love? it was that, he saw it in her beautiful eyes which were growing wide and frightened at his silence. he took his hand from under the sheets and stretched it out to her. she went to him and dropped on her knees beside the bed, and threw her arms about him. he moved his weak head closer to her shoulder, and pressing her fingers to his face gave a choking sob. he was happy, so very happy. and nothing mattered but just this. xxiv "cairness!" called crook, and cairness, turning aside, came over to where the general sat upon a big stone eating a sandwich two inches thick. "well?" said the officer. "well," answered cairness, "i have been talking to them, chiefly to geronimo. they have a good place for their rancheria on that hilltop. it is an old lava bed, an extinct crater, and it is a perfect fortress. there are three gulches between us and them, and a thousand men couldn't take the place." "i came here to parley, not to fight," said the general, rather sharply. "what is their disposition?" "i dare say they are willing to surrender, upon terms to suit them. but they are very much afraid of treachery. they are on the lookout for deception at every turn. in fact, they are not in altogether the most amiable frame of mind, for the greater part. however, you can decide that for yourself when they come over, which will be directly." he seated himself upon a low branch of sycamore, which grew parallel to the ground, and went on to tell what he had seen on the hilltop in the hostile camp. "they are in capital condition. a lot of them are playing koon-kan. there were some children and one little red-headed irishman about ten years old with them. he was captured in new mexico, and seems quite happy. he enjoys the name of santiago mackin--plain james, originally, i suppose." the general smiled. he treated cairness as nearly like an equal as possible always, and got his advice and comment whenever he could. "then they all have 'medicine' on," cairness continued, "redbird and woodpecker feathers, in buckskin bags, or quail heads, or prairie-dog claws. one fellow was making an ornament out of an adobe dollar. every buck and boy in the band has a couple of cartridge belts and any quantity of ammunition, likewise new shirts and _zarapes_. they have fitted themselves out one way or another since crawford got at them in january. i don't think there are any of them particularly anxious to come in." another officer came up, and cairness dropped from the twisted bow and walked away. "that fellow cairness may be a good scout and all that, but he must be an unmitigated blackguard too," said the officer, stretching himself on the ground beside crook. the general turned his head sharply, and his eyes flashed, but he only asked dryly, "why?" "you know he's the man landor lost his life saving upon the malpais in new mexico?" "yes," said crook. "and inside of a fortnight he and mrs. landor went to some roman catholic priest in tombstone and were married. i call that indecent haste." "what!" ejaculated the general. he was moved altogether from his imperturbable calm. "that's the straight bill. ask him. he isn't fit to be spoken to." "is that the very handsome mrs. landor who was at grant a year or so ago?" the general seemed to have difficulty in grasping and believing it. "that same. she was part mescalero, anyway." "where is she now?" "on his ranch, living on the fat of a lean land, i believe. he's rich, you know. i don't know much about them. i've small use for them. and i used to like cairness, too. thought he was way above his job. those squaw-men lose all sense of honor." "cairness never was a squaw-man," corrected crook. "well, he is now, then," insisted the officer; "mrs. landor is a squaw at bottom. poor old jack!" he sat up and fired a stone at the stalk of a spanish bayonet, "i guess he's better off in the happy hunting grounds. his wasn't a bed of roses." the general sat silent for a while. "i didn't know that when i sent for him this time," he said at length, in partial explanation. then he turned his head and looked up over his shoulders at the hostiles' conical hill. a band of chiricahuas was coming down the side toward the soldiers' camp. it was the first scene of the closing act of the tragic comedy of the geronimo campaign. that wily old devil, weary temporarily of the bloodshed he had continued with more or less regularity for many years, had sent word to the officers that he would meet them without their commands, in the cañon de los embudos, across the border line, to discuss the terms of surrender. the officers had forthwith come, crook yet hopeful that something might be accomplished by honesty and plain dealing; the others, for the most part, doubting. the character of geronimo, as already manifested, was not one to inspire much confidence, nor was his appearance one to command respect. the supposititious dignity of the savage was lacking entirely. the great chief wore a filthy shirt and a disreputable coat, a loin-cloth, and a dirty kerchief wound around his head. his legs were bare from the hips, save for a pair of low moccasins. his whole appearance was grotesque and evil. the general refused the withered hand he put out, and looked at him unsmilingly. the feelings of the old chief were hurt. he sat down upon the ground, under the shadows of the cottonwoods and sycamores, and explained his conduct with tears in his bleary eyes. the officers and packers, citizens and interpreters, sat round upon the ground also, with the few indians who had ventured into the white-man's camp in the background, on the rise of the slope. there was a photographer too, who had followed the command from tombstone, and who stationed himself afar off and took snap-shots during the conference, which, like most conferences of its sort, was vague enough. it was the usual tale of woe that geronimo had to tell, much the same that the old buck had recited to cairness in the spring of the last year. his particular grievance was the request for his hanging, which he had been told had been put in the papers, and his fear of three white-men who he believed were to arrest him. "i don't want that any more. when a man tries to do right, such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers. what is the matter with you that you do not speak to me? it would be better if you would look with a pleasant face. i should be more satisfied if you would talk to me once in a while." the interpreter translated stolidly. "why don't you look at me and smile at me? i am the same man. i have the same feet, legs, and hands, and the sun looks down on me a complete man." there was no doubt about that, at any rate, and perhaps it was not an unmixed good fortune. the general's long silence was making the complete man nervous. beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he twisted his hands together. "the sun, the darkness, and the winds are all listening to what we now say. to prove to you that i am telling the truth, remember that i sent you word that i would come from a place far away to speak to you here, and you see me now. if i were thinking bad, i would never have come here. if it had been my fault, would i have come so far to talk with you?" he whined. the general was neither convinced nor won over. he had geronimo told that it was a very pretty story, but that there was no reason why forty men should have left the reservation for fear of three. "and if you were afraid of three, what had that to do with the way you sneaked all over the country, killing innocent people? you promised me in the sierra madre that that peace should last. but you lied. when a man has lied to me once, i want better proof than his word to believe him again." the tears trickled down the withered cheeks, and crook gave a shrug of exasperation and disgust. "your story of being afraid of arrest is all bosh. there were no orders to arrest you. you began the trouble by trying to kill chato." geronimo shook his head, as one much wronged and misunderstood. "yes you did, too. everything that you did on the reservation is known. there is no use your lying." then he delivered his ultimatum, slowly, watching the unhappy savage narrowly from under the visor of his pith helmet. "you must make up your mind whether you will stay out on the war-path or surrender--without conditions. if you stay out, i'll keep after you and kill the last one, if it takes fifty years. i have never lied to you," he stood up and waved his hand; "i have said all i have to say. you had better think it over to-night and let me know in the morning." he walked away, and geronimo went back to his rancheria on the hilltop, crestfallen. he had failed of his effect, and had not by any means made his own terms. the troops settled down to wait, and cairness, having further sounded some of the chiricahua squaws, went again in search of crook. he was seated under an ash tree with his back against the trunk and a portfolio upon his knee, writing. when cairness stopped in front of him, he glanced up. there was an expression in his eyes cairness did not understand. it was not like their usual twinkle of welcome. "wait a moment," he said, and went on with his writing. cairness dropped down on the ground, and, for want of anything else to do, began to whittle a whistle out of a willow branch. crook closed up the portfolio and turned to him. "i didn't know you were married, mr. cairness, when i sent for you." cairness reddened to the roots of his hair, and the scar on his forehead grew purple. he understood that look now. and it hurt him more than any of the slights and rebuffs he had received since he had married felipa. he had, like most of those who served under the general, a sort of hero-worship for him, and set great store by his opinion. it was only because of that that he had left felipa alone upon the ranch. it had been their first separation and almost absurdly hard for two who had lived their roving lives. it was more for her than for himself that the rebuke hurt him. for it was a rebuke, though as yet it was unsaid. and he thought for a moment that he would defend her to the general. he had never done so yet, not even to the little parson in tombstone whose obvious disapproval he had never tried to combat, though it had ended the friendship of years. but crook did not look like a man who wished to receive confidences. he was asking for facts, and seeking them out with a cold, sharp eye. "i have been married nearly a year," said cairness, shortly. "to captain landor's widow, i am told." "to captain landor's widow, yes;" he met the unsympathetic eyes squarely. "i came to tell you, general, what i have gathered from the squaws. it may serve you." crook looked away, straight in front of him. "go on," he said. it was not the conversation of equals now. it was the report of an inferior to a superior. however familiar the general might wish to be upon occasions, he held always in reserve the right to deference and obedience when he should desire them. it was short and to the point upon cairness's part, and having finished he stood up. "is that all?" asked the general. "that is all." "thank you," he said; and cairness walked away. the next two days he kept to himself and talked only to his apache scouts, in a defiant return to his admiration for the savage character. a chiricahua asked no questions and made no conventional reproaches at any rate. he was not penitent, he was not even ashamed, and he would not play at being either. but he was hurt, this last time most of all, and it made him ugly. he had always felt as if he were of the army, although not in it, not by reason of his one enlistment, but by reason of the footing upon which the officers had always received him up to the present time. but now he was an outcast. he faced the fact, and it was a very unpleasant one. it was almost as though he had been court-martialled and cashiered. he had thoughts of throwing up the whole thing and going back to felipa, but he hated to seem to run away. it would be better to stop there and face it out, and accept the position that was allowed him, the same, after all, as that of the majority of chiefs of scouts. and things were coming to an end, anyway. he could see it in the looks of the apaches, and hear it in their whispers. they consented to come in, and even to put themselves at the discretion of the government, but there was a lack of the true ring in their promises. so when, on the third morning, before it was yet daylight, two chiefs came hurrying into camp and awoke the general with bad news, he was not greatly surprised. he had warned crook of the possibility, for that matter. it was the eternal old story of the white-man's whiskey. a rancher living some four hundred yards from the boundary line upon the mexican side had sold it to the indians. many of them were dead or fighting drunk. the two sober indians asked for a squad of soldiers to help them guard the ranchman, and stop him from selling any more mescal. they were right-minded themselves and really desired peace, and their despair was very great. geronimo and four other warriors were riding aimlessly about on two mules, drunk as they well could be, too drunk to do much that day. but when night came, and with it a drizzling rain, the fears the ranchman and his mescal had put in their brains assumed real shapes, and they betook themselves to the mountains again, and to the war-path. it was failure, flat failure. the officers knew it, and the general knew it. it was the indefinite prolongation of the troubles. it was the ignominious refutation of all his boasts--boasts based not so much upon trust in himself, as on belief in the nature of the apache, whose stanch champion he had always been. the fault of this last, crowning breach of faith was not all with the red-men by any means. but the difficulty would be to have that believed. the world at large,--or such part of it as was deigning to take heed of this struggle against heavy odds, this contest between the prehistoric and the makers of history,--the world at large would not go into the details, if indeed it were ever to hear them. it would know just this, that a band of indians, terrible in the very smallness of their numbers, were meeting the oncoming line of civilization from the east with that of the savagery of the west, as a prairie fire is met and checked in its advance by another fire kindled and set on to stop it. it would know that the blood of the masters of the land was being spilled upon the thirsty, unreclaimed ground by those who were, in right and justice, for the welfare of humanity, masters no more. it would know that the voice which should have been that of authority and command was often turned to helpless complaint or shrieks for mercy. and it would not stop for the causes of these things; it could not be expected to. it would know that a man had come who had promised peace, confidently promised it in the event of certain other promises being fulfilled, and that he had failed of his purpose. the world would say that crook had held in his grasp the apaches and the future peace of an empire as large as that of great britain and ireland, france and germany in one, and that he had let it slip through nerveless fingers. it was signal failure. such apaches as had not gone back on the war-path returned to the states with the troops; but there were five months more of the outrages of geronimo and his kind. then in the summer of the year another man, more fortunate and better fitted to deal with it all, perhaps,--with the tangle of lies and deceptions, cross purposes and trickery,--succeeded where crook had failed and had been relieved of a task that was beyond him. geronimo was captured, and was hurried off to a florida prison with his band, as far as they well could be from the reservation they had refused to accept. and with them were sent other indians, who had been the friends and helpers of the government for years, and who had run great risks to help or to obtain peace. but the memory and gratitude of governments is become a proverb. the southwest settled down to enjoy its safety. the troops rested upon the laurels they had won, the superseded general went on with his work in another field far away to the north. the new general, the saviour of the land, was heaped with honor and praise, and the path of civilization was laid clear. but before then cairness returned to his ranch and set his back upon adventure for good and all. "crook will be gone soon," he said to felipa; "it is the beginning of his end. and even if he were to keep on, he might not need me any more." "why?" she asked, with a quick suspicion of the dreariness she caught in his tone. he changed it to a laugh. "a scout married is a scout marred. i am a rancher now. it behooves me to accept myself as such. i have outlived my usefulness in the other field." xxv felipa sat up in bed, and leaning over to the window beside it drew up the shade and looked out. the cold, gray world of breaking day was battling furiously with a storm of rain. the huddling flowers in the garden bent to the ground before the rush of wind from the mountains across the prairie. the windmill sent out raucous cries as it flew madly around, the great dense clouds, black with rain, dawn-edged, charged through the sky, and the shining-leaved cottonwoods bent their branches almost to the earth. the figures of cairness and a couple of cow-boys, wrapped in rubber coats, passed, fighting their way through the blur,--vague, dark shadows in the vague, dark mist. the storm passed, with all the suddenness it had come on, and felipa rose, and dressing herself quickly went out upon the porch. three drenched kittens were mewing there piteously. she gathered them up in her hands and warmed them against her breast as she stood watching the earth and sky sob themselves to rest. all the petunias in the bed by the steps were full of rain, the crowfoot and madeira vines of the porch were stirring with the dripping water. many great trees had had their branches snapped off and tossed several yards away, and part of the windmill had been blown to the top of the stable, some distance off. she wondered if cairness had been able to get the cut alfalfa covered. then she took the kittens with her to the house and went into the kitchen, where the chinese cook already had a fire in the stove. she ordered coffee and toast to be made at once, and leaving the kittens in the woodbox near the fire, went back to the sitting room. it was a luxurious place. as much for his own artistic satisfaction as for her, cairness had planned the interior of the house to be a background in keeping with felipa, a fit setting for her, and she led the life of an orient queen behind the walls of sun-baked clay. there was a wide couch almost in front of the roaring fire. she sank down in a heap of cushions, and taking up a book that lay open where her husband had put it down the night before, she tried to read by the flickering of the flame light over the pages. she was drowsy, however, for it was still very early, and she was almost dropping off to sleep when the chinaman brought the coffee and set it down upon a table near her, with a deference of manner not common to the celestial when serving the occidental woman, who, he believes, has lost the right to it directly she shows the inclination to do work herself. but felipa was a mistress to his taste. as he bowed himself abjectly from her presence, cairness came in. he had taken off his rubber coat and big hat, and was full of the vigor of life which makes the strong and healthy-minded so good to look upon at the beginning of a day. felipa, from her place on the couch, smiled lazily, with a light which was not all from the fire in her half-closed eyes. she put out her hand, and he took it in both his own and held it against his cold cheek as he dropped down beside her. she laid her head on his shoulder, and for a while neither of them spoke. then there came a chuckling scream of baby laughter and a soft reproach, spoken in spanish, from across the hall. she stood up and poured the coffee, but before she took her own she went out of the room and came back in a moment, carrying her small son high upon her shoulder. cairness watched how strong and erect and how sure of every muscle she was, and how well the blond little head looked against the dull blackness of the mother's hair. the child was in no way like felipa, and it had never taken her place in its father's love. he was fond of it and proud, too; but, had he been put to the test, he would have sacrificed its life for that of its mother, with a sort of fanatical joy. she put the baby between them, and it sat looking into the fire in the way she herself so often did, until her husband had called her the high priestess of the flames. then she sank down among the cushions again and stirred her coffee indolently, drowsily, steeped in the contentment of perfect well-being. cairness followed her movements with sharp pleasure. later, when the sun was well up in the jewel-blue sky, and the world was all ashine, they began the real routine of the day. and it would have been much like that of any of the other days that had gone before it for two years, had not cairness come in a little before the noon hour, bringing with him a guest. it was an englishman, whom he presented to felipa as a friend of his youth, and named forbes. he did not see that there was just the faintest shadow of pausing upon forbes's part, just the quickest passing hesitation and narrowing of the eyes with felipa. she came forward with unquestioning welcome, accustomed to take it as a matter of course that any traveller, minded to stop for a time, should go into the first ranch house at hand. he told her, directly, that he was passing through arizona to hunt and to look to certain mining interests he held there. and he stayed, talking with her and her husband about the country and the towns and posts he had visited, until long after luncheon. then cairness, having to ride to the salt lick at the other end of the ranch, up in the huachuca foot-hills, suggested that forbes go with him. it was plain, even to felipa, how thoroughly he enjoyed being with one who could talk of the past and of the present, from his own point of view. his coventry had been almost complete since the day that the entire army, impersonated in crook, had turned disapproving eyes upon him once, and had then looked away from him for good and all. it had been too bitter a humiliation for him ever to subject himself to the chance of it again. the better class of citizens did not roam over the country much, and no officers had stopped at his ranch in almost two years, though they had often passed by. and he knew well enough that they would have let their canteens go unfilled, and their horses without fodder, for a long time, rather than have accepted water from his wells or alfalfa from his land. he could understand their feeling, too,--that was the worst of it; but though his love and his loyalty toward felipa never for one moment wavered, he was learning surely day by day that a woman, be she never so much beloved, cannot make up to a man for long for the companionship of his own kind; and, least of all,--he was forced to admit it in the depths of his consciousness now,--one whose interests were circumscribed. they had lived an idyl for two years apast, and he begrudged nothing; yet now that the splendor was fading, as he knew that it was, the future was a little dreary before them both, before him the more, for he meant that, cost him what it might, felipa should never know that the glamour was going for himself. it would be the easier that she was not subtle of perception, not quick to grasp the unexpressed. as for him, he had wondered from the first what price the gods would put upon the unflawed jewel of their happiness, and had said in himself that none could be too high. forbes and her husband having gone away, felipa lay in the hammock upon the porch and looked up into the vines. she thought hard, and remembered many things as she swayed to and fro. she remembered that one return to nature long ago of which landor had not known. there had been an afternoon in washington when, on her road to some reception of a half-official kind, she had crossed the opening of an alleyway and had come upon three boys who were torturing a small, blind kitten; and almost without knowing what she did, because her maternal grandfather had done to the children of his enemies as the young civilized savages were doing to the kitten there, she stopped and watched them, not enjoying the sight perhaps, but not recoiling from it either. so intent had she been that she had not heard footsteps crossing the street toward her, and had not known that some one stopped beside her with an exclamation of wrath and dismay. she had turned suddenly and looked up, the pupils of her eyes contracted curiously as they had been when she had watched the tarantula-vinagrone fight years before. the man beside her was an attaché of the british legation, who had been one of her greatest admirers to that time, but thereafter he sought her out no more. he had driven the boys off, and taking the kitten, which mewed piteously all the way, had gone with her to her destination and left her. she had been sufficiently ashamed of herself thereafter, and totally unable to understand her own evil impulse. as she lay swinging in the hammock, she remembered this and many other things connected with that abhorred period of compulsory civilization and of success. the hot, close, dead, sweet smell of the petunias, wilting in the august sun, and the surface-baked earth came up to her. it made her vaguely heartsick and depressed. the mood was unusual with her. she wished intensely that her husband would come back. after a time she roused herself and went into the house, and directly she came back with the baby in her arms. the younger of the two children that she had taken under her care at stanton, the little girl, followed after her. it was a long way to the salt lick, and the chances were that the two men would be gone the whole afternoon. the day was very hot, and she had put on a long, white wrapper, letting her heavy hair fall down over her shoulders, as she did upon every excuse now, and always when her husband was out of the way. there was a sunbonnet hanging across the porch railing. she put it on her head and went down the steps, carrying the child. back of her, a score or more of miles away, were the iron-gray mountains; beyond those, others of blue; and still beyond, others of yet fainter blue, melting into the sky and the massed white clouds upon the horizon edge. but in front of her the flat stretched away and away, a waste of white-patched soil and glaring sand flecked with scrubs. the pungency of greasewood and sage was thick in the air, which seemed to reverberate with heat. a crow was flying above in the blue; its shadow darted over the ground, now here, now far off. half a mile beyond, within the same barbed-wire enclosure as the home buildings and corrals, was a spring-house surrounded by cottonwoods, just then the only patch of vivid green on the clay-colored waste. there were benches under the cottonwoods, and the ground was cool, and thither felipa took her way, in no wise oppressed by the heat. her step was as firm and as quick as it had been the day she had come so noiselessly along the parade, across the path of the private who was going to the barracks. it was as quiet, too, for she had on a pair of old red satin slippers, badly run down at the heel. cairness started for the salt lick, then changed his mind and his destination, and merely rode with forbes around the parts of the ranch which were under more or less cultivation, and to one of the water troughs beneath a knot of live oaks in the direction of the foot-hills. so they returned to the home place earlier than they otherwise would have done, and that, too, by way of the spring-house. they caught sight of felipa, and both drew rein simultaneously. she was leaning against a post of the wire fence. the baby was carried on her hip, tucked under her arm, the sunbonnet was hanging by the strings around her neck, and her head, with its straight loose hair, was uncovered. the little girl stood beside her, clutching the white wrapper which had trailed in the spring-house acequia, and from under which a muddy red slipper showed. that she was imposing still, said much for the quality of her beauty. she did not hear the tramp of the two horses, sharp as her ears were, for she was too intent upon watching a fight between two steers. one had gone mad with loco-weed, and they gored each other's sides until the blood ran, while only a low, moaning bellow came from their dried throats. a cloud of fine dust, that threw back the sun in glitters, hung over them, and a flock of crows, circling above in the steel-blue sky, waited. "felipa!" shouted cairness. he was angry--almost as angry as forbes had been when he had come upon mrs. landor watching the boys and the kitten in the alleyway. she heard, and again her eyes met forbes's. there was a flash of comprehension in them. she knew what he was thinking very well. but she left the fence, and, pushing the sunbonnet over her head, joined them, not in the least put out, and they dismounted and walked beside her, back to the house. cairness was taciturn. it was some moments before he could control his annoyance, by the main strength of his sense of justice, by telling himself once again that he had no right to blame felipa for the manifestations of that nature he had known her to possess from the first. it was not she who was changing. forbes explained their early return, and spoke of the ranch. "it might be a garden, this territory, if only it had water enough," he said; "it has a future, possibly, but its present is just a little dismal, i think. are you greatly attached to the life here, mrs. cairness?" he was studying her, and she knew it, though his glance swept the outlook comprehensively, and she was watching the mail-carrier riding toward them along the road. it was the brother of the little girl who followed along behind them, and who ran off now to meet him, calling and waving her hand. "yes," she said, "i am very much attached to it. i was born to it." "do you care for it so much that you would not be happy in any other?" "that would depend," she answered with her enigmatical, slow smile; "i could be happy almost anywhere with mr. cairness." "of course," he laughed tolerantly, "i dare say any wilderness were paradise with him." felipa smiled again. "i might be happy," she went on, "but i probably should not live very long. i have indian blood in my veins; and we die easily in a too much civilization." that evening they sat talking together long after the late dinner. but a little before midnight felipa left them upon the porch, smoking and still going over the past. they had so much to say of matters that she in no way understood. the world they spoke of and its language were quite foreign to her. she knew that her husband was where she could never follow him, and she felt the first utter dreariness of jealousy--the jealousy of the intellectual, so much more unendurable than that of the material. with the things of the flesh there can be the vindictive hope, the certainty indeed, that they will lose their charm with time, that the gold will tarnish and the gray come above the green, but a thought is dearer for every year that it is held, and its beauty does not fade away. the things of the flesh we may even mar ourselves, if the rage overpowers us, but those of the intellect are not to be reached or destroyed; and felipa felt it as she turned from them and went into the house. there was a big moon, already on the wane, floating very high in the heavens, and the plain was a silvery sheen. "this is all very beautiful," said forbes, after a silence. cairness did not see that it called for a reply, and he made none. "but it is doing mrs. cairness an injustice, if you don't mind my saying so." "what do you mean?" asked cairness, rather more than a trifle coldly. he had all but forgotten the matter of that afternoon. felipa had redeemed herself through the evening, so that he had reason to be proud of her. "i used to know mrs. cairness in washington," forbes went on, undisturbed; "she has probably told you so." cairness was surprised almost into showing his surprise. felipa had said nothing of it to him. and he knew well enough that she never forgot a face. he felt that he was in a false position, but he answered "yes?" non-committally. "yes," answered forbes, "she was very much admired." he looked a little unhappy. but his mind was evidently made up, and he went on doggedly: "look here, morely, old chap, i am going to tell you what i think, and you may do as you jolly well please about it afterward--kick me off the ranch, if you like. but i can see these things with a clearer eye than yours, because i am not in love, and you are, dreadfully so, you know, not to say infatuated. i came near to being once upon a time, and with your wife, too. i thought her the most beautiful woman i had ever known, and i do yet. i thought, too, that she was a good deal unhappier with landor than she herself realized; in which i was perfectly right. it's plainer than ever, by contrast. of course i understand that she is part indian, though i've only known it recently. and it's because i've seen a good deal of your apaches of late that i appreciate the injustice you are doing her and cairness junior, keeping them here. she is far and away too good for all this," he swept the scene comprehensively with his pipe. "she'd be a sensation, even in london. do you see what i mean, or are you too vexed to see anything?" cairness did not answer at once. he pushed the tobacco down in his brier and sat looking into the bowl. "no," he said at last, "i'm not too vexed. the fact is, i have seen what you mean for a long time. but what would you suggest by way of remedy, if i may ask?" they were both talking too low for their voices to reach felipa through the open window of her bedroom. "that you take them to civilization--the missus and the kid. it's the only salvation for all three of you--for you as well as them." "you heard what mrs. cairness said this afternoon. she was very ill in school when she was a young girl, and still more so in washington afterward." he shook his head. "no, forbes, you may think you know something about the apache, but you don't know him as i do, who have been with him for years. i've seen too much of the melting away of half and quarter breeds. they die without the shadow of an excuse, in civilization." but forbes persisted, carried away by his idea and the determination to make events fit in with it. "she was ill in washington because she wasn't happy. she'd be happy anywhere with you; she said so this afternoon, you remember." "she also said that it would kill her." forbes went on without noticing the interruption. "you are a great influence in her life, but you aren't the only one. her surroundings act powerfully upon her. when i knew her before, she was like any other beautiful woman--" "i am far from being sure that that is entirely to be desired, very far," said cairness, with conviction. he had never ceased to feel a certain annoyance at the memory of that year and a half of felipa's life in which he had had no part. forbes shrugged his shoulders. "you'll pardon me if i say that here she is a luxurious semi-barbarian." it was on his tongue's tip to add, "and this afternoon, by the spring-house, she was nearly an apache," but he checked it. "it's very picturesque and poetical and all that,--from the romantic point of view it's perfect,--but it isn't feasible. you can't live on honeycomb for more than a month or twain. i can't imagine a greater misfortune than for you two to grow contented here, and that's what you'll do. it will be a criminal waste of good material." cairness knew that it was true, too true to refute. "i am speaking about mrs. cairness," forbes went on earnestly, "because she is more of an argument for you than the child is, which is un-english too, isn't it? but the child is a fine boy, nevertheless, and there will be other children probably. i don't need to paint their future to you, if you let them grow up here. you owe it to them and to your wife and to yourself--to society for that matter--not to retrograde. oh! i say, i'm out and out lecturing on sociology. you're good-tempered to put up with it, but i mean well--like most meddlers." "i have the ranch; how could i get away?" cairness opposed. but the argument was weak. forbes paid small heed to it. "you've a great deal besides. every one in the country knows your mines have made you a rich man. and you are better than that. you are a talented man, though you've frittered away your abilities too long to amount to anything much, now. you ought to get as far off from this kind of thing as you can." he did not even hint that he knew of the isolation of their lives, but cairness was fully aware that he must, and that it was what he meant now. "you ought to go to another country. not back to australia, either; it is too much this sort, but somewhere where the very air is civilizing, where it's in the atmosphere and you can't get away from it. i'll tell you what you do." he stood up and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the porch rail. "you've plenty of friends at home. sell the ranch, or keep it to come back to once in a way if you like. i'm going back in the autumn, in october. you come with me, you and mrs. cairness and the boy." cairness clasped his hands about one knee and bent back, looking up at the stars,--and far beyond them into the infinity of that cause of which they and he and all the perplexing problems were but the mere effects. "you mustn't think i haven't thought it over, time and again," he said, after a while. "it's more vital to me than to you; but my way isn't clear. i loved mrs. cairness for more than ten years before i could marry her. i should lose her in less than that, i am absolutely certain, if i did as you suggest. she is not so strong a woman as you might suppose. this dry air, this climate, are necessary to her." he hesitated a little, rather loath to speak of his sentiments, and yet glad of the chance to put his arguments in words, for his own greater satisfaction. "you call it picturesque and poetical and all that," he said, "but you only half mean it after all. it is picturesque. it has been absolutely satisfactory. i'm not given to talking about this kind of thing, you know; but most men who have been married two years couldn't say truthfully that they have nothing to regret; that if they had had to buy that time with eternity of damnation and the lake of fire, it would not have come too dear. and i have had no price to pay--" he stopped short, the ring of conviction cut off, as the sound of a bell is when a hand is laid upon it. the hand was that of a fact, of the fact that had confronted him in the cañon de los embudos, and that very day by the cottonwoods of the spring-house. "mrs. cairness would go where i wished gladly," he added, more evenly; "but if it were to a life very different from this, it would end in death--and i should be the cause of it. there it is." he too rose, impatiently. "think it over, in any case," urged forbes; "i am going in, good night." "i have thought it over," said cairness; "good night." cairness sat for a long time, smoking and thinking. then felipa's voice called to him and he went in to her. she was by the window in a flood of moonlight, herself all in flowing white, with the mantle of black hair upon her shoulders. he put his arm about her and she laid her head against his breast. "i am jealous of him," she said, without any manner of preface. he made no pretence of not understanding. "you have no need to be, dear," he said simply. "he gives you what i can't give," she said. "you give me what no one else could give--the best things in life." "better than the--other things?" she asked, and he answered, unhesitating, "yes." there was another silence, and this time he broke it. "why did you not tell me you had known forbes, felipa?" if it had not been that she was commonly and often unaccountably reticent, there might have been some suspicion in the question. but there was only a slight annoyance. nor was there hesitation in her reply. "it brought back too much that was unpleasant for me. i did not want to talk about it. he saw that i did not, too, and i can't understand why he should have spoken of it. i should have told you after he had gone." she was not disconcerted in the slightest, only a little vindictive toward forbes, and he thought it would hardly be worth his while to point out the curious position her silence put him in. he gathered his courage for what he was going to say next, with a feeling almost of guilt. "forbes says that i am doing you an injustice, keeping you here; that it is no life for you." "it is the only one i can live," she said indifferently enough, stating it as an accepted, incontrovertible fact, "and it's the one you like best." he had told her that many times. it had been true; perhaps it was true still. "he does not understand," she continued; "he was always a society man, forever at receptions and dances and teas. he doesn't see how we can make up to each other for all the world." she moved away from him and out of the ray of moonlight, into the shadow of the other side of the window, and spoke thoughtfully, with more depth to her voice than usual. "so few people have been as happy as we have. if we went hunting for more happiness somewhere else, we should be throwing away the gifts of the gods, i think." cairness looked over at her in some surprise, but her face was in the shadow. he wondered that she had picked up the phrase. it was a common one with him, a sort of catchword he had the habit of using. but she was not given to philosophy. it was oddly in line with his own previous train of thought. he laughed, a little falsely, and turned back into the room. "the gods sell their gifts," he said. xxvi forbes left the ranch after breakfast the next day, and cairness went with him to tombstone. he had business there, connected with one of his mines. felipa spent the day, for the most part, in riding about the ranch and in anticipating the night. her husband had promised to be back soon after moonrise. when it had begun to turn dark, she dressed herself all in white and went out to swing in the hammock until it should be time for her lonely dinner. before long she heard a horse coming at a gallop up the road, to the front of the house. she put out her hand and pushed aside the vines, but could see little until the rider, dismounting and dropping his reins to hang on the ground, ran up the steps. it was the mail carrier, the young hero of the indian massacre. felipa saw in a moment that he was excited. she thought of her husband at once, and sat up in the hammock. "well?" she said peremptorily. "it's--" the boy looked around nervously. "if you'd come into the house--" he ventured. she went into the bedroom, half dragging him by the shoulder, and shut the door. "now!" she said, "make haste." "it's mr. cairness, ma'am," he whispered. "is he hurt?" she shook him sharply. the boy explained that it was not that, and she let him go, in relief. "but he is goin' to be. that's what i come so quick to tell you." he stopped again. "will you make haste?" cried felipa, out of patience. "he's coming back from tombstone with some money, ain't he?" felipa nodded. "a very little," she said. "well, they think it's a lot." "who?" "the fellers that's after him. they're goin' to hold him up fifteen miles out, down there by where the huachuca road crosses. he's alone, ain't he?" "yes," said felipa. "how do you know this?" "old manuel he told me. you don't know him. it's an old greaser, friend of mine. he don't want no one to tell he told, they'd get after him. but it's so, all right. there's three of them." a stable man passed the window. felipa called to him. "bring me my horse, quick, and mount four men! don't take five minutes and be well armed," she ordered in a low voice. hers was the twofold decision of character and of training that may not be disregarded. the man started on a run. "what you goin' to do?" the boy asked. he was round-eyed with dismay and astonishment. felipa did not answer. she broke her revolver and looked into the chambers. two of them were empty, and she took some cartridges from a desk drawer and slipped them in. the holster was attached to her saddle, and she rarely rode without it. "you ain't goin' to try to stop him?" the boy said stupidly. "he was goin' to leave tombstone at sundown. he'll be to the place before you ken ketch him, sure." "we'll see," she answered shortly; "it is where the huachuca road crosses, you are certain?" he nodded forcibly. "where all them mesquites is to one side, and the arroyo to the other. they'll be behind the mesquite. but you ain't goin' to head him off," he added, "there ain't even a short cut. the road's the shortest." the stableman came on a run, leading her horse, and she fairly leaped down the steps, and slipping the pistol into the holster mounted with a spring. "all of you follow me," she said; "they are going to hold up mr. cairness." on the instant she put her horse to a run and tore off through the gate toward the open country. it was dark, but by the stars she could see the road and its low bushes and big stones that danced by as her horse, with its belly to the ground, sped on. she strained her ears and caught the sound of hoofs. the men were following her, the gleam of her white dress guiding them. she knew they could not catch her. the horse she rode was a thoroughbred, the fastest on the ranch; not even cairness's own could match it. it stretched out its long black neck and went evenly ahead, almost without motion, rising over a dog hole now and then, coming down again, and going on, unslacking. she felt the bit steadily and pressed her knee against the hunting horn for purchase, her toe barely touching the stirrup, that she might be the freer in a fall. if it went like this, she thought, she might get to the cross-road first, and beyond. the four men would not matter much then, if she could but stop her husband. why had he started back alone--and carrying money too? it was foolhardy. but then there was so little money, she knew, that he had probably not thought of it as booty. she turned her uncovered head and listened. her hair had fallen loose and was streaming out in the wind. she could not hear the others now. they must be well behind. there was a faint, white light above the distant mountains in the east. the moon was about to rise. in a few moments more it came drifting up, and the plain was all alight. far away on the edge was a vague, half-luminous haze, and nearer the shadows of the bushes fell sharp and black. a mile ahead, perhaps, along the road, she could make out the dark blot of the mesquite clump. behind, as she looked again, she could just see four figures following. it occurred to her now for the first time that there was danger for herself, so far in front, so entirely alone. the chances for passing the mesquites were not very good. if the men were already there, and that might be counted upon, they would not let her pass if they could help it. it occasioned her but one fear--that she could not stop her husband. if she were to turn from the road out into the open, she would lose time, even if the horse did not fall, and time was not to be lost. the mesquites were very near. she bent down over the horse's neck and spoke to him. his stride lengthened out yet more. she drew the little revolver, and cocked it, still bending low. if they were to fire at her, the white gown would make a good mark; but she would show as little of it as might be, and she would not waste time answering shots, if it could be helped. the mesquites were directly ahead. a horseman came out from behind them and placed himself across the road. there was a sheen of moonlight on a revolver barrel and a shouted "halt there!" he was in front of her, not a hundred feet away; to the left were the mesquites, to the right the ragged arroyo. there could be no turning aside. she threw up her own revolver, and fired, not at the man, but at the head of his horse. it reared and fell, and a moment after her own rose in the air, touched the ground beyond, and went on. it had leapt the fallen one and his rider, and was leaving them behind. the man on the ground twisted his body around on his crushed leg, pinned under the pony, aimed deliberately at the white figure, and fired. felipa's firm hold upon her revolver turned to a clutch, and her mouth fell open in a sharp gasp. but very deliberately she put the revolver into its holster, and then she laid her hand against her side. at once the palm was warm with blood. she drew her horse down to a gallop, and the jar of the changed gait made her moan. there was no haste now. her own men had come upon the desperadoes and there was a quick volley. and ahead, riding fast toward her from the top of a little rise, was a man on a white horse--her husband, she knew. she gave a dry little sob of unutterable glad relief and tried to raise her voice and call to him, the call they used for one another when they rode about the ranch. but the sound was only a weak, low wail. the horse came down to a walk. she had lost all control of the reins now, and clung to the pommel with both hands, swaying from side to side. she could hear galloping hoofs, behind and in front--or was it only the blood, the icy cold blood, pounding in her ears? the horse stopped, and she reeled blindly in her seat into a pair of strong arms that caught her and drew her down. a voice was saying words she could not hear, but she knew the voice so well. and she smiled and dropped her head down upon her husband's shoulder. "just--just in time," she whispered very low. "in time, felipa? in time for what, dear?" but there was no answer. he turned her face up to the moonlight, and the head fell heavily back with the weight of hair. the half-closed eyes looked unseeing up to him, and the quiet lips smiled still. 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[illustration: tonio, son of the sierras, erect and slender. _frontispiece_] tonio son of the sierras _a story of the apache war_ by general charles king author of "norman holt," "the iron brigade," "the colonel's daughter," "a daughter of the sioux," etc. illustrations by charles j. post g. w. dillingham company publishers new york copyright, 1906, by g. w. dillingham company _entered at stationers' hall, london_ _all rights reserved_ issued june, 1906. illustrations page tonio, son of the sierras, erect and slender _frontispiece_ 8 scrambling down the adjacent slope every man for himself 81 "keep watch now all around, especially east and southeast" 175 "they've opened on case and clancy" 188 tonio son of the sierras chapter i. "does it never rain here?" asked the latest arrival, with sudden shift of the matter under discussion. "how is that, bentley?" said the officer addressed to the senior present, the surgeon. "you've been here longest." "don't know, i'm sure," was the languid answer. "i've only been here three years. try 'tonio there. he was born hereabouts." so the eyes of the six men turned to the indicated authority, an apache of uncertain age. he looked to be forty and might be nearer sixty. he stood five feet ten in his tiptoed moccasins, and weighed less than little harris, who could not touch the beam at five feet five. harris was the light weight of the --th cavalry, in physique, at least, and by no means proud of the distinction. to offset the handicap of lack of stature and weight, and of almost cat-like elasticity of frame and movement, he saw fit to cultivate a deliberation and dignity of manner that in his cadet days had started the sobriquet of "heavy," later altered to "hefty"; and hefty harris he was to the very hour this story opens--a junior first lieutenant with four years' record of stirring service in the far west, in days when the telegraph had not yet strung the arizona deserts, and the railway was undreamed of. he had only just returned to the post from a ten days' scout, 'tonio, the apache, being his chief trailer and chosen companion on this as on many a previous trip. the two made an odd combination, having little in common beyond that imperturbable self-poise and dignity. the two elsewhere had met with marked success in "locating" _rancherias_ of the hostile bands, and in following and finding marauding parties. the two were looked upon in southern arizona as "the best in the business," and now, because other leaders had tried much and accomplished little, it had pleased the general commanding the division of the pacific to say to his subordinate, the general commanding the department of arizona, that as the "tonto" apaches and their fellows of the sierra blanca seemed too wily for his scouting parties sent out from whipple barracks, and the valley garrisons of mcdowell and verde, it might be well to detach lieutenant harris from his troop at old camp bowie and send him, with 'tonio, to report to the commanding officer at camp almy. now the commanding general of arizona had thought of that project himself, and rejected it for two reasons: first, that the officers and men on duty at almy would possibly take it as a reflection; second, that 'tonio would probably take it as an affront to himself. 'tonio, be it understood, was of the apache mohave tribe, whose hunting grounds had long been the upper verde and adjacent mountains. 'tonio had no scruples as to scouting and shooting chiricahuas and sierra blancas or the roving bands of yaquis that sometimes ventured across the "gadsden purchase" from mexico. 'tonio had done vengeful work among these fellows. but now he was brought face to face with a far different proposition. the renegades of northern arizona in the earliest of the seventies were mainly tontos, but many a young brave of the apache mohave tribe had cast his lot with them. many had taken their women and children, and 'tonio would be hunting, possibly, his own flesh and blood. the junior general had ventured to remonstrate by letter, even when issuing the order indicated, but the senior stood to his prerogative with a tenacity that set the junior's teeth on edge, and started territorial and unbecoming comparisons between the division commander's firmness on the fighting line a decade earlier, and far behind it now. san francisco was perhaps five hundred miles from the scene of hostilities, and those farthest away seldom fail to see clearer than those on the spot, and to think they know better, so harris and his dusky henchman came up to almy with little by way of welcome, and back from their first scout with nothing by way of result. therefore, the sextette of officers that had been but lukewarm at the start became lavish in cordiality at the close. the failure of harris, the favorite of the chieftain of the big division, meant that no further criticism could attach to them. if harris could accomplish nothing worth mention, what could be expected of others? therefore, while awaiting the return of the courier sent up to prescott, with report of what harris had not accomplished, and asking instructions as to what the gentleman would have next, the commanding officer of the old post, built by california volunteers during the civil war and garrisoned later by reluctant regulars, set a good example to his subordinates by doing his best to console the "casuals," as visitors were officially rated, and his subordinates loyally followed suit. but harris seemed unresponsive. harris seemed almost sulky. harris had added silence to dignity, and spent long hours of a sunny day sprawled in a hammock, smoking his pipe and studying 'tonio, who squatted in the shade at the end of the narrow porch of the old officers' mess building, still more silent and absorbed than his young commander. and this was the condition of things when the latest arrival appeared on the scene, fresh from head-quarters, some ninety miles northwest and two thousand feet higher. he had come late the previous afternoon. he had skated down the flinty scarp of misery hill, with the wheels of his buckboard locked, and hauled up at the adjutant's in a cloud of dust and misapprehension, with barely time for a bath and a shave before dinner. he was a new aide-de-camp of the department commander. he had served him well and won his notice on indian campaigns afar to the north in the columbia valley, where gum boots and slickers were as indispensable as here they were superfluous. he had never been, he said, so dry in his life as when he scrambled from his mud-colored chariot to the steps of the official residence. the temporal wants had been spiritually removed, but not the impression. now, some eighteen hours later, he wished to know if it never rained at almy, and there was no white man could tell him. so, one and all, they looked to 'tonio, whose earliest recollections were of the immediate neighborhood. and 'tonio proved a reluctant witness. urged by stannard, the senior captain referred to, harris put the question in "pidgin" apache, and 'tonio, squatting still, gazed dreamily away toward the huge bulwark of squadron peak, and waited for respectful cessation of all talk before he would answer. at last he rose to his full height and, with a sweeping gesture the length of his arm, pointed to the domelike summit, dazzling in the slant of the evening sunshine, that seemingly overhung the dun-colored adobe corrals on the flats to the south, yet stood full five miles away. 'tonio so seldom opened his lips to speak that the six men listened with attention they seldom gave to one another. yet what 'tonio said was translatable only by harris: "when the picacho hides his head in the clouds, then look for rain." "lord," said the doctor, "i doubt if ever i've seen a cloud above it--much less on it! if it weren't for the creek yonder the whole post would shrivel up and blow away. even the hygrometer's dead of disuse--or dry rot. but, talk of drying up, did you ever see the beat of him?" and the doctor was studying anatomy as displayed in this particular apache. five feet ten 'tonio stood before them, not counting the thatch of his matted black hair, bound with white cotton turban. five feet ten in height, but so gaunt and wiry that the ribs and bones seemed breaking through the tawny skin, that in flank and waist and the long sweep of his sinewy, fleshless legs, he rivalled the greyhound sprawled at his feet. "'tonio has not half an ounce of fat in his hide," said harris, in explaining his tireless work on the trail. "'tonio can go sixty miles without a gulp of water and come out fresh as a daisy at the end." 'tonio's eminently fit condition had been something harris ever held in envy and emulation, yet on this recent scout even 'tonio had failed him. 'tonio had complained. to look at him as he stood there now, erect, slender, with deep chest and long, lank arms and legs, trammelled only by the white cotton breechclout that looped over the waist belt and trailed, fore and aft, below the bony knee, his back and shoulders covered by white _camisa_ unfastened at the throat and chest, his feet cased in deerskin moccasins, the long leggings of which hung in folds at the ankles, one could liken him only to the coyote--the half-famished wolf of the sage plain and barren, for even the greyhound knew thirst and fatigue,--knew how to stretch at full length and luxury in the shade, whereas 'tonio, by day at least, stood or squatted. never in all their long prowlings, by day or night, among the arid deserts or desolate ranges along the border, had harris known his chief trailer and scout to hint at such a thing as weariness. yet, within the week gone by, thrice had he declared himself unable to go farther. did it mean that at last 'tonio would purposely fail him, now that there were some of his own people among the renegades? 'tonio had stoutly denied such a weakness. the few young men with the hostiles, said he, were more tonto than mohave--fools who had offended their brothers and dishonored their tribe. chiefs, medicine men, even the women, he said, disowned them. the braves would kill, and the women spurn, them on sight. 'tonio pointed to the "hound" scouts with the verde company--hualpais, some of them--splendid specimens from the mountains; apache yumas, some of them, not quite the peer of the hualpais; but many of them--most of them, in fact--apache mohaves, fiercest, surest trailers of the wild red rock country, familiar with every cañon and crag in all the rude range from snow lake to the sierra blanca. "all brothers," protested 'tonio. "all soldiers. all braves, unafraid of a thousand tontos, eager only to meet and punish their traitor fellows who had taken the white chief's pay and bread, pledged their best services and then gone renegading to the fastnesses of the mogollon," adding with scorn unspeakable, "taking _other_ women with them." and still harris was not content. harris had sent a runner back when the scout was but half finished, with a note to be relayed to prescott, to tell the general of his ill success and his evil suspicions, and the chief being himself out a-hunting, what did his chief of staff do but order the newly arrived down to almy to meet the home-coming party and see for himself--and his general! and of all men chosen to meddle in matters concerning "hefty" harris, perhaps the latest suitable, in some ways, was his classmate and comrade lieutenant, though in different arms of the service--hal willett of "the lost and strayed," so called from the fact that they had been sent to desert wilds in '65, scattered over three territories, and despite some hard fighting and many hard knocks, had never, said their detractors, been heard from since. rivals they had been in cadet days and more than one pursuit. rivals they still were in the field of arms, for the name harris had won for himself in arizona willett had matched in the columbia, and now, fresh from the ill-starred campaign of the lava beds, was one of the few men to get something better than hard knocks, censure and criticism. until the previous evening, not since the day they parted at west point had they set eyes one on the other, and, knowing nothing of what had gone before and never dreaming of what would come to pass, a benighted bureau officer had sent the one down to find out what was the matter with the other. and thereby hangs this tale. for, as luck would have it, there was even then stationed in that far-away land a luckless lieutenant-colonel of infantry who had started with good prospects in the civil war, had early been given command of a brigade of volunteers and within the month had had his raw concourse of undrilled, undisciplined levies swept from under him in the first fierce onset at shiloh. what else could have been expected of men to whom arms had been issued but ten days before, and who had not yet learned which end to bite from the cartridge? hurled from his terrified horse, the general had been picked up senseless, to see no more of fighting until stone's river, eight months later, where with a more seasoned command the same thing happened. and still he persisted, when well of an ugly wound, and, while juniors in years and length of service were now heading corps and divisions, with double stars on their shoulders, and he had to begin again with a brigade, he got into line for chickamauga with his usual luck just within range of the fatal gap left by a senior in command--the gap through which poured the impetuous gray torrent of the southland--and for the third time everything crumbled away in spite of him, while he was left for dead upon the field. he had done his best, as had other men, and had fared only the worst. it was a case of three times and out. the impatient north had no more use for names linked only with disaster. when, finally exchanged, he limped back to duty, they put him on courts, boards and other back-door business until the war was over, then sent him to the pacific slope, with the blanket brevet of march, 1865, and here he was, eight long years thereafter, "the general" by way of title, without the command; silver leaves where once gleamed the stars on his shoulders; silver streaks where once rippled chestnut and gold; wrinkled of visage and withered in shank; kindly, patient, yet pathetic; "functioning" a four-company post in a far-away desert, with grim mountain chains on east and west, and waters on every side of him, four long weeks and four thousand miles by mail route from home, and much longer by sea; with nothing to do but send out scouts, sign papers, sing an old song or two when the spirit moved him; with not a thing in his soldier past to be ashamed of, nothing much in his soldier present to rejoice in, nothing whatever in his soldier future to hope for, finding his companionship in the comrades about him, and his sweetest comfort in the unswerving love of a devoted wife, and their one unstinted pride and delight, lilian, their only daughter--their only surviving child. many of these eight years of what then was exile, while he, at first as a major of foot, was campaigning in regions long since reclaimed from savagery, and rusticating at frontier forts long since forgotten, lilian and her mother had dwelt in lodgings at "the bay" that the child might have the advantage of san francisco's schools. only once each year, until of late, had he been able to visit them, usually at christmas-tide, but by every runner, courier, stage or post there came to them his cheery letters, bearing such old-time, outlandish post-marks or headings as "lapwai," "three forks, owyhee," and later "hualpai," or "hassayampa," until finally it became mild, civilized, pacific, even "almy." the uniform of a general, that the law had let him wear just as long in peace as had been the war in years, was finally packed in camphorated hope of resurrection, and the garb of actual rank resumed in 1870. he could bear the title _ad infinitum_, but not the sign. the silver leaf, as said, had come to replace the worn and tarnished gold by '73, then mountain fever had seized and laid him by the heels, and then all the indians in arizona, or the army women out of it, could not dissuade mrs. archer from her duty. she and lilian were the heroines of a buckboard ride from drum barracks to the colorado, from the colorado to prescott, from prescott down through wild and tortuous cañons to and beyond the valley of the verde--to the wondering eyes of the waiting garrison and the welcoming arms of the fond husband and father at almy. and this was but the week gone by, just before the "newly arrived" had reached prescott--just before "hefty" harris had returned from scout. not until this very morning--the first since their reunion of that warm, yet winter's evening of the previous day--had the two classmates set eyes on miss archer (it was as she rode away by her father's side for a canter up the valley), and not until this late afternoon, as the sun was dipping behind the black range of the mazatzal, did they have opportunity to speak with her. even as 'tonio stood, silent and statuesque, while the doctor went on record as to the rainfall of the verde watershed, there came suddenly into view, jogging quietly up the winding road from the lower ford, three riders, followed by half a pack of lagging, yapping hounds--"the old man," the maiden and the orderly--and all men on the wooden porch of the unpainted mess building, rose to their feet in deference to the united "powers above," rank and age, youth and beauty, and presently the commander was saying for the benefit of the two new-comers: "my daughter, gentlemen. lilian, mr. harris, mr. willett." inadvertently he had named them in the inverse order of rank--a small matter, though willett had been promoted to his bar a year ahead of harris. otherwise, it was with a fair field and no favor the old-time rivals of cadet days stood for the first time in the presence of the only army girl at that moment to be found in the far-flung shadow of the mazatzal--stood side by side, facing both the starter and the prize in what was destined to be the last great contest of their lives. chapter ii. "come and dine with us this evening, you two," the "old man" was saying, a few minutes later. he had been home long enough to consult the "commanding general," as he frequently referred to that smiling better half, and to compare notes as to the condition of the larder and cellar. he had flung conventionality to the winds, as most of us had to in early arizona days. "you others," he said, "have suffered so often from my steaks and stories, you're glad not to be included. to-day i'm bidding only these two youngsters. you know our dining table holds only six. no, never mind about the call!" he interposed, with uplifted hands, one to receive the toddy briggs was stirring for him, the other in kindly protest, for both the youngsters were on their feet confusedly striving to make it understood that they had only been waiting for the cool of the evening to come to pay their respects. "and never mind about spike tail and shirt fronts either--come just as you are!" "indeed, i'll _have_ to, sir," said willett, whose undress uniform fitted him like a glove and was cut and made by the then expert military artist of the far east. they had not taken it too kindly, these others in white cotton sack coats, hewed and stitched by the company tailor, or even in canvas shooting rig, as was harris, that the young aide-de-camp, after brief siesta in the mid-day lazy hour, should have appeared among them all, fresh-shaved and tubbed, and in faultless, bran-new, spick-and-span cap and blouse and trousers, with black silk socks and low-cut patent leather "oxford ties." harris, hammock slung, and moodily studying 'tonio, looked approvingly, but made no remark whatever. stannard, ever blunt and short of speech, had shoved his hairy hands deep in his trousers' pockets, a thing no sub would twice venture in his presence, looked willett over from head to foot, then, with a sniff, had turned away, but bentley and turner had indulged in whimsical protest, "gad, man, but you put us all to shame," said the surgeon. "i've seen no rig to match that since i came to this post. it's rarer than rain." "what _do_ you wear when you call on the commanding officer?" queried the latest arrival, with jovial good-nature. "thank you, briggs. that _was_ a good toddy." "never had a family here until this week," said bentley, "and such calling as i've done has been in what i happened to have on, and even then i've wished we dressed like 'tonio there. why, mr. willett, only once since i came to this post has there been an officer's daughter with us. only twice has there been an officer's wife. even mrs. archer wouldn't have tried it if the general hadn't been sick." willett laughed again, good-naturedly as before. "well," said he, "in the field 'the lost and strayed' didn't dandy much, but here i had not even unpacked my trunk; had a whole buckboard to myself after we left captain wickham at the big bug, so i just fetched 'em along. this is light, you see--nothing but serge," and he held forth his arm. "up there, of course, we had no use for white. gunboats and 'plebeskins' was full dress half the year round----" and just then it had occurred to him to put that question: "does it never rain here?" and in so doing he had appealed rather to stannard and his fellows of the line, quite as though he thought bentley doing too much of the talk, especially since bentley's bent was criticising. but stannard, as we have seen, had referred back the question, whereat the doctor, defrauded of his game, yawned languidly and turned over the matter to 'tonio, thus dragging harris, all unwilling, into the tide of talk, and presently out of his hammock. next thing noticed of him he had disappeared. to no man as yet, save the lieutenant-colonel commanding, had willett told the purpose of his coming. late the previous evening archer had come to his office to receive the aide-de-camp, and there listened to his message. "the old man" looked up suddenly as he sat in the lamplight at the rude wooden table that served for his official desk, surprise and concern mingling in his kindly face. "the _general_ said that?" he asked. "no, sir: the adjutant-general who was left in charge. the general is away hunting." "i might have known that," said archer to his inner self. to the aide-de-camp he merely bowed--bowed most courteously. he liked boys, and the lord had seen fit to take back to himself the one lad poor archer had liked most, and loved unspeakably. "i think i shall say--nothing of it," said he, presently, after some reflection, "and--you can find out, through harris, all there is to be told." and not a word had he said, even to the post adjutant, from the moment of willett's reporting to him at nine the night before, yet every man of the officers' mess knew well that something had sent the young staff officer to almy--that something was to be looked into--and every man, including harris, felt it in his bones that that something was the recent and unprofitable scout. that being the case, it placed them all on the defensive, and willett, unhappily, upon his mettle. a silence fell upon the party when it was found harris was gone. 'tonio himself had risen again, had stood gazing awhile along the eastward mountains, tumbling up toward a brazen sky, then had slowly vanished from sight round the corner of the adobe wall. "sticks closer'n a brother," said stannard, epigrammatically, with a look at turner, his comrade captain, whereat the latter shot a warning glance, first at stannard, then toward the unconscious n.a., now hobnobbing with briggs at the mess-room door. "harris doesn't like the young swell! what's the matter, d'ye s'pose?" asked bucketts, the post quartermaster, a man of much weight, but not too much discrimination. "bosh! they're classmates and old chums," was stannard's quick reply. "harris is hipped because his scout was a fizzle, and he simply doesn't feel like talking." "all the same, he doesn't like willett, classmate or no classmate. you mark my words," persisted the man of mops and brooms, and stannard, who had seen the youngster's face as he turned away, knew well the quartermaster was right. therefore was it his duty, for the sake of the regiment, said he, to stand by harris as hailing from the cavalry. he scoffed at the quartermaster and began to pace the veranda. 'twas high time for evening stables, and the brief and perfunctory grooming the short-coupled, stocky little mountain climbers daily received. the herds had been driven in, watering in the shallows as they forded the stream full fifteen minutes before. there were only the surgeon, the adjutant, the quartermaster, and lieutenant willett seated on the veranda when harris presently came back, silent as before, but clad in undress uniform, as neat and trim as that of the latest arrival, if not so new. then came general archer, his daughter, and the meeting. then, a few minutes later, the bid to dinner, and then, barely an hour from that time, the dinner itself--a function the classmates marched to almost arm in arm when either would rather have been without the other. the members of what there was of the mess, six officers in all, sat waiting the summons to their own board, and gazing idly after. stannard, the only married captain whose wife had had the nerve to go to that desolate and distant station, was sitting under his own figurative vine and fig-tree represented by a pine veranda, about which neither vine nor fig nor other tree had ever been induced to grow, but that was not without other extravagances, since it represented to uncle sam an aggregate sum that could be best computed at a shilling a shingle. stannard, hearing footsteps on the sandy soil, glanced up from the columns of an _alta california_, ten days old, and growled through the adjacent blinds "they're coming now," whereat there was sound of rustling skirt within, and between the slats there came a glimpse of shining, big blue eyes, alive with womanly interest, and parted lips disclosing two opposing rows of almost perfect teeth, all the whiter by contrast with the sunburned, "sonsy" face that framed them. together, yet separated, this darby and joan of the far frontier sat and watched the coming pair. "isn't it good to see the real uniform again?" said she. "isn't it absurd to think of trying a dinner here?" said he. then both subsided as the two young officers stepped upon the resounding boards of the next veranda to the south, knocked at the commander's open door and were promptly welcomed. "now, luce, they're going to have a very _nice_ dinner," protested mrs. stannard. "i was in there helping over an hour, and mrs. archer's a wonder! even if the dinner didn't amount to much, there would be lilian." "they can't eat _her_," persisted, grimly, the man. "she looks sweet enough to eat," responded the woman. "you ought to see her. after a six hours' ride she looks fresh as a daisy, all creamy white with--but you wouldn't understand----" "what on earth kept them out so long?" "didn't i tell you? why, they went away to bennett's ranch. couldn't find a vestige of vegetables nearer. mrs. bennett has a little patch where she raises lettuce and radishes. the orderly carried a basket full of truck, and leaves and flowers, poppies and cactus, you know, and you've no idea how pretty they've made the table look." stannard sniffed. "take their sauterne hot or lukewarm?" he asked. "fancy a dinner without ice, fruit or cream!" "of course they haven't white wine here, luce! but there's claret--famous claret, too, and the water in the big _olla's_ even cooler than the spring. they'll have french dressing for the salad. they have tomato soup even _you_ couldn't growl at, and roast chicken, with real potatoes, and _petits pois_, and corn, and olives; then salad cool as the spring; then there's to be such an _omelette soufflée_--and coffee!--but it's the way the table _looks_, luce!" "men don't care how a thing looks, so long as it tastes right. how _does_ it look?" "so white and fresh, and sprinkled with green and purple and crimson, the leaves and the poppies, you know. she----" but mrs. stannard broke off suddenly. "what is it, wettstein?" she asked, for their own particular _chef_, a german trooper, with elementary culinary gifts, appeared in the hallway. "it's suey, mattam, says would mrs. stannard come over a minute. he's stuck, mattam." "stuck! heavens! how?" cried mrs. stannard, up at once in alarm, and vanishing through the dim light of the blanketed window. the presumably punctured chinaman was even then in full flight for his own kitchen door, some fifty feet away, and mrs. stannard followed. no roman in rome's quarrel was ever more self-sacrificing than were our army women of the old days in their helpfulness. had the hounds ravished the roast again, as once already had happened? if so, the stannard dinner stood ready to replace it, even though she and her captain had to fall back on what could be borrowed from the troop kitchen. no, the oven door was open, the precious chickens, brown, basted and done to a turn, were waiting suey's deft hands to shift them to the platter. (no need to heat it even on a december day.) mrs. stannard's quick and comprehensive glance took in every detail. the "stick" was obviously figurative--mere vernacular--yet something serious, for suey's olive-brown skin was jaundiced with worry, and the face of doyle, the soldier striker, as he came hurrying back from the banquet board, was beading with the sweat of mental torment. soup, it seems, was already served, and doyle burst forth, hoarse whispering, before ever he caught sight of the visiting angel. "sure i _can't_, suey! _the general's sittin' on it!_" and suey's long-nailed mongolian talons went up in despair as he turned appealingly to their rescuer. "sitting on what, doyle? quick!" said mrs. stannard. "the sherry, ma'am! the doctor sent it over wid his comps to s'prise him, an' my orders was to fill the little glasses when i'd took in the soup, an' i put it under the barrel chair----" but mrs. stannard had heard enough. even though convulsed with merriment, she seized a pencil and scribbled a little line on a card. "give this to mrs. archer," she said, and a moment later, in the midst of his first story, the veteran was checked by these placid words from the head of the table: "pardon me, dear, but you are on the lid of the wine cooler. let doyle get at it a moment." the general was not the nimblest-witted man in the service, but long experience had taught him the wisdom of prompt observance of any suggestion that came from his wife. dropping his napkin, and the thread of his tale, he rose to his feet. blushing furiously, doyle bent, and with vigorous effort pried off a circular, perforated top, revealing a dark, cylindrical space beneath, from the depths of which he lifted a dripping bucket of galvanized iron, and sped, thus laden, away to the kitchen, to the music of mrs. archer's merry laughter and a guffaw of joy from the general's lips. "how came you to put it there, sir?" demanded he, a moment later, as doyle circumnavigated the table, filling, as ordered, the five little glasses with fragrant amontillado. "i must tell you, gentlemen, this is one of the pleasant surprises that most admirable woman yonder is forever putting up on me. life would be a desert without such." "indeed it wasn't mine!" expostulated madam, "though i'm deeply indebted to somebody. who was it, doyle?" "docther bentley, ma'am. he said i was to keep it dark, ma'am--'an' in the coolest place i could find----" but here the peals of laughter silenced the words and rang the glad tidings to listening, waiting ears in the kitchen that all was well. mrs. stannard scurried away to explain to her luce, and the dinner went blithely on. "you did right, doyle! you did right!" shouted the general, "and we'll drink the doctor's health. keep it dark, indeed! haw, haw, haw!" and then nothing would do but he must tell the story of this precious and particular chair. furniture, even such as he bought at san francisco, and would live to a green old age along the pacific, came speedily to pieces in the hot, dry atmosphere of arizona. little enough there was of cabinet ware, to be sure, because of the cost of transportation; but such as there was, unless riveted in every seam and joint, fell apart at most inopportune moments. bureaus and washstands, tables, sofas and chairs, were forever shedding some more or less important section, and the only reliable table was that built by the post carpenter, the quartermaster. and so these pioneers of our civilization, the men and women of the army, had had no little experience in cabinetmaking and upholstering. while the emigrants and settlers, secure under its wing, could turn swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning-hooks, as saith the scriptures, their soldier folk turned clothing boxes into couches, soap boxes into cradles, and pork barrels into _fauteuils_. chintz and calico, like charity, covered a multitude of sins, as declared in unsightly cracks and knotholes. the finest reclining chair in all camp almy belonged to the doctor, a composite of condemned stretchers and shelter tent. the best dining-room set was sawed out from sugar barrels, and, being stuffed with old newspapers and gayly covered with cheese cloth and calico, rivaled in comfort, if not in airy elegance, the twisted woodwork of vienna. when it was known that mrs. and miss archer had descended upon the camp, and their beloved commander had next to nothing by way of furniture with which to deck their army home, every officer hastened to place his household goods--such "c. and g.e." as did not belong to the hospital--at the general's disposal. the stannards sent three riveted, cane-bottomed, dining-room chairs and their spare room outfit complete. captain turner, whose fair-complected partner had not yet ventured to these destructive suns, sent bedstead and bureau, the latter without knobs, but you could pry the drawers open with the point of a sabre. the post trader drove up from the store with a lot of odds and ends. even the bachelors were keen to do something. all of which mrs. archer most gratefully and smilingly accepted and made mental note of for future return in kind. but, in spite of the stannards' contribution, the general stood firmly to his prerogative and sat close on his throne--"the finest dining chair in all arizona, sir," as he often declared. "sawed out from a standard oak whiskey barrel at old port buford in '58, according to my own ideas and lines, and sound as a dollar to-day, sir, and it's only been covered three times in all. look at it!" and here, with a flourish, he would whip off the seat. "combination chair and butler's pantry, sir. used to keep my whiskey and tobacco there when the redskins had the run of the post and thought nothing of searching our quarters. and now doyle's used it as the doctor prescribed, and then gone and forgotten it! haw, haw, haw! by jove, but that's capital sherry! cool almost as if it had been iced! harris, my boy, you don't drink!" there was a moment's silence. then the young officer answered, simply, yet almost apologetically: "why--i never have, sir." chapter iii. it happened at a moment when willett, seated at the right of "the lady of the house," with lilian at his dexter side, had caught the eye of his hostess, and, after the manner of the day, had raised his brimming sherry glass and, bowing low, was drinking to her health, a feat the general had thrice performed already. "if i'd only known of this, gentlemen," said their host, but a moment earlier, with resultant access of cordiality, "and could have found a drop of angostura about the post, we'd have had a 'pick-me-up' before dinner, but d'you know i--i seldom have bitters about me. i've no use for cocktails. i never touch a drop of stingo before twelve at noon or after twelve at night. i agree with old bluegrass. bluegrass was post surgeon at the presidio when the second artillery came out in '65, right on the heels of the war, and he did his best to welcome them--especially breck, their adjutant, also a kentuckian. then he was ordered east, and he left breck his blessing, his liquor case, and this admonition--breck told it himself. 'young man,' said he, 'i observe you drink cocktails. now, take my advice and don't do it. you drink the bitters and they go to your nose and make it red. you drink the sugar and it goes to your brain and makes it wopsy, and so--you lose all the good effects of the whiskey'! haw, haw, haw!" it was a story the genial old soldier much rejoiced in, one that stannard had bet he would tell before dinner was half over, and it came with doyle and the chickens. the kindly, wrinkled, beaming face, red with the fire of arizona's suns, redder by contrast with the white mustache and imperial, was growing scarlet with the flame of bentley's cherished wine, when in sudden surprise he noted that the junior officer present, seated alone at his right (there was no other girl in all camp almy to bid to the little feast, and mrs. stannard, in mourning for a brother, could not accept), had turned down the little sherry glass. thirty years ago such a thing was as uncommon in the army as fifty years ago it was unheard of in civil life. for one instant after the young officer's embarrassed answer the veteran sat almost as though he had heard a rebuke. it was mrs. archer who came to the relief of an awkward situation. "mr. harris believes in keeping in training," she ventured lightly. "he could not excel in mountain scouting without it. the general's scouting days are over and we indulge him." indeed, it wasn't long before it began to look as though the general were indulging himself. claret presently succeeded the sherry, but not until bentley's health had been drunk again and the orderly summoned from the front porch to go, with the general's compliments, and tell him so. "this claret," he then declared, "is some i saved from the dozen barry & patton put aboard the montana when i came round to yuma last year. it's older than lilian," this with a fond and playful pinch at the rosy cheek beside him, "and almost as good. no diluting this, mr. willett," for he saw that young officer glancing from the empurpled glass to the single carafe that adorned the table, its mate having met dissolution when the general's chest was prematurely unloaded in dead man's cañon _en route_ to the post. "dilute your california crudities all you like, but not the red juice from the sunny vines of france. no, sir! moreover, this and old burgundy are the wines you must drink at blood heat. no sauturnes or hocks or champagnes for us fire worshippers in arizona! lilian here and my blessed wife yonder don't like these red wines for that reason. they want something to cool their dainty palates, but men, sir, and soldiers---what's this, bella, bellisima? salad--french dressing--and cool, too! bravissima, my dear! how did you manage it? the olla? why, of course! cool anything. cool my old head, if need be. hey, willett?" and all this time, when not chatting with the debonair officer at her side or saying a word to his bronzed, sun-dried, silently observant comrade opposite, lilian's fond eyes forever sought her father's rubicund face, love and admiration in every glance. all this time, even while in cordial talk with her guests, mrs. archer never seemed to lose a look or word from her soldier liege; never once did her winsome smile or joyous laugh fail to reward his sallies; never once came there shade of anxiety upon her beaming face. "the general" was the head of that house, and they were his loyal subjects. they even sipped at the outermost ripple of the thimbleful of claret each had permitted doyle to pour. even when a loud "cloop" in the dark passageway to the kitchen told that another bottle was being opened as the omelet came in, borne aloft by white-robed suey, crowned with red poppies and blue blazes, and set triumphantly before the mistress of the feast, harris could detect no flutter of disapprobation. even when, later still, the general's eager hand, stretching forth for the dusky flagon (it was sacrilege to sweep away those insignia of age and respectability), managed to capsize the candelabrum and sent the fluid "adamantine" spattering a treasured table-cloth (how quick the dash of the young trooper's hand upon the flame--and its extinction!), a gentle smile was the sole rebuke, followed by a "thank you, mr. harris. i hope you didn't burn your hand! that's all my fault." the general declared it foolish to put candles on the table when we could have sconces by the dozen on the walls. indeed, there must have been a dozen candles, not to mention the big lamps of forbidden kerosene upon shelf and sideboard, each backed by its reflector of glistening tin. "we were vain, you see," continued mrs. archer, "of our two old-fashioned heirlooms. those quaint three-socket sticks were brought by the general's grandfather from england in colonial days." it was so with everything they had, though they had so little. the massive silver forks, the worn old spoons, the squat little sugar bowl and creamer that came in later, all bore a crest and a single word. all had been "the general's" before ever that well-descended veteran had bent the knee in wooing. all had been stored in san francisco until their coming to cheer his exile, but now were duly paraded in honor of their first guests at almy, the young scout leader from the southern border, and his classmate, the new aide-de-camp of the commanding general; both, as was understood, to leave them on the morrow. and all this time, too, though the windows, arizona fashion, were blanketed to exclude all heatful light throughout the day (those of the dining-room being hidden behind navajo fabrics in black and white, and blue and crimson), the hallways were wide open that no breath of air might be lost. the hounds clustered whimpering and wondering at the doorways, front and rear, resentful of the vigilance with which the orderlies on duty withstood their dashes, they who long weeks and months had had the run of the house. darkness had settled down upon the sandy parade. the lights gleamed along the opposite front, the long barracks of the soldiery, and the stars were glinting bright above the beetling pine crests beyond the murmuring stream. over at the mess the surgeon, the adjutant, quartermaster, captain bonner of the infantry, with his subaltern, and solemn captain turner, sat on the veranda, smoked their pipes, and even while keeping up a semblance of talk, had an eye and an ear on the bungalow--the "old man's" quarters not three hundred feet away. the boom of his jovial laughter still rang out upon the air, and presently the tinkle of guitar, the swish of feminine garments, the rasp of chairs and the merry mingling of voices told that the little dinner party, the first the camp had ever known--for what is a dinner party without women--had quit the table and gathered on the porch. by this time, too, an unclouded moon had sailed aloft from behind the screen of eastward heights, and its beams were pouring slantwise upon the group, that portion of it, at least, that now was seated near the southern end. they who watched were not slow to see that lilian had taken a chair within a few feet of the edge, with willett still in close attendance. the red heart of the general's cigar was visible midway between the window and the central doorway, but the jovial host was wrapped in shade. the light from the doorway fell upon the white gown of mrs. archer and the trim, slender, undersized figure of lieutenant harris, standing before her. they heard the general's voice, cordial and resonant, uplifted presently in protest: "no, don't go yet, boy. let 'tonio take care of himself to-night. i want you both to hear lilian sing. here, orderly, you go find 'tonio and give him my compliments--no! you just tell 'tonio _i_ want to see him." the orderly with archer, as with many another post commander, was the final resort, the cure-all, the infallible means of settlement of all matters in dispute. the orderly went and stood not on the order of his going. he knew not 'tonio, nor where to find him, but he knew better than to say so--to say anything. he went straightway to the sergeant of the guard, than whom no man is supposed to know more what is going on about the post. that harris might have the pleasure of hearing the promised song (he surely could not think of going now) the mess devoutly hoped, and were in nowise too content when the sound of moving, of people getting to their feet, and of archer's jocund welcome, told that callers had come to join the recent revellers, and that meant, of course, the stannards, for there was really no one else. and then it was remembered that stannard had said that mrs. archer had asked that they should come over after dinner, since they could not well attend it. lilian's singing was something all save these two young soldiers had already heard, enjoyed and longed to hear again, and the mess could not but wish that old stannard had not been so exact in his interpretation, and punctual in his acceptance of that invitation. there followed a few minutes of general talk and laughter, and then archer's voice was again dominant. nothing would do but that the stannards both come in and taste that famous claret (which neither desired _after_ dinner, however much it might then have been enjoyed). then all went trooping in-doors again, all save lilian and lieutenant harris, for presently these two came sauntering into the moonlight at the southward end of the veranda. the girl resumed her seat and guitar; the young officer the chair lately occupied by willett, and here full ten minutes were they in conversation when the orderly came stalking back from the guard-house; the quintette came flocking forth from the hallway, and willett, coming to resume his seat and chat, found his classmate in possession. it was the first opportunity that had fallen to harris, and if willett hoped or expected that he would rise and surrender in his favor he was doomed to disappointment. harris never so much as turned his head. they were an odd contrast, these two young graduates of the nation's soldier school, as they looked to captain stannard that november night. he spoke of it to his wife and thought of it long after, for he, too, had come toward the little group a bit impatient, it must be owned, of the general's mellow monologue, and wearying of a conversation in which _he_ had no part. but here again stannard found scant opportunity. miss archer, bending slightly forward, was, with much animation describing to mr. harris the brilliant ball given by the artillery at the presidio just before they were hurried off to that fatal modoc war. harris, caring little for the affair, and possibly hearing little of what she was saying, sat as though drinking in every word, and gazing enthralled upon the beauty of her sweet young face. he, too, was bending forward, his lithe, slender, supple frame clad in the trim undress uniform of the day, his clear-cut face, with its thin, almost hollow cheeks, tanned brown by the blazing suns of the southern desert, his hair cropped close to his shapely head, his gray-blue eyes, large, full and steady, fixed unswerving upon her. leaning on his elbow, one lean brown hand was toying with the sun-bleached ends of his mustache, the other, with the class ring gleaming in the moonlight, lay idly on his knee. lacking stature, size or weight, the physical attributes that make a man impressive, he looked the picture of the young athlete, firm and fit and trained for speed and staying power, yet cold in his steel-like strength and quality. overtopping him, standing where he, too, could hear and gaze, elegant in form, graceful in pose, and precise in dress, the picture of chivalric officer and gentleman, hal willett had the advantage of nearly six more inches in height, a presence that was at once commanding and assured, and a face as strikingly handsome as that of harris was severely plain. willett's eyes and hair were of a deep, lustrous brown, his eyebrows thick and heavily arched, his mouth soft, sensitive, with lips that were beautifully curved and teeth that were white and well-nigh perfect. his mustache, though long and curling, was carefully trained away so as to hide none of the charms that lurked beneath. he looked at once the knight of the ballroom and the battlefield, a man to make his mark in either contest, love or war, and make it he had. life had been full of gifts to harold willett. he came from old border stock. his name was first of the presidential ten the year he entered the point, first on the list of cadet corporals in the yearling june and first among the first sergeants the following year. an uncontradicted rumor had it that he could have been sergeant-major, but that he told the commandant his ambition lay in the senior captaincy, and first captain he had been named his first class summer, only to lose it late in august, the penalty of a rash and forbidden exploit for the sake of a smile, and possibly a caress, and lose it to the man who, starting at the foot of the list of his chevroned fellows two years before, had risen only to "late sergeant" of a centre company when they came from furlough, but, standing foremost in "tactics," well up in every subject but french and drawing, and impeccable in conduct, won a captaincy in spite of his lack of inches. graduating a dozen files ahead of his brilliant comrade, harris had sought and won commission in the cavalry, was sent to duty in new mexico and then in arizona, ever roughing it in the deserts or the mountains until in physique he was hard as hickory, and in spirit wellnigh as elastic. never until this recent experience in the apache mohave country had he shown symptom of discouragement. now it was the more noticeable because coupled, it would seem, with distrust--distrust of him who had been for two years past an inseparable guide and even comrade, 'tonio, "_gran capitan_" of indian scouts. and even as he sat there absorbed in the sweet vision in the moonlight before him, studying the play of her sensitive lips, forgetful for the moment of all else about him, there fell across the glistening boarding at her feet the shadow of a turbaned head, at sight of which she started, with faint, half-suppressed cry of fright; then, as though ashamed, broke into a nervous little laugh. harris was in an instant on his feet, and whirling, confronted 'tonio, tall, gaunt, silent, impassive. "_que quiere?_" he demanded, in the blunt vernacular of the service. it annoyed him that subordinate of his should thus appear unseen, unheard, unsummoned, and to her affright. he forgot the noiseless sand, the soft-soled moccasins, the native stealth; forgot at the moment the general's mandate and the orderly's mission. it flashed upon him at 'tonio's quiet answer, grave, unresentful, and in the apache tongue. "my chief called me." "pardon me just one moment, miss archer. i'll come back at once," said harris, bending over the still trembling girl. then, turning sharply and bidding 'tonio follow, his eyes met those of willett, smiling affably. "i'll keep it while you're gone, hefty," said he, with laughing ease of manner, sliding promptly into the vacated seat. "now, miss archer, if you'll be so good as to go right on where you left off, i'll be all gratitude and attention." without answer, harris stepped lightly over to where the general and stannard were now deep in one-sided argument over the merits of a war-time leader, known well to men of the union army east or west; the general declaiming, the junior listening, unconvinced. it was one point on which they differed widely, one on which the general was apt to dilate when warmed by wine. he had had only moderate aid from willett in disposing of two bottles of sound old claret, and one was enough to set the garrulous tongue to wagging. he would not cease at sight of harris, standing silent and respectful before him. stannard had to interpose and say, "you sent for 'tonio, sir, as i happened to hear," as indeed they all did, far and near, whereat the veteran turned. "bless my soul, boy, so i did! what for, i wonder?" "to save my going over with night orders for the scouts, i think, sir," said harris promptly, "and, unless you wish to see him personally, i'll tell him now." "_must_ you make so early a start, harris? it's only thirty miles to the cañon." "i know, sir, but i need to be at bennett's before sunrise. their scouts would see us if we started later. we go on to the cañon after i have examined that neighborhood." "all right, then. buckets will issue rations at once. start when you think best. but now, stannard, see here; if he was such a stayer and so energetic in virginia, how do you account for----" but harris had saluted and turned away, 'tonio at his heels. as they passed the end of the veranda, where sat lilian and her listener, harris noted that the latter had drawn his chair much closer than he had dared, and was bending forward until the handsome dark head was almost over the fair hand toying with the guitar that lay idly in her lap. the modern vernacular for the successful squire of dames was then unknown. the girl, who had been leaning forward, all chat and animation when harris sat there, now lay dreamily back in the rude but easy chair, her eyelids drooping, her long lashes sweeping the soft cheek, listening, drinking in the murmurous flow of willett's almost inaudible words, and the stern young face of his classmate hardened in the moonlight, for harris had seen and heard before. briefly he gave his instructions to the silent apache and closed with the sign, "i have spoken. that is all." but 'tonio did not stir. something, possibly, in willett's devotional attitude vaguely troubled the girl, and, edging back in her chair, she had lifted a little slippered foot from the floor. the general at the moment was talking loud enough to drown other sounds about him. the aide-de-camp, his dark eyes glowing and riveted on those of the fair face so near him, seemed deaf to everything but his own eloquence. but the indian had placed one hand on his young officer's wrist, and with the other stood pointing at some object coiled underneath lilian's chair, not half an arm's length from the little foot that dangled in its silken stocking but a hand's-breadth from the floor. at that moment willett bent impressively, still nearer, and instinctively lilian moved a hand as though about to edge farther away. it was at this very instant that harris spoke, his voice, absolutely calm, even to the semblance of a drawl, but every word told clear, distinct, and, in spite of its courtesy, commanding, compelling. "miss archer and--ah--willett, be good enough to sit perfectly still a moment. don't--move--a muscle!" even the general, for a wonder, had ceased--for breath, perhaps--and sat speechless and startled, for noiseless and stealthy as a cat, with long strides, 'tonio had skirted the edge of the veranda, and with agile spring was at the back of lilian's chair. there he swooped instantly. there was sound of strident, rasping sk-r-r-r-rr: then a lightning snap, as of a whip. something black and writhing went flying into the sand, and then squirming blindly away, and 'tonio straightened to his full height, and without a word strode from the veranda. "in god's name, what was that?" cried the general, springing from his chair and hastening to his daughter's side. "nothing but a snake, sir," said harris quietly, strolling toward them. "_that_ one's done for, anyhow!" chapter iv. an hour later the lights were out among the barracks, and the silence of the summerlike winter's night had settled on the garrison. over at the mess and office buildings all was darkness. along the log and adobe façade of the officers' quarters, from occasional open doorways the gleam of lantern was thrown across the wooden verandas. the moonbeams flooded the sandy parade and the rough-hewn roofs and walls with tender, silvery radiance that put to shame the twinkling lights, down at the store on the lower flats, and the bleary eye of the big, triangular, glass-faced, iron-bound cresset at the log guard-house, perched at the edge of the mesa. afar off, through dim vistas of the valley, the silver ribbon of the stream wound and twisted among the willows, but the heights, as a rule, were wrapped in the shadows of their own pines. a game of goodly proportion was going on down at the card room, a brace of ranchmen and prospectors, a venturesome "sub" and the "contract doctor" making up the party, but the general, his household and near neighbors had retired or were retiring for the night. only the guard and the "owls" were "on deck." army folk in those days and regions had a way of turning out at dawn for the cool of the morning, turning in at taps for the needed six hours' beauty sleep, lunching lightly at noon, snoozing drowsily an hour or two, then after tub and fresh linen, venturing forth, those who had to, for the afternoon duties. all social enjoyment, as a rule, began when the sun could not see, but had dropped back of the screen of the mountains. but there was still faint stir at the camp of the scouts, out beyond the corrals. rations had been drawn at tattoo, and a limited portion issued to the lithe, swarthy fellows, squatted in semicircle in front of their chief, patiently awaiting their share, no man of their number opening so much as the end of a package, either of cartridge or cracker, until the last had his dole and all were served. it was known that before dawn they were again to set forth, whither, not even 'tonio had been told, and 'tonio had noted and felt it. hitherto there had been counsel between his young commander and himself. this night there had been none. instead, only half an hour after the exciting episode at the commanding officer's and the despatching of the intruding rattler, 'tonio had been summoned to the adjutant's office and then questioned by lieutenant willett, with _cargador_ muñoz, not lieutenant harris, serving as interpreter. hitherto 'tonio had conducted his conference with the great father's captains with lieutenant harris translating. it was significant both to that officer and to 'tonio that this time a pack train employé had been selected, his name having been suggested at head-quarters at prescott, and an orderly sent for him early by way of caution, for muñoz loved monte and mescal. another significant thing was that harris had declined an invitation to be present at 'tonio's examination. "if mr. willett has any question to ask me," he said, "he'll find me at dr. bentley's," whither, indeed, he had repaired, as it were, awaiting summons. moreover, it was patent to stannard and turner and dr. bentley, too, that harris took it much amiss that willett should at last disclose the fact that he was there to "investigate." he had said nothing of it the night before. he had put up at the adjutant's, after quite a long session at the mess, an affair attended by harris only an hour or so, and even then only as an absorbed listener, with other fellow-soldiers, to willett's brilliant description of the recent campaign in the lava beds, culminating as it had in the brutal massacre by the modocs of their would-be best friends, the peace commissioners, and general canby. after taps, however, despite his long and dusty buckboard ride, willett saw fit to "sit in" to the game almost always in progress down at the trader's store. whereupon stannard, turner and harris, non-participants ever, took themselves off to bed. it was not much of a game, said strong, who was there, only willett, craney, watson, briggs and himself, and was remarkable for only one fact, that case, the bookkeeper, who never before had seemed to care to play, had happened in late, looked curiously on a moment, and then, without having been presented to willett, seemed desirous of taking a hand. craney wondered if case had been drinking again, but willett took no notice. willett was feeling very jolly, said strong, and it was quite late when they finally quit. harris was up with the sun looking over his pack train and observing 'tonio and his fellows. willett did not turn out until office hours, when he had a conference with general archer, ending in his expressing a wish to "look about" him for the day. he had asked no questions of harris; had met him heartily, as classmates should, but with just a suspicion of superiority of manner that harris could not like, and without a word of appreciation of the capital soldier work harris had been doing. there was another reason why harris resented willett's investigating his scout that second evening. a total abstainer himself from boyhood, reared by a careful mother and aware for many a year that his father's occasional lapses were her perennial dread, harris had set his canon against the practice from the day he doffed the gray at west point, and never swerved from his creed after donning the blue. not so with willett. not so with nine-tenths of his associates. harris had seen, without remark, that willett enjoyed the occasional beverages mixed for him at the mess in the late afternoon, and again had noted that his comrade did quite his share this second evening toward finishing the doctor's sherry, though it was the "old man," after all, who "got away with" most of the bordeaux. twice after dinner archer had ushered his guests within doors, once to try what was left of the claret, and later, after the snake episode, when some nerves might be in need of bracing, to sample some phenomenal monongahela. then when harris was through, after saying good-night, he was presently followed by willett, flushed in face and abrupt in manner. miss archer had been spirited off by her mother, and presumably gone to bed. she'd get used to snakes if she stayed long in arizona, said willett. what was the sense in scaring her, anyway? why hadn't harris quietly given him the tip? _he_ could have snapped mr. rattler's head off without anybody being the wiser, and harris saw that the night-caps, taken on top of all that preceded, had tangled willett's ideas, despite which fact willett now announced that he had summoned the interpreter and desired harris to send 'tonio to the office for investigation at once. and willett represented the commanding general, who knew nothing of what was going on, and harris could only obey. it was a dramatic scene as it opened. willett had not failed to hand a copy of his instructions to the post commander and had left entirely to his judgment the question as to whether the officers should be present. archer had decided against it. 'tonio might be alarmed. it were better, he said, that no one except the post adjutant, the interpreter, and lieutenants willett and harris appear, and then harris, whose letter from the field announcing the ill success of the scout was the original cause of the investigation, said he preferred to be excused. harris did not wish to appear to 'tonio in the light of an accuser, and willett was secretly better content that his classmate should stay away. down in the bottom of his heart willett felt that four years of such experiences as harris had encountered made him a far better judge of apache methods and motives than he, willett, could expect to be. moreover, he knew well that, were he in harris's place, he should resent it that an officer no higher in grade, and inferior in arizona craft, should be sent to inquire into the conduct of his scout. it was just one of those things a tactless chief of staff would sometimes do; but, even though willett appreciated, none the less did he welcome the order. it put him at once in position of ascendency over a classmate of whose record and success he was both jealous and afraid. if he had felt this earlier in the day the feeling was intensified now, for though he had seemed to some of the officers, to archer and his family, especially to lilian, far the more accomplished and attractive of the two, the entrance of that disturbing rattler on the scene had destroyed the equilibrium of affairs. willett had had no experience with the venomous little reptile, harris had had much, and harris's utter _sang froid_, and cool, commanding words had averted what might have been a tragedy. one start, one sudden move of the girl at that critical moment might well have been fatal. the snake, alarmed and angered by previous stir and by willett's approaches, was actually coiled for the spring. the tiny fangs would have fastened in a flash on that slender, unprotected ankle, and the rest could only be conjectured. and so, it was in no judicial mood that willett began his questioning. accustomed as he was to the hang-dog, dissolute specimens of degenerate red men he had seen in the columbia country and the lava beds, he hardly knew what to make of 'tonio, this ascetic of the mountains, clear eyed, trained to a fineness almost unhuman, all wire and sinew, an indian withal who looked him straight and fearless in the eye, and held himself as proudly as ever did chieftain of the aztecs or the sioux. summoned from the camp fire to this unsought council, finding himself confronted by strangers, missing his own friend and commander, and instinctively scenting accusation, 'tonio stood and faced his judges without so much as a tremor. for a moment willett sat and studied him. "siwashes" of puget's sound, klickatats of the columbia, and scowling, beetle-browed modocs of upper nevada he had often met, and their shifting eyes dropped before the keen gaze of the dominant soldier, but this son of the sierras never so much as suffered the twitch of a muscle, the droop of an eyelash. in the language of the "greaser" cargador, whose border vernacular had suffered through long contact with that of the gringo, "'tonio didn't scare worth a damn, even when the lieutenant tried bulldozing," but that may merely have been the expression of civilian jealousy of military methods. being in the pay and under the protection of the united states, 'tonio could be called on for explanation at any time, only--there were two ways of calling. "tell him," said willett, "the chief-of-chiefs believes the apache mohaves are hiding in the mogollon,--many of them--bucks, squaws and children, and he was sent to find them and to bring them to the reservation. why did he fail?" muñoz, as nearly as he could, put the question, but none too confidently. "because my people were driven beyond sound of 'tonio's voice," was the calm reply, the eyes for the officer, the words for the man, and muñoz again translated. "how so? was not word sent them by arahawa?" "arahawa said the white brother would come with food and presents to lead them home. what they saw was guns and scouts and soldiers. therefore, they were afraid and fled. soldiers with guns catch no mohaves who fear. therefore was it useless, and i tired." "could _you_ have caught them and persuaded them had you gone alone?" and willett asked as he had been instructed at headquarters. "caught? yes! persuaded? no! they say white soldiers killed comes flying, brother to chief lone pine." "how does he know comes flying was killed? we heard it only the night i reached prescott. no one has told it--here." and now the officer's eyes were glittering. the adjutant shifted uneasily in his chair. this was news to him. comes flying stood second only to lone pine in the tribe, yet camp almy had not heard it. 'tonio had told it not even to harris. "the mountain eagle is 'tonio's friend; the bear, the lynx, the birds are his brothers." "then you _knew_ the apache mohaves were in the verde valley--and in dead man's cañon as late as last week--that they had raided stoner's ranch?" "they were not there, nor did they raid stoner's ranch! my people stayed not even on the east fork. they fled deep in the mogollon." willett gave vent to impatient "pish!" the indians he had known all lied, of course, but looked it. this man looked him full in the face, even as he lied, and looked the truth. "i'll show you why we know you lie," said he impulsively, but the adjutant held up a warning hand, saying, "listen!" through the open doorway, barred against unauthorized intruder by the single soldier, standing beyond earshot upon the level of the parade, there came the prolonged cry of a sentry at the upper end of the garrison. number three had repeated, but number four was impatient, imperative, and the yell came again: "corporal of the guard, number four!" "that _means_ something," said the adjutant, springing to his feet. "i'll be back in a minute if it doesn't," and away he went, swift-speeding under the flagstaff, and muñoz followed straight to the base of the staff, where the trumpeter of the guard and three or four men from the barracks were already gathered, their own surreptitious, blanket-shrouded game for the moment forgotten. they were staring through the moonlight straight away to the northeastward chain of heights, rocky and precipitous, that spanned the valley in that direction, and suddenly two of them gave tongue: "there it is again! didn't i tell you?" far away among the pines at the crest a tiny blaze shot into the skies, brilliant even in the moonshine. "signal fire, sure!" said three voices at once. "signal fire, sure!" echoed other voices, as more men came running forth from the barracks to join the watchers on the parade. "signal fire, sure, and right up over the bennett ranch--where the general was to-day!" "my god, i wonder have they jumped it! yonder comes the corporal--back--running!" back, indeed, and running and straight for the doctor's, where he could be heard banging at the open door. so away went the trumpeter, full tilt for tidings, and others, impatient, followed. instead of coming back the trumpeter kept on, running still harder toward the brow of the hill and the post of number four. it was the corporal who called to his halting and anxious fellows: "it's bennett's ranch! his dago's in with the news--mos' dead down there on number four; says they've killed the whole family--'patchie mohaves!" there was awed silence one moment. then a deep voice broke it, and all eyes turned on the speaker. 'tonio. "apache mohave? no! _no!!_" chapter v. bennett's "dago," when halted by number four, was as limp a specimen of humanity as that drowsy young trooper had seen in all his soldier days. bennett's dago was no stranger to the post, having occasionally come thither on errands for his employer, and semi-occasionally appeared without such semblance of authority, but, whether his mission was for master or man, it had never hitherto failed to lead to the store and monte. small as was the garrison, and few as were the neighboring ranches, there was generally business enough to support two card rooms, one for officers and the "_gente fino_"--the trader, his partner, the chief packer, forage master, and an occasional rancher or prospector; the other, a big one, and often a riotous, for the soldiery, scouts, packers and riffraff of the frontier, and for this establishment bennett's dago had an indescribable fascination. here he had met and differed with muñoz, the two coming to a knife duel, promptly suppressed by the gun butts of the guard. none the less was muñoz called into requisition as interpreter, for between peril, exhaustion and defective english the "dago" could only splutter an unintelligible jargon that might have been sicilian, maltese, or calabrian, but could not be spanish. bennett, it seems, had picked him up for dead on the verde road, early in the spring of the year, and mrs. bennett had nursed the poor devil back to life. then it turned out that he knew how to cook. later it transpired that he had been with a mexican "outfit," prospecting for gold; had taken mountain fever, become a burden to them, and was left to look out for himself at a tank in dead man's cañon. he paid for his keep in cooking and chores, said bennett, and picked up enough english to enable him to get along about the ranch. he presently showed desire to care for the horses and mules and to ride them, and one day he disappeared with bennett's best saddle mule and was gone forty-eight hours, and on his return gravely tendered bennett a five-dollar gold piece in payment for his time and mule while away. he said he won it at monte, and it was proved that he had found his way to the card room, as a mule does to water, and, without knowledge of english, displayed consummate skill in the game; had played only two hours, had won twenty dollars and departed at dusk. but his winnings were in greenbacks and silver. whence had come the gold? the trader's people said he stabled his mule; introduced himself as "bennett's _mozo_--me," and "sat into" the game then in progress as though long accustomed; showing silver, mainly mexican, the only credentials the players required. at sunset he quit, easy winner, and went without taking so much as a "snifter." once having found the way, and the means, the dago came again and yet again, neither giving nor having trouble until he ran foul of muñoz, the mexican, whom he seemed to hate at sight. whatever his lingo, or that employed by the polyglot mexican, they understood each other, and the misunderstanding that followed was purely personal. now, in spite of his craze for gambling the dago had points that appealed to bennett. he found him valuable in many a way. he was almost doglike in his devotion to bennett's wife and children. he was a "bang-up" cook, barring a heavy hand at first with _chile_ and onions. he patched up an old guitar of mrs. bennett's and strummed delightfully all manner of strange mexican and mediterranean melodies, and, encouraged by her, had even been betrayed into song. he was kind to the stock, and the mules took to him from the very start, which the two horses did not do. the dogs tolerated at first and then "tied" to him. so, too, the cat adored him. he got along smoothly with the one negro and two maricopa indian boys bennett had brought with him from the gila. he did not drink even when at the post, and in the course of six months had come to be a feature, almost a fixture of the ranch, yet "dago" was the only name by which he was known, even among his benefactors. bennett said he believed he had forgotten he ever had another. that very morning, showing all his white teeth, he had whipped off a battered old hat of mexican straw at sight of the general and his fair daughter, had taken the basket while the orderly led the horses to the corral, had followed them about the little garden patch while mrs. bennett delightedly showed her lettuce and spinach and the gorgeous bed of poppies. then he had brewed delicious chocolate, though condensed milk was poor substitute for whipped cream, and had prepared such an appetizing little luncheon, and had made himself so useful, that the general was moved to say to bennett that any time the dago tired of his job he could find one at the fort. "i wonder he stays," said bennett. "i only give him five dollars a month, even now, and he could get twenty, and unlimited monte, at the store; besides, he is mortal 'fraid of these 'patchie mohaves; hell knows why, and hides when he sees 'em coming." "do they never bother you stealing or--some way?" asked the general, with an anxious glance at the two sturdy little ranchers, five and three-year-old bennetts, rolling and wrestling in the sand, showing off for the benefit of the visitors. "'patchie mohaves?" asked bennett, looking up in surprise. "never have! you know i drove mule team to the agency two years ago, and sort of grew to them. why, minnie, now, thinks as much of them, or most, as she does of the boys at the post. they're a sort of police, sir. the tontos don't dare come down so long as the mohaves are about here." "i know," said the general reflectively. "yet some few bucks drifted off to the tontos, and the agent's been raising a row because so many of them roost down here instead of staying on the reservation, bringing in game. did you know that two bands were out--women and all--without permits, and that was one thing that brought lieutenant harris and his scouts up here?" "well, that accounts for our having seen none of them for over two weeks. they must have gone clean out to the mesa. general," he continued anxiously, "they don't like their agent, or that agency. they're herded in there with apache yumas and sick tontos and sierra blancas--fellows that get better treatment because they're bigger devils and raise merry hell. _i_ know 'em and the agent don't. i'd move in to the post if _they_ were out, but we're safe with the 'patchie mohaves." that was what poor bennett was saying not twelve hours earlier, and now the homelike ranch had gone up in flames, and bennett, wailed the dago, lay butchered among the ruins. so, too, the negro. the maricopa boys had fled only, probably, to be run down and killed, but what had become of the poor, helpless little wife and mother, with her bonny, blue-eyed boys, god alone knew. by this time half the enlisted strength of the post was up and out and flocking to hear the tidings. bentley, the surgeon, had shuffled over in his slippered feet and was giving dago first aid to the demoralized in the shape of _aguardiente americano_, that made him sputter and sneeze, but speedily braced him. the adjutant hurried over to call the commanding officer, passing harris on the way, and harris, already in campaign dress, was hastening to the camp of his scouts. turner, silent and sombre, as was his wont, had elbowed his way through the throng and stood glowering at dago and the beetled-browed muñoz, as though weighing them in mental balance, and finding both wanting. mrs. stannard, through the blinds, had hailed the adjutant as he went bounding by to say the captain would be out in a moment. already wettstein had told them the fearful news. the adjutant stepped inside the open hallway at the general's and banged on the swinging door of the little front room, answered almost instantly by the subdued and gentle voice of mrs. archer from the head of the stairs. the general was sound asleep. was it necessary to wake him? strong expected as much. not once a month did that genial veteran permit himself an over-indulgence, but, when he did, the quicker he slept it off the better. he had taken his night-cap and turned in betimes, so as to be up at reveille. but strong knew what the "old man" would say to him later if he failed to rouse him now. "it's immediate, mrs. archer," said he. "we have bad news from bennett's ranch." a pale, frightened, white little face had come peering over the motherly shoulder at the moment, even whiter in the flickering light of mrs. archer's candle, and at sound of the name there went up a low cry of distress. "oh, mr. strong, is it mrs. bennett--or the boys?" "we don't--know--yet, miss archer. the dago's here, scared to death; galloped all the way with a story of an indian raid. i'm hoping it isn't as bad as he thinks. god forgive me the lie," he added under his breath. "but they haven't hurt _her?_ they surely would not hurt _her_!" came the piteous wail, as the girl clung to the rude balustrade, while her mother hastened to rouse the sleeping warrior. "heaven pity her," thought strong, "unless they have killed her outright and _not_ carried her away." then came a step in the hall behind him, and willett was there, alert and resourceful. "pray don't be troubled _yet_, miss archer," he called reassuringly, and barely noticing strong. "the messenger's been stampeded before this, the men tell me. he's too badly scared to know the truth. it may be there's been a fire. i think there has, for the light could be seen, and so he imagined indians and never stopped to see. i'm going right up there and will send back word. _please_ don't worry yet!" how thoughtful he was for her, and for dear mamma! how kind! strong knew full well that the light they had seen was the glare of no burning ranch, but a beacon far up in the hills--a signal fire, of course. the ranch lay in a deep valley ten miles to the north-east, with high ridges intervening. in the brilliant moonlight a glare that might otherwise have been seen on the sky would pass unnoted. strong knew, deep down in his heart, that whatever the fate of the family, the ranch was a thing of the past, but willett's words were soothing. it was better to let them go unquestioned. then out came the general on the landing above, his towzled gray poll poking over the rail. "what is it, strong? i'll be down quick as i can half dress." indeed, he was losing no instant of time, though it cost him some items of toilet. with his feet in "flip-flaps," his legs in loose linen trousers, and buttoning a sack coat over his nightgown, the veteran was already shuffling downstairs. "run back to your room, dear," he said, as he passed his little girl. "you shall know everything presently," and then in a moment was out in the free air of heaven, the two young officers with him. briefly, cautiously, the adjutant murmured the dago's story, adding his fear as to its truth. blankly archer looked at them an instant, aghast, appalled, as well he might be, and for the moment unable or unwilling to trust himself to speak. there had been no time, he said, to souse his head in the big basin of cool water his wife would have given him. he was still heated, flushed, suddenly roused from heavy slumber, and by no means at his best. strong knew just how to act in the premises and would have given him time to recover, but there was willett, alert and insistent,--willett who represented the commanding general, and whose words carried weight--willett who was quick to seize the opportunity and to say: "this is just in line with what we thought at headquarters, sir, and the quicker i can get to the spot the better. with your consent, general, i'll push out at once with the scouts, and we'll get back word to you before daylight." and even strong, loyal soul, had to admit later that the general's answer was practically "yes, yes, by all means, willett, and i'll send a troop in support," whereupon willett darted away to the adjutant's quarters to doff his natty uniform and don something older and more suitable. twenty minutes thereafter he had swung a leg over one of stannard's troop horses and spurred away down to the north-eastward slope, toward the upper ford of the stream, where dimly in the distance another horseman could be seen, with a dozen shadowy, ghost-like forms gliding along in tireless jog trot in line with him--harris and his mountain hounds, the apache scouts, already _en route_ for the scene of disaster. bentley, stannard and turner, standing at the edge of the bluff, with fourscore soldiers clustered about them, while others had gone with dago to hear again his tale, gazed thoughtfully after the disappearing shadows and then at each other. "humph!" said stannard, in words meant for his fellows, but in tones that went farther. "there'll be conflict of authority now or _i'm_ a duffer!" ten minutes they stood and watched; then came the orderly with the general's compliments, and he'd be glad to see captain stannard at once. "that means you're going, stan," said the surgeon. "i suppose he'll send my assistant with you." they found the commanding officer on the porch of his quarters, very grave and quiet now, perfectly calm and self-possessed. the dago had squatted at the edge of the steps, his face bowed in his hands, shivering as though from cold. muñoz slouched near by, eying him in aggressive contempt. several sergeants, with many of the men, were grouped at respectful distance, eager and waiting the word. strong was with the ladies, for mrs. stannard had dressed hurriedly and come over, and between them the two elders were gently striving to console or encourage lilian, who had been quite overcome by the particulars as translated by muñoz. the dago claimed that from his pallet, under the "linter" of the corral, he had been roused by the sudden yell at the ranch, followed by swift shooting, screams and cries of mrs. bennett and the children, the outburst of flame, and then he saw them, the indians, coming for him, and he sprang on the best horse and lashed him all the way to the post. stannard came at the moment, solid, stocky, and reliable--a man it was a comfort to look at in moments of peril or excitement, and such moments were frequent in the old days of the frontier. silently he saluted, stood before the commander and received his brief orders--mount the troop, follow the scouts, and if it should appear that mrs. bennett and the children had been carried off by the indians, to pursue and do his best to recapture. rations would follow by mule train. stannard had just one question to ask. "shall i call on mr. harris or mr. willett for scouts, sir?" and even then it was noted that he named harris first. "why--on mr. harris. he is in command." "very good, sir," said stannard, and turned on his heel. mrs. stannard, hastily kissing lilian's pale and tear-wet cheek, started to follow, but through the little knots of soldiery a strange figure came forcing a way, a lithe apache on resentful mule--'tonio, already back from the front, a little folded paper in his hand. lashing the obstinate brute he bestrode, 'tonio dove straight at the general, and all men waited to learn the tidings. hastily archer opened the paper, glanced it over in the moonlight, looked up, and nodded to stannard. "willett says from round the point they can see two more signal fires toward the north-east, just the way to the apache mohaves!" then came a dramatic incident. sitting his saddle mule like a chief of the sioux, 'tonio straightened to his full height, his strong face gleaming in the brilliant, silvery sheen, his bare right arm, with clinching fist uplifted, and in a voice that rang out like a clarion on the hushed and breathless night, shouted his response for his people: "apache mohave! no! _no!_ no!" chapter vi. barely a mile away to the north-east of the site of old camp almy a ridge of rock and shale stretches down from the foothills of the black mesa and shuts off all view of the rugged, and ofttimes jagged, landscape beyond--all save the peaks and precipitous cliffs of the mogollon, and some of the pine-crested heights that hem the east fork. time was, toward the fag end of the civil war, when the volunteers from the "coast" kept a lookout on the point, a practice that yielded more scalps to the indians than security to the inmates. the system, therefore, fell into disuse, and the post became unpopular because of the mutilated condition in which the pickets were twice found by the relief, and the amount of reliable information received from the point never quite paid for the cost. with the disappearance of the tontos, who were not such fools as their spanish name implied, the practice of stationing outlying sentries was dropped. the tontos seemed to have abandoned the valley to their distant cousins, the apache-mohaves, whose presence there, in small, itinerant parties, was objected to less by the few scattered settlers than by the one badgered agent at the distant reservation. this, at least, was the case at first. bennett and sowerby, from above camp almy, and two others from below, found them friendly and peaceable. but presently complaints were heard from settlers over at mcdowell, in the verde valley to the west, and other settlers away up the verde toward camp sandy. then sowerby swore his stock was run off, and bennett presently remained the only ranchman to stand up for them. the agent declared them contumacious and tricky. other whites--arizona white was then a reddish-brown--added their evil word to the official's. it was the old adage over again: "give a dog a bad name," etc., and the department commander had sent for scouts to coax them in, before despatching troops to enforce their coming, and harris had found nobody--nothing but abandoned _rancherias_ and unsavory relics. and then had come the tidings of a clash--the killing of comes flying, son of a chief, and brother to a tribal leader, and then in reprisal, probably, the burning of bennett's home and the butchery of bennett. then harris had stayed not a moment, but, acting on the understanding of the previous evening, had gone forth at once. it is well to be prompt, yet oftentimes wise to be prompted. post commanders like to be able to say in their reports, "i ordered" this, or "by my direction" that, and harris had gone at the word of alarm without other word with the general. that harris was to choose his own time was the understanding between them when they parted, almost affectingly, at night, for between the snake episode and the successive toddies the good old gentleman was quite effusive. there would have been, probably, no change in the instructions had harris started at reveille or even at dawn. but to "pull out" at midnight, with the situation changed and without another word with the commander, was something open to criticism. moreover, harris knew it. but he had two reasons, neither of which might count with a court of his peers, but were of mighty account to him. 'tonio had come to him actually ablaze with indignation. 'tonio had said his people were accused when his people were innocent. 'tonio had begged that they start at once, and he would show it was not apache-mohaves at fault. he would show who were the real raiders, and might even rescue the prisoners. so harris never hesitated. leaving a brief note in the hands of dr. bentley, he had ridden away with 'tonio and a dozen of his best, only to be overtaken a mile or so out by the man of all others he least desired to see. hal willett was the second reason harris had for wishing to get well away. if ever there came opportunity for a man to step in, and upon, another man's plans and purposes, harold willett could be relied upon to take it. harris knew him of old, knew instinctively that, if a possible thing, his classmate, ever selfish and self-seeking, would rob him of the fruits of his long service with the scouts, and would not scruple in such an emergency to take over the command. harris was right. just as the leaders rounded the huge shoulder of hillside jutting so boldly to the bank of the stream, and were eagerly pointing to the two distant flames far up in the foothills, willett came galloping to his side. "signal fires, of course!" said he. "it's just as i said, and this fellow of yours denied. they're making for the mesa. i'll send back word at once." with that he set to scribbling a note on a page of his scouting book, then again galloped forward, catching harris and 'tonio riding side by side. "tell 'tonio to take this straight to general archer," said he. then harris turned on him: "i don't recognize your right to order my scouts about, willett. i need 'tonio here." "you'll have him again in twenty minutes," was the conciliatory answer. "this is by archer's own order, harris. i've come straight from his side. otherwise i'll interfere with you as little as possible." and harris, with one look of distrust in his comrade's flushing face, turned quietly to 'tonio, said barely ten words to his second, not one to his senior, then bitterly spurred ahead. he was not the first man in the profession of arms to realize what it is to faithfully and persistently labor to develop, instruct and discipline a body of men until he and they are working in absolute accord, all the intricate parts of the human machine nicely adjusted and moving without the faintest friction, and then to find himself at the eleventh hour set to one side, a stranger to his men and a rival to himself set in his stead, and be bidden to move on as a sort of martial second fiddle, while the credit and reward go to the new first violin. nor was harris the last by any manner of means. as general archer had himself been heard to say, "one essential of military preferment is a knowledge of the game of euchre--your neighbor." couple this with utter indifference to the rights of fellow-soldiers, and a catlike capacity to work by stealth in the dark, and there is no starry altitude to which one may not aspire. harris made the same mistake older soldiers had sometimes made in higher commands, that of sticking to their own men, and duties, without keeping an eye on, and a friend at, headquarters. anomalous as it may sound, the absent are ever wrong, even when "present for duty," where they should be. if harris that night had only gone to headquarters instead of his camp; had stopped to see the general instead of starting promptly to the rescue, there would have been less to tell by way of a story. possibly a realization of this had already come over him, as angering yet unswerving, he once again overtook the eager leaders among his scouts,--lean, wiry fellows, ever gliding swiftly on in that tireless apache running walk. once there again, he kept his broncho at the trot to hold his own, and a broncho trot, after a mile or two of warming up, becomes something besides monotonous. away to the far front, the north-east, flickered the tiny blazes; guiding lights, as willett would have it; bale fires, as harris began to believe--fires set by confederates to blind the eye of the pursuit, or lure pursuers to a trap. away to the far front, seven miles now, and deep in a nook of the foothills, lay the site of bennett's ruined ranch, and thither, at top speed of his scouts, was the young leader pressing. not even a dull glow in the heavens above, or a spark on the earth beneath, could the sharp-eyed scouts discover to tell of its lonely fate. only the dago's horrified words, only the confirmative symptoms of these farther fires, had these fly-by-night rescuers to warrant their mission. the story had its probable side. peaceable as had been the apache-mohaves, the fact that a clash had occurred between them and some of the agent's forces,--a clash in which comes flying had been killed,--might readily turn the scale and send them on the war-path. if so, the first and nearest whites were apt to be the victims. if so, bennett and his beloved wife and boys might well have been murdered in their beds--or spared for a harsher fate. in any event, the first duty--the obvious one--for harris and his scouts was to reach the spot with all speed; ascertain, if possible, the fate of the ranch folk, then act as their discoveries might direct. all this harris was turning over in mind as he hurried ahead. the road, though little worn, was distinct, and now that they were out of the bottom and skirting the stony bed of a little mountain stream, quite firm and dry. six miles an hour, easily, his swarthy, half-naked fellows were making without ever "turning a hair." his own lean broncho, long trained to such work, scrambled along in that odd, short-legged trot, and harris himself, trained to perfection, hard and dry, all sinewy strength, rode easily along--he could have done almost as well afoot--at the head of his men, keeping them to their pace, yet never overdriving. but with willett the case was different. for him there had been no hard and dry scouting. it had been wet work in the columbia country. it had been "hunt-your-hole business" in the lava beds, where the hat that showed above the rocks was sure to get punctured. then the month of feasting in that most lavish of cities, "'frisco, the golden," and the fortnight's voyage by sea, with further symposiums, and finally some hours of frontier hospitality at prescott and at almy, all had combined to spoil his condition, and before he had ridden forty minutes hal willett found himself blown and shaken. he lagged behind to regain breath, then galloped forward to lose it. he knew that harris had left him in anger and indignation not unjustifiable. he knew he had not full warrant for his authority. he knew harris was entitled to unhampered command, and that he had hampered. yet, now, believing that harris was pushing swiftly ahead as much to "shake" him as to reach the scene, he again dug spurs to his laboring troop horse, and came sputtering over the loose stones to the young leader's side. "harris," he puffed, "this is no way to work your men. they'll be blown when you get there, and of no earthly use." "you don't know them," answered harris, with exasperating calm, and without so much as a symptom of slowing up. "but--i know how it affects--me,--and i'm no novice at scouting." "you are to--this sort of thing, anyhow," was the uncompromising answer, and then with a cool, comprehensive glance that seemed to take in the entire man, he added, "you're out of training, willett--the one thing a man has to watch out for in apache work. better let me leave a couple of men with you, and come on easily. you won't be very far behind us." and then, as bad luck would have it, 'tonio came cantering up from the rear, his big, lop-eared mule protesting to the last, and 'tonio bore a little folded paper. he was not versed in cavalry etiquette, this chieftain of the frontier, nor had he learned to read writing as he did men. the two officers at the moment were side by side, willett on the right, his charger plunging and sweating with back set ears and distended nostrils; harris on the left, his broncho jogging steadily, sturdily on, showing no symptom of weariness. "to gran capitan--willett" were the general's words, it seems, when he sent 'tonio on his way with the note, but in 'tonio's eyes harris was "gran capitan," even though hailed at times as "_capitan chiquito_," and to harris's left 'tonio urged his mount and silently held forth the missive. there was never any question thereafter that it was meant for the other. archer had his reasons. willett was there as the aid, the representative, of the department commander, charged with an important duty. willett had come to him, volunteered to go with the scouts, and he had bidden him god speed. willett was the senior in rank as first lieutenant, promotions in the "lost and strayed" having been livelier than in the "light dragoons." moreover, willett had shown proper deference to him, the post commander, whereas, harris, said he, in his first impulsive, self-excusing mood, even though warranted in going, had gone without a word. sensitive and proud, the veteran of many fights and many sorrows, ruefully bethinking himself of harris's abstinence and his own conviviality, saw fit to imagine harris guilty of an intentional slight. like noble old newcombe, the gentlest and humblest-minded of men, "he was furious if anybody took a liberty with him," and in his sudden rousing and wrath this was what he thought harris had done. it was to humble him rather than to exalt willett that he ignored the one and hailed the other. "to gran capitan willett," he said, and 'tonio handed the missive to the one "gran capitan" he knew and served and loved. and harris, never noting the pencil scrawl upon the back, proceeded to tear it open, when willett stretched forth his hand: "i think you will find that is for me, harris--an answer to what i wrote," and his words had the distinct ring of authority. harris flushed, even in the moonlight; turned it over, read the unsteady characters, "lieutenant willett, a.d.c.," surrendered it without a word, and a second time drove ahead, while willett reined up to read. it was ten minutes before willett again overtook the pale-faced young officer at the front. harris's mouth looked like a rigid gash, and his battered felt was pulled down over a deep-lined forehead, as with stern eyes he turned his head, but never his shoulder, in answer to his classmate's imperative call. "rein in now, and listen to this, harris. if you must have it, it's--by order." and harris slowly checked his horse; silently inclined an ear. "lieutenant willett, it says," began the senior, with the sweat rolling into his eyes, "your despatch received. the fires you mention indicate further hostile parties, 'tonio insists not mohaves. if not, must be tontos. therefore, move with caution. stannard just saddling. use your discretion as to waiting for him. "archer, commanding post." then willett turned. he had begun to refold, but ceased, and held it forth. "read it yourself, if you like." harris's gauntlet came up in protest. he bit his lip hard, but said no word. the scouts were but white specks in the distance now. there was sudden cry, low, like that of the night-bird, and 'tonio dug his moccasined heels in his lop-eared charger's ribs and drove out to the front, then turned in saddle, looked back at his chief and pointed. both officers instantly followed. the trail led over a low spur, and the scouts had halted and were squatting at the crest. straightway before them, possibly four miles, a dull red glow lay in the midst of the moonlight, with occasional tongues of lurid flame lazily lapping at some smouldering upright. the fire had spent its force; gorged itself on its prey and was sinking to sleep. "come on then!" said harris, speaking for the first time impetuously. "if you can't stand the pace let us shove ahead!" "and run slap into ambush? no. my orders are to move with caution. we've got to _feel_ our way now. hold your hand, harris--and your men." barely fifty minutes had they been in coming these six miles from almy. barely fifty minutes thereafter, and with less than three miles more to their credit, halted for cautious reconnaissance, with the ruined ranch still a long mile away, there came sound of feeble hail from a patch of willows down by the brookside, and presently, in fearful plight, they dragged forth bennett's colored man-of-all-work, unharmed, but half dead with terror. yes, indians had suddenly come in the early evening. first warning was from the maricopa boy who came running from the spring, saying they had killed his brother. bennett grabbed his gun and ran out to see, telling him, rusty, to take a rifle and hurry with mrs. bennett and the children and hide in the willows down the creek. they heard firing and yelling, and 'twas all rusty could do, he said, to keep mrs. bennett from running back to her husband, and the children from screaming aloud, but he made them go with him still farther down the valley, down to that patch yonder, and there they lay in hiding while the indians burned the ranch, and seemed hunting everywhere for them, and at last things quieted down, but mrs. bennett was wild and crazy and crying to go back and find her husband, dead or alive, and he had to hold her. just a few minutes ago, not fifteen minutes before, she broke away, and he found it was no use trying. she started to run back, telling him to save her boys. she kissed them both and went, and it wasn't five minutes after that before he heard her scream awfully, and the boys began to cry again, and then--then he saw two indians coming running, and he knew they'd got her and were coming for the children, so what could he do but run and save himself? "lead on where you left them!" ordered harris instantly, never waiting for willett to speak. ten minutes brought them to the farther shelter, a dense little willow copse, empty and deserted. "come on to the ranch," was the next order, but there willett interposed. "carefully now. let your scouts open out and feel the way," he ordered, and harris would not hear. harris had thrown himself from his horse to lead the search. he never stopped to remount. he ran like a deer up the stony creek bed until he regained the road, his scouts following pell-mell, and in ten minutes more they found him bending over the lifeless body of brave, sturdy jack bennett, weltering in his blood at the side of the spring house, and with no sign of the hapless, helpless wife and mother anywhere. "by god, hal willett!" cried harris, as he sprang to his feet, all dignity and deliberation thrown to the winds. "you may 'proceed with caution' all you damned please. 'tonio and i go after that poor woman and her children. we'd have saved them _here_ if it hadn't been for you!" chapter vii. the dawn was breaking in sickly pallor over the jagged scarp of the mesa, bounding the chaotic labyrinth of bowlders, crag and cañon beneath. far up the rugged valley, jutting from the faded fringe of pine, juniper and scrub oak that bearded the mogollon, a solitary butte stood like sentry against the cloudless sky, its lofty crown of rock just faintly signalling the still distant coming of the heralds of the god of day. here in the gloomy depths of the basin, and at the banks of the murmuring stream, all was still silence and despond. the smouldering ruins of bennett's cosey home lay a mass of dull red coal, with smoke wreaths sailing idly aloft from charred beam or roof-tree. the mangled body of the stout frontiersman had been gathered into a trooper's blanket and lay there near the pathetic ruin of the house he had so hopefully builded, so bravely defended, for the wife and little ones. half a dozen indian scouts, silent and dejected, were squatting inert about the little garden, irrigated from the main _acequia_, where the heavy-headed poppies, many of them, were still nodding on their stalks, while others lay crushed and trampled. a little distance away down the stream a little troop of cavalry, in most business-like uniform, had dismounted and was watering some fifty thirsty horses, while its stocky commander, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his riding breeches, his slouch hat pulled down to his brows, his booted foot kicking viciously at a clump of cactus, was listening impatiently to the words of the young aide-de-camp, who seemed far less at ease than when he trod the boards of the general's quarters some six hours earlier in the night. "do i understand you then," and stannard spoke with a certain asperity, "that mr. harris, with just two or three scouts, has gone out hunting on his own hook?--that even 'tonio isn't with him?" "he claimed the right to go, and i told him to take half a dozen--half a score of the scouts, if need be, and leave the other half with me, only i drew the line at 'tonio. i needed him here. he is the only indian in the lot who understands enough english to catch my meaning and to translate. i could let harris go, or 'tonio, separately, but not both together. that left me powerless. oh, yes, he objected. he said 'tonio had always been his right bower--always had worked with him and for him. but 'tonio, not harris, is the chief of scouts, the man they look to and obey. now he and most of his followers are here to do your bidding. if harris had been allowed his way, i'd have been probably alone." stannard sniffed. "which way'd he go?" he bluntly asked. "i'm not sure. we were going to trail the moment it was light enough to see. one thing is certain, they did not start in the direction of the signals, though they may have veered off that way. 'tonio is the only one who claims to know anything. 'tonio says 'apache tonto' was the murderer, not apache-mohave, and 'tonio's in the sulks. look at him!" stannard glanced an instant toward the gaunt figure of the apache, standing dejectedly apart from all others and gazing fixedly toward the dawn. the light was stronger now. the red was in the orient sky. the distant butte was all aglow with the radiance of the rising yet invisible sun. stannard seemed more concerned in the whereabouts of mr. harris than in the worries of mr. willett. again he returned to his questions. "well, did harris give any inkling of his purpose--whether he meant to follow the trail till he found captives and captors, or only till he found where it probably led to? i've got to act, and lose no time. sergeant, tell the men to hurry with their coffee," he called, to the brown-eyed, dark-featured soldier who was coming forward at the moment. a salute was the only answer, as the sergeant turned about in his tracks and signalled to the boy trumpeter, holding his own and the captain's horse. another moment and stannard was in saddle. "harris didn't say," was the guarded answer. "you know, i suppose, that he left the post without consulting the general, and he took it much amiss that, in compliance with the general's orders, i exercised certain authority after reaching him. now you are here to take entire charge, i turn over the whole business to you. there's what's left of the scouts; there's what's left of the ranch; and there," with a glance at the blanket-shrouded form, "is what's left of the bennetts. i'll jog back to the post by and by." "oh, then you're not going on with us?" said stannard, relieved in mind, he hardly knew why. "no, sir, i only rode out here to investigate and report. we, of course, hoped to save _some_thing." "pity you hadn't spared yourself and not spoiled the pie," thought stannard as he looked about him over the scene of desolation. the men were snapping their tin mugs and the refilled canteens to the saddle rings. the captain rode over to 'tonio, a kindly light in his blue-gray eyes. he whipped off the right gauntlet and held forth his hand. "no apache-mohave!" said he stoutly. "apache tonto. si! now catch 'em teniente harris." poor lingo that "pidgin" indian of the desert and the long ago, but it served its purpose. 'tonio grasped the proffered hand, a grateful gleam in his black eyes; warned with the other hand the captain's charger from certain tracks he had been jealously guarding; then pointed eagerly, here, there, in half a dozen places, where footprints were still unmarred in the powdery dust. "si--si--apache tonto!" and the long, skinny finger darted, close to the ground, from one print to the other. "no apache-mohave! no!" "then come! mount!" called stannard. "leave a corporal and four men here as guard until the ambulance gets out from the post," he added, to the first sergeant. "mount the troop, soon's you're ready. i'm going ahead with 'tonio and the scouts. _ugashi_, 'tonio! good-by, mr. willett. take one of the men, if you need an orderly," he shouted back, over a flannel-shirted shoulder, innocent of badge or strap of any kind. in point of dress or equipment there was absolutely no difference between the captain of cavalry and his fifty men. a moment later, spreading out over the low ground like so many hounds throwing off for a scent, 'tonio and his scouts were trotting away toward a dip in the rugged heights to the north-east, for thither, the moment it was light enough even faintly to see, the keen eyes of the apaches had trailed the fugitives, and now with bounding feet they followed the sign, tonio foremost, his mount discarded. afoot, like his fellows, and bending low, pointing every now and then to half turned pebble, to broken twig or bruised weed, he drove ever eagerly forward, the stolid bearing of the indian giving way with each successive minute to unusual, though repressed excitement. thrice he signalled to stannard and pointed to the crushed and beaten sand--to toe or heel or sole marks to which the caucasian would have attached but faint importance had not the aborigine proclaimed rejoicefully "apache-mohave!" whereat stannard shook his head and set his teeth and felt his choler rising. "thought you swore apache _tonto_ awhile ago," said stannard wrathfully. "now you're saying apache _mohave_!" "si! si! apache tonto--kill--shoot. apache-mohave good indian. look, see, _carry_," and with hands and arms in eager gesture he strove to illustrate. could he mean that they who killed bennett were hostile tontos, and that these who bore the poor widowed creature were of the mohave blood? if so, why should 'tonio seem really to rejoice? had he not strenuously denied that his people took any part in the outrage? was he not now insisting that they were active in bearing her away--probably to captivity and a fate too horrible? stannard, riding close at his heels, his men still following in loose skirmish order until they should reach the ravine, studied him with varying emotion. harris had certainly betrayed a fear that 'tonio was but half-hearted in the matter of scouting after apache-mohaves. now the suspected scout was trailing for all he was worth, with the pertinacity of the bloodhound. broad daylight again, and the sun peering down from the crest of the great mesa, and the morning growing hot, and some new hands already pulling eagerly at the canteens, despite their older comrades' warning. and still the advance went relentlessly on. they were climbing a rugged, stony ravine now, with bare shoulders of bluff overhanging in places, and presently, from a projecting ledge, stannard was able to look back over the rude landscape of the lowlands. there to the west, stretching north and south, was the long, pine-crested bulwark of the mazatzal, the deep, ragged rift of dead man's cañon toward the upper end. winding away southward, in the midst of the broad valley, the stream shone like burnished silver in the shallow reaches, or sparkled over rocky beds. far to the south-west, the dull, dun-colored roofs and walls of the post could barely be discerned, even with the powerful binocular, against the brown barren of the low "bench" whereon it lay. only the white lance of the flagstaff, and the glint of tin about the chimneys, betrayed its position. from north to far south-east ran the palisade-like crest of the black mesa, while the sierra ancha bound the basin firmly at the southward side. deep in the ravines of the foothills, where little torrents frothed and tumbled in the spring tide, scant, thread-like rivulets came trickling now to join the gentle flood of the lower tonto and the east fork of the verde, and, at one or two points along the mesa, signal smokes were still puffing into the breathless air. below them, possibly six miles away, yet looking almost within long rifle-shot, the square outline of the abandoned corral, the blackened ruin of the ranch, with the adjacent patches, irrigated, tilled, carefully tended--all bennett's hard and hopeful toil gone for nothing--told their incontrovertible tale of savage hate and treachery. it was a sorry ending this, a wretched reward for the years of saving, self-denial and steadfast labor of him who had lived so long at amity among these children of the mountain and desert, giving them often of his food and raiment, asking only the right to build up a little lodge in this waste land of the world, where he need owe no man anything, yet have home and comfort and competence for those he loved, and a welcome for the wayfarer who should seek shelter at his door. it was the old, old story of many a pioneer and settler, worn so threadbare at the campfires of the cavalry that rough troopers wondered why it was that white men dared so much to win so little. yet, through just such hardships, loneliness and peril our west was won, and they who own it now have little thought for those who gave it them. stannard sighed as he closed his signal glass and turned again to the duty in hand. "what's the trouble?" he bluntly asked his faithful sergeant; lieutenants at the moment he had none. "check, sir. all rock and half a dozen gullies. scouts are trying three of them. don't seem to know which way they went from here. even a mule shoe makes no print." the troop, following its leader's example, without sound or signal had dismounted, and stood in long column of files adown the ravine. 'tonio and his fellow-scouts had disappeared somewhere in the stony labyrinth ahead. up this way, before the dawn, the dusky band must have led or driven their captives, two of bennett's mules having been pressed into service. up this way, not an hour behind them, must have followed harris and his handful of allies, four indians in all. up this way, swift and unerring thus far, 'tonio, backed by half a dozen half-naked young braves, had guided the cavalry, and never before, so said old farrier haney, who had 'listed in the troop at prescott, and had served here with the previous regiment in '69--never before had he known 'tonio so excited, so vehement. beyond all question, 'tonio's heart was in the chase to-day. [illustration: scrambling down the adjacent slope every man for himself. page 81] but this delay was most vexatious. every moment lost to the pursuit was more than a minute gained by the pursued. lighter by far and trained to mountain climbing, the apache covers ground with agility almost goatlike. it was long after seven, said stannard's watch, and not a glimpse had they caught of indian other than their own. it was just half past the hour, and stannard with an impatient snap of the watch-case was about thrusting it back in his pocket, when, far to the front, reëchoing, resounding among the rocks, two shots sounded in quick succession, followed in sudden sputter by half a dozen more. "turn your horses over to number four, men!" shouted stannard. "sergeant schreiber, remain in charge. the rest of you come on." scrambling up a rocky hillside, he led on to the divide before him--the crest between two steep ravines--his men coming pell-mell and panting after, every now and then dislodging a stone and sending it clattering to the depths below. two hundred yards ahead, at a sharp, angular point, one of the yuma scouts stood frantically waving his hand, and thither stannard turned his ponderous way. no lightweight he, and the pace and climb began to tell. eager young soldiers were at his heels, but grim old stauffer, the first sergeant, growled his orders not to crowd; hearing which their captain half turned with something like a grin: "tumble ahead if you want to," was all he said, and tumble they did, for the firing was sharp and fierce and close at hand, augmented on a sudden as 'tonio's little party reached the scene and swelled the clamor with their springfields. another moment and, springing from rock to rock, spreading out to the right and left as they came in view of a little fastness along the face of a cliff, the troopers went scrambling down the adjacent slope and, every man for himself, opened on what could be seen of the foe. some men, possibly, never knew what they were firing at, but the big-barrelled sharp's carbine made a glorious chorus to the sputtering fire of the scouts. five hundred yards away, bending double, dodging from bowlder to bowlder, several swarthy indians could be seen in full flight, apparently. then old 'tonio threw up a hand from across the stony chasm, signalled to his friends to cease, sprang over a low barrier of rock, disappeared one moment from view, then a few yards farther signalled "come on." and on they went and came presently upon an excited, jabbering group at a little cleft in the hillside. a mule lay kicking in death agony down the slope. another lay dead among the bowlders. an apache warrior, face downward in a pool of blood, was sprawled in front of the cleft, and presently, from the cavelike entrance, came lieutenant harris and 'tonio, bearing between them the form of an unconscious woman, and stannard, as he came panting to the spot, ordering everybody to fall back and give her air, and somebody to bring a canteen, slapped harris a hearty whack on the shoulder, whereat that silent young officer suddenly wilted and dropped like a log, and not until then was it seen he was shot--that his sleeve and shirt were dripping with blood. and just about that hour, less than thirty miles away, based on lieutenant willett's verbal report, the commanding officer of camp almy was writing a despatch to go by swift courier to department head-quarters--a report which closed with these words: "the presence at this juncture of lieutenant willett, aide-de-camp to the department commander, was of great value and importance, and i trust that his decision to remain may meet approval. on the other hand, it is with regret that i am constrained to express my disapproval of the action of lieutenant harris, commanding scouts, who left the post with his men immediately after the alarm and without conference with me; was only overtaken by lieutenant willett after going several miles, and, when informed of my instructions, practically refused to be guided by them. persuading a few of the scouts to follow him, he left the detachment, in spite of lieutenant willett's remonstrance, and started in pursuit of the marauders. as these must largely outnumber him, it is not only impossible that he should rescue the captives, but more than probable he has paid for his rashness with his life." chapter viii. "the gray fox" had but just received his promotion to the star, jumping every colonel in the army. he had been doing mighty work among the recalcitrant apaches at a time when other commanders were having hard luck in their respective fields--one, indeed, forfeiting his own honored and valued life through heeding the sophistries of the peace commissioners rather than the appeals of officers and men who long had known the modocs. for long years the warriors of the arizona deserts and mountains had bidden defiance to the methods of department commanders who fought them from their desks at drum barracks, or the occidental, but george crook came from years of successful campaigning after other tribes, and in person led his troopers to the scene of action. one after another the heads of noted chiefs were bowed, or laid, at his feet. the pioneers, the settlers, the ranchmen and miners took heart and hope again, and the marauders to the mountains. then came "our friends the enemy," from the far east, with petition and prayer. suspension of hostilities, on part of the troops at least, was ordered, while most excellently pious emissaries arrived inviting the warriors to come in, to be reasoned with, taught the error of their ways and persuaded to promise to be good. the astute apache had no objection to such proceedings. he was certainly willing to have the soldier quit fighting, just as willing to come and hear exhortation and prayer, when coupled with presents and plenty to eat; most indians would be. so the new general stepped aside, as ordered, and left the elders a fair field. "the gray fox" went hunting bear and deer, and while the apache chieftains went down to the gila to reap what they could from the lavish hands of the good and the gentle, their young men swooped on the stage roads and scattered ranches, and made hay after their own fashion while shone the sun of peace and promise. so happened it along the verde and salado that the apache came down like the wolf on the fold, and so harris had come up from the southern sierra, and 'tonio had sworn that, all signs to the contrary notwithstanding, his people were not, as the agent declared, the pillagers and pirates. "apache-mohave? _no!_ no!!" "the gray fox" had ventured to give his views to the war department, which in turn had ventured to express itself to the secretary of the interior. but let us lose no time in following further. the eastern press, and such of the eastern public as had any leisure to devote to the subject, persisted in looking upon indian affairs from the viewpoint and remoteness of boston, where once upon a time miles standish and our puritan forbears handled such matters in a manner anything but puritanical. nothing was left to the military arm of the government but temporary submission, so, as has been said, "the gray fox" went off on a hunt for bear, mountain lions, and such big game as was reported to be awaiting him toward the grand cañon to the north. an adjutant-general of the old school was left in charge of the desk and the department, and all on a sudden found that while peace and its commissioners held their sway far to the south, grim-visaged war had burst upon the northward valleys, and chaos had come again. the couriers bearing archer's report to prescott found others, similarly burdened, from the upper reservation, from camp sandy, and even from points to the west and south of department head-quarters, all telling of death and depredation. so, while the chief of staff ruefully digested these tidings at the office, the couriers proceeded to have a time in town, to the end that, when replies and instructions were in readiness to be sent out, only two of the six were in shape to take them, and archer's runner--one of the frontier scouts, half mexican, half apache--was one of the two. now, the chief of staff had been nearly three years in arizona, had served in similar capacity to predecessors of "the gray fox," and naturally thought he understood the apache, and the situation, far better than did his new commander, and the fact that he had allowed this conviction to be known had led to a degree of official friction between himself and the one aide-de-camp left that was fast verging on the personal. bright, almost invariably the companion of the general in his journeyings, was even now with him, lost in the mountains ninety miles in one direction; willett, the newly appointed aide-de-camp, was with the commander of camp almy, ninety miles away in another, while black-bearded wickham stood alone at prescott. wickham had not been consulted when willett was sent with confidential instructions to almy. wickham would have disapproved, and the chief of staff knew it. wickham _had_ to be shown archer's despatch, though the adjutant-general would gladly have concealed it, and now, in chagrin at the outcome of affairs at almy, and in consternation at the ebullition all around him, the adjutant-­general was quite at a loss what to do. wickham, if asked, would have said at once, "send for general crook," but that would be confession that he, the experienced, did not know how to handle the situation. so again he took no counsel with wickham, but issued instructions in the name of the department commander and ordered them carried out forthwith. then it transpired that only two couriers were fit to go. thereupon, the commanding officer of the one cavalry troop at the post was ordered to detail three non-commissioned officers, with a brace of troopers apiece, as bearers of despatches to date creek, wickenberg, sandy and the reservation, while sanchez, the mexican-apache mercury, was ordered to hasten back to almy by way of the mazatzal. it was then but ten a.m., and to the annoyance of the adjutant-general, sanchez shook his black mane and said something that sounded like _hasta la noche_--he wouldn't start till night. asked why, the interpreter said he feared apache tontos, and being assured by the adjutant-general that no tonto could be west of the verde, intimated his conviction of the officer's misinformation by the only sign he knew as bearing on the matter--that of the forked tongue, which called for no interpreter, as it concisely said, you lie. sanchez meant neither insult nor insolence, but the adjutant-general regarded it as both, ordered another sergeant and two men got ready at once to ride to almy, and bade the interpreter take sanchez to the post guard-house and turn him over for discipline to the officer of the day. the sergeant started forty minutes later, with his two men at his back, and just thirty-five minutes behind sanchez, who left the station on the spur of the moment, and the interpreter with a cleft weasand. it is a mistake for one man to attempt the incarceration of an armed half-blood of the indian race. sanchez started in the lead, afoot, and, in spite of his fear of tontos, kept it all the way to the mazatzal, where, as was later learned, he abandoned the paths of rectitude and the trail to almy, and joining a party of twenty young renegades, complacently watched the coming of that sergeant and detachment from behind the sheltering bowlders of dead man's cañon, and thus it happened that the orders archer had been expecting three long days and nights were destined never to get to him. it was this situation he had been puzzling over when at ten p.m. the officer of the day came in to say that new signal fires in the east were now being answered by others in the west, away over in the mazatzal, and the general went forth to the northern edge of the "bench" to have a good look at them, wishing very much he had stannard or turner or "capitan chiquito"--little harris--to help him guess their meaning. but stannard, with his sturdy troop, was still far afield, scouting the fastnesses of the mogollon in hopes still of overtaking the marauding band that had ruined bennett's ranch, murdered its owner, and borne away into the wilds two helpless little settlers for whom a half-crazed, heart-broken woman at almy was wailing night and day. turner, following another route and clew, was exploring the sierra ancha south of tonto creek, and lieutenant harris, in fever and torment, was occupying an airy room in the post surgeon's quarters, the object of bentley's ceaseless care, and of deep solicitude on part of the entire garrison. borne in the arms of stannard's men, poor young mrs. bennett, raving, had been carried back to the ruins, and thence by ambulance to the post. there now she lay with her reason almost gone, nursed by the hospital steward's wife, and visited frequently by three gentle women, whose hearts were wrung at sight of her grief. mrs. stannard sometimes spent hours in the effort to soothe and comfort her. mrs. archer was hardly less assiduous, but was beginning now to have anxieties of her own. lilian, her beloved daughter, fancy free, as the mother had reason to know, up to the time of their coming to this far-away, out-of-the-way station, seemed dangerously near the point of losing her heart to that very attractive and presentable fellow, willett, the aide-de-camp, and mrs. archer did not half like it. when the news was brought in to almy that mrs. bennett had been recaptured, and that lieutenant harris was wounded in the fight which scattered her abductors, willett was the first to mount and away to meet them. it was his orderly who came galloping back for the ambulance, and willett who, before the arrival of the surgeon, had caused to be rigged up a capital litter on which, later, by easy stages his suffering classmate was borne to the post. harris was indeed sorely hurt, so sorely that the faintest jar was agony. harris was weak and pallid from suffering when lifted to his couch in the doctor's quarters, bearing it all with closed eyes and clinching teeth, suppressing every sound. the general was there to bear a hand and speak a word of cheer, all the time wishing it were possible to overtake the courier, by that time nearly twenty-four hours on his way to prescott, that he might amend the wording of that report. he was for sending a "supplementary" that very evening, but who was there to send? sanchez was the only available post courier. the scouts were away with the cavalry. both troops were now afield. barely a dozen horses were left at the post, and every able-bodied, ambitious cavalryman was with his comrades on the trail. they who remained were the extra duty men, or the weaklings. moreover, when archer spoke of it to willett, the latter very diplomatically argued against it. wait a day and something _worth_ sending would surely turn up. two such captains as stannard and turner could not fail to accomplish something. they could be counted on to find the hostiles and punish them wherever found. moreover, as yet, there were only evil tidings to send, for so the wounding of harris would be regarded, and the recapture of poor mrs. bennett without her children would hardly compensate. there was still another thing to be considered, but even willett balked at saying this. he had said enough to induce archer to hold his hand another day at least, so why use more ammunition until he had to? two days, therefore, had gone by without news from the field column or further message to prescott. then it was easy to persuade archer that it was best to wait the return of sanchez, and, for willett, those two days, especially the long, exquisite evenings, had been full of­ sweet and thrilling interest. "i should be more with harris, i suppose you are thinking," he had said to lilian archer, "and there i would be, but--i cannot rid myself of the feeling that he would rather be alone. he always was peculiar, and i seem to worry rather than to help him." "but you were classmates," said she, "and i thought----" "classmates, yes," he answered, "but never much together. even classmates, you know, are not always intimates." "still i should think that now--here----" she began again, her hand straying listlessly over the strings of her guitar, her slender fingers trying inaudible chords. he glanced over his shoulder to where mrs. archer and mrs. stannard, fast becoming warm friends, were in chat near the open doorway. then his handsome head was lowered, and with it the deep, melodious voice. "can you not think that here, and now, i might have greater need of every moment? any hour may bring my marching orders." she drew back, just a little. this was only the evening after his return with the wounded. "you always welcome field orders," she ventured. "i always have--hitherto." the voice of mrs. archer was uplifted at this juncture, just a bit. "lilian, dear, you and mr. willett would be wise to pull your chairs this way. i've never liked that corner since 'tonio's discovery. where _is_ 'tonio, mr. willett?" "i wish i knew, mrs. archer," said willett, rising and holding forth a hand to aid miss archer to her feet--something she did not need, yet took. "he was with stannard when i left. he was with him when they rescued mrs. bennett. he was said to be all distress when he saw that harris was hit--and then he disappeared. stannard's last despatch said he had not rejoined." it was another beautiful, moonlit evening, and the post was very still. the men of archer's two infantry companies were clustered about their log barracks or wandering away by twos and threes to the trader's store on the flats. the general was pacing the parade in earnest and murmured talk with the post adjutant. bentley, the surgeon, was busy with his charges, having left harris in a fitful, feverish doze. not since the night of the calamity at bennett's had the sentries reported sign of signal fire in the hills, but this night, before the last filament of gold had died at the top of the peak, number four had caught a glimpse of a tiny blaze afar over to the east, and instantly passed the word. only half an hour it was observed, and then, away toward the south-east, an answering gleam burned for a moment against the black background of the sierras. then both went out as suddenly as they started. the general was dining at the moment, and, believing that the fires would not so soon be extinguished, the officer of the day had not at once reported them. he was at archer's door as the veteran came forth, haranguing willett, again his guest at dinner, but with anxious eyes turned at once to hear the report. "no matter what time it happens," he said, "hereafter, when signals are seen, let the guard notify me at once." and the officer retired musing over this bit of evidence that the commanding officer was growing a trifle irritable. it was soon after guard mount next day that two runners from sandy had come in, weary and hungry. "'patchie sign--_todas partes_," said the leader, after delivering his despatch. but he, too, was half apache and had squirmed through without mishap. for two hours after reading archer kept the contents to himself. the adjutant-general wished to consult him at prescott. ninety miles north-west by buckboard, through a country infested by hostile indians! it was a trip he little cared to take and leave his wife and daughter here! at noon he had had to tell them, and tell willett, who was teaching lilian a fandango he had heard on the colorado. mother and daughter looked anxiously at each other and said nothing. it was decided he should wait until night before arranging when to start. surely this night should bring news of some kind. and surely enough, at ten came the summons that took him, field-glass in hand, to the northward edge of the little mesa again. somewhere in the direction of diamond butte, almost due east, one fire was brightly blazing. over in the mazatzal to the westward there were two, and even as they stood and studied them, archer dropped his glasses at an exclamation of surprise from one of his officers, and there, gaunt and weary, yet erect and fearless, stood 'tonio. like a wraith he seemed to have blown in among them, and now patiently awaited the attention of the commander; yet, when accosted, all he would say in answer to question, for they knew not his native tongue, was "_capitan chiquito_!" so they led him to the doctor's quarters, and bentley tiptoed in to see what harris was doing. he was awake, in pain and fever, but clear-headed. "of course i'm able to see 'tonio," said he. "i _need_ to see him." whereupon shufflings were heard in the hallway without, and presently in the dim lamplight 'tonio knelt by the young chief's side, took the clutching white hand and laid it one instant on his head. to no other of their number had 'tonio ever tendered such homage. rising to his feet, he looked about him, his glittering eyes fixed one moment in mute appeal; another moment, and gloomily, they studied willett's handsome face. then he spoke, harris half haltingly explaining. it began languidly on the latter's part. it quickly changed to excitement, then to vehement life. 'tonio was telling of some sharp encounter wherein women and children had been slain, whereby the mountain tribes were all aroused, and then he had gone on to declare what indian vengeance would demand. impassioned, 'tonio threw himself at the first pause on his knees by the side of the cot whereon lay his beloved _capitan_, and it was to him he spoke. it was he who translated: "no one," said 'tonio, "should venture beyond sentry post either day or night. even now the rocks and woods about the station were full of foemen. get ready to fight them and to take care of the women and children. they mean revenge! they mean attack! renegade apaches!" said he, "all renegade! apache-mohave, no!" chapter ix. the night was still young. the conference at the surgeon's house was brief, for bentley, fearing for his patient, hustled all but 'tonio out into the open air just as soon as the indian signalled "i have spoken," which meant he would tell no more. brief as it was, the interview had sent the wounded officer's pulse uphill by twenty beats, and bentley knew what that meant. still it had to be. 'tonio brought tidings of ominous import, and the public safety demanded that his warning should be made known, and who was there to translate but harris? "if it were only chinook, now," said willett, "i could have tackled it, but, except a few signs, apache is beyond me." so while the doctor was giving sedatives to his patient, and the doctor's servant giving food to 'tonio, archer gathered his few remaining officers about him in the moonlight and discussed the situation. from 'tonio's description, the affray that had aroused the apaches far and wide had occurred three days earlier, just at dawn, among the rocky fastnesses of the mogollon, perhaps "two sleeps" to the north-east, the very direction in which stannard was scouting. but it wasn't stannard's command. 'tonio said the soldiers were from up the verde, and the scouts were hualpais, and then archer understood. between the hualpais, finest and northernmost of the arizona tribesmen, and the tonto apache there had long been feud. it was evident from 'tonio's description that a _rancheria_ of the latter had been surprised--"jumped" in the vernacular--just about dawn; that the hualpais, rushing in, rejoicing in abundant breechloaders and cartridges, had shot right and left, scattering the fugitives and slaying the stay-behinds, who, crippled by wounds or cumbered by squaws and pappooses, could not get away. the soldiers, though only a hundred yards or so behind, were slow climbers as compared with the scouts, and though the few officers and men did what they could to stop the wretched killing, a few women and children were found among the dead, and the word was going the length of the sierra, far to the south-east, and would never stop till it reached sonora and chihuahua, that the white chief had ordered his soldiers to kill, so they might as well die fighting. "if they were to concentrate now, first on stannard, and then on turner," said archer--"ambuscade them in a cañon, say--i'm afraid we'd see few of their fellows again." "or if they only knew their strength," spoke up the only captain left at the post, "and were to concentrate, say, five hundred fighting men upon us here, it's little the rest of the world would ever see of _us_." archer turned half-angrily upon the speaker. "you never yet, captain bonner, have heard of apaches attacking a garrisoned post, even though the garrison was smaller than ours, and i believe you never will. the question _i_ have to settle is how to send warning to our two field columns." for a moment there was none to offer suggestion. there were present only seven officers, all told, bentley being still with his young patient. anxious eyes were watching the little group, their white coats gleaming in the moonlight. over at the barracks a score of soldiers, slipping from their bunks, clustered at the wide-open doors and windows. over at the hospital two or three convalescents, with the steward and the nurse, sat gazing from the shaded piazza. over at the commander's quarters mrs. archer, mrs. stannard and lilian, sitting closer for comfort, murmured occasional words, but their eyes seldom quit their anxious scrutiny. to mrs. stannard it was no novel experience. to mrs. archer and her daughter, despite their longer years in the army, it was thrillingly new. in the utter silence on the line and throughout the garrison the rhythmic tramp of feet, muffled by distance, could not fail to catch their straining ears, and far over across the parade, behind the barracks, betrayed by the glint of the moonlight on sloping steel, a shadowy little detachment went striding away toward the nearest sentry post. "they are doubling the guard," said mrs. stannard. then the group at the flagstaff broke up. three officers went with the commander toward the office, others toward the company quarters. one came swiftly, purposely, toward the waiting trio. lilian knew it was willett even before they could recognize his walk and carriage. mrs. archer rose to meet him. all they yet knew was that 'tonio was in with tidings of some kind--doyle had told them that. "tell us what you can," was all she said. "the time-honored tale of indian uprising," said willett airily. "something i've heard every six weeks, i should say, since they gave me a sword." "but they've doubled the guard." "only changed it, i fancy. the general wants some few cavalrymen for a scout in the mazatzal." mrs. stannard knew better, but held her peace. the object at least was laudable, if not the lie. all three had risen now and were standing at the edge of the veranda, mrs. archer's gentle, anxious eyes following the soldierly form just vanishing within the shadows at the office, lilian's gaze fixed upon the handsome features of the young soldier before her. "'tonio brought news, did he not?" asked mrs. stannard. "'tonio had to tell _some_thing, you know, to cover his mysterious movements. 'tonio's story may be cock and bull for all we know. it is just such a yarn as i have heard told many a time and oft in the columbia basin. most indians are born liars, and 'tonio has everything to gain and nothing to lose in telling a believable whopper now. 'tonio says his people are persecuted saints, and all others perjured sinners." and just then, through the silence of the night, there rose upon the air, distant yet distinct, the prolonged, anguished, heart-broken wail of a woman in dire distress--a rachel mourning for her children, and refusing to be comforted. there was instant scraping of chairs on the hospital porch, and one or two shadows vanished within the dimly lighted doorway. "oh, poor mrs. bennett!" cried mrs. archer. "i'm going over a little while. come, lilian." "let me go with you," said mrs. stannard, ever sympathetic with young hearts and hopes. but lilian had been well trained and--went, the two wives and mothers walking arm in arm in front, the other two, the girl of eighteen, the youth of twenty-five, gradually dropping behind. the elders entered the building, following the wife of the hospital steward; the juniors paced slowly onward to the edge of the low bluff overlooking the moonlit valley, with the shining stream murmuring over its shallows in the middle distance. lilian's white hand still rested on the strong arm that drew it so closely to the soldier's side, and both were for the moment silent. he seemed strangely quiet and thoughtful, and she stood beside him now with downcast eyes and fluttering heart, for, as she would have followed her mother, he had bent his head and, almost in whisper, said: "come--one minute. it may be my last chance." and the girl in her had yielded, as what girl would not? presently he began to speak, and now his head was bowing low; his eyes, though she saw them not, were drinking in the lily-like beauty of the sweet, downcast face. one quick look she flashed at him as he began, then the long lashes swept her cheek. "i could not tell your mother the whole truth, just then," he began. "i've got to tell you something of it now. until to-night i never knew what it was to--to shrink from news of action. now--i know." she wanted to hear "why," even when her own heart was telling her. she wanted him to say, yet coquetted with her own desire. "is--it serious news?" she faltered. "so serious that stannard, or turner, or both, may be in grave danger, and there's no one to go and warn them but--me!" "you?" and up came the troubled, beautiful eyes. "yes. ask yourself who else there is. the scouts are gone. sanchez has not returned. there's but a baker's dozen of troopers and troop horses left at the post. the general needs to send a little party to explore the mazatzal. 'tonio can't be trusted. harris has--practically--put himself out of it. don't you know me well enough to know--i've got to go?" she was only just eighteen. she had lived her innocent life at that fond mother's side. she had read of knightly deeds in many an hour, and her heroes were such as ivanhoe and william wallace, bayard and philip sidney, the black prince and henry of the snow-white plume. four days agone her heart had first stood still, then thrilled with girlish admiration when they told her how harris had met his serious wound, and, for just that day, that soldierly young trooper was the centre of her stage. then willett returned, with a different version, and other things to murmur to her listening ears. then willett had been at leisure two--three--long days, and, save that mournful tragedy at the ranch, casting its spell over the entire post, sufficient in itself to strike terror to a girlish soul, to inspire it to seek strength and protection of the stronger arm, what else was there to occupy the heart of a young maid here at sun-baked, mud-colored, monotonous old almy? the one thing that would transform a desert into paradise had blossomed in her fair, innocent, girlish bosom, and he who had marked the symptoms many a time knew that the pretty bird was fluttering to his hand. the one precaution needful was--no sudden shock--no word or deed to bring rude awakening. but even now she stood, trembling a bit, trying _not_ to believe that he must leave the post--must leave her, and on so dangerous a mission. she was silent because she knew not what to say, yet knew that what he had said almost turned her cold with dread. he saw the hesitancy, and struck again: "must go--to-night." "oh, mr. willett!" and now the little face, uplifted suddenly, was piteous as he could wish. it fell again for shame at her self-betrayal, for sheer helplessness and dismay, for the sudden realization of what the long days now would be without him, for what life might be if he never came back. with all her pride and strength and maidenly reserve she was struggling hard to fight back the sob that was rising to her throat, the tears that came welling to her eyes, but he _would_ have the tribute of both, and murmured again: "lilian, little girl, don't you _know_ why i cannot bear to go--just yet?" and then, shaking from head to foot, she bowed her face upon her hands, and willett's arms were around her in the instant, and after one little struggle, she nestled in a moment, sobbing, on his heart. she did not even see the sentry coming slowly up the path, and when girl or woman is blind to all about her but just one man, her love is overwhelming. it was he who whispered word of warning, as his lips pressed their kisses on her soft and wavy hair. it was he who calmly hailed the guardian of the night, asking if further sign had been seen, adding, "runners may well be coming in to-night, just as did 'tonio." it was he who promptly, cordially answered mrs. archer, calling lilian from the angle of the hospital, kneeling instantly as though to fasten a loosened bootlace. and then, as he presently led his silent captive back toward the parade, talked laughingly of the sentry's broken english, imitating so well the accent of the rhineland. "no word of this just yet," he murmured, ere they reached the general's door, and saw that veteran hospitably awaiting them. "it is so sudden, so sweet a surprise. come what may now, i shall not go until i have seen _you_ again. what, general? sangaree? i'd like it above all things!" two horsemen came trotting across the parade, threw themselves from saddle, and one stepped swiftly to the group, his hand at the hat brim in salute. "well, sergeant, you _have_ been prompt!" the general was saying. "you have your letter for captain turner?--and woodrow is to follow captain stannard? good again! do most of your trailing by night. the apaches are cowards in the dark, and you can't miss the trail. god be with you, my men! your names go to general crook in my first report!" another moment and they were away, and two more had taken their place--two who waited while mrs. stannard pencilled a few hurried words to her "luce," while lilian, with a world of rapture, thanksgiving and rejoicing in her heart, was striving to regain self-control, and avoid her mother's eye, a thing she never before had done, nor would she now be doing but for that splendid, knightly, heroic, self-poised, soldierly fellow, standing so commandingly, gracefully there, conferring one minute with her soldier father, and the next--helping mrs. archer to more small talk and sangaree. chapter x. the night had gone by without alarm. no further signals were seen. no runners came in. poor mrs. bennett, under the influence of some soothing medicine, had fallen asleep. the doctor, coming in late from a visit to the hospital, found harris still wakeful, but not so feverish, and 'tonio, worn and wearied, stretched on a navajo blanket, seemed sleeping soundly on the side piazza, just without the door. the general and willett had sat and smoked, with an occasional toddy, until after the midnight call of the sentries, the former still expectant of the return of sanchez; the latter pondering in mind certain theories of wickham as to the apache situation, to which at first he had paid little heed. if wickham were right, then sanchez might never have reached prescott. if so, the general need never have to amend that report. and that the matter troubled archer more than a little willett was not too pleased to see. moreover, it was evident that not only bentley, the surgeon, but strong, the young adjutant, bucketts, the veteran cavalry subaltern doing duty as post quartermaster, and the three company officers of archer's regiment stationed at almy--all were determined to consider harris decidedly in the light of the hero of the recent episode. it was a matter willett would not discuss with them, nor, when they somewhat pointedly referred to harris and his part in the affair, was it willett's policy to say aught in deprecation. as "the representative of the commanding general" temporarily at the post, and observing the condition of affairs, it was his proper function to give all men his ear and none his tongue, to hear everything and say nothing. but the adjutant knew, and had not been able to keep entirely to himself, the fact that sanchez was the bearer of a report adverse to lieutenant harris--that no modification thereof had been prepared--even after harris was brought in dangerously wounded, the result of his daring effort to rescue an unfortunate woman from a fearful fate. the adjutant had gone so far as to hint to that much-loved lieutenant-colonel of infantry, brevet brigadier-general archer, that he should be glad to write at his dictation a report setting harris right, as surely as the other had set him wrong, and for the first time strong found his commanding officer petulant and testy. it was exactly what archer himself thought it his duty to do, yet he was annoyed that any one else should think so. moreover, he had taken counsel with willett, and willett had said that he would be the last man to deny a classmate and comrade any honor justly his due, nor would he stand in the way of general archer's writing anything he saw fit, _but_, as the officer present on the spot and cognizant of all the circumstances connected with harris's going, _he_ had yet a report to make to the department commander. "frankly, general," said he, "i do not wish to say what i know unless i have to--and your changing your report might make it necessary." this had occurred the night before 'tonio's coming, and now, in the silence of midnight, as the two sat smoking on the veranda, while lilian lay in her little white room listening in wordless rapture, in sweet unrest, to the murmurous sound of the deep voice that had enthralled her senses, while mrs. archer, wife and mother, slept the sleep of the just and the wearied, the old general turned again to that subject that weighed so heavily on his heart and soul. "by heaven, willett," he said, "here it is midnight and no sanchez. if he isn't in by mail-time to-morrow i'll have to send a party--or else a courier--to prescott." "does the mail usually reach you sunday, sir?" "hasn't failed once since my coming! they send it by way of mcdowell, over on the verde. if sanchez isn't here, or the mail either, i'll know that 'tonio was right, that we're hemmed in, and that they have killed our messengers. and they are expecting to hear from me at head-quarters, and probably wondering at my silence. another thing to be explained." "another?" said willett. "another. of course i must straighten out that matter about harris. i own i sent it under wrong im--impressions. i thought at first he had ignored my authority, but that was unjust. the more i think of it, the more i blame myself." "then--how you must blame _me_!" "well--no! you doubtless feel that he did ignore you and your authority, though i own it wasn't my intention that you should assume _command_ over him. you are both young and you perhaps judge more sharply than i, but i've learned to know the fallibility of human judgment. i've suffered too much from it myself, and the fact stares me in the face that harris knew just what ought to be done, and went and did it. he rescued that poor creature at the risk of his life, and he--deserves the credit of it." willett was silent a moment. he seemed reluctant to speak. finally and slowly he said: "general archer, it is an ungracious thing to pull down another man's reputation, especially when, as in this case, harris and i are classmates and i, at least, am _his_ friend. and, therefore, i still prefer to say nothing. i was in hopes that captain stannard and his fellows might be back by this time, with the bennett boys for one thing, and with--the truth for another." "what truth?" demanded archer. "the real truth--as i look upon it--the real credit of that rescue, you will find, sir, belongs to stannard and his troop, with such little aid as they may have received from those who advised and guided them--the scouts. _but_ for stannard the hostiles would have gotten away, not only with mrs. bennett, but with harris. harris made a hare-brained attempt to rescue her single-handed. he only succeeded in running his own neck into a noose. your wisdom, and god's mercy, sent stannard just in the nick of time, and there's the whole situation in a nut shell." for a moment archer was silent. who does not like to hear praise of his wisdom, especially when self-inclined to doubt it? "but the doctor tells me harris had the indians on the run before ever stannard was sighted--that he and his handful of scouts alone attacked, defeated and drove them, that his scouts were chasing them and were mistaken themselves for hostiles, and were fired at by stannard's men at long range." "yes," said willett, with calm deliberation. "that is just the story i should expect harris to tell." and sore at heart, and far from satisfied, the general suggested a nightcap, and willett presently left him, though not, as it subsequently transpired, for the adjutant's quarters and for bed. it was late the following day before his next appearance near the archers. sunday morning had come, as peaceful and serene as any that ever broke on new england village, and sunday noon, hot and still, and many an hour since early sun up anxious eyes had scanned the old mcdowell trail, visible in places many a mile before it disappeared among the foothills of the mazatzal, but not a whiff of dust rewarded the eager watchers. archer's binocular hung at the south-west pillar of the porch, and another swung at the northward veranda of the old log hospital. the road to dead man's cañon wound along the west bank of the stream, sometimes fording it for a short cut, and that road, the one by which sanchez should have come, was watched wellnigh as closely as the other. nothing up to luncheon time had been seen or heard of human being moving without the limits of the post; nothing by lilian archer of her gallant of the night before. in times of such anxiety men gather and compare notes. the guard had been strengthened during the night, and its members sat long in the moonlight, chatting in low tone. the officer of the day, making the rounds toward two o'clock, noted that the lights were still burning at the store, and, sauntering thither, found a game going on in the common room--dago seeking solace from his sorrows in limited monte with three or four employés and packers, while in the officers' room was still another, with only one officer present and participating. to captain bonner's surprise lieutenant willett, aide-de-camp, was "sitting in" with bill craney, the trader, craney's brother-in-law and partner, mr. watts, craney's bookkeeper, mr. case, a man of fair education and infirm character who had never, it was said, succeeded in holding any other position as long as six months. here, as craney admitted, he hadn't enough to occupy him three weeks out of the four, and, so long as he could tend to that much, he was welcome to "tank up" when he pleased. that clerk had been a gentleman, he said, and behaved himself like one now, even when he was drunk. the officers treated him with much consideration, but to no liquor. willett, knowing nothing of his past, had been doing the opposite, and mr. case's monthly spree was apparently starting four days ahead of time. moreover, mr. case seemed inspired by some further agent, for though unobtrusive, almost, as ever, he was possessed with a strange, feverish impulse to pit himself against willett, and almost to ignore all others in the game. a fifth player was a stranded prospector whom craney knew, and presumably vouched for. luck must have been going willett's way in violation of the adage, at the time of bonner's entrance, for the table in front of him was stacked high with chips, and four men of the five were apparently getting excited. bonner seldom played anything stronger than casino and cribbage, nor did he often waste an hour, night or day, in the card room. this night, however, he was wakeful, and had seen that which even made him a trifle nervous. he had visited every sentry post, finding his men alert and vigilant. 'tonio's words had already been communicated to the guard, and self-preservation alone prompted every man to keep a sharp lookout. bonner had noted as he stepped out on the side porch of his quarters, where hung the big earthen olla in its swathing bands, that 'tonio lay, apparently sound asleep, at the side door of the doctor's quarters, and bonner found himself pondering over the undoubted devotion of this silent, lonely son of the desert to the young soldier lying wounded within. bonner left him as he found him. 'tonio had not stirred. barely twenty minutes thereafter, as he finished examination of the two sentries on the north front, and came down along the bank at the rear of the officers' quarters, he found number five, a civil war veteran and, therefore, not easily excited, kneeling at the edge, with his rifle at "ready," gazing steadily toward a clump of willows at the stream bed, some five hundred feet away, listening so intently that the officer halted, rather than mortify him by coming on his post unchallenged. the brilliant moonlight made surrounding objects almost as light as day, and bonner could see nothing unusual or unfamiliar along the sandy flat to the east. so, finally, he struck his scabbard against a rock by way of attracting number five's attention, and instantly the challenge came. "what was the matter, five?" asked bonner, after being advanced and recognized, and the answer threw little light upon the subject. "i wish i knew, sir, but there was some one--crying--down there in the bush--not five minutes ago." "crying! you're crazy, kerrigan!" "that's what _i_ said, sir, when first i heard it, but--whist now!" both men bent their ears--the veteran sentry, the veteran company commander. both had spent years in service, in the south in the war days, in the west ever since, and neither was easily alarmed. as sure as they stood there somebody was sobbing--a low, heart-breaking, half-stifled sound, down there somewhere among the willows, that for two hundred yards, at least, lined the stream. "come with me," said the captain instantly, and together the two went plunging down the sandy slope and out over the flats beneath, and into the shadows at the brink, and up and down the low bank between the fords, and not a living being could they find. "what first caught your ear?" asked bonner, as together, finally, they came plodding back. "sure, i heard the captain come out on his side porch for a drink at the olla, sir, and saw him step over and look at the doctor's place before starting for the guard-house, and i knew he'd be around this way and was thinking to meet him up yonder where number four is, when i heard six down here whistling to me, and when i went six said as how the dogs way over at the store was barking a lot, and he said had i seen or heard anything in the willows--he's that young fellow that 'listed back at wickenburg after the stage holdup--and while we was talkin' he grabbed me and said, 'listen! there's indians out on the bluff! i heard 'em singing.' i told him he was scared, but when i came back along the bank i could have sworn i saw something go flashing into the willows from this side, an' then came the cryin', and then you, sir." bonner turned straightway to his own quarters, to the side porch at the doctor's--and 'tonio was gone. peering within the open doorway, he saw the attendant nodding in his chair by the little table where dimly burned the nightlamp, close to the cot where harris lay in feverish slumber. next, the captain started for the post of number six, near the south-east corner of the rectangle, and there was the corporal and the relief, just marching away with "the young feller that 'listed in wickenburg." a new sentry, another old soldier, had taken his place. there was nothing to do but tell him to keep a sharp lookout and report anything strange he saw or heard, particularly to be on lookout for 'tonio. then he pushed on after the relief, and then, catching sight of the lights at the trader's, strode briskly over there and stopped a few minutes, asking himself should he tell willett what had been heard, and incidentally to watch the game. willett, however, was engrossed. his eyes were dilated and his cheeks were flushed, albeit his demeanor was almost affectedly cool and nonchalant, and bonner had not been there five minutes before a queer thing happened. willett, playing in remarkable luck, had raised heavily before the draw. case, with unsteady hand, had shoved forward an equal stack. the prospector and craney shook their heads and dropped out. only three were playing when willett, dealing, helped the cards according to their demands, and for himself "stood pat." it was too much for the brother-in-law, but the bookkeeper, who had been playing mainly against willett, and apparently foolishly, now just as foolishly bet his little stack, for without a second's hesitation willett raised him seventy-five dollars. it was a play calculated to drive out a small-salaried clerk. it was neither a generous nor a gentleman's play. it was, moreover, the highest play yet seen at almy, where men were of only moderate means. even craney looked troubled, and watts and the prospector exchanged murmured remonstrance. then all were amazed when case drew forth a flat wallet from an inner pocket, tossed it on the table, and simply said, "see--and raise _you_." now there was audible word of warning. watts looked as though he wished to interpose, but was checked instantly by case himself. "been saving that for--funer'l expenses," said he doggedly, "but i'm backin' this hand for _double_ what's in that." craney lifted the wallet, shook it, and three fifty-dollar bills fluttered out upon the table. willett looked steadily at case one moment before he spoke: "isn't this a trifle high for a gentleman's game?" said he. "that's what they said at vancouver, two years ago, when you bluffed out that young banker's son." willett half rose from his chair. "i _thought_ i'd seen your face before," said he. "what i want to know," said the bookkeeper instantly, all deference to rank or station vanished from tone and manner, "is, do you see my raise now?" there was a moment's silence, during which no man present seemed to breathe. then slowly willett spoke: "no, a straight isn't worth it." whereupon there was a moment of embarrassed silence as the stakes were swept across the blanket-covered table, then a guffaw of rejoiceful mirth from the prospector. case, as though carelessly, threw down his cards, face upwards, and there was not so much as a single pair. "the drinks are on me, oh, yes," said he, "but the joke's on the lieutenant." yet when bonner left, five minutes later and the game again was going on, there was no mirth in it. nor was there mirth when the sun came peeping over the eastward range this cloudless sabbath morning, shaming the bleary night lights at the store--the bleary eyes at the table. bonner found them at it still an hour after reveille, and ventured to lay a hand on willett's shoulder. "can i speak with you a moment?" he said. willett rose unsteadily, but with dignity unshaken by change of fortune. he had lost as heavily, by this time, as earlier he had won. "may i be pardoned for suggesting that you would be wise to get out of this and--a few hours' sleep? the general is up and worried. 'tonio is gone!" chapter xi. the fact that the post was cut off from the rest of the world, that neither runner from the field columns, courier from prescott, nor mail rider from mcdowell had succeeded in getting in, while 'tonio, head trailer, had easily succeeded in getting out, was a combination calculated to promote serious reflection on part of the garrison this ideal sunday morning. perhaps it did, but so far as talk was concerned a very different fact ruled as first favorite. it was known all over the barracks by breakfast time that case, the bookkeeper, had bluffed out the young swell from the columbia who had come down to teach them how to play poker and fight apaches. "willett stock" among the rank and file had not been too high at the start, had been sinking fast since the affair at bennett's ranch, and was a drug in the market when the command, as was then the custom of the little army, turned out for inspection under arms, while willett was turning in for a needed nap. strong, his official host, knew instinctively where willett must be, when he tumbled up to receive the reports at morning roll call and found the spare bed untouched. he said nothing, of course, even at guard mounting, when, together, he and captain bonner walked over to the office, where sat the post commander anxiously awaiting them. it seems that even after bonner's friendly hint the game had not ceased at once. willett had played on another hour in hopes that luck would change, but by seven craney called a halt, said that he and watts must quit, and intimated that willett ought to. case, though well along in liquor, still kept his head and lead, and would have played, but by this time willett was writing i.o.u.'s. the prospector's cash was gone. the hitherto modest, retiring, silent man of the desk and ledgers had won heavily from the officer, yet only a trifle from his employers, and craney suggested a recess until night. "then we'll meet again--and settle," said willett, half extending his hand. "you bet we'll settle," said case, the bookkeeper, wholly ignoring it, and even then the fact was noted and thereafter remembered. "i think i won't go up t­o the post just now," said willett to craney. "perhaps you have----" "certainly, mr. willett. come right in here," said the trader hospitably, leading the way into a darkened room. "take a good nap; sleep as long as you want to. i'll send you in a tub if you like." the tub was gratefully accepted, and then they left him. at noon when the general asked strong if willett "wasn't feeling well," strong said willett had been up late and was probably still asleep. bonner, it was known, had not turned in again after two o'clock, and the discovery that 'tonio was missing. he was dozing on the porch in his easy-chair when first call sounded for reveille, and lilian, like gentle-hearted amelia, lay dreaming of her wearied knight as having kept vigil with the sentries to the break of day that she and those she loved might sleep in security, and now, of course, he must indeed be wearied. therefore there came a surprise to her, and to the fond and watchful mother, when toward four o'clock in the afternoon mrs. stannard dropped in to chat with them awhile, and to tell about harris, by whose bedside she had been sitting and reading for nearly two hours. mrs. archer welcomed the news. the doctor had promised to let her know as soon as he considered it wise for her to go, and the general was so anxious and disturbed on mr. harris's account. it so happened that the general, with a small escort, had ridden over to search the valley with glasses from the peak, and then the first thing mrs. stannard said was, "i thought that mr. willett might have been glad to go with the general." "and did he not?" asked mrs. archer, after one quick glance at lilian's averted eyes. "why, no," and now mrs. stannard hesitated; "i saw, at least i think i saw, him coming up from the river a little while ago. he may have been following 'tonio's trail, you know. it was easy enough in the sand, they said, but once it reached the rocks along the stream-bed they lost it." then wisely mrs. stannard changed the subject. but if she and they knew not where and how willett had spent the night and hours of the day, they and harris, by this time, were the only ones at almy in such ignorance. moreover, almy was having a lot of fun out of it. no one had ever heard of case's playing before in all the time he had silently, unobtrusively, gone about his daily doings at the post. three weeks out of four he sat over the books and accounts, or some writing of his own, saying nothing to anybody unless addressed, then answering civilly, but in few words. the other week, just as quietly and unobtrusively, he was apt to be busy with his bottle, sometimes in the solitude of his little room, sometimes wandering by night down along the stream, sometimes stealing out to the herds, petting and crooning to the horses, sometimes slyly tendering the herd guard a drink, and always accompanied by a pack of the hounds, for by them he was held in reverence and esteem. he never accosted anybody, never even complained when a godless brace of soldier roughs robbed him of his bottle as he lay half-dozing to the lullaby of the babbling stream. he simply meandered a mile and got another. from this plane of inoffensive obscurity case had sprung in one night to fame and, almost, to fortune. a single field had turned the chance of war, and the placid sunday found him the most talked of man at the post. rumor had it that he had quit five hundred dollars ahead of the game, and the most conservative estimate could not reduce it more than half. for the first time camp almy awoke to the conclusion that an experienced gambler was in their midst--one who had spared the soldier and his scanty pay that he might feed fat, eventually, on the officer. rumor had it that case's trunk contained a roulette wheel and faro "layout." in fine, long before orderly call at noon, in the whimsical humor of the garrison, he was no longer case, the bookkeeper, but "book, the case keeper," and every frontiersman, civil or military, in those days knew what that meant. and even as they exalted case, who toward afternoon had disappeared from public gaze, refusing to be lionized, so would they have abased willett, who likewise had concealed himself, on the plea of needed sleep, yet had done but little sleeping. willett was haunted by a memory, and not pleasantly. the fact that he had lost over a month's pay troubled him less by far than that he had lost repute. he had suffered much in pocket, but more in prestige. he had been a successful player in the columbia country, too much so for the good of scores of comrades, but especially himself. he could have found it in his heart to throttle that guffawing clown, whose rude bellow of rejoicing over case's brilliant bluff and his own defeat, had brought even the dago and his fellows in staring wonderment to the open door. he would have pledged another month's pay could he have throttled the story he knew now would be going the rounds. he was even more humiliated--far more--than they knew. they all would have shouted had they seen the hand he laid down, but he had striven to carry it off jocosely, to say _he_ had only been bluffing, and was very properly caught at his own game. oh, he had shown a game, sportsman-like front, and had striven to pass it all off as a matter that worried him not in the least, but craney, clear-headed, believed otherwise, and case, muddle-headed as he was by noon, knew better, and had his reasons for knowing--reasons as potent as were those that moved him wholly to ignore willett's half-proffered hand. case had nothing in particular to do all day, and could sleep if so minded. willett, not knowing what moment he might be called upon to take active part in stirring service, should sleep, and so prepare himself, yet could not. case's personality, and case's one reference to vancouver, two years previous, haunted and vexed him sorely. where and under what circumstances had he seen the man? only for three weeks had he been at the fine old post referred to, while a big court-martial was there in session, and he, with other subalterns, had come as witnesses. there had been dinners and dancing and fun and flirtation, both at the post and in portland. there had been card-playing in which he was easy winner, and not a little of his winnings had gone for wine. there had been foolish things said in pink little ears, and even written in silly missives that now he would have been glad to recall, but--but no harm to him as yet had come from them. there had even been a girl whom he had never seen before nor since that visit, nor wanted to see again, nor hear from, yet from her he _had_ heard, and more than once--piteous, imploring little letters they were. but, heavens! he was busy hunting indians when they began to come, and then they had ceased to find him, rather to his relief, but none of these episodes or epistles in any way included case, yet somewhere he had seen him, somewhere he had heard his voice, and somewhere case had marked his method of play. case said vancouver, but though two or three steep games had there or thereabouts occurred--games in which his soldier comrades had withdrawn as too big for them--he, with his luck and brilliancy, had dared to pursue to the end and came out envied as a winner. and still this did not seem to point to case. not two hours' sleep did willett get that sunday morning. he was awake, hot, feverish, and athirst at noon, craving ice, which could be seen in the mountains only a day's march away, but had never yet been made to last through the homeward journey. craney brought him a cool and dripping canteen and some acetic acid, the best he could do, and had proffered bottled beer, cooled in the big olla and retailed at fifty cents, but willett sought information rather than sleep, and indirectly inquired as to case's antecedents. inferentially, he wished craney to understand that he believed case to be a professional, and craney blamable for permitting him to play. craney saw the move and checkmated at once. "case has had dozens of chances to play--dozens of 'em--since i brought him here from prescott, and never before has he sat into anything bigger'n a dollar limit. he never _would_ play in the other room. he came out as quartermaster's clerk, nearly two years ago. with whom? why, major ballard brought him out and had to turn him loose for drinking. no, ballard was never at vancouver. then my bookkeeper got shot in a pay-day row and left the books in a muddle. i _had_ to hire case to come and balance them--best accountant and bookkeeper i ever had--square to the marrow, though he wants one week off a month, and is absolutely stalwart t'other three, but he will not talk of his past. ballard told me he came with tiptop letters from officers of rank in san francisco, who said he was incorruptible, even when he drank, whereas my clerk, who had been a model of sobriety, robbed right and left. case has gone off now, somewhere down among the willows, i reckon. he'll be drunk for three days, sobering three days, and straight the seventh. if you hadn't started him last night he'd be sober now. and if you hadn't come into it that family game would have stopped at one, with nobody the worse nor wiser. you said you had no use for a dollar limit game." there was no comfort, therefore, in craney's visit. willett took another cool bath, dressed about two, and being shown the path case generally followed, sauntered away, quite as though he had nothing on his mind, and was presently lost beyond that same willowy screen. he at that time, at least, was not thinking of 'tonio and the lost trail. at five the general, with strong and bonner, could be made out four miles away, riding back from the peak. "i'll go a moment and inquire for mr. harris," said mrs. archer, "and ask the doctor when _we_ may visit him." so, leaving lilian with mrs. stannard, and intending to be gone but a few minutes, the gentle, anxious-hearted woman, sunshade in hand, went forth from the shelter of the low veranda into the slanting, unclouded rays, and presently tapped lightly at the doctor's open door. there was no answer, yet from somewhere within came sound of masculine voices. entering the dark hall, she tapped again at the entrance to the doctor's sitting-room, or den. a navajo blanket hung like a _portière_ across the open space, for door there was none, and, as no one came in answer to her modest signal, she ventured to push the curtain a bit to one side and peer within. the room was but dimly lighted, all windows but one on the north side being heavily draped. the doctor's reclining chair and reading table, the latter littered with books, pamphlets and pipes, were visible through a reminiscent haze of not too fragrant tobacco smoke, for the old predominated over the new. a rude sideboard stood over against her, between the northward windows, and thereon was stationed a demi-john of goodly proportions, with outlying pickets in the way of glasses. bentley himself, though one of the old school, was an abstemious man, and therefore enabled to have at all times a supply of reliable stimulant for such of his callers as were of opposite faith. that some of that ilk had recently favored him was presumptively evident, no more by the sideboard display than by the sound of voices from an inner room, where two or three were uplifted in discussion, and neither was the doctor's. now, mrs. archer much wished to see young harris, to assure him of their deep interest in his welfare, of their desire to be of service to him, and their reason for not earlier intruding. gentle and unselfish though she was, there was distinct sense of chagrin that mrs. stannard, or any woman, should have anticipated her coming. the doctor had promised to say just how soon he could approve her seeing his patient, and it was the doctor's fault she had come no sooner. not until days thereafter did she know that harris had asked for mrs. stannard. not for even a christmas home-going would mrs. stannard have let her know it--but mrs. stannard was a rare, rare woman. but if the doctor thought it unwise that his patient should receive the visits of ministering angels such as she and they, what, said mrs. archer to her stupefied self, could dr. bentley mean by permitting the visits of such disturbers as these whose angering words came distinctly to her ears? she stood, half-dazed, unable for a moment to determine what to do--whether to enter at once--enter, and in the name of her husband, the commanding officer, enter emphatic protest against such exciting language at such a time, in such a presence--or whether to retire at once and hear no more of it. one voice, at the moment low and guarded, was that of a stranger--she had never heard it before. the other, however, she knew instantly as that of harold willett. no wonder she stood amazed, never doubting they were addressed to harris, at the first words--willett's words--to reach her ears! "you are in no condition now to talk to a gentleman, and i refuse to listen. you came here to lie about me--to undermine me, and i know it, and the quicker you go----" "i came here to speak god's truth and _you_ know it!" came the instant answer, and in instant relief she knew it was not the voice of harris. "as to undermining--by god, it's to block _your_ undermining another and a better man i've come! if that isn't enough for you--to block your doing here--what you did to that poor girl at portland----" but a rush and a scuffle, the sound of a blow, broke in upon the words, just as the attendant, affrighted, came running out, just as dr. bentley, astounded and indignant, came hurrying in. mrs. archer, in bewilderment, fell back into the sunshine, only presently to see willett, flushed and furious, hasten forth from the rear door and turn straightway to the adjutant's quarters adjoining--only to be overtaken in a moment by the attendant, panting: "the doctor said would mrs. archer please come back one minute, he'd like to speak with her." and mrs. archer turned again and went. chapter xii. ten minutes later, when the general and his little escort came dustily into the garrison, his first question on dismounting was for willett, and it was lilian who had to answer that she believed he was at mr. strong's. so thither, with but brief, though kindly, word with mrs. stannard, and as brief an expression of his satisfaction that mrs. archer had gone to see harris, the veteran took his way. the horses were led to stables. the other officers, hastening homeward, bowing in hurried, perfunctory fashion to the ladies, turned again at sound of his voice, and all three together entered the adjutant's house, an orderly remaining at the door. lilian looked anxiously after them and mrs. stannard inquiringly. "they have seen something, i know," said the girl, "and something father is puzzled about. he would not have come and gone without a kiss." already mrs. stannard had noted his fond custom, had marked its omission now when, ever since luncheon, he had been away, and she, too, divined that he was preoccupied, even perplexed. but once already she had too quickly spoken her thoughts, and there must be no more of that. in three minutes the little party came forth again, willett with them now, and, field-glasses in hand, away they strode to the northward edge of the plateau and went speedily along toward a point at the back of the hospital where there stood a little platform, railed about with untrimmed pine, a rustic lookout much affected by the men in the long evenings, but seldom visited when the sun was up. it took no time at all for half the remaining garrison to turn out and, at respectful distance, stand curiously watching them, and little more for the other half to come flocking out of doors. "seen somethin' from way up on the picacho," explained the orderly, as he jogged by with the heated horses, "an' came back akiting!" two minutes more and the adjutant, strong, came running from the platform. "don't unsaddle," he shouted. "bring those horses back and get some more! send the escort up here at once!" the officers at the lookout had not even unslung their pistol belts, and willett now was seen to set down his binocular and start away. the general called to him and he half turned and hurriedly answered: "back just as quick as i can get my colt, sir." he was unfastening his blouse at the throat as he went, and even at the distance men could see how hot and flushed he looked, while the others seemed so hard, "tried out" and fit for anything. presently the half dozen horsemen, who had been with their chief to the picacho, came trotting forth from the corral, followed by two or three led horses. strong mounted the first to reach him and sent another to his quarters for lieutenant willett. then captain bonner came strolling back as though quite unconcerned. "may as well get the men under arms," said he to his alert first sergeant, and away went every man of company "c" on a run for the barracks. "needn't wait for willett," the general was heard calling to strong, who, with a little party, sat in saddle eagerly awaiting orders. so down the slope they went, just as the doctor and mrs. archer, apprised in some way of the excitement, came forth and saw the dust cloud in their wake, and the snorting troop horse pawing the sand in front of strong's. old bucketts, the quartermaster, came limping up the line, his florid features a deeper red, and all he could tell in answer to question was, "they see something beyond the point. who's that horse for, orderly?" "loot'nt willett, sir--said he'd be out in a minute." but the minutes proved long, and bucketts went in to help, if need be, and to get information, if possible. willett had kicked off his fine uniform trousers and ununiform oxfords, and was cursing the striker who had hidden his scouting rig. "why the devil didn't you go as you were?" asked bucketts unsympathetically. "they're raising the dust far as the ford already. what's up, anyhow?" "can't tell! don't know! nobody knows! they send scouts out--couriers out--messengers out, and spend hours wishing somebody'd come with news, and then when somebody's seen coming get rattled and send half the garrison out to meet----" but suddenly catching sight of the disapprobation on his caller's face, willett broke off short. no wonder buckett's looked astonished at such language from a staff officer. nor was that veteran questioner long in sizing up the cause. it added nothing to his respect for willett, and not a little to his concern. he knew by this time, as did almost every man except the post commander, how and where willett spent the night and morning--knew that he had left the store only an hour or so previous, as though to follow and find the bookkeeper--knew that case had been drinking, and saw now that willett had been following suit. without a word on that head, or another question as to the causes of the excitement, he stumped about the premises, busying himself in hunting for the missing items, and presently found them hanging under a calico curtain that willett had already nearly torn down in unsuccessful, unseeing search. "here you are," he said, tossing the garments on the bed. "here's your pistol, colt's 44; every chamber loaded and ready for business. you'll use a different belt when you've been a month in arizona--and you'll shed top boots for 'patchie moccasins. let me help you, willett. you're a bit blown. here, douse your head in that----" and as he spoke bucketts half filled a bowl and went limping out to the olla for more and cooler water, leaving willett fussing at his riding breeches and damning strong's striker for being away among the gaping, staring, empty-headed gang at the bluff at the moment he was most needed. as bucketts was lifting the vessel from the cool depths of the hanging reservoir, he heard his name faintly called, and there, at the side door of the doctor's quarters, pale and suffering, barefooted and mantled with a sheet, his arm and shoulder bandaged, stood harris. "tell willett to come out," he said. "i must see him before he goes." "you go back to bed. i'll tell him," but harris stood his ground despite the fact that the attendant had laid a hand upon his unbound shoulder, and was begging him to return. bucketts set the pitcher inside the door. "here's cooler water, willett," he said, "and here's harris at the door--says he must see you before you start." then, without waiting for answer, the quartermaster hurried along the path to the front in search of the doctor; saw him far over back of the hospital, heading for the platform; saw mrs. archer, on her own veranda by this time, in eager talk with mrs. stannard, and lilian drooping at the corner pillar; hurried back to get his stick and to further rebuke harris, when, afar down to the south-east came the sound of a shot, half-muffled by distance, and, gazing from the rear end of the little gallery, he saw, a mile or more away across the stream and skirting the willows, two horsemen coming at top speed; saw, emerging from the willows at the near side of the ford, a man who walked heavily through the yielding sand, holding his hand to his face. he, too, had heard the shot and was making, 'cross lots, for home. it was case, the bookkeeper, disturbed, perhaps, said bucketts, in his siesta among the willows and doing his best to gain shelter. before case could get a fourth of the way across the barren flat, tacking perceptibly among the cactus and grease wood, the riders burst in sight again and went lashing away to the store--two ranchmen or prospectors, said bucketts, and they've been having the time of their life getting in. 'tonio said the tontos were all about them, and here was additional proof. the last bucketts saw of case he was lurching on toward the store, but, just then, buttoning his riding jacket and girding on his revolver belt, out came willett. "well, what is it?" was his brief, almost sullen question. and then came his classmate's answer--one that bucketts long remembered. "you are going up the valley, i take it, and there is an alarm of some kind. now, willett, remember this: no matter what you have seen or suspect, the apache-mohaves had no part in the devil's work at bennett's. i have 'tonio's word for it, and will bring proofs." "damn 'tonio's word! he's a renegade and a deserter himself! he's playing a deep, double game, and you yourself suspected it three days ago. now he's proved it. i've no time to talk." and impatiently he turned away and sprang for his horse. a moment more and he was in saddle, had set spurs to his excited mount, and then, full gallop, went tearing to the edge of the mesa, lifted his hat in salutation to the general, and dove down the slope, across the lower bench, away through an upper ford of the sluggish winter stream, and out upon the sandy flats beyond. "rides well," said the general, looking after him. "_rides_ very well," said the surgeon, looking after strong. "can you see anything yet, sir?" "could see two horses ten minutes ago, with some running figures far up the valley. can't make 'em out at all. strong'll fetch 'em--strong and willett. good stock there, doctor!" "tiptop, where strong is concerned," said the doctor grimly. the events of the earlier afternoon had tended to add to his disapprobation of the other. "there's something up at the store, sir, i think," he added, with a swift change of subject. "i saw men running that way just now. here comes bucketts!" and bucketts came, hobbling sturdily. "it's two ranchmen, i think, and there was a shot down toward the south-east ten minutes ago." the general looked back. down in front of the log barracks bonner's company, in fatigue dress, had formed ranks, and the sergeants were distributing ammunition. across the parade, the verandas of the mess and office buildings were deserted, but one or two men stood staring toward the invisible plant of the trader. close at hand, near the hospital and again lining the edge of the mesa, a score of yards farther to the left, a number of soldiers of the other company were eagerly watching developments. even with the naked eye, two miles or more up the valley, strong's little detachment, black dots of skirmishers, could occasionally be sighted pushing on northward, while, at heavy gallop, heading for the front, willett was still in plain view; but, at the moment, nothing could be seen of the objects that were the original cause of the excitement. from the picacho, it seems, both strong and bonner had made out through their glasses two tiny black dots in the direction of bennett's ruined ranch, coming slowly toward the post, but still five or six miles away. from the platform, forty minutes later, two horsemen had distinctly been seen moving swiftly about, close to the willows that lined, in places, the rocky stream bed. more than this, the general was sure he had caught sight of three or four figures afoot, skipping actively about when moving at all. what he and his advisers believed was that sergeant woodrow and his comrades were, for some reason, trying to make their way back to almy and had found apaches barring the way. therefore had strong and his little party been sent forth to meet, to aid, to bring them in. therefore had willett, of his own motion this time, and without the delegated authority he bore when following harris, set forth at speed to overtake them, forgetful, in the eagerness of the moment and the possible over-excitement of his faculties, that he had promised archer to be back just as soon as he'd got his colt--that calibre 44 colt now belted at his hip, with every chamber loaded. and now as the eager watchers at the platform trained their glasses on the distant field, bucketts, taking up the handsome binocular left by the aide-de-camp, had time to notice its fine silver mounting and the engraved "h. willett, u.s.a.," in exactly the same script as that which adorned the revolver. then, as he adjusted it to his eyes, it occurred to him to tell the doctor of harris's coming to the side door, and of his most earnest language and manner, whereat the general turned sharply: "what's that? harris said no apache-mohaves?" "no apache-mohaves in the affair at bennett's ranch, sir, on 'tonio's authority, and willett scoffed at both statement and 'tonio." "by heaven," said archer, "'tonio was right in saying we were cut off, isolated here, and if he hadn't slipped away in that mysterious fashion i'd rather take his word than--than willett's impressions. where has willett been--all morning--anyhow? he never came near me!" everybody within earshot knew, and nobody answered. archer looked queerly about him. bonner and briggs gazed fixedly through their glasses. bucketts was absorbed in the adjustment of his. the doctor said he must go over and give harris a rebuke for getting up, and started forthwith, and archer, without further question, turned again to his survey. he was of the old army--and knew the signs. for a moment every living object up the valley seemed to be shut from view. bonner, by way of changing the subject, had so far "white-lied" as to exclaim "there they are again!--er--no," but the ruse was unnecessary; archer understood. almost at the moment, however, came a sound from the open windows of the matron's room, adjoining the hospital, against which all present would willingly have closed their ears--the prolonged, heart-breaking, moaning cry of a woman robbed of all she held dearest--poor mrs. bennett waking once more to her direful sorrows, and filling the air with her hopeless wail. for a moment it dominated all other sound. "for heaven's sake, doctor," cried archer to the assistant, "can't you and bentley devise something to still that poor creature? has she lost her mind, too?" "sounds like it, sir. there's only one thing that will bring it back--that's those babies." "if anybody can get 'em it will be stannard," answered the general prayerfully. "this, whatever it is, up the valley may be news from him and of them! god grant it!" "look!" cried bonner at the instant. "i see willett! see him?--galloping up that---why, hell and blazes--i beg your pardon, general--he's 'way out beyond strong's people! see 'em--down there by the willows? where in---gad! d'ye see that? why, his horse jumped and shied as if he'd---look! he's running away! he's gone!" gone he had. not once again, before the going down of the sun, now just tangent to the western heights, did they catch sight of willett or willett's horse. one after another the watchers again found strong within the field of vision and followed him down to and across the stream, and others of the mounted party were seen, some wearily following their officer, others moving about a point among the willows where last had been seen the two strangers whose odd movements led to the going forth of the searching party. but it was half an hour later, and light was growing dim in the valley, while the eastward crests of the mogollon were all ablaze, when a single rider was made out coming homeward at speed. it was dusk at almy when his panting horse struggled painfully up the slope and, dismounting, a weary rider saluted the post commander and handed him a note. by this time mrs. archer, mrs. stannard and lilian, too, were on the platform, and the mother's arm stole instinctively about the daughter's slender waist, while every eye was on the general as he quickly opened, then slowly read aloud the pencilled words: "we have the couriers safe. they are from up the verde, badly scared and worn out. say they have been chased by indians ever since three o'clock, were almost out of ammunition. lieutenant willett, venturing too far on the east side, while we were to the west of the stream, must have encountered some of them. we heard firing, and followed. found his horse dead among the rocks and willett lying near, stunned, but certainly not shot. could see nothing of his assailants. ambulance needed. respectfully, "strong." mrs. archer's arm wound still closer about her daughter's trembling form. lilian said no word, but her face was white, her soft lips were quivering. mrs. stannard sympathetically closed in on the other side, as the general gave brief directions, and presently, between the two, the girl walked slowly away, only the general following with his eyes. bentley went back once again to quietly tell the news to harris, but was ready when the ambulance stopped at his door. lilian had been persuaded to go and lie down, said mrs. archer, when her grave-faced husband came home at dark. "that is best," was all he said, but he turned and took his fond wife's face between his hands and kissed it thrice, then went forth again to meet the coming couriers. it seems their orders were to deliver their despatch in person to the commander of camp almy, and, sending them on for refreshments, he read by the light of a lantern the message from the commander of the district of the verde. young warriors by the hundred were out, said the agent at the reservation, even the apache-mohaves. mail messengers, ranch people and others had been murdered close to camp sandy. friendly indians report soldiers killed in dead man's cañon in revenge for death of comes flying, accidentally shot. captain tanner and lieutenant ray are out from camps sandy and cameron, with strong commands, and will try to communicate with almy. "nothing has been heard of lieutenant harris and his scouts," said the despatch, "but rumors are rife as to indian depredations near you. it is feared that in your advanced position you may be surrounded, and communication cut off, but no fears are entertained as to your ability to take care of yourself. if you still have cavalry scouting in the tonto basin, warn them of conditions and report when possible." "so much for so much," said the general. "now for willett," and a mile farther out he met the ambulance coming in, willett and the doctor aboard, the former with a broken collar-bone and a bad headache. moreover, willett was in vicious mood. "general archer," said he, "the shot that killed my horse was meant for me, and the indian who fired the shot was harris's paragon, 'tonio." chapter xiii. that was a stirring night at almy. the general, contrary to habit, was very grave and quiet, saying little, drinking nothing, even the customary toddy being declined. the doctor, also contrary to habit, was drinking a little and thinking a lot, but saying nothing. an abstemious man, as a rule, and a temperate man at all times, he seemed inclined to sample his monongahela more than once before midnight, when, having gotten his patients to sleep, he tried to do likewise. "they are on an even keel again," said bonner, referring to the two casuals, "and i am not sorry to see it." evidently there had been comparison of notes between strong and bonner, and an agreement of some kind, for both held that willett had exceeded his authority, as well as his discretion, in conducting a single-handed charge on an outnumbering enemy, secretly hidden behind rocks and ridges. strong's men said that lieutenant willett, spurring hard, had called across the stream for them to follow him, and three of those nearest the bank plunged through the shallows and were barely three hundred yards behind him when, from their right front among the rocks at the foot of a bluff, the shot was fired that wounded the lieutenant's horse, which veered at once and ran away down among the willows. no, they hadn't charged. they turned, too. for all they knew, there might have been a thousand apaches in hiding there, and when the lieutenant turned they turned. it was not until lieutenant strong and the rest of the men came up with them that they pushed ahead and found the officer and his horse lying among the rocks by the stream. willett had been hurled out of saddle when the frenzied beast went suddenly down, and there he lay, stunned and bleeding, while the poor brute was quivering in the agonies of death. "did you see anything of 'tonio?" strong was asked, as a matter of course. "not so much as a shred of his breechclout," said strong, "nor of any other indian nearer than a mile away, and they were running for the rocks. it was too dark to do any trailing." but for the shot that killed willett's horse, and the tremendous tales of the courier scouts, strong would have been inclined to say there were not a dozen indians in the north valley. "if there were more," said he, "and if they were really hostile, even though afoot as they were, was it likely that two couriers on worn-out horses could have escaped them? no," said strong. "there is something about it we don't understand, neither does willett, for all he's so positive." but strong admitted that two things puzzled him. the horse was certainly shot, and willett's colt, the handsome revolver that he set such store by, was certainly gone. willett, when he came to, had asked for it. he swore that he had drawn it from the holster, and was riding at "raise pistol" when the shot was fired--that he clutched it as his maddened horse tore blindly down the slope, and then, among the rocks, stumbled, staggered and fell. now revolver, holster, "thimble belt" of cartridges--all were gone. the couriers were made to tell their tale while the doctor and his assistants were getting willett to bed, and willett, from several conditions, was not easy to soothe and quiet. he had not been sparing of the _spiritus frumenti_ that went with other medical supplies in the ambulance. archer and the surgeon saw it, and said nothing. that was natural, possibly, under the circumstances, and could be controlled later. archer cross-questioned the couriers at some length. they had not followed the verde valley southward. they had "lit out" along the mesa road, toward baker's butte, until they found the trail by way of hardscrabble and granite creek. they had succeeded in evading apaches until the third day out, and after leaving the east fork they saw smokes that made them wary, and once down in the wild rye valley, and in sight of the old picacho, they came upon recent indian signs in the sand--moccasin tracks going down stream bed toward the post. then they "chassayed," as they said, out into the open, midway to the foothills, so as to keep out of rifle range of both, and then indians came a-running at them from the foothills, trying to head them off and take them alive, they supposed, and they had dismounted and fought and driven them back, and, oh, they must have killed three or four of 'em! and in fact had had to fight for their lives most of the afternoon. archer listened, incredulous, puzzled. frontiersmen's and fishermen's tales have much in common. these were men who had been employed three years, they said, by the agent at the upper reservation and had been detailed for courier duty with colonel pelham, commanding the district of the verde. one was american, the other mexican. their story might be straight, but, with all the valor to which they laid claim, it seemed strange to archer and his officers that two men could break their way through an encircling horde of hostiles such as they described, and hold a hundred fierce apaches four long hours at bay. harris was awake, and in highly nervous condition, and begging that he might be allowed to see and question these couriers, but both doctors, regular and contract, said no, not this night. and so, toward midnight, the couriers were permitted to go to bed. the doubled sentries were cautioned to observe the utmost vigilance. the lights were extinguished at the store, by way of telling everybody that neither game nor glass was to be had before the morrow. the general was urged by his devoted adherents, bonner, bucketts and strong, to get such sleep as was possible, and the post was committed to the charge of lieutenant briggs, officer of the day. the lights were still burning low at the hospital and in the doctor's quarters and strong's, as, with a look about the moonlit valley and a word to his sergeant, bonner rejoined his comrades at the quartermaster's veranda. "odd," said he, with a tilt of his head toward the quarters next beyond, "of all our little fighting force, so far the only casualties are with our two casuals." that was at one o'clock in the morning. at three, by which time all but the guard were presumably in bed, mrs. archer, lying anxious and wakeful, listening for the sound of sigh or sob from lilian's little room and praying that sorrow might be averted from that beloved child, felt sure at last that she heard a footstep, and, stealing softly across the narrow hallway, found lilian kneeling at the curtained window and gazing out upon the brilliant night. there was no reproach in the mother's murmured words. well she knew what it portended that her daughter should be at this hour sleepless and striving, perhaps, to see the light from the window where her young hero lay prostrate and suffering. not one word had they yet exchanged about him, but many a woman, even with mother love brimming over in her heart, would have upbraided, and many another would have "nagged." what other word have we for that feminine method, the resort of so very many, the remedy of so very few? but mrs. archer simply circled a loving arm about the slender form. "we're all on guard to-night, aren't we, daughter?" she murmured, fondly kissing the tear-wet cheek. "it was so long before your father dropped to sleep. have you--heard anything?" burying her face in the dear refuge of years, with her arms thrown instantly about her mother's neck, lilian's sole answer was a shake of the bonny head. it was as much as saying, "you know that isn't the matter; yet, thank you for trying to think so--thank you for not asking me what is." "well, _i_ did," murmured mrs. archer, slowly rising to her feet, and drawing lilian with her. "i'm sure i heard low voices down there on the flat toward the ford. the sentries are more than usually watchful and taking note of everything. you know it was right out there number five heard the crying in the willows only last night." and all the time she was quietly leading her child back to the little white bed. then suddenly lilian stopped and lifted her head. "i hear now," said she. "it's coming!" across the hall stealthily they sped, and together were presently peering from the southward window in mrs. archer's room. two dim figures could be seen crossing the flat from the direction of the ford, coming straight for the low point of the mesa whereon stood the quarters of the commanding officer. then they began breasting the slope, but exchanging no word. as they reached the top mrs. archer caught lilian's hand. "it's an indian--a runner, i believe. see, that's the corporal of the guard with him! it's a despatch of some kind!" and so it proved. five minutes later, briggs, officer of the day, was heard coming down the line; his sword clicked at the steps; his foot was on the veranda, but before he could knock, mrs. archer met him at the door. "we saw them coming," said she. "is it a despatch--for the general?" "from captain turner," said he gravely. "i read it, hoping not to have to disturb the general, but--there's been a fight and some are wounded. turner needs instructions." the army-bred woman needed no further word. she knew at once what had to be done. "wake father, lilian, dear," she gently called from the foot of the stairs. "will you come in, mr. briggs? i can light up in a moment." "there's light in abundance out here, thank you, mrs. archer. besides, i have our runner." and, turning back, he pointed to the steps where, still watched by corporal hicks, the dusky messenger squatted wearily. all apaches looked alike to hicks. his attitude was plainly indicative of a conviction that treachery of some kind was afoot, and this particular envoy had designs on his commander or that commander's wife. they could hear the veteran bustling about upstairs, hurriedly donning his uniform. then came strong, with his quick, bounding step, for briggs had called him before disturbing the "old man." a moment later, by the clear light of the unclouded moon, archer was hurriedly reading turner's brief despatch. bivouac on toronto creek, november 24th, 187--. post adjutant, camp almy. we have had two more brushes with tonto apaches, resulting in the breaking up of two rancheri­as and the scattering of the band, leaving several dead in each affair, also a few wounded bucks and squaws that i had to leave, as we had no means of sending them to the post or caring for them in any way. sergeant payne, corporal smith, g, and troopers schreiter and wenzel, wounded, are doing as well as can be expected, but must remain at this point under a small guard while we follow the renegades. the scouts report many signs toward the black mesa, and we shall strike wherever we find the hostiles, but i shall have but twenty-five men with me now, and barely forty rounds per man. instructions sent by bearer may reach me among the foothills toward diamond butte. otherwise, we shall return by the way we came. trooper hanson, died of wounds in the affair previously reported, was buried here. respectfully, turner, commanding. "then the other runner failed to get in," said archer gravely. "there was a fight before this. turner's found a raft of indians. this despatch is two days old now. have we nobody who can talk with this indian?" "nobody, i fear, sir," answered strong, bending over the scout and examining the brass identification tag worn by each of those regularly employed and mustered. "he's a hualpai. no. 21. even harris doesn't know that tongue, sir." "if anybody here does, it's one of those two that got in from verde last evening," said archer reflectively. "turner evidently had no idea the hostiles were all about us, and he thinks the previous despatch must have reached us. corporal, go find the couriers and fetch them here. be seated, gentlemen," he continued, in his courtly way, then turning from everybody, stepped out on the sandy level between his quarters and the office building, and began pacing slowly up and down. what was to be done? no word had come from stannard. stirring, yet disquieting news they now had from turner, whose wounded lay in need of medical attention a long day's march through stony wilds, with jealous and savage eyes watching every trail. here at almy he had two companies of sturdy foot, capable of covering ground almost as fast as the cavalry, but wearing out shoe leather much faster. twenty of these fellows could fight their way through to the tonto, but might have just as many more wounded to care for, and be unable to transport them. moreover, with so many hostiles on every side, was he justified in stripping the post of its defenders? it was no pleasant situation. it was more than perplexing. presently he turned and, using such signs as he thought might be comprehensible, asked the impassive runner if he knew where the first fight took place, and the hualpai, as would almost any indian partially gathering the drift of a question, began a rambling reply, pointing as he spoke, with shifting finger, all over the range to the south-east. "bella, dear, have we anything that this incomprehensible creature could eat?" asked archer. "it may help matters." and presently the lady of the house appeared at the hall door again, with a tray in her hands. briggs ceremoniously took it, and set huge slices of bread and jam before the gaunt mountaineer, who found his feet in an instant; received a slice on the palm of his outspread hand; lifted it cautiously, his yellow teeth showing hungrily; smelled it suspiciously, thrust forth his tongue, and slowly tasted the strange mixture on the surface; then, with confidence established, finished it in four gulps, and, like a greyhound, looked eagerly for more. briggs laughed and pointed to the tray on the steps, but the hualpai shook his head and drew back shyly. "you'll have to give it piece by piece, briggs," said strong. "his squaw would scoop the whole trayload into her skirt or blanket, but not a hualpai brave." approached in accordance with hualpai views of table etiquette, the indian ate greedily, and was still eating when the corporal came and, with him, the sleepy and dishevelled courier, the american. and now in the radiant moonlight the strange war council was resumed. "ask him, if you can, where the first fight came off, and who was sent with the despatch," demanded the general of the new-comer, upon whom the hualpai looked in recognition, but with neither light nor welcome in his piercing eyes. question and answer in halting, uncanny speech progressed fitfully a moment. then came the report: "he says there was a fight the first day out; another when they struck tonto creek, and two soldiers were killed." "and as to the first runner?" "he says 'patchie mohave brought it all way safe. this buck met him going back. he said he gave it to 'scout capitan' out by picacho." "'out by picacho!''scout capitan!' who on earth does he mean?" asked archer, with a sudden fear at heart. once again, stumbling question, much gesticulation, many words in strange gutturals--and a name. then the final report: "he means apache-mohave--'tonio!" chapter xiv. three anxious, watchful days went by, with anxious, watchful nights intervening, with no further tidings of 'tonio or stannard or turner, of friend or foe from the outside world, and with only one attempt on part of the invisibly, yet perceptibly, surrounded garrison to communicate with the field columns. "hualpai 21," the only designation he would own to (the real name, in the absence of some tribesman to speak for him, one could rarely learn from an indian), was given his fill of food and rest, then, with a despatch to turner, was sent forth monday night south-eastward, the way he came, and bidden if he reached the rugged height known as el caporal, some twelve miles to the south-east, and deemed it safe to do so, to send at sunrise three quick mirror flashes toward the flagstaff, repeating twice or thrice to be sure of its attracting attention. hualpai 21 took with him one of those cheap little disks of looking-glass, cased in pewter, at that time found at every frontier store. he took also the injunction to give his despatch to captain turner or one of his men, but to no indian whomsoever--'tonio in particular. it was the last attempt of the week. for, from dawn until the sun was an hour high, the watchers watched in vain. three signal glasses, telescope and binocular, were trained upon the heights and no one of them caught the faintest spark of reflected light. the nearest approach to a signal was seen by a corporal of the guard and sentry number six an hour after midnight, when, in quick succession, two faint, firefly flashes, unrepeated, were visible afar out due east of the picacho, and they could have been caused in only two ways--somebody experimenting with a mirror and the moonbeams, the moon being then about three hours high and three-quarters full, or else, as they were ruddier than moonshine, somebody taking two quick shots, probably at somebody else. the corporal counted seconds up to twenty and more, and even in that breathless silence, heard not a sound to warrant the belief. yet a few hours later that sun-blistered morning, the bookkeeper case "blew in for a bottle," as he expressed it; remarked with engaging frankness that he believed he had still a day or so in which to taper, and would be home and on deck if the apaches didn't get him meantime; and, being delicately invited to state where he had spent the night, replied as frankly as before, "down at josé sanchez's," meaning thereby the down-stream resort two miles distant, where prospectors, packers and occasionally men from the post, in peace times, at least, went for unlimited mescal and monte. since the death of comes flying, the disappearance of 'patchie sanchez (the runner, half-brother to sanchez, the gambler), and the general outbreak among the indians, it had been shunned as utterly unsafe, and reported abandoned. when cautioned by watts against returning thither, mr. case replied that now that the indians spurned it, for not even 'tonio would set foot anywhere about the ranch, the ghost of the brother was seen there every night. he had seen it and it was an honest ghost, and a convivial spirit, which was why last night's bottle had lasted no longer. moreover, case said that when he was drinking he was only at home in half-bred society and couldn't live up to the high tone of the post. when told of mr. willett's further mishap, case sobered for a moment in manner, and said mr. willett was unwise taking so many chances, and mr. willett would be in big luck if he got away from almy without further puncture. somebody else had been shot at last night. he and the ghost had heard it. this at the moment was regarded as semi-maudlin talk, but at morning office hour watts was sent for, was told what the guard had seen, and asked what case had really said, rumor being, as a rule, inaccurate. then archer rebuked watts for letting case go in his intoxicated condition, and it was decided to send a little party in search, in hopes of fetching him in and finding out more about the alleged shooting. the party found case without any trouble. he sat singing to himself and swinging his legs from the table in the abandoned rookery, the half-emptied bottle on one side and a "monkey" of spring water on the other, scornful alike of danger or demands, but indomitably courteous. the party took a drink with him as promptly invited, but found him implacably bent on holding the position. not until argument and whiskey both were exhausted would he listen to reason and the suggestion to return to the post. that being the only means to more whiskey, he started affably enough, but before going half a mile declared he had left or lent his revolver. "there's only one revolver at camp almy just like it," said he, with drunken dignity, and then, with sudden gravity, "an' that one--_isn't_ at camp almy." the infantry sergeant in command of the little party tried to wheedle case out of his whim, but it was useless. back he would go, and they, half supporting, had to go with him. from the drawer of the battered old table he drew the missing weapon to light, and it stood revealed--one of the famous colt's 44, made soon after the civil war to replace the percussion-capped "navy" carried by most officers of the army until late in the '60's. in the hands of the cavalry at the moment, and for experimental purposes, were nickel-plated smith and wesson's of the same calibre, and nearly the same length of barrel, also one or two other patterns of the remodelled colt. but, as case said, this was a special make and model, differing slightly from any that sergeant joyce had ever yet seen; but not until later did the sergeant or his comrades attach any significance to case's statement, "there's only one at almy just like it." his weapon recovered, his mental balance slightly restored, and with the further inspiration of replenished flask ahead, case made the difficult essay to tramp the two sandy miles back to the store and the still more difficult task of there accounting for himself and explaining his enigmatical sayings. strong, as directed, strove to keep him to the point, but the one more drink case declared indispensable on his final arrival at dusk sent flitting the last filaments of reason, and the poor fellow maundered off to sleep on his little cot in the darkened room, where he was bolted in and left for the night. "only one pistol like it at the post, and that--isn't at the post," strong found himself repeating again and again that night, as, after mrs. archer and mrs. stannard had read their patient into a doze and taken their departure, the adjutant stood for a moment by willet's bedside. "and now willett has lost his, and presumably the tontos, or perhaps the apache-mohaves, have got it!" they had wandered away in the darkness together, those two brave and tender-hearted army women, each with a keen anxiety of her own, each striving to be helpful to the other. three invalids were there now at almy to whom they were giving many hours of care and nursing. poor mrs. bennett gained little in mental or bodily health. the fearful scenes of that long night of horror and rapine still seemed vividly before her in her few hours of fitful slumber, and were this state of things to continue long, said the doctor, insanity would be a merciful refuge. an hour or so each day these ministering angels gave to the young officers. harris, severely shot, was mending fast, his perfect physical condition lending itself admirably to his restoration. willett, but slightly injured, should be sitting up, with his shoulder in a frame and his arm in a sling, but he was mending only slowly, and had not a little fever. harris, accustomed to self-denial, seemed to require no physical comforts. willett, something of a sybarite, craved iced drinks and cooling applications that gave more trouble, said strong, than twenty harrises. willett had even gone so far as to suggest that the ladies must be tired of reading aloud, possibly miss lilian might relieve one or other, and possibly, hope whispered, both. harris, who would have welcomed that presence and possibility as he would no other, had ventured nothing beyond the expression of a hope that miss archer was quite well. as for miss archer herself, what man can say just what thoughts, emotions, hopes and fears were rioting in that gentle and innocent, yet troubled heart. a very unheroic little heroine is this of ours. it was a time when she might well be thinking of the perils by which they and their defenders were encompassed round about, of the bereaved and broken-hearted woman crying to heaven for her murdered husband and her stolen children, of the scouts and couriers shot down from ambush in their efforts to reach them in their isolation or to creep through with messages to the columns afield, of the wounded lying with but scant attention and puny guard, weary marches away, of the comrades killed or died of wounds in fierce grapple with the warriors of the desert and the mountains--even of this young soldier within their gates, sore stricken in daring rescue of a helpless woman, he to whose coolness and command of self--and others--had saved her from the rattler's fang. very possibly she did think of it--and often--and tried to think of them still oftener, but all the time, it must be owned, in her heart of hearts she was hearing again the soft, caressing tone of that deep, rich voice--"the words of love then spoken;" she saw again the lustrous eyes that shone and burned into hers despite their drooping lids, the graceful, gallant form of that picture of the knight and gentleman whose swift wooing had made such wondrous way. lilian archer was but a child in spite of years and schooling. she spent her earliest years within the shadow of the flag and the sound of the drum. she had seen nothing of garrison life from that morning in '61, when she had just passed her sixth birthday, when they were bundled aboard a wheezing river stern wheeler and floated for many a day and many and many a long mile down a muddy, twisting stream--her father so grave and anxious, and some of the officers with him so urgent and appealing. she could not understand why her mother should so often sit with tear-brimming eyes and clasp her to her bosom with the boy brother she so loved--and teased. father's home was in a proud old border state, and they went there for a week or two, after that sorrowful day in st. louis when three of father's old friends and comrades came for one last conference and then--a last good-by--two of them refusing his hand. they had resigned and followed their state. they had striven to take him with them to swell the ranks of the proud young army of the south. they had loved him well and he them, but there was something floating overhead, from the white staff at the stern, he held still dearer. one officer, who was most urgent in his pleadings, was her bonny "uncle barney," mother's own brother, and when he left, without kiss for her or handclasp for the sad-faced soldier in the worn uniform of blue, mother's heart seemed almost breaking. father took them to _his_ father's old home, and left them there while he went to drilling militiamen north of the ohio, and was presently made a colonel of volunteers. but the people who lived about them were all for the south, and they could not forgive mother for his taking sides against them; so, throughout the long bitter struggle, while he was at the front or suffering in southern prison, as happened once, and from northern suspicion, as happened much more than once, they lived in lodgings in a quiet little country town, where brother and she went hand in hand to school and saw little of the outer world and nothing of the war. then at last came peace, and in '66 the reorganization of the army, and father--in a general's uniform on a major's pay. then in '69 general grant appointed brother a cadet, and all were so proud and hopeful when he left them for the point. he was the image of uncle barney, who was killed leading his splendid brigade in one of the earliest battles in virginia, and, like uncle barney, brother was high-spirited and impatient. mathematics and demerit set him back in '70 and dropped him out entirely in '71, when father was weeks away across the deserts of arizona, and they were in lodgings at san francisco, and poor mother was nearly distraught with grief and anxiety. brother never came back to them. he went straight, it seems, to the brooklyn navy-yard; enlisted in the marines, and, within five months thereafter, jumped from the deck of the "yantic" in a swift tideway at amoy, striving to aid a drowning shipmate, and was never seen again. that was the saddest christmas they ever knew. father had to return to his post, and all that year of '72 they wore deep mourning and went nowhere. during the spring of '73 mother was rallying a little, and loving army friends from the presidio and angel islands, who used to come to see them so often, now sought to have lilian visit them; but wisely mrs. archer kept her at her studies and her music and away from possible fascination of the garrison, and except, therefore, for two dances given by the artillery, and one charming, rose-bowered afternoon reception at angel island, lilian had seen nothing of army life and next to nothing of army beaux, until in all the ardor and innocence of sweet, winsome, wholesome girlhood--buoyant, beautiful and in exuberant health and spirits, she was suddenly landed here at this out of the way station in uttermost arizona, and brought face to face with love and destiny. for two days she had been hoping that mother would suggest that she, too, might come when they went for the afternoon visits to their wounded. but, though mother had twice taken her to sit a few minutes by the side of poor, frenzied mrs. bennett, there came no intimation that she might follow to the bedside of lieutenant willett, whose voice the child was longing to hear again, whose face she craved to see. no woman of heroic mould, perhaps, was mrs. archer. hers was one of those fond, clinging natures, capable of any sacrifice for the husband or child she loved. she had turned her back on the home and the people so dear to her when unhesitatingly she followed the soldier husband she rapturously loved, and now, though she yearned to take her daughter to her heart and kiss away the wistful, pathetic, pleading look in the fond eyes that never before had appealed to her in vain, something told her it were best to let her fight it out, even to suffer, alone, than admit, even to her, the possibility of a growing love for this brilliant and dangerous young gallant, as to whom she had unwittingly heard such damning accusation. it had not taken mrs. archer long to learn that case, nerved by drink, had appeared at harris's bedside that sunday afternoon, asking to speak with him alone, only to be speedily followed by willett, and by the altercation she had overheard. under the circumstances, as known to her, mrs. archer was thankful that, since he could not leave the post, lieutenant willett could not even leave his room. not with her knowledge and consent should her gentle lilian be again brought within the sphere of his influence. but love that laughs at locksmiths was yet to find his way, and that right soon. chapter xv. harris was up and fuming for action. with his wound unhealed and his arm utterly useless, he was insistent that he should be permitted to mount and ride. "what could you do?" asked bentley. "the post is surrounded. every trail and both roads are watched day and night. your horse is all that's left you. 'tonio is gone. 'tonio has turned traitor!" "that," said harris, "i will not believe for an instant." they brought general archer to see him, and the grave-faced old soldier bent kindly over the impatient and incredulous junior. "it is even as bentley tells you, lad," said he. "only one messenger has been able to come or go through their lines since the demoralized pair that got in from verde, and they can't be hired to try again. we are hemmed in and helpless until our cavalry return. willett will tell you he saw 'tonio fire the shot that killed his horse and was meant to kill him. 'tonio has intercepted messengers between turner and me, and killed, i believe, at least one messenger. you must be patient or you will throw yourself into a fever and set you back a month. we've simply got to act on the defensive, guard the post and the women until relief comes. by this time, of course, general crook himself is somewhere in the field, and any moment may bring him; then our apache friends, hereabouts, will have to hunt their holes." "general archer," said harris, commanding himself with evident effort and striving to speak with his accustomed deliberation, "i have not seen willett, but, if i had, i should refuse to believe that 'tonio fired at him. the apache-mohaves may be with the hostiles at last, but not 'tonio. there is some reason for his absence that we cannot fathom. they may have killed him for his loyalty to us, but loyal he is at heart, no matter how much appearances are against him." "we'll hope so," said archer, "but for the present, do as bentley bids you and stay quiet," and the commander rose to go. but harris, too, was on his feet, steadying himself with one hand on the back of his chair. "you will pardon me, will you not, sir, if i ask a question? you say you have been unable to communicate with stannard or turner. stannard is, probably, too far away, but if turner's wounded are over on tonto creek, he can be reached. have you tried signalling?" "signalling? we've got some flags and torches somewhere, but i believe that----" "i don't mean that, sir. no one with turner would understand if we had. i mean smoke signals--indian." "no," said archer slowly. "no one but indians could say what they meant, even if any one here knew their confounded code. do you?" "i know enough at least to call 'tonio; and unless he is dead or spirited away, he'll answer. then we can get word to turner." archer turned back. he was almost at the door. "do you mean he _would_ answer--that he would come in here?" "if i may give my word that no one shall touch or harm him, he'll come--if alive and able." for a moment the general was silent. it was a grave question. in his eyes and those of his officers, 'tonio stood attainted practically with treason. he had deserted in face of the enemy, joined forces with the enemy, shot as an enemy, conspired and acted as an enemy. he deserved to be hunted and shot down without trial, without mercy. yet here was this young soldier, who had known him best and longest, full of boundless faith in him, demanding safe conduct for him on the honor of an officer and gentleman. if archer gave his word it would be flying in the face of his entire command--what there was left of it, at least--and archer's word was a thing not to be lightly given. "i must think of this awhile," said he. "it is a big proposition. you think _you_ can reach him?" "by night or day, sir, either; but it would have to be from the top of squadron peak." it was then late on friday afternoon, the fifth day of what might he called the siege. not a signal had come from without, not a sign from either command, not a symptom of surrounding indian; yet a little party sent to search the rookery down stream, where case declared he'd been entertaining the ghost of 'patchie sanchez, came back reporting that fresh moccasin and mule tracks were plainly visible about the premises and at the neighboring ford, also that the mule tracks led away back of the picacho, as everybody persisted in calling the peak--in spite of the fact that from the north it presented no sharp point to the skies, but rather a bold and rounded poll. squadron peak was more "sonorous and appropriate," said the trooper who so named it, but now that troopers were scarce at almy, there were none to do it that reverence. old sanchez--josé--the former proprietor, had disappeared entirely, he and his brace of henchmen, after somewhere digging a treasure pit in the sand and therein "caching" their store of mescal, aguardiente, and certain other illicit valuables. it was conjectured that he had fled to the verde valley and taken refuge at mcdowell until the storm blew over. but craney was more than curious as to case's guest, the ghost, and by friday case was sober and solemn and sick enough to be cross-questioned without show of resentment. craney went so far as to ask case wouldn't he like a little whiskey to steady his nerves--a cocktail to aid his appetite and stir his stomach? "like it," said case, "you bet i would--which is why i won't take it. three days' liquor, two days' taper, one day suffer, then the water wagon for a spell. thank you all the same, mr. craney. what can i do for you without the drink?" but when craney mentioned sanchez, the ghost and the drinking bout by night at the rookery, case said he must have been nigher to jimjams than he'd got in a year. "i never saw any ghost," said he, and craney had to give it up, and report his failure to the commanding officer. "ever try threatening him with discharge?" asked bucketts, by way of being helpful. "ever try? i don't _have_ to try! the one time i started in on that lay he never let me finish; said all right, he'd go just as soon as he'd balanced the books. then, by gad, it was all i could do to get him to stay. he is the most independent damn man i ever met. says he knows he's a drunkard and nuisance one week out of four, and don't wonder i want to discharge him. discharge him? i couldn't get along without him! any time he wants a better job and plenty of society all he's got to do is go to prescott. discharge him! all i'm afraid of is he'll discharge himself!" so bucketts dropped the subject and he and strong went to report non-success to archer just as the sun was going down and the peak, in lone grandeur, loomed up dazzling above the black drapery about its base, and bonner, pacing up and down with his much-honored chief, saw the gloom deepen in his deep-set eyes. only lilian seemed able to win a smile from him, as she came and took him by the arm and led him away to dinner. darkness settled down apace. the moon rose late and the stars were holding high carnival in consequence, for the skies were gorgeous in their deck of gold. mrs. stannard was dining with the archers _en famille_, as she did now almost every evening, for the archers would so have it, and archer had been talking of harris's proposition, and his determined stand for 'tonio. mrs. archer shook her pretty head in negation. she could not see how any one who distrusted her general could himself be loyal. she had said the same of secretary stanton during the war, for one of that iron master's most masterly convictions was that every soldier, southern born--even such as thomas--must of necessity be a southern sympathizer. 'tonio must needs be a traitor since he avoided sight of, or speech with, her soldier who could do no wrong. and if mrs. archer believed in 'tonio, on her husband's account, what must have been lilian's conviction? she who had both father and lover--father and the husband soon to be, for of that mrs. archer had now no earthly doubt--the two men beyond all others combined who were dearest to lilian on earth, both of them inimical to 'tonio, one of them wellnigh his victim. it was mrs. stannard who listened in silence. she had longer known the apache-mohave, and as between 'tonio and willett it might well be a story with two sides. they had finished their coffee and were just coming forth upon the veranda into the exquisite evening air, and, as bidden by her father, lilian had just begun to tune her guitar, when across the parade among the men seated along the low front of the barracks there was sudden start, sudden rush, and, from up the line of officers' quarters not many doors away, came agonized cry for help. archer sprang to his feet and started, but mrs. archer, in a paroxysm of fear, thinking only of indians and treachery, seized him by the arm, clung to and held him. mrs. stannard sprang within the hall and back with archer's revolver which, without a word, she thrust into his hand. then all three together started, for while fifty men came tearing headlong across the sandy level, making straight for the adjutant's quarters, lilian, their little lilian--the silent, sad-eyed, anxious child of the days and days gone by--heading everybody, was flying like a white-winged bird, straight along the line, and when the father reached her she had thrown herself upon a heap of burning, smouldering bedding, thrashing it with a wet blanket snatched from the olla, and then, with her own fair, white hands, was beating out the few sparks that remained about the sleeve and shoulder of a soaked and dishevelled gown, and brushing others from the hair and face of an unheroic, swathed and dripping figure--harold willett in the midst of the wreck of his cot, while blitz, the striker, aided by wettstein and the doctor's man, were stamping and swearing and tearing things to bits in the effort to down other incipient blazes. between them they had dragged willett from the midst of the flames and drenched him with a cataract from the olla. the rush of the men from the barracks made short work of the fire, but when mrs. archer and mrs. stannard, with throbbing hearts, bent over the scorched and smoking ruin on the south porch, a tousled brown head, with ghastly face, was clasped in lilian's arms, pillowed on lilian's fair, white bosom. willett had fainted from fright, pain and reaction, and the unheroic, untried, unfearing girl had blistered her own fair hands, her own soft, rounded, clasping arms, yet saw and felt nothing but dread for his suffering and joy for his safety. even the mother for a moment could not take her rescued darling from that fond, fearless, impassioned embrace. all in that desperate instant the veil of virgin shame had burned away. in the fierce heat and shock and peril the latent love force had burst its bonds, the budding lily had blossomed into womanhood. and upon that picture, pallid, weak and suffering, another neighbor, another pain-stricken young soldier gazed in silence, then turned unobtrusively away. there was no one to help him back to the reclining chair from which he had been startled at the almost frenzied shriek of alarm. there was no further talk--no thought of signals that night; archer had had enough of fire. they bore the reviving officer, presently, to a vacant room in stannard's quarters, and lilian was led to her own. there were bandages about both hands and arms when next morning she appeared upon the gallery. they hid the red ravages on the fair, white skin, but what was there to veil the radiant light that shone in her eyes, the burning blushes that mantled her soft and rounded cheeks? archer took her to his heart and kissed her and turned to his duty with a sigh. mrs. archer clung to and hovered about her, silent, for what was there to say? mrs. stannard came over, all smiles and sunshine, to announce that "he" had passed a comfortable night, and "his" first waking thoughts and words were for her, as indeed they should have been, and, so far as audible words were concerned, they possibly were. what else could mrs. stannard have said when she saw that winsome, yet appealing little face? and in such wise was our lilian wooed; in such wise was she won. contrary to bentley's wishes, willett had essayed to smoke, and so set his bed afire. contrary to all convention, the love of the maiden had been the first to manifest itself to public eye, but willett manfully rose to the occasion. in the midst of anxiety, uncertainty and danger there beamed one ray, at least, of radiant, unshadowed, buoyant hope and bliss and shy delight. lilian archer envied no girl on the face of the globe, no white-robed seraph in heaven; and for her sake others, too, strove hard to hope, to help, to shower good wishes and congratulation. "but to think of my little girl in love," said archer, with brimming eyes. "why, you--you won't be nineteen!" "and mother was but seventeen when she married you," softly laughed lilian, snuggling to his side. "and mr. willett so far from his captaincy," sighed her mother. "much nearer than father was to even a first lieutenancy when you married him," was the joyous answer. "_he_ was only a second lieutenant by brevet." "well," said mrs. archer, "it seems different--somehow." and so it seemed to us. "all too brief a wooing," said poor archer. "god send her longer wedded bliss!" chapter xvi. moreover, as some one said in speaking of the sudden engagement, "it came about on a friday evening, didn't it?" and then, too, when people were talking it over a few weeks later, as mrs. archer said, "it seemed different." soldier folk sometimes have superstitions as surely as the sailor man is never without his, and a start on a voyage of love life, clearing port of a friday evening, had its inauspicious side. but for the mishap that suddenly enveloped the happy man in flames at a moment when he was sprawled on his back with his whole right side, as it were, in a sling, mr. harold willett might indeed have returned to duty and department headquarters with no other encumbrance than a mortgaged pay account, and it was not fair to lilian to speak of her engagement as "announced" that friday evening; but in her wondrous happiness she could find no fault with anything about it. it was all just perfect, just heavenly (where they neither give nor are given in marriage, which possibly accounts, as said our cynic, for so much that is heavenly about it). as an engagement, in fact, it did not exist until four days later, after other and equally important things had occurred, and we have merely taken lilian's point of view, and left them out of that chapter and all consideration, as she did, so far as we are concerned, in order to have it all over and done with. but of course there had to be time for willett to recover from the effects of the shock, to be clothed in his right mind and something less fragmentary than the relics of a _robe de nuit_, and a day in which to realize what had taken place. (i shrewdly suspect that our good friend mrs. stannard saw to it that mr. willett was informed of what lilian had done and suffered on his account, if she did not dilate on what lilian had betrayed.) and then came his very properly worded plea to be allowed to see her and thank her; and when there was equally proper demur on mrs. archer's part, willett made his avowal in what even the mother held to be manly and convincing fashion, for, now that she knew that her darling's heart was gone--that it was too late to avert the inevitable--mother-like, she strove to see with her darling's eyes all that was good in him, and there was so _very_ much that was good-looking. she never even hinted to her husband, much less to lilian, that she had heard the paragon most vehemently accused of most unmanly and unbecoming conduct (for what was mr. case, after all, but an irresponsible inebriate?), and she saw that her daughter's happiness was wrapped up in this brilliant and most presentable young soldier. willett certainly gave many a promise of eminence in his career and profession, so she set herself at once to work to talk the general into complaisance, and he, who loved her with all his heart, and believed her the best, the bravest, fondest, truest wife in all the army (as indeed she might have been without being the wisest), and who could deny lilian nothing from the time she turned his best silken sash into a swing for herself and wauwataycha two bears, her tiny sioux playmate, till now that she had set her heart on one harold willett for a husband, broke down and surrendered as ordered. but there was that in the old soldier's face as he took willett's hand that made the junior wince more than did the grip, which was mild enough. "she will be just such another wife as is her blessed mother," said archer. "be good and true to her, willett." "i will, so help me god!" said willett solemnly, and then, at least, he meant it. there had been an awkward little conference, an impromptu affair, at the mess the morning after the alarm of fire. willett stock had been running down before that episode, and went "plumb out of sight" for several hours. it was held by bonner, bucketts, briggs and strong a most womanish thing on his part to have raised such a row and then "wilted." it was bentley, the most disgusted man at the post, who now came to the rescue. "he was dumped on the porch like a sack of potatoes," said he, "and probably suffered exquisite pain, let alone the burns and the shock." then, bunglingly, as bachelors will, and bachelors two of them were, they began to talk of the revelation that met their eyes and what it portended. no one, as yet, had told "the old man" of willett's night at the store, and now no man would do it. bygones were bygones. willett would be up in a week or so, the better, perhaps, for enforced rest and abstinence, and now, of course, there could and would be no more of--of that sort of thing, and all his better traits would shine by contrast with his probably temporary lapse into frivolity. even then, however, they wondered what harris would think, and speculated as to what he would say. bucketts had not guessed amiss when he said there was no love lost between the classmates. bucketts, and all, had seen how much both the young men had been attracted by lilian's grace and beauty, and the sweet, girlish freshness that proved such a charm. bucketts, and all, had been in, as usual, to see harris, and found him, as he said, a trifle set back by the excitement, and therefore rather more grave and quiet even than usual, but they said no word of lilian and--possibilities. he knew. strong had seen him when he came, and looked, and stood inert one moment there, unable to be of use, and had turned slowly back to his room under bentley's roof. everybody knew it could not be more than a day or two before the affair would be announced as an engagement, and while every man felt that willett had won a prize far beyond his deserts, there was not one that felt like tendering congratulation. but, as we said, there were other and important matters to claim the attention of the garrison, and just an hour before sunset that evening came the first. case's week was up, and, sharp on time at noon on saturday, case came forth from his room, tubbed, trimmed and shaved, went silently to his desk and then turned to mr. craney to ask what had become of the mail. "nary mail," said craney. "not a cuss got in or out for over a week." "didn't sanchez bring--anything from prescott?" "nothing but his ghost has even been heard of. you told of that." "i? do you mean he hasn't been here--hasn't told you what's happened?" and case's eyes were looking wild again. "what _has_ happened, case? by gad, if you know, out with it, for no mother's son of us here has heard a thing for a week, and sanchez has never set foot on the post." "then send for mr. strong, quick," said case, sinking into a chair, the sweat of weakness and distress of mind showing instantly on his brow, rare symptom in arizona. and then, while somebody ran up to the post to summon the adjutant, case, pressing his hands to his head, began striding up and down the low-ceilinged, half-darkened room. "wait," he said, as craney and watts, excited and anxious, would have pressed him to begin. "wait. give me just three fingers," and the whiskey was handed forthwith. he downed it in two gulps, and presently the color began to come back to his cheeks, and then strong came hurrying in. "is mr. harris still here?--and that other specimen--mr. willett?" case demanded on the instant. "that's well, anyhow! and the cavalry still out? that's bad. we want 'em here, _here_, i tell you, and quick, too! gentlemen, this is no cock-and-bull story. there's enough apaches back of us here in the mazatzal to head off everybody from prescott or mcdowell. they've killed three parties--a dozen soldiers, perhaps--already, and they've cut off prescott and date creek and sandy, and murdered every courier that tried to get through. they headed off and killed the runners sent to find general crook and give him the news, but worse than all, they've been down here begging the sierra blancas, and the bands of deltchay and eskiminzin--nearly eight hundred they'd make--to come up here and get between turner and the post, eat him up in the cañons--he's had a lot killed and wounded already--and then turn on us. how do i _know_ it?" he demanded, in the midst of his excited harangue. "sanchez told me--'patchie sanchez, the runner, last night. no--night before, or _some_ night. right here, i thought; right here where you all heard! he said they'd ordered him ironed in prescott for telling the truth, and he said the sergeant had orders to flog him with a bull-whip, and he killed the man that tried to flog him. you mean you didn't hear this? you didn't know it? you didn't see him?--that i've been dreaming as well as drunk? by god, drunk or dreaming, it's so! and that's why josé sanchez and the others lit out for mcdowell! they were afraid to stay. 'patchie says deltchay and skim are coming, sure, whether the sierra blancas join or not. all the cavalry are up on the black mesa 'cept turner's troop, and now's their turn. call me drunk, crazy, mad, _anything_ you like, but tell the general what i say! tell him to get ready to fight like hell!" [illustration: "keep watch now all around, especially east and southeast." page 175] and so it would seem case, the bookkeeper, had "inside information," and so it happened that, within an hour after sunset, once again the gray-haired commander and the wounded subaltern were in conference, and case's strange story was told in full. "there's more than enough in it to demand our warning turner," said harris. "can you get me up to squadron peak--to-night?" just at tattoo the old-fashioned, yellow ambulance, drawn by a brace of mules, backed up at bentley's quarters, and harris was carefully lifted aboard. the general, with strong and bonner, stood at hand to say godspeed. "promise him safe conduct," said the commander, as they drove away, and harris touched his hat in acknowledgment. briggs, with twenty stout foot soldiers, awaited them at the abandoned ranch. the doctor and two attendants accompanied him. the road for nearly four miles lay along the sandy flats, then went boring westward into the foothills, while a little worn branch turned off to the peak. two-thirds of the way to the top the mules were able to pull the jolting vehicle, and from thence half a dozen brawny arms bore the young soldier on a stretcher to the summit. it was then after eleven, and the moon still behind the mogollon, lowering black against the silvering skies full forty miles to the eastward. already there was sufficient light to guide them, and a sergeant led on to a point where, surrounded by knee-high rocks, was a little blackened space where in bygone days many a signal fire had blazed, and here the men tossed the tinder, the pine cones and dead branches they had gathered on the climb. a match was applied. all crouched or stooped among the rocks, as the flames presently leaped on high, and gave ear to the quiet orders of the young soldier, practically in command. "keep watch now, all round, especially east and south-east. it may be ten minutes before you get an answer, and there _may_ come a dozen. more fuel may be needed," whereat half a dozen dark forms silently backed away down the slope, and all men waited and watched. harris, with one arm and shoulder still bandaged, and obviously weak, sat grasping at the corner a folded blanket and busily coaching briggs, who listened, absorbed. ten, twelve, fourteen the minutes rolled by. the silvery sheen spread higher over the eastward sky. the crest of the distant mesa was just fringing with dazzling white, when two voices at once exclaimed: "there you are, sir!" and afar over to the south-east, the direction of tonto creek, a little ruddy spark appeared through the gloom, and a moment later still another was made out, farther to the left. in twenty minutes three were in sight. "anywhere from fifteen to twenty miles away," said harris, as he studied them with the signal glass, "and," he continued, "i looked for one much nearer." "there you have it, sir!" and almost opposite them, it seemed, and lower, straight away to the east, so near they could almost mark the waving of the flame, a fourth blaze burst into view. "that's more like it!" said harris. "now the blanket. give me a boost, corporal," and with that, supported by the strong arm of one of the soldiers, he stepped upon the nearest rock, the blanket in his left hand. briggs grabbed the opposite corner with his right, and the next moment a woollen curtain swung flat between the fires. "now, briggs, up!" and the hidden red eye was suddenly unmasked and glared out over the east. "down!" and all toward the opposite fire was darkness again. twice more was it raised and lowered. then a five seconds' pause. then twice again. "thirty-two," said harris. "'tonio's old signal. now watch for the answers!" from those at a distance there came no sign. the flare at each was steady. from the nearmost, almost instantly, came the desired response. it suddenly disappeared, and harris, at second intervals, counted low, "one, two, three." then came the red glow again, just a moment. then darkness only for two seconds. then light again. "it is 'tonio," said he, "and that's his call to me. now, briggs, again! slowly this time!" and very slowly was the blanket raised and lowered twice. then came two or three quicker movements. then the blaze spoke untrammelled, and all eyes were on 'tonio's torch, and they who had heard ill of him--had doubted him--found themselves oddly drawn to him across the intervening miles of darkness. twice, thrice slowly his light, too, was curtained. then for a moment it burned clearer; then seemed suddenly to sputter out. within a few seconds, far more swiftly than it rose, the signal fire vanished from sight, and harris stepped quietly down. "that's all," said he, yet the doctor, at least, could read the suppressed exultation in his tone. then, seeing inquiry and disappointment, both, in the eager eyes about him, the young officer added, "he understands. he's coming, or sending, in." "did you promise him safe conduct?" asked bentley. "he did not ask it," was the answer. two hours later, once more safe at the post, the doctor had stowed his weary patient in bed, renewed the dressing and bandages, and was bidding him try to sleep, but harris smiled. "you'll need me to translate," said he. "the general's message to turner is being written now. let us finish this while we're about it." sure enough. toward half-past one the sentries on numbers six and seven set up a shout for the corporal of the guard, and an indian girl, trembling a bit, was led to the office, and half the garrison knew that word was in from 'tonio. the general took his messenger kindly by the hand. food and chocolate were in readiness at the mess, but she shook her head. "capitan chiquito," she insisted, and then was conducted up the line, and, shrinking not a little, was led into the doctor's quarters. there, at sight of harris, she instantly stepped to his bedside, knelt, and taking his weary hand, placed it on her head. he whom 'tonio held in reverence, his followers could but blindly obey. to his question in her own tongue, "where is 'tonio?" she answered, "toward the moon, now two hands high. when it is straight above pancha can reach him again." "is 'tonio well?" "'tonio is well, but--others brought pancha. they say they are afraid that soldiers shoot. they await pancha's returning." evidently, despite the kindness in every face, the girl still feared the white man and wished to be gone. "he has sent her, general," said harris. "whatever you wish to send now to turner will go through, if 'tonio is not killed in the attempt." and so, with unexpected burden of food and gifts and with a brief despatch to turner, bidding him hasten with his entire force, the dusky, fleet-footed daughter of the mountain was led back to the stream, went bounding lightly across from stone to stone, and disappeared among the shadows toward the east. "and now," said harris, "deltchay and skiminzin may come as soon as they like. turner will get here in time, and then--you may judge as to 'tonio." and this was saturday night or rather sunday morning, not yet one full week since willett was brought in swearing he saw 'tonio take deliberate aim at him, although only the horse was shot, and as matters stood in the gross and scope of garrison understanding, the weight of presumptive evidence was against the apache, and there was more to come. chapter xvii. as was to be expected, lieutenant harris was somewhat worse when time came for inspection sunday morning, but bentley said complete rest would soon restore him. the other interesting invalid, lieutenant willett, was correspondingly better, and was to sit up awhile later in the day. inspection was held under arms and in fighting kit instead of full dress--the two companies looking like a pair of scanty platoons, so heavy was the drain for guard duty. from earliest dawn lookouts had been stationed on top of the adjutant's office at the south, and the hospital at the north edge of the parade, bucketts having built for them a little wooden platform, with bench, shelf and sunshade, and there, with signal-service glasses, they scoured the barren wilds in every direction for sign of coming friend or foe. it was eleven o'clock when bentley came forth with mrs. stannard from his morning visit to willett. "oh, he's doing as well as an overfed, under-trained animal has any right to," said he, in response to the inquiry in her soft blue eyes. "i still think some men have too much luck in this world of ours. here's willett, who doesn't begin to deserve it, getting everything that is good, and harris, who deserves all the good that the army affords, gets all the hard knocks and setbacks. here's willett swearing that 'tonio's a renegade, hostile, spy and a traitor, and harris convinced that he is stanch and loyal--that willett must be mistaken in saying he shot at him, and though everything i know of the apaches or ever heard, and every bit of evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of willett's statement, just from what i've seen of these two men i'm deciding with harris." "you don't--feel confidence in mr. willett's--judgment?" she asked. for a moment he hesitated, then turned and squarely faced her. "i don't feel confidence in mr. willett. there, mrs. stannard! there are not ten women in the army to whom i'd trust myself to speak of this--or five women out of it--but i am not happy over the way things are going." "don't you think he'll--learn to appreciate her?" "he shouldn't _have_ to learn! he should see it all at a glance, and thank god for the unmerited blessing." "perhaps he does," said she, ever gentle, helpful, hopeful. "it is lovely the way he speaks to her--and i'm quite eager to see them this afternoon." what woman would not be? what man would not have been at his best at such a time, under such circumstances? the realization that he had won the fervent love of that fresh, pure, exquisite young heart was enough to thrill even a nature so utterly selfish as willett's. it is the shallowest soul that most readily thrills, and what could be sweeter than the shy, yet rapturous love in the downcast eyes of lilian archer, when, as he had implored her mother, she was led that afternoon to the darkened room in which he sat, and, like knight of old, he took and bent over and kissed her trembling little hand. "i would kneel, too," he murmured, even as her mother stood beside her, with swimming eyes, and as he looked up into the blushing face his own eyes were filled with unfeigned homage, admiration, even love, his deep voice with emotion that was sweet to woman's ear. "heaven never made a lovelier lover than hal willett," once said a famous belle and beauty. "that's why so many of us like to listen." but these earnest, honest, inexperienced two--the whole-hearted army wife who had lived well-nigh quarter of a century in the undivided sunshine of an honest soldier's love, and this sweet, simple-hearted army girl who had never dreamed of or thought to know any love to compare with this--listened, spellbound, to willett's almost eloquent avowal, and the last doubt or fear that mrs. archer entertained vanished like the morning mists before the sunshine. "i declare," she said to mrs. stannard, "i'm almost as much in love as lilian," and indeed it seemed so, and might well be so, for never was queen's courtier so exquisite in deference, homage, tact, as, in that blissful week of honeymooning, was hal willett to the mother of his dainty love. as for lilian, the arid, breezeless day was soft with scented zephyrs; the unpeopled air was athrill with the melody of countless song birds; the unsightly desert flowered with exquisite millions of buds and blossoms that craved the caress of her dainty hand, the pressure of her pretty foot. the sunburned square of the lonely little garrison, environed with swarthy foemen, cut off from the world, was alive with heroic knights in glittering armor and ladies in lace and loveliness, and all were her loyal, devoted subjects, revelling in her happiness, rejoicing in her smiles, serving her in homage and on bended knee, their thrice-blessed, beautiful, beloved queen. god never made a more radiantly happy girl than was our fairy lilian that wonderful week. god be thanked it was so utterly blissful, since it had to be so brief! all day long the watchmen clung to their glaring stations, and sunday went by without either alarm or excursion. all sunday--monday night, they scanned the dark depths of eastward basin, the lone reaches of the valley, the tumbling heights to the west. it was nine in the morning of the second day since the signalling from squadron peak when the cry went up from the roof of the office, "signal smoke south-east!" and every glass at almy was brought to bear within the minute, and half the garrison lined the lower edge of the mesa, and all men were listening for further tidings, when from the hospital came the stirring shout: "smoke answer, west!" and there, plainly visible, and not five miles away among the pine-bearded foothills, in little puffs, singly and distinct, thick wreaths of gray-white smoke were sailing straight aloft. the waiting apache of the mazatzal was signalling the coming brother from the dark clefts of the sierra ancha. one hour later, just as ten was striking on the spiral of the office clock, two sudden shots were heard on the flats to the north-west, and the little herd of horses and mules, not two dozen in all, grazing under cover of the rifles of sentries 3 and 4, came limping, lumbering in, fast as hoppled feet would permit and without sign of a herdsman. number three, a veteran of the war days, let drive with his fifty calibre springfield, the gun of the day, and sent up a yell for "the guard!" "join your companies, men," said the general, in his placid way, whereat most of them went with a rush. "the north side first, bonner," he added, as the captain came hurrying to his chief. "they've sneaked up on the herd guard, i fancy. send the picked shots out to the pits." out on the flats to the west of the verde road, full five hundred yards away from rock, tree or shelter, other than mere clump of cactus, pumpkin size, or bunch of dirty weed, there was lying a little heap of dingy white and brown, with a cow pony kicking at empty air in a shallow ditch--what was left of the half-breed herd guard and his mount. with most of the cavalry gone, the quartermaster had supplied their place with such mounted men as he could make available, and in broad daylight, within long rifle-shot of the sentry lines, the apaches had squirmed out, snake-like, on their bellies, unseen, unsuspected; had picked off one of two watchers and stampeded the other. the skirmish line stumbled over the survivor, quaking among the willows in the stream bed, and kicked him out into the open to help bear home his murdered brother; then pushed out as far as the first ridge in hopes of a shot, and were rewarded with nothing better than a glimpse of vanishing breech-clouts. falling slowly back, toward noon, bonner posted two men in each of a dozen rifle-pits, some fifty yards outside the sentry lines, as a rule, and wherever view of the approaches could be had. two of these were on little knolls to the south of the store, and here were craney & co. in full force, every man armed with a henry rifle and a war-model colt, "mr. case-keeper book," as sergeant clancy jovially hailed him, quite as formidable as his fellows, and every whit as cool. craney held that he and his men had a right to be counted in among those told off to hold the fort, and bonner smilingly assented. "you two seem to hit it off pretty well together," said he to case and clancy. "i reckon we'll cossack you over yonder," and he pointed to a scooped-out little hummock nearest the stream, commanding much of the southward road and the trail along the willows, now facetiously termed the "ghost walk." it was an unusual assignment, or distribution, but it seemed to strike the fancy of both. in times of peril and at the fore-posts men think less of rank and more of repute. clancy was known far and wide as a fearless apache fighter, with a gaines's mill-gettysburg record behind him. case had never before been heard of afield, but his one exploit in the card room stamped him unerringly, said these frontier experts, as "a man of nerve." clancy held out his big red hand. "are ye with me?" said he. "yours truly," said case. "then come on, pitkeeper," said clancy, "and we'll leave book and case behind." the general came jogging down at the moment, bestriding one of bucketts's general utility beasts, watching the posting of the post defenders, and he screwed his eyelids down to a slit as he glared from under the brim of his then unorthodox slouch hat, and squinted after the combination of soldier and civilian stalking away to the assigned station. "what have you there, bonner?" he asked, as he reined in. "'erin go unum, e pluribus bragh,' sir, as derby would have it." "the celt and the casekeeper," he added to himself. "clancy and case going gunning together as amicably as if they had never squabbled over a sutler's bill." "queer lot--that man case!" said the commanding officer reflectively. "his face bothers me sometimes, as though i must have seen or known him before, yet he tells me that he did not come to vancouver until after i had left that department. is he all straight again?" "straight as the new toadsticker, general, and"--with a rueful look at that slender appendage--"a damned sight more useful. his ghost-herding spree was no end important. i've an idea case can handle a gun as well as"--another _sotto voce_ now--"he can play a worthless hand." "well," said archer, as he glanced about him, "i don't believe, as a rule, in putting any but soldiers on post, but," as he considered the slender rank of infantry standing patiently at ease, barely a dozen all told, and then smiled at craney and his belligerent force, only four in number, but each man a walking arsenal with two weapons and five shots to the soldiers' one, "there are no non-combatants in indian warfare. every man, woman and child may have to fight." yet archer felt no measure whatever of apprehension. one hundred good men and true, at least, were left to guard the post, and many of them battle-tried veterans. not since the war days had the apaches mustered in sufficient force and daring to attack a garrison. still, archer knew that if they only realized their strength in point of numbers, their skill in creeping close to their prey, their swiftness of foot, and the ease with which they could escape, all they needed was dash, determination and a leader, to enable them to creep upon the post in the darkness, and in one terrific moment swoop upon the officers' quarters, massacre every soul, and be off across the stream before the men in the barracks could rush to the rescue. they had talked it over at officers' mess--the general and bonner and bucketts and all, and figured out just how fifty white desperadoes could plan and accomplish the feat. it would be no trick at all to come up the valley in the screen of the willows, creep to the west bank, divide into six different squads, one for each set of quarters, crawl to the post of the drowsy sentry, shoot him full of arrows before he could cry out or load, then, all together, charge up the slope and into the flimsy houses, pistols in hand and knives in their teeth, and simply butcher the occupants as they lay in their beds. doors, even if closed or bolted, which rarely happened, could be smashed in an instant--matches would light their way. it would be all over in much less time than it takes to tell it, and it might well happen but for two things--the apache's dread of the dark and his fear of a possible hand-to-hand fight. yet if deltchay and eskiminzin, with all their warriors were to reëforce these about them, with five hundred braves to the garrison's one hundred, even that dread might be overcome. and by monday's sundown it was known that numbers of apaches had crossed the valley ten miles away to the south--the telescope had told that--and not a word or sign had been vouchsafed by turner, and tuesday brought no better news. then 'tonio, said many a man, had played them false. just at four o'clock archer had arranged the dispositions for the night. mrs. stannard, with mrs. archer and lilian, were to occupy the ground floor, north-west, room of his quarters--the one least exposed to flying bullets in case of attack. mrs. bennett and the matron were moved into a little room in the hospital. the soldiers' wives and children were to assemble in the barracks in case of alarm. the men in the outlying posts and pits were to be doubled at dusk--bonner's company attending to that, while briggs and his fellows were to sleep on their arms within the post. it now lacked but a few minutes of sunset. no further demonstration had occurred. not an indian had been seen within a radius of six miles, when, all on a sudden, there came a shot--then two, almost together, then a quick crackle and sputter of small-arms afar down the stream. "by jove!" cried bonner, from a perch by the lookout at the office. "they've opened on case and clancy!" [illustration: "they've opened on case and clancy." page 188] and that was but the opening, for within a minute, from on every side, from far out among the rocks to the west, from the sandhills across the stream, from little heaps of brush and weed and cactus in the flats, from the distant screen of the willows in the stream bed, little puffs of white sulphur smoke jutted into the slanting sunshine, and the pulseless air of declining day was suddenly set to stir and throb by the crackle of encircling musketry. and then was seen the wisdom of the veteran's defence. few of the hostiles, as yet, had other than old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifles, and few that they owned were effective over six hundred yards. by stationing his better shots in rifle pits well forward from the buildings on every side, archer easily held the foe at a distance so long as they dare not "rush" his outposts. only on the east side were there pits less than three hundred yards from the mesa, but here there was a dismal flat beyond the creek, affording a minimum of cover, and hardly a bullet whistled in from any direction so as to reach the quarters. once in a while a little puff of dust flew up from the sandy slope without, but even that was enough to demand that the women folk should keep under shelter, and at the moment the firing began lilian and her mother were seated by willett's reclining chair, and then mrs. stannard joined them, and, the windows being shaded, they never saw, among the first to reach the general at the mesa edge, harris, the wounded officer, revolver in his unfettered hand. the first volleying over, only in single and scattered shots, as they reloaded, came the indian fire. if the hope had been to strike dismay with a volume of sound such as native ears had not heard, the apache was doomed to disappointment. men who had heard the crash of spottsylvania and cold harbor laughed at the puny crackle of two hundred muskets. then presently the springfields began deliberate reply, only an occasional shot, for only very rarely did so much as the tip of a turban appear, and then the sun had dropped below the mazatzal and the valley was in shadow, and old archer stood with grim, whimsical smile on his weather-beaten face, as, field-glass to his eyes, he scanned his outposts at the south where the firing seemed heaviest. it was a moment or two before he noticed harris at all. when he did it was to utter a mild rebuke. "you should not be here, lad. you need rest. this is only fun." yet not all fun. strong came presently thumping back from beyond the store. he had borrowed craney's pinto pony and had been visiting the southward posts, and pinto had been clipped by a bullet and was half frantic with the smart and scare combined. moreover, strong's fighting face was red and mad, as he thrashed the lagging pony up the slope. "it's deltchay, sir, easy enough," said he, with sweeping salute, "and that isn't all"--this with almost challenging glance at harris, who had dropped his pistol and was gazing intently through his binocular at an open, slanting space far out to the south-east, still blazing in the rays of the setting sun. "the man of all others that oughtn't to be there stood at that point of rocks not ten minutes ago--the man we sent for turner, general--'tonio himself!" then both men, the gray-mustached commander, the angering adjutant, turned on the silent little subaltern, who stood there without having so much as changed his attitude or lowered his glass. "you hear that, harris?" demanded archer. and with calm respect, yet almost exasperating drawl, came the unlooked-for answer: "i was about to mention it--myself, sir. 'tonio was certainly there--and turner close behind him. look for yourself, sir!" look, indeed! riding steadily down into the valley, still a long four miles away, came the extended line of half a cavalry troop in skirmish order, with the supports and reserves dotting the slope to their rear. "turner, as sure as shooting," said the general--"and 'tonio as his guide!" chapter xviii. the attack had ended almost as suddenly as it began. darkness descended upon the valley and every vestige of the apache was gone with the twilight. long before time for tattoo the eager watchers in the down-stream posts could hear muffled hoofbeats and low-toned words of command along the still cautious skirmish line, and turner came but slowly, first because he could see that there was no occasion for hurry; second, because, with his wounded to protect, there was every objection to haste. between that steadily advancing array and these fire-spitting heaps of sand toward the post the indians slid soundless away into the gloom of the foothills, and presently shouts of greeting and welcome re-echoed among the rocks, and turner's men rode sturdily up to the fords. by ten the last litter had been shouldered through the swift waters and borne to the ready hospital, where bentley and his assistants went busily to work. six of the men and two hualpai scouts had been more or less severely wounded, four of them being borne from tonto creek on improvised stretchers made from saplings and blankets. shelter tents, or tentage of any kind, our men had no use for, save as sunshades, in arizona. and with turner came the first tidings to reach the beleaguered post since the couriers were brought in, with their belated tales, from up the verde. turner looked a trifle surprised at the warmth of his greeting. turner had had little idea of their being so closely invested. turner had sent two runners in with reports, and they both returned safely, saying, "almy all right, but plenty tonto everywhere!" one of them said he gave his despatch to 'tonio, as he dare go no farther. one of them brought his back with him, and the third--hualpai 21, he supposed--had finally reached the post, as only two nights since an apache-mohave boy found his way to the tonto creek camp with the despatch recalling the cavalry. they started at dawn, wounded and all; had a long range fight with tontos toward evening, and another next morning, but forged slowly and steadily ahead with only slight loss, and came in sight of the flag and the fracas late the second afternoon. turner was glad to get back, he said, since it seems he was needed, but was no sooner back than he was eager to launch out again. hadn't they heard? why, there had been great doings up on the mogollon. old gray fox himself had taken the field and was out with all the horsemen from whipple and sandy, and stannard had joined them, and they were ripping up the tonto country in a way that bade fair to wind up the war. how had he heard? why, _runners_--apache-mohaves--'tonio's people. kwonahelka and some of his ilk had managed to keep going between them, slipping through or skipping round the tontos like so many "ghost goats." it was only here, round about almy, the hostiles were too many for them!" "d'you mean you didn't _know_ the apache-mohaves were just as hostile as the rest?" asked archer. "apache-mohaves!" exclaimed turner, looking up in amaze from the hot supper set for him in the mess room. "why, general, i couldn't have got along without 'em!" "this beats me!" said the chief, looking at the faces about him for support, and finding it in every one, for harris had been remanded to bed. "up here they have chased our couriers, blocked the runners, and 'tonio himself shot at willett and killed his horse!" for a moment turner was too much surprised to speak. suddenly he called to the orderly at the doorway to send his sergeant, who was then at the adjutant's office adjoining. "i beg your pardon, general," he said, "but this seems incredible in view of our experiences. why, some of them joined us and stayed with us day and night." then as a bearded, sun-blistered face appeared at the doorway, and a sturdy form in hunting shirt of deerskin and long apache leggings stood attention before them: "sergeant, send 'tonio here, and you come with him. you and he seem to understand each other." "'tonio didn't come in, sir, nor the few that were with him. they hung back and quit at the point." "quit! do you know what's the trouble?" "no, sir." but the soldier was obviously embarrassed. "i gather, though, from what i could understand, that 'tonio thinks he's mistrusted. he says he will not come in till big chief comes himself. he means general crook, sir." there was silence a moment. it was for the post commander to speak if anybody, and archer sat studying the veteran trooper before him. officers of experience knew the value of expert opinion to be had for the asking among sergeants with war records behind them, and turner's right bower, into whose sanctum at barracks only his intimates ventured, save with cap in hand and "sir" on their lips, was a man of mark in the regiment. "sergeant malloy," said archer, "did 'tonio tell you why he was mistrusted?" "i think he was trying to, sir, but i am new at his language and none too good at signs." again did it seem as though malloy had understood more readily than he cared to admit, or would presume to say. it was very late. the day had been long and trying. with all its matter-of-fact, nonchalant ease of manner during the few hours under fire, the personnel of camp almy, officer and man, had been subjected to something of a strain night and day for nearly a week, and now was ready to turn in and sleep, but archer and those with him were convinced that in sergeant malloy there lived a witness who, better even than lieutenant harris, could throw light on 'tonio's singular and inexplicable behavior. there was not one of their number who did not believe, and in the absence of harris would hesitate to say, that willett had seen 'tonio taking deliberate aim when the shot was fired that downed both his horse and himself. this was enough to warrant their doubt of 'tonio's loyalty. all that was lacking was something to establish a motive--an explanation--for a murderous and treasonable deed. an unwilling witness was sergeant malloy, therefore the more persistent should be the examination, and after a moment's reflection archer spoke again: "sergeant, you have formed an impression, i think, and i should be glad to have the benefit of it. did--he mean that--lieutenant harris distrusted him?" "no, sir." on this point the sergeant was confident. "did he mention any one--in particular?" "i gathered that he thought that all the officers of the post, from the general down, with perhaps two exceptions, distrusted him." "and these two--were?" "captain stannard, sir, and captain turner." "i see," said archer gravely. "now, had anything happened--had anything been said or done to account for his--sensitiveness, we will call it?" malloy hesitated. "the general understands, i hope, that i am answering only as to impressions. i might be mistaken as to his meaning, and he might have been mistaken as to the meaning of the officer in the case." "then there has been a case? when and where?" there was impressive silence in the dimly lighted mess room as the impromptu council sat about the table, turner, with the relics of his hearty supper, at the other end of it. every man present seemed to feel that here at last the clew to 'tonio's double dealing was to be found. the answer came readily enough: "at bennett's ranch, sir, the night it was burnt." "why--what happened there?" and archer was evidently surprised. "'tonio said he was insulted before his own people--called a liar--struck with a gauntlet." "struck? 'tonio? a chief, and a son of a chief--of a line of chiefs, in fact! why, what man could have been--mad enough to do that?" there was just a suspicion of satire, of humor, of possible malice in the answer, yet every one familiar with the traditions and the vocabulary--the nomenclature--of the old army of the old days, knew well the sergeant was well within his rights. respect and regret intermingled were in tone and word as in his answer, all unwittingly, malloy furnished the missing motive for 'tonio's crime: "it wasn't one of the men, sir. it was lieutenant--lieutenant willett." then for a moment there was another silence. bonner, briggs and strong exchanged quick glances. archer's fine, clear-cut face took on a deeper shade, then he turned his chair to squarely face the sergeant. "did he explain--how it came about?" "'tonio said that he wished to go, and ought to go, with lieutenant harris--the lieutenant was his chief. lieutenant willett forbade, as i understand, and ordered him to stay, and he had to get lieutenant harris himself to explain the order before 'tonio would obey. then 'tonio says the lieutenant ordered him to do something, i could not tell what. 'tonio answered by telling lieutenant willett not to step on some moccasin tracks, and the lieutenant surely couldn't have understood him, for he grew very angry and--but, indeed, general, it's more than i know that i've been telling----" but archer had one more question to ask, and asked it, and when it was answered the council broke up with no man dissenting from the general belief in 'tonio's attempted, yet baffled, revenge. "did 'tonio tell you of what happened later--of his attempt to shoot at lieutenant willett?" "not a word or sign of that, sir!" and yet it was 'tonio's people who kept the faith as to bearing messages and giving safe conduct to archer's people in the field. it was all past archer's comprehension and that of the officers present. there was no gray fox there who knew indians as they knew themselves. there was no genial, straightforward "big chief jake," the fearless soldier leader from the lower reservation, from camp apache and the san carlos, the man on whom the gray fox leaned, the man whom the hostiles dreaded, the "friendlies" trusted, and all frontiersmen, soldier or civilian, swore by. they could have fathomed it. even blunt old stannard, had he been there, could have thrown some needed light on the vexed and gloomy question. but in all camp almy that night there was only one officer who, knowing few of these facts, nevertheless knew 'tonio so well, and so repented him of his own brief suspicion, that he would have called a halt to the order given captain turner within the hour--to send sergeant malloy, with a dozen men, as soon as the coast was clear of the hostile apaches, to run down 'tonio wherever he might be, to secure and bring him in, a prisoner bound, and if he sought to escape, to shoot him dead. chapter xix. an atmosphere of peace ineffable surrounded old camp almy. the indians lately infesting the neighborhood seemed to have gone away into the mountain fastnesses. turner had pushed little scouting parties cautiously into the foothills to the west and the rugged country eastward across the stream. others had ventured down to the peak and scaled it in search of signal smokes or fires. others still had explored the valley toward dead man's cañon, and back by way of bennett's, without finding so much as a moccasin print. even the apache-mohaves seemed to have gone from the neighborhood. malloy with his chosen ten was still out, and a rumor was prevalent that their orders might keep them away some days, so no apprehension was felt at their continued absence. another week was nearing an end. a runner, hualpai, had come in from the far north-east, with despatches from stannard. he was with general crook and their comrades from the northward camps and stations. they had abundant supplies, had scattered and driven the tontos, had made some prisoners of squaws and pappooses, who, even to the general, declared they knew not where the bennett children had been hidden. the general was expecting to work southward along the black mesa to meet the column out from the upper san carlos under major randall ("big chief jake," the aforementioned) and between them they meant to leave no stone unturned in the effort to find the boys. stannard enclosed a letter for his bonny wife, and closed with a word by way of postscript over which archer and the three b's found themselves pondering not a little. "wish we had harris and 'tonio with us. hope they are doing well. the general is anxious to meet and know them both." harris was not well. his convalescence had been interrupted and impaired, as we have seen, and no man thrives bodily when heart and soul are sore within him; and, heart and soul, harris was sore. he was sitting up, to be sure, but it was plain to be seen he was suffering. mrs. stannard, wise woman that she was, believed she knew something of the cause and held her peace. dr. bentley, believing also that he knew something of the cause, was not so thoroughly wise. between mrs. bennett, his patients at the hospital, mostly convalescent, and this young knight, the doctor was having a busy time of it. mrs. bennett improved not at all, but had at least become less violent in her anguish. at times she seemed almost in a stupor, and mrs. stannard was beginning to wonder whether the matron, worn out with her lamentations, had been administering surreptitious opiates. mrs. archer's visits had become less frequent, because for long hours she had had to go and sit with lilian and her crippled hero. but now that hero was up and out on the veranda, basking in the sunshine of love unutterable, though enjoined as yet to avoid the fervor of that of arizona. willett had never appeared to better advantage in his life than now, in modestly accepting congratulations, manfully asserting his unworthiness of the blessing that had come to him, and his determination, please god, to live a life of devotion to his new-found delight, this sweet floweret of the desert that so suddenly, so wonderfully, so dominantly had come to gladden, to bless, to inspire his career. love is a marvellous beautifier, mental, moral and physical. in such pure and exquisite companionship, in the radiance of her presence, in the ecstasy of her sweet, shy, still half-timid caress, in the undoubted honesty of his resolution to be all her fondest wishes would have him, and in no easily shaken conviction that, even as he stood, he was a remarkably fine fellow, well calculated to make any girl happy, it was not difficult for willett to rise superior to his past--to forget it, in fact, and to fancy himself for all times the high-minded, love-guided gentleman he stood to-day. why should he not to the full rejoice in her delicious homage?--indulge her sweet rhapsodies?--encourage her fond day dreams? it was so easy now to be all deference and tenderness to the gentle mother he was soon to rob of her one darling, to be all respect and attention to the gallant old soldier father, to be everything that was exquisitely tender, fond, impassioned to this innocent and lovely girl, who trembled with delight at his kiss and clung in speechless rapture to his side. life for him, even here at desolate almy, had suddenly become a veritable heaven. small wonder then that he quite forgot the purpose of his coming, the sordid events that preceded that most fortunate catastrophe, the fire,--forgot or thrust aside all consideration of the episode at the store, the encounter at harris's bedside, the events of the evening when he was hurled headlong among the rocks, the victim of 'tonio's vengeful aim. he had even ceased to remember that he had ever been capable of considering "hefty" harris a rival, that he had ever been capable of undermining or intriguing or inspiring an official report that reflected sorely on harris as an officer and leader. in his present mood, in fine, forgetful of all his past, his heart was overflowing with the milk of human kindness, even to harris, and, having successfully tricked him out of everything worth having at the post, was quite ready to forgive him and once more be the friend, comrade and classmate of his own imaginings. harris alone had not come to congratulate him, but then, as willett well knew, harris could not. mrs. stannard and dr. bentley both reported him still too weak to walk about. he had had much fever and pain and loss of sleep, said they. but now, when in the soft light of this friday evening, willett essayed a stroll up the line, with lilian almost dancing by his side, and with fond eyes following the graceful pair, he took it quite amiss that harris did not come forth to envy, and to add his felicitations. come to think of it, that very truthful woman, mrs. stannard (who never told even a society lie unless there was no way out of it), had brought no word from harris, nor had bentley mentioned such a thing, and this fact impressed itself upon the happy man as twice, thrice they slowly promenaded past the open door of the doctor's quarters without a glimpse of harris, and, finally, on the fourth, the return trip, willett in his exuberant bliss, would not be denied. "harris! o--o--o--hefty!" he shouted. "come out and see a fellow!" for a moment, silence. then, not so resonant but still clearly audible, for both men had voices that "carried" and were used to command: "come in, if you will. can't come out!" "i can't without leaving my convoy," was the return shout, but as willett glanced down into the lovely face so near his shoulder, he found it paling just a bit, and troubled, not rejoiceful. "what is it, sweet? don't you--care to see him?" "i think--i don't know--but--_he_ might not." it was too late. she would have led her lover away, for, young as she was, lilian archer had a woman's intuition, if not many a woman's wit. all on a sudden, unheard because of moccasined feet and the doctor's indian matting, harris stood in the doorway. he did not seem to look at willett. his eyes at once sought her, and seemed closing to a slit as they encountered even the tempered light of declining day--the curious habit common to so many who have long scouted in the glare of desert suns. he hesitated not a moment. at sight of her he came quietly to the edge of the veranda and down the shallow steps, his face pale, as was to be expected, a grave smile upon his lips and even playing about the corners of those keen, blue-gray, unflinching eyes. he waited for no announcement or salutation from his brother officer--mrs. stannard and the doctor had told him the news two days before, and there had been ample time in which to digest it. down in the depths of his heart he believed that willett had planned this "_coup_" for his especial mortification, and down to the tip of his toes he longed to kick him for it, whereas in willett's exuberant self-gratulation, the one thought at the moment was really a "rejoice with me." that other men should envy was, of course, to be expected. what worth were any triumph without the joy of being envied! all his life he had been used to it. all his life, in childish sports, in boyish contest, on campus, rostrum, field or floor, among the lads at school, his fellows at the point, his comrades in the service, wherever physical beauty, grace, skill and strength could prevail he had ever been easily winner, and when it came to women, what maid or matron had withstood his charm of manner? what man had ever yet prevailed against it? that others should long and strive for that which had come to him, unsought, unwooed, was something he could neither obviate nor deny. that was nature's gift to him at birth. it was even magnanimous that, knowing this power, he should so often spare. maids indeed might sigh at his indifference, but their solace lay in the eager offerings of other and less gifted men. suffice it for him that at his beck the best of them would quit the shelter of other arms and come fluttering to his own. but now, of course, all this power of fascination must be sternly tempered, even suppressed. henceforth he must be guarded. the winning of this pure young heart, the possession of this sweet and winsome nature, the lavish homage of this fresh and fervent love should steel his hitherto vagrant fancy against all would-be-willing victims. the time had come when other women must be bidden, if need be, to droop and die. henceforth he had naught to offer them but the contemplation of his content and her unquestioned queendom. and so he could forgive it in harris that he should come forth with no welcoming look for him, the conqueror, and only a yearning gaze for her. he could have felt quick resentment had harris manifested nothing but rejoicing, even in expressing it. he had hated harris when, deposed from his high rank as first captain of the corps of cadets, he had seen that far less showy soldier, his classmate, step easily into command and hold it with better discipline and ever-increasing respect from the entire battalion. the day of their departure from the point had been to willett an unforgotten, unforgiven lesson. it was the custom of the times--an unwritten, if unmilitary law--that on graduation day the class should appear at the mess hall at the dinner hour, and either singly or in little groups of two or three leave the building while the corps still sat at meat. it was even permitted that some should utter a word or two of farewell. man after man willett's fellows had taken their departure, and been accorded by the gray battalion a godspeed more or less thunderous as the individual was honored, popular, or merely a negative quantity. willett had planned to be the last to leave, expectant of ovation that should out-thunder all others, but the officer in charge apparently would not see that regulations were being ignored, that cadets were on their feet about the head of certain tables, actually clinging to would-be going fellows, in unbecoming and unaccustomed "cits," while he was forcibly restrained by none. so, finally, waving his natty straw to table after table, he passed on to the broad-arched entrance, the clamor of voice and the battering of the old time iron stool beginning in kindly and cordial fashion--they would not send a dog away, those big-hearted fellows, without some show of friendliness--yet in all that array he numbered not one real friend, for self-seeking had ever been his creed and there was no man of their sturdy brotherhood that did not know it. beneath the arch he turned and gazed once more over the familiar scene, his eyes dry and glittering, his throat dry and husky. yearlings and some upper classmen were making lively play with stamp and stool, but the din was more perfunctory than powerful--nowhere near what had happened the moment before when two well-beloved fellows, with bowed heads and moistened eyes, had fairly rushed from the hall lest men should see that at last there had come realization that this was the parting of the ways, that the daily habit of four long years was shed forever, that to most of their number the greeting of the gray battalion would be given never again. but he had his wits about him, even then. he saw that now at last, with but four minutes left before the companies must rise and quit the hall, harris was coming--the new-made first captain, adjutant and quartermaster escorting--the commandants of table all over the hall springing to their feet, and the wild rumble of hollow iron beginning the crescendo of swift-coming, stupendous thunder, and willett stood and swung his hat, and classmates half-way down the slope turned back to see, and understood without seeing, that there was something back of it besides willett. and then a tornado burst forth, as harris, pale to the lips, halted at the door. his escort sprang aside, and to a man the battalion leaped to its feet and let go with voice and foot and hand, and the din was deafening. one moment he stood there, trembling with emotion, incapable of response, then whirled and darted down the steps, leaving willett to acknowledge the tremendous ovation that speedily died away--almost to silence--ere he, too, turned and followed. "good-by, fellows! god bless you!" shouted willett, as though in final triumph. he had had the last word; had "taken the call," and the dramatic success of the day was his, or might have been, but for a most unprecedented incident. "hush! hush! shut up!" were the stern, sudden words with which the elders repressed the juniors who, impulsively, would have broken forth again. "wait! wait, you fellows!" was the cry, for on a sudden half a dozen stalwart gray coats had sprung from the door, regardless of the corporal on duty, disdainful of demerit, had hurled themselves on wet-eyed harris, had heaved him up on their shoulders, with pinioned, arm-locked, helpless legs, and frantic, impotently battling fists, and borne him struggling up the steps and once more within the massive portals, and then pandemonium broke loose, for this was no divided honor--there was none to share it now. they bore him, vainly protesting, into the midst of the now risen battalion. they bore him forth into the june sunshine without. they surged about him under the trees and along the roadway, his halted classmates gazing back from the brow of the bluff, a swarm of spectators looking on, a stupefied group surging out from the officers' mess, conceiving that fire alone could account for the tumult. then, over the uproar, could be heard the orders of the new captain. "form your companies!" the shouts of the sergeants: "fall in, men, fall in!" and then the demand: "march us back, hefty! take command once more!" "start 'em back, harris, for god's sake! i can never straighten 'em out," cried his half-laughing, half-sobbing successor, his first sergeant of the year gone by. he stood there prisoner, held by the staff and special duty men. he could not get away. even the saturnine officer in charge stood a smiling observer, and, catching the young graduate's eye, waved approval and encouragement, and so there was no help for it. with a voice half-broken through emotion, he gave the old familiar commands that, three times a day for nearly ten long months previous, had sent them striding back through the gap between the old "academic" and the gray gables of the mess, and so on to the broad area of barracks beyond. then, breaking away, he sprang over the eastward edge of the road, joined the waiting group of classmates at the crest of the hill, and with one long look at the disappearing gray and white column, turned his face to the winding road and the landing below, where the whistling ferryboat lay impatient of their coming--whither willett had already gone. was willett thinking of that bygone scene this breathless evening in the heart of the desert valley, and the shadow of the westward mountain, as his once successful soldier rival came silently forward to grace his triumph in the field of love? harris at least was not. his bearing was quite undramatic, simple, dignified. his greeting was almost too simple. "i can't give you my right hand, miss archer," said he, smiling gravely, "and i won't give a left-handed felicitation. it's my first opportunity," he continued, as he stood quietly before her, looking straight into her blushing face, "and i'm sorry it has to be in such shabby fashion." then just as quietly and squarely he spoke to willett, the gray-blue eyes looking keenly into the brown. "you are mightily to be congratulated, willett," said he, "and we'll shake hands on it as soon as i have a hand to shake with." "i knew you would, old fellow!" said willett, putting forth the unoccupied hand and laying it upon the other's shoulder, a well-remembered way of his when he wished to be effusive. "i'm coming round presently to have a talk--but couldn't help coaxing you out now." "how--_is_ your shoulder, mr. harris?" began our lilian, all observant of physical ills. on these, at least, she could pour the balm of her sympathy. "doing finely, thank you; and, pardon me, but the general is signalling. you're both wanted, i judge," and then, like the union force at second bull run, fell back in the best of order, in spite of the worst of blows. "i'll be with you again before a great while, hefty, old boy," again called willett over his shoulder, as though insistent on an invitation; but an assenting nod was all that came. the general had signalled to his children because of the concern in bentley's face at sight of harris confronting all that happiness, but bentley need not have feared for him. he would not have feared could he have seen the little thing that happened. she had put forth a slender hand, half timidly, as harris stepped backward. she was thinking even in the overmastering presence of this hero whom she worshipped, and to whose side she clung, of that moonlit evening on the veranda, of the hiss and skirr of the deadly rattler, of the peril that had menaced and the quick wit and nerve of him who had saved her, this very plain, sun-bleached, seasoned young knight, who seemed quite ready to risk life or limb in her defence, and who, said willett, had lost most of his heart. it was foolish in him, with her harold there; still it was something to be rewarded, somehow, and, womanlike, she tendered the contemplation of her inaccessibility in his rival's bliss. "you'll come to see us soon, mr. harris? i've so much to thank you for." "just as soon as the doctor will let me, miss archer," was his entirely proper answer, and quite as properly our lilian breathed a little sigh of relief, as, nestling closer still, she sped lightly homeward, clinging to her lover's side. it was so sweet to think of him as all her own. it is the mistake other and older girls so often make. even as she prattled in her bliss, looking radiantly into the fond, soft brown eyes that melted into hers, the summons of a rival claimant came swiftly down the vale, and the sentry at the northward post and the loungers at the lookouts were already screwing their eyelids into focus on the little dust cloud popping up along the stream fringe of willow. two couriers came presently jogging into view, and before the general sat in the famous butler's pantry chair at the family table, he had told the contents of two despatches from the gray fox in the field, and decided for the moment to say nothing of the third. with the first and second, reporting progress and enclosing despatches to be forwarded to prescott, we have nothing to do. with the last we may feel less concern than did they. mrs. archer, scanning the clear-cut face of her soldier lord, as he came within range of the hallway lamp, knew perfectly well he had something to conceal, and with never an instant's doubt or hesitation set herself to aid him. without her tact and skill that little dinner of four, the last they were to know in many a day, would have been a sorrowful feast, for archer was sore troubled in spirit. not until an hour later could she get him to herself, leaving lilian and her handsome harold to bill and coo unsupervised, and then she only smiled bravely up into his face and said, "now tell me, dear." "it's that--that fool despatch i wrote about harris coming like a curse, and chickens, home to roost." his hands were tremulous, his lips were twitching as he took from its envelope and unfolded a letter in the well-known hand of the field commander's favorite aide-de-camp. "read it aloud," he said; "perhaps it won't sound quite so--reproachful from you." and obediently she read: personal and confidential. camp near head of chevlon's creek, december 2, 187--. dear general archer: referring to the final paragraph of your despatch to department head-quarters, dated november --th, general crook directs me to say that he was unaware of the instructions given lieutenant willett, aide-de-camp, to proceed to camp almy, and practically authorizing him to make certain investigations. it was far from his desire that anything should be done to even inferentially reflect upon the conduct of scouting parties from the post under your control. from reliable sources general crook has full information as to the cause of the apparent ill success of lieutenant harris. neither was he, nor were his scouts, to blame. it is the general's intention to see you before returning to prescott and give you the facts in his possession; but meantime lieutenant harris has his entire confidence, and so have the few apache-mohave scouts, especially 'tonio, all of whom, it is feared, have in some way incurred your disfavor. captain stannard is away at this moment, but will assure you as to the value and gallantry of harris's effort in behalf of poor mrs. bennett, and also that 'tonio is almost equally entitled to credit. it was far from general crook's intention that lieutenant harris should be impeded or hampered in the least. lieutenant willett has rendered distinguished service in the columbia country, but is a stranger to the situation and the indians we have to deal with, and should not be permitted in any way to interfere with lieutenant harris. orders were sent willett some ten days ago to join us in the field, but the couriers, returned to-day, report that he was not at prescott. if he should be still in your neighborhood, kindly inform him of the general's desire, and give him sufficient escort. we move toward camp apache to-morrow, and stannard is already ahead in hopes of rescuing the bennett boys. with the general's warmest regards, yours as ever, bright. "it's a very kind letter, dear," said she, kissing his wrinkled cheek. "general crook wouldn't wound you for the world." "it isn't--that, bella," he answered sadly. "i've wounded myself, and now i've got to send--him--with word of my orders as to 'tonio." "send him--word?" she faltered. "do you mean----" "certainly, dear. who should go--but willett?" chapter xx. it was then lacking nearly an hour of tattoo. already the arriving couriers, their mission executed, their wearied horses turned over to willing hands at stables, their hunger appeased at the troop kitchen, and the pent-up hankering for beer still unassuaged, were "filling up" at the expense of their fellows at the store, and wistfully looking on at the game. muñoz, the ever-ready; dago, the still demoralized, and one or two of their burro-bred community, were settled at monte, dago and muñoz eying each other like gladiators, and already a table had started at stud poker, that might readily develop into "draw." the barkeeper was a busy man, and had been given the tip to keep sober or lose the last hold he had on his job. the bookkeeper had for a few days past moved in silence about the premises, avoiding the common room as he would a lazaretto, avoiding even his kind. for most of the week he had been utterly unlike himself--strange, nervous, restless, starting at sudden sounds, abrupt in speech and manner, occasionally springing to the door and stepping forth into the sunlight, wandering about with hanging head and hands in pocket, coming back and slamming into his seat as though at odds with all creation, striving desperately to concentrate his thoughts on the columns of figures, and failing wretchedly. "case is all broke up," said craney, "and damned if i know why. last week he was the most popular man in yavapai, or all arizona for that matter." what craney and his partner mortally feared was that case would take to drinking again, with pay-day close at hand--the time of all others case had never yet failed them, the time of all others when breach of faith could mean nothing short of breach of all business relations. but up to nine p.m. this night of prospective relaxation case had been a stalwart. the test was yet to come. it was still half an hour of tattoo when old bucketts came into bentley's quarters and found that skilled practitioner replacing the bandages and sling on his patient's shoulder. the tidings brought by the couriers and given out by archer had long since been digested. bucketts had something new. "doc," said he, "if you have anything to say or send to stannard, now's your chance." "don't call me 'doc'!" snapped bentley. "if there's anything i hate it's this curtailing of titles as though they were too good for the man that bears them. one of these days you'll get your double bars, if you don't die of over-eating, and then how will you like it to be called 'cap'? how'd you like me to call you 'buck' now? who's going to stannard?" "pass the 'buck,'" said the quartermaster sententiously. "i apologize. but willett starts at day-break--takes a sergeant, six men and a pack outfit--thought you'd like to know. leaves us with mighty few cavalry, now that malloy and his people are still out." "what keeps them?" asked harris, looking up from bentley's busy hands. "i never heard what they were after." "you never will," said bucketts, "unless they stumble on it by accident," then colored under the look of surprise, almost of reproof, in the younger officer's face. it was not good that a post commander's instructions to his men at arms should be slightingly spoken of by one of his staff, and bentley knew it; but bucketts was already mentally kicking against those very instructions. now he stood abashed and awkward. that willett should be going seemed to harris of small matter--a matter of course. he wished himself again in willett's place. "how soon can you let _me_ be going?" he asked bentley. "we could have had you out by this time if you'd only quit fretting," was the gruff reply. "well, i suppose willett's glad of a chance to join his chief?" he said interrogatively, though never looking up. "not unless looks belie him," was the answer. bentley bent lower over his work. "no--physical hindrance that i know of," said he suggestively. "it's financial, i take it," said bucketts sturdily. "our investigator finds it--expensive--here at almy." so the sore was rankling still, and that luckless order had hurt no one so much as him who bore it, and so those who might have been his friends were taking a certain malicious comfort in his discomfiture. it was not willett's fault that he had come thus handicapped, but one thing added to another had made him the disliked of men. was it in compensation for this that he stood so beloved of women? then bucketts, having thus relieved himself, ventured again a glance at harris, and the younger soldier's eyes were on his, searching, questioning. it was for bucketts to explain, and he did it thus: "excuse me, mr. harris; i am not over-partial to this distinguished classmate of yours, and, to put it flatly, i'm no more his friend that he is yours. i'll say good-night." whereupon this blunt official turned and quit the room, colliding at the door with an entering form, that of strong, whose impact added to the quartermaster's distemper, for strong was in a hurry, and half-savage mood. "doctor," said he, bolting in, with scant apology to his staggered fellow staff officer, "craney wants to know if you're coming down to-night. he's worried a bit about case." "what's the matter with case?" asked bentley, barely looking up from the final tie of the sling, while harris settled back in his chair. "that's what he wants to ask _you_. i don't know, except he says case hasn't slept for six nights, and he'll be wild as a hawk when the paymaster gets here; wants you to give him something to make him sleep, i believe. i told him i'd tell you, and now the general's shooting off his quill at the office. hope you're better, harris. good-night." "reckon i'll have to go down awhile, anyhow. harris, what bucketts said was true, though he oughtn't to have said it. willett has been playing late these last two nights, with watts, principally, but craney says he seemed oddly anxious to get case into the game, and case wouldn't play--wouldn't stay about the place while willett was there--wouldn't have anything to do with him. willett has lost quite a lot, i'm told, and now he's ordered off." harris was still silent. he had no love for willett, at best. he had had in their cadet days more reasons than one for his dislike. he had far more reason now, yet never dreamed of still another--that report to department head-quarters. but willett was his classmate, and, outwardly, they were friends. bentley and, in fact, all the officers at almy were new-found acquaintances, well as some few were known to him by reputation. still, it came to him something of a shock that hal willett should no sooner seem well enough to be about than he should turn directly from her good-night words--her kiss, perhaps--to the gambling table and its probable accompaniments. it boded ill for the happiness of that sweet girl's future, and as harris sat brooding, bentley, unheard, unnoted, slipped away, and presently, with brisk step and buoyant mien, hal willett himself came bounding in. barely ten minutes ago bucketts had given the impression that he seemed dejected, dispirited, yet willett now was confidence and energy personified. "hefty, old boy, how much cash have you got in hand? i want three hundred dollars." there was no answer for a moment. well as harris thought he knew willett, this was a surprise. "what for?" were the exact words of the response, and neither in tone nor manner were there encouragement. "i've got to pull out at dawn, i suppose you've heard, and i shouldn't like to leave i.o.u.'s--here!" and now the cheery confidence seemed evaporating. willett's face was shading. "won't you sit down?" asked harris reflectively. "i'd like to know something about--this." "there isn't time, harris. i'm in a hole, so to speak. i hate to bother you, but i'd rather come to a classmate and old friend, who is in position, as i know, to help out, than give these fellows a chance to talk. probably they've been talking already, and you've heard," and now, with something like a resumption of the old familiar manner of their boy days at the point, willett settled on the broad, flat arm of the reclining chair and threw his own arm, long and muscular, over the back. there had come to be a saying in the gray battalion, when willett was seen strolling with a comrade, his arm caressingly encircling him, "well, willett's doing the bunco act again." possibly it was the instinctive shrinking of the wounded shoulder; certain it was that harris drew perceptibly away, and willett noticed it. "i didn't hurt you, did i?" said he. "it's rather touchy yet," was the answer. "well, say, hefty, here's the situation. you don't play, so you won't appreciate, maybe, and i only play once in a good while, but they rung in a brace game on me. that fellow case is no better'n a professional, and you saw for yourself here what a cad he could be. he got my money that saturday night and sunday, and since then, like the cad he is, has refused to play it out--give me a chance to get it back----" "do you play with cads?" interrupted harris. "not when i know it--to start with," answered willett, flushing and beginning to draw away. obviously the affectionate and confidential method was a failure. "but when a man's got your money, cad or no cad, you want it back." "and case has your three hundred dollars?" "just about. then i owe craney and watts quite a lot. i lost a hundred in cash in the first place. i never saw such luck in all my life! and now, instead of going back to prescott, i've got to skip for the war-path. watts says the money he gave me in chips he owes to others who were in the game at one time or other, and he needs currency, not i.o.u.'s. looks like a regular _com_bine, doesn't it?" "you couldn't expect to win--everything there was in sight," said harris quietly. willett flushed again. he had slipped from the broad arm to the narrow camp chair recently occupied by the doctor. harris was displaying unexpected resistance. willett had been accustomed to speedier surrender to his advances. "it's more on that account than any other i hate to leave here with these things hanging over me," he answered moodily. then, by way of expediting matters, "time's mighty short--short as _i_ am--and watts says you have a stack of greenbacks in the safe." again silence a moment. then harris turned fully upon his visitor and spoke deliberately. "you ask me to do what i declared three years ago i never would do, and that i have refused to do ever since--loan a man money with which to gamble or pay gambling debts. i need this money, willett, to send home. i've been saving and sending home ever since i joined, but that's not why i won't play--and don't drink." "oh, we know how virtuous you are!" began willett, with something like a sneer, but was checked with sudden, startling force. harris almost sprang from his chair. "none of that, willett!" he cried, his voice harsh with anger. "your ways and mine are wide apart, but i'll stand no sneering. you come to me for help and you're going to get it, not because you scoff at my views, but in spite of it; not for your sake, but that of the old academy. you and i are the only west pointers at this post, bar the dear old general. you and i are classmates, and i know you, and _don't_ believe in you, but the money's yours for the asking. you say you come to me as an old friend, and i have never had faith in your friendship. i know how other men's and some women's names have suffered at your hands, and i don't know what you may have done to mine, but----" and now harris was on his feet, standing over willett--sitting there gripping the frail arms of a canvas-covered straddle-box, and looking up into the elder soldier's--the junior officer's--face in amaze. never before had willett been so braved by man or woman--"but your name shall be protected for just two reasons--and protected just so long as you can show you're worth it. but--willett, i'm not preaching on drink or gambling now. there's another thing you've got to stop--or i'm done with you." and then harris himself stopped short. "i don't know what you mean," began willett, shifting uneasily. "you _do_ know what i mean! you've only to go back to your graduating june, when you were spooning day and night over a society flirt there at the hotel--a married woman at that--and your mantel-shelf was stacked high with unopened, unanswered letters from the poor girl you were engaged to. you were, willett, in sight of god and man, so don't deny it! and she was telegraphing to me in pity to say was harold sick--or what. she broke with you, of course, after you broke her heart. and you've been at that sort of thing ever since, unless the division of the pacific is a nest of liars--oh, bosh! i don't count case, though it's like enough he told the truth. but now, willett, you're _here_! and--what have we to expect at almy?" "damn my past all you like, harris. no man's more ashamed of it than i, but don't damn my future!" and now willett was on _his_ feet, his eyes snapping, his face aflame. "i was never so earnest in my life. [small comfort that! thought harris.] i never knew before what it was to be utterly in earnest. stop it! why, man, where have i--or you--ever known a girl like _her_? stop it! oh, here, hefty, i can't talk as i feel. you _must_ see how different this is--how much this means to me! the man doesn't deserve to live that--that could be untrue to a girl like that?" "that's--sound enough," said poor hefty. "but how long will you hold to it?" "so long as i live, harris," was the solemn, the surprising answer. "god knows i mean it," and willett held forth his hand. and willett believed he meant it--firmly, solemnly believed he meant it, and his handsome face was never handsomer, never more eloquent of love, repentance, determination to do a man's manful part in furtherance of his devotion than at this moment when, in the dimly lighted, scantily furnished, low-ceilinged little room, these two men of different mould, these classmates of the nation's soldier school, stood and looked into each other's eyes, and slowly harris began to stretch forth his left hand, then, stopping suddenly, slipped the right forearm from its broad white sling, steadied the elbow with his left, and slowly turned the thin, feeble fingers to meet the warm clasp of that before him. "it's one of 'tonio's tricks," said he. "_mano recto, mano cierto._ stick to that, willett, and, by god, i'll stand by you in spite of everything i've ever thought or heard. steady!" somebody was at the door. harris saw and checked the effusive thanks on willett's lips. "what's that about 'tonio?" said a ringing voice, as a "blouse" and buttons followed the blue sleeve into the field of vision, and the adjutant came slowly in. "queer! d'you know i was thinking of him that very minute. signal fire out south-east! some indians want to talk and afraid to come in. turner's gone out with a squad to sample 'em. willett, how soon are you coming over? the general's got the despatches ready." "right away, if you like! what's it now?" "ten twenty," said strong, with a squint at his watch. "there's no hurry. he's writing personals now, and bentley's just up from the store. there's news in of some kind from mcdowell way, and muñoz and sanchez have jumped the game and quit. you'll probably have 'patchie guides after all, willett. going down to the store after awhile?" "for a moment, perhaps, after i've said good-night at the general's," answered willett, anxious now to end the business and be away. but in came bentley. "get back to the office, strong," said he; "the general wants you; turner's in and says there's no one near the fire, no one to answer. all they found was this. the general thought you might understand it, harris. it lay on a rock by the fire." he held forth a single feather, gray and white, tied with a bit of pink tape to a scrap of cardboard, torn from some cartridge case and folded over. within, roughly traced in paint, were two figures--a 3 and a 2. "it means, 'tonio," said harris simply, "and he wants to talk. what has happened that he should be afraid to come in--here?" willett heard and knew and would have stayed, but the doctor for once looked embarrassed, and strong signalled willet to come with him. "i'll be back presently, hefty," said willett significantly, and vanished. even then bentley faltered. "i'll let the general answer that," said he. "how can 'tonio be summoned in?" "only as i did, at the peak, and on honor that he may go," was the answer. "unless--i can go out to him." "you can't--to-night, anyhow! is there no one else he'll meet who can understand him?" "only one american--case." "humph!" was the answer, with a shrug and a keen, inquiring look in the doctor's eyes. "i've shown it to case, and he says 'tonio has only one object in life now, in or out of the post, and that is to square accounts with willett, who was ass enough to strike him. this from case, mind you, who, i believe, hates willett himself. i've just got him stowed away for the night. had to take him out of earshot of the store and put him in limbo at craney's shack, where he can't hear what's going on. i gave him a dose that would flatten out st. vitus himself. there'll be no budging case this night unless--but that isn't likely." "then i need to go and see the general," said harris. "then the general will come to see you--here. my word for it," said bentley, and went his way. it was then nearly eleven. five minutes later willett, with relieved heart and elastic step, was hastening back to the general's quarters where sweet, yet tearful, welcome awaited him. an hour later he stepped forth into the starlight, turning to kiss his hand and wave silent good-night to a slender, shadowy form at the doorway, under the shelter of the gallery. something in its pathetic droop and distress called him once again to her side, and with fond, clasping arms he drew the sobbing girl to his heart and pressed kiss after kiss upon the upturned, tear-wet little face. "try to sleep, my darling!" he murmured. "mother will wake you at four, and we'll have a moment before i go!" "mother won't _have_ to wake me!" she cried, clinging to him the while. "oh, harold, if you only had not--to meet 'tonio again!" "no fear of 'tonio, sweetheart," he answered. "now, go i _must_!" and so, with her kiss upon his lips, he left her to be led by loving mother hands to her little white room, and to her humble prayers, and the love-guarded pillow, where, lying wide-awake, still an hour later, she heard the shot and stifled scream that called a garrison to arms. chapter xxi. the early game at craney's had languished that evening. it was too near pay-day--the wrong way--for money to be burning in soldier's pockets, and when the soldier has none the garrison hanger-on has no one to look to. the couriers from the field column, being comfortably filled and fairly well tired, meandered off with their martial chums at tattoo. the few ranchers and packers hovered about the monte table awhile, hopeful, perhaps, of a clash between dago and muñoz, but even this hope was crushed when, just about taps, two belated mexicans, innocent or reckless of the proximity of signalling indians across the stream, came mule-bestriding into the glare of the common room sconces and "olà'd," for sanchez, who hurried out to meet them, heard their excited tale, cashed in his few chips, and took himself and fellows off. "barkeep" stuck his head through the port-hole to the adjoining sanctum where sat craney, watts, and that semi-military official known as the "contract doctor," expectant, possibly, of others coming, and told them of the "greasers'" doings, whereat case, nervously, irritably pacing the floor, looked up in sudden interest and speedily plunged out into the darkness. then bentley had come, just at the time when the few packers and ranch folk were making a noise, and case had reappeared, looking wilder, if anything, and declaring the greasers must have gone down to the old sanchez place, indian or no indian. then bentley had felt his pulse and asked a lot of questions, and led him off into a corner for a little talk, and finally had prevailed on him to try to sleep in the vacant room at the "shack," as craney's own log-built cabin was called, and had led him away thither. he had never fairly gotten over the recent spree, said craney. he would never explain what had induced him that sunday afternoon to quit his old resort in the willows and go up to the officers' quarters, but go he had, for "sudstown" had seen him, and had seen him later slinking back the longest way round to the store, keeping far from everybody, and looking badly shaken up. it was known, somehow, that he had been to the doctor's quarters, and, being half drunk, had got into lieutenant harris's room and there had made some noise and been ordered out. rumor had it that there had been a scene between him and lieutenant willett, of which neither would speak, and the doctor had laid his commands on the attendant to know absolutely nothing about it--indeed, there was little he did know, save that there had been a disturbance. it was supposed at the store, and generally in the garrison, that case had been drinking just enough to make him irresponsible, and in this condition he had ventured up to the post and made an ass of himself just when he was being trumpeted as a lion. then, instead of having his spree out he had tried to taper, hence the highly nervous condition that had followed, which, instead of getting better, seemed getting worse. "i've fixed him," said bentley, "provided he keeps his word," and then, bidding craney good-night, had gone to garrison, and found the general perturbed over turner's report and the story about muñoz. together they had gone to the store again, the general and his medicine-man, to have some half-breed interpret the message of the feather, but by this time none was left. together they had looked in on case and found him drowsy and indifferent, but both the commander and his faithful ally distinctly heard his half-mumbled words as to 'tonio's one object in life ere they came away, satisfied that case would be of no further use for another night and day. then bentley had hurried to his other patient with the result we have already noted, and a little later the general went with him for still another visit, to soothe and reassure harris, for the invalid officer was mad to be up and doing. there was something in the air. later still a stupid three-handed cribbage game was going on when, after eleven o'clock, willett came briskly in. strong had about given him up and was going home in spite of an unsettled account in his favor, which willett had proposed to play off. they were all tired and ready for bed, and were only up because willett was to leave and _should_ "square things" before leaving the post. the cribbage game stopped at sight of him. craney went with him to the private desk in the inner office, whence in five minutes out he came, buoyant as before, declined to sit in again, laughingly said he'd take his revenge on the back trip later, called for a night-cap all round, bade everybody in the room a cordial good-night and good-by, and left with strong at his heels. "by gad!" said craney, "he may not play like a sport, but he pays like one, and a game one," and he locked a roll of treasury notes in his safe. then he and watts and the disappointed deputy doctor went off to bed, leaving "barkeep" to close up when the few loungers quit paying for drinks, and only in the common room was there further stir about the store. arrived at the shack, as craney declared in the morning, he had taken a candle and gone softly to the back room where he found case in bed and either dozing or drowsy or drugged--at all events he cared not to speak. his hat, coat and trousers hung on a chair; his shoes were at the foot of the bed, his watch on the table by his side, his money was locked in the trader's safe. some medicine and a spoon stood by the watch. there was no light in the room save that which craney carried; the one window was blanketed; sufficient air came through the loopholes, and the window sash was down against the hound pups that would otherwise have had free entrance. then craney went to bed and almost immediately to sleep, and heard nothing until after one o'clock, when, with shocking news, men came banging at his double-locked and bolted door. strong was one of the first to stir him, and strong's face was white, as well it might be. as the sentries began calling midnight he had left willett at the office, saying he must turn in for a few hours' rest. willett, seemingly in excellent spirits, had been writing a few pages and addressing envelopes. "i'll follow in twenty minutes or so," said he, "for i, too, need a snooze. i'll be up as soon as i've finished a little business." strong had gone almost immediately to his pillow and to sleep, and was roused by the corporal of the guard who had run in to call him with the news that lieutenant willett had been shot dead. at the moment of the shooting, so later said the guard, the waning moon, only a dull crescent, was up far enough above the eastward heights to throw a faint gleam over the valley. one of turner's own men was on post at the south-east corner, and his yell for the corporal, instantly following the distant shot, was so excited and vehement that the infantry non-commissioned officer, who went at a run, was minded to rebuke him for raising such a row over a mere shooting scrape among the mexican packers. "packers, your granny!" said number six. "it's lieutenant willett that's shot, and i know it! he came down out of the office not twenty minutes ago and went straight out south for craney's shack, and i'm betting he's done for." and so indeed it looked when they found him but few minutes later--the whole guard, save the relief on post, coming swift at the run to the corporal's cry, and the garrison turning out, thinking sure it was fire. three hundred yards or so south and east of the shack they found him lying flat on his face, which seemed forced into the soil, senseless, and for the moment apparently dead. even when they turned him over and dashed water into his face, and brushed away the sand, there was no sign of life, nor sign of shot wound. not until the doctor came on the run, urged by breathless messenger, was the tiny bullet-hole found under the left armpit, and such blood as had escaped seemed absorbed by the underwear. internal hemorrhage was feared as they unfastened his uniform and sought for further wound and found none. craney bade them carry him to his own room, where there would be better light, and while some of them laid him on craney's bed and others carefully scouted the surrounding willows for trace of the assassin, and others still went in and stirred up case, sleeping heavily, stupidly, "like a hog," said an indignant few until told of the doctor's "dope." then bentley came and drove all but an attendant or two, and strong and craney, from the room, until the general arrived, his own face ashen, to ask what hope was left, got but a dubious headshake in reply, and then sat him down, buried his sorrowing white head in his hands, and began to upbraid himself: "it's all my fault--my doing," said he. "i see it all. i said the words that sent him!" and then to bentley and craney the veteran soldier told his story. he had had difficulty, as bentley knew, in persuading harris not to get up--not to attempt to find 'tonio that night; to wait until day, when the indian more easily might be reached. it was late when he left harris, and was surprised to see lights at the office. there, all alone, was willett, writing, and to willett archer told the message of the feather, and of harris's eagerness to find 'tonio at once. "harris still holds that 'tonio is utterly wronged, or at least utterly misunderstood," said he, "and that, indian as he is, 'tonio would not revenge himself on you as we supposed. 'tonio knows he is suspected of the attempt to kill you, and yet wishes to come in and be tried. all he asks is fair play and trial before crook himself. then," continued archer, "i asked willett in so many words if it were true that he had struck 'tonio with a gauntlet that night at bennett's, and he said, reluctantly, it was--that 'tonio had been insolent, insubordinate, that that was the way he had always dealt with such cases. perhaps with men like 'tonio it was all wrong, but he had never met indians like 'tonio before. i told him gravely that he had made a serious error, and that he should lose no time in getting word to 'tonio that he realized this and desired to make amend. willett said he would do it the very first time they met--that he knew how to bring 'tonio in and would talk to him, man to man. i told him that it would be well to do this before quitting the valley, on his way out in the morning, perhaps. but, my god!" continued poor archer, as he glanced at the senseless form over which physician and attendants were still working, "i never dreamed of his going out to-night. he said he should signal for a talk at the moment of starting with his escort, and so, probably, meet 'tonio near the peak." a solemn little gathering was this at the shack, while up at the quarters two sorrow-stricken women, mrs. archer and mrs. stannard, were striving to soothe and still poor lilian, to whom the truth had had to be told. all the officers were up and astir, some of them conferring with their gray-faced commandant at the doorway, others heading the search over among the willows and down the stream. a strange fact had developed. only one shot had been heard, only one shot hole had been discovered (and the probe indicated that the bullet, having struck a rib, had been deflected downward, where it was not yet located), but while this had produced shock and, possibly, temporary unconsciousness, it was another blow, one with a blunt instrument, probably more than one, upon the back of the head, that resulted in this prolonged stupor. not once had willett regained consciousness, nor, said bentley, was it likely that he would. bentley feared concussion of the brain. turner, a capital trailer, with some of the best of his men, was working down stream, and all who knew turner felt that no trace would be bunglingly trampled out. the few pathways along the west bank, through the willows, showed recent tracks on only one, where the mexicans and half-breeds had scurried away toward the old sanchez place. already a strong party had been sent thither in search, but meantime turner was looking, as he frankly said, "for 'tonio's tracks about the ford," for within forty paces of the lower ford poor willett was found, and in the minds of every man and woman who could hold a listener that night no other explanation was either sought or expected. the fact that both shores of the stream were stony above and below the spot--that it would be easy for an indian to conceal them, would account for it if their footprints were lacking, but lacking they were not. in a dozen places about the ford and down the east bank, in a dozen places around the spot where lay the stricken officer, the earliest comers had seen and marked and protected against obliteration print after print of the moccasins of the apache-mohaves--'tonio's own band. this in itself was wellnigh proof positive, but more was to come. willett's trail was easily found and followed. straight and swift he had gone across the flats from the post of number six, until within a hundred yards of the store, when, attracted possibly by the bleary lights still remaining in the barroom, he had veered that way until his footprints were merged with dozens of others in the path. presently they were found again, passing between the store and the shack, around in rear of the low log building, where at that time, presumably, craney, watts and case were asleep in their respective rooms. it seemed as though he had paused and moved about a little in rear of the shack as though in search of some one, and then had gone straight out beyond, heading for the nearest clump of willows south of the ford, and there it was found that the moccasin print overlaid that of the san francisco boot and followed it up stream to where the torn and trampled sands, close to the brink, told of furious struggle. moreover, this one moccasin print was wet and came over the stones and up the bank just about where willett had reached it, and paused a moment or two before turning away. at this point the stream babbled over rocky shallows, and it was possible to cross by springing from rock to rock without wetting a sole, but whoever had crossed here had been hurried and incautious. one foot had missed, slipped or trailed, and its covering was soaking wet as it followed on up the bank. it was still wet enough to leave, as the lantern determined, a perceptible trace on the broad stepping-stones just below the placid pool at the ford, where the shores were low and sandy again--so wet, in fact, that the stain toward the opposite bank and on the farthermost stone became a splash so dark that the foremost sergeant, swinging his lantern aloft, sung out to his follower, "watch out! it's blood!" and blood it proved to be--there and thereafter, down the opposite bank. yet not a drop was seen on the sands where willett fell. then his assailants had not escaped unscathed. unarmed as he was, the officer had made a desperate fight for life. "now's the time to nab him!" said turner, as he carried the report to archer. "'tonio has managed to elude malloy's party, probably by leading them off on a false scent, but now we have blood to follow. let me send out a platoon, mounted, and we may nail the gang before sunrise." it was then short of two o'clock, and while busy trailers followed on with their lanterns down the eastward bank, and were presently seen flitting like fireflies far south among the willows, turner himself, with a score of his men, hastened back to quarters. there was saddling in hot haste, yet with the precision of long practice. by half past two all sight or sound of the trailers and the pursuing horsemen was lost in the distance, and a corporal, trotting back from the sanchez place, reported that muñoz and some of his fellows had joined in the search, and already with important result. captain turner sent him back with his compliments to the commanding officer. in the presence of bonner, bucketts and strong, the general took the package, something heavy, bundled in the red silk handkerchief turner had torn from his own brawny throat. a scrap of paper went fluttering to the ground, which the adjutant quickly recovered and handed to his chief, who read aloud in the dim candle light the words: "it might be well to keep this from harris, at least to-night." looking a trifle dazed, archer unrolled the silken folds, and laid on the office table the handsome, silver-mounted colt revolver of the old calibre 44 model willett had lost that sunday night of his perilous adventure up the valley. there it was, inscription and all, every visible chamber still loaded, its murderous leaden bullet showing in the candle light. archer slowly drew back the hammer. the cylinder slowly revolved. the barrel-chamber swung as slowly into view, black, powder-stained, and--empty. one shot, then, had been fired and very recently. who could have had it all this time but 'tonio? who else could have fired it? chapter xxii. turner and his men were gone all night, all the next day, and much of the night that followed. then they began drifting back in squads of three or four. by noon the second day the captain himself, with the main body, returned, dispirited, mystified. they had lost the trail near the picacho, found it again, lost it, found it, scoured the foothills and scouted the east face of the mazatzal, and came back empty-handed. willett's pistol was the only thing recovered, even with such aid as could be rendered by some of the sanchez party, muñoz and josé being most energetic in their aid--"'patchie" sanchez being, of course, nowhere visible. 'patchie had affairs of his own to answer for and explain against the homeward coming of the big chief crook, and was shy of saxon society in consequence. and turner was plainly nettled and chagrined. he and his troop were about as expert trailers as could be found in our cavalry, which, in the old arizona days, meant not a little. turned believed that 'tonio had dared to venture close to the sentry line, had lured his enemy to the fords, and there, aided by one or two of his band, had done him near to death, then fled for the fastnesses of the mountains. turner believed that 'tonio, or one of his people, was wounded and could be overtaken. the trail was easy as much as a mile down stream, and then became difficult. turner had accepted the proffered aid of muñoz and certain of their set. they were all up, it seems, by the time he reached the ranch, having been routed out earlier by the first explorers from the post, sergeant connelly and party, who stated that they found the "hull outfit asleep," this in spite of the fact that a game seemed to have been going on earlier in the night, for the paraphernalia were in evidence, also a moderate supply of liquid mescal. now mescal in those days was not distilled north of the gila--was brought by devious route, when brought at all, from mexico, and "greaser" packers, who were models of temperance when only gringo whiskey or german beer could be had, would sometimes stampede at the mere whisper of mescal. yet here was mescal, and here were some, at least, of the sanchez "outfit," sober and fit for business. then it must be that the three who lay stupefied had had money to invest at monte, and had been plied with mescal until both cash and consciousness had left them, and all this would account for the sudden hegira from the store the evening preceding the shooting. but in spite of their vehement assertions that 'tonio had been signalling that very day--that they could point to the tracks of himself and his fellows in several places along the stream--these energetic and swarthy sons of the incas could by no means find 'tonio, or one of his tribe, when given the chance to lead and the backing of armed troopers. 'tonio, well or wounded, was far too wary for them and, after hours of brag and bluster, not a vestige of him did they discover beyond a few scattered footprints and that one revolver, concerning which, it seems, muñoz told sensational tales. he declared he had found it glinting in the moonlight just at the foot and to the right of the trail leading from the low ground to the summit of squadron peak. his story, indeed, was so positive and plausible that valuable time had been lost while some of turner's most active troopers scaled the height in search of the fugitives whom muñoz thought more than likely must be there, and josé had agreed with him. once well up among the rocks of the mazatzal, after sunrise, these valued allies became bewildered and gave out, were handed a canteen and ration of crackers apiece and left to limp back to the shack, while turner pushed on. they were at the store, recuperating, when his people reappeared at almy, and each had derisive and uncomplimentary things to say of the other. moreover, there was internal dissension among the mexicans themselves. dago's disgust with muñoz seemed rekindled, while the sore-headed trio, done out of their money by aid of mescal, were slinking about the shack, looking unutterable things. when rogues fall out honest men profit, if they are wise and wakeful, and now, at a time when something of advantage might be learned, the interest of the garrison seemed centred about the general's quarters, whither harold willett had been borne, still senseless and in desperate case. bentley could not say that he would live, yet had been heard to say he believed the bullet not yet cast that could kill him. there had been a difference between archer and his surgeon. the shack was no place for a patient in such a plight. it was on low ground, hot and stuffy in spite of high ceilings. bentley wished him borne on elastic litter to hospital. archer said bear him to his quarters, mrs. archer _would_ have it, and it was so ordered and done. bentley wished to find that bullet, the blunt, old-fashioned, soft lead plug, and find it he had, lying fortunately close under the skin, after traversing several inches of willett's anatomy without piercing a vital organ. it was cut out with little time or trouble, and set aside, sealed for future reference. fever, of course, set in, and where, asked archer, could more devoted nurse or nurses be found, and, in the absence of the patient's own mother, what woman had better right? it wasn't so much _that_, said poor bentley, as that they might overdo it--wear themselves out, and the patient, too. willett was babbling in feverish delirium when his litter was borne into the general's dark hallway, and the patient thence to the white cot prepared for him, where mrs. archer and mrs. stannard at first were installed as nurses. bentley shook his head over the arrangement, and later he spoke of it to harris who sat thoughtful, troubled and ill at ease. bentley had told him of the discovery of the revolver and the universal connection of 'tonio with the attempted murder, and harris bowed his head wearily upon his hands: "i will not believe it," was all he said. a sergeant and six men had gone with despatches and orders to find the field column along the black mesa. a runner had been sent to mcdowell with the news, and another to camp sandy, where was colonel pelham, the district commander, giving details of the attempted assassination of the young staff officer, and warning all to arrest 'tonio on sight. the affair was the one topic of talk in every barrack room, mess, and gathering at the post, and the subject of incessant comment and speculation at the store. that 'tonio was the culprit no man was heard to express the faintest doubt. there were some who went so far as to say that _any_ man, officer, soldier or civilian, who dared to strike an indian of 'tonio's lineage had nothing less to expect. the one question was, how had 'tonio succeeded in luring his victim, unarmed, to the spot, and why had he left his vengeance unfinished? the one man along officers' row to express dissent from public opinion was lieutenant harris; the one man at the store to sit in unresponsive silence was mr. case--the bookkeeper. busy with his books, making up for the lost time, he said, sitting long hours at his desk, within earshot of almost everything, and hearing every theory expressed, he never so much as opened his lips upon the subject further than to say that, from all accounts, the lieutenant brought it on himself, and should never have ventured out alone, much less unarmed. "you didn't like him any too well yourself," bluntly hazarded bonner, two days after the tragedy, and, somehow, a rumor of a row between them at the doctor's quarters was again in circulation. "i didn't," said case, imperturbably. "but that score is settled." in the course of the prompt investigation made by archer during the daylight hours that followed the affray, bentley had deemed it a duty to tell the commander of the disturbance between willett and case, ascribing it to case's vinous excitement after some transaction at cards, and though archer believed the bookkeeper totally innocent of any part in the distressing affair that followed, both he and bentley believed it due to everybody that case's possible connection with it be looked into. with craney they visited case's own sanctum in the store building not two hours after the sound of the shot. there in its accustomed place was case's revolver, every chamber loaded and a thin coating of dust on the grip. case's pistol then had not been used. bentley went in and examined the medicine glass--this was toward four o'clock--and apparently case must have taken, said bentley, at least four doses. that much at any rate was gone, and case was sleeping so heavily he could hardly be roused--could hardly be kept awake, begged thickly, sluggishly, to be allowed to "sleep it off," as though he thought he must have been drinking again. bentley brought out one of case's boots, and the track it fitted could be found all over the flats, about the store, shack and stream, and proved nothing at all, for everybody knew he had been wandering aimlessly about for days and nights past. the window shade or blanket had been disarranged and the window had been raised a few inches, probably for air. everything else was as craney remembered seeing it before he turned in, and the inference was clear to every mind that case had never left the room and probably, after the second dose, never left his bed. and now, from turner down, all troopers lately afield in search of 'tonio were again at almy, discomfited, disheartened. "hunting for a needle in a haystack without a magnet," said turner, "is no more fruitless than scouting for apaches in these mountains without apache scouts. there is only one way," said he, "to capture 'tonio. 'set a thief to catch a thief; set an indian to catch an indian.'" but the few indian scouts assigned to almy had all been drafted away with stannard and the field columns in the mogollon. "even had they been available," said archer, who listened with gloomy brow, "harris says no apache-mohave would betray 'tonio, and no apache-yuma dare do it," and now, as never before, archer had taken to long talks with harris--who would gladly have had him keep away. "youngster," said bentley, looking his patient keenly over the second day after what had come to be called "the shooting," "i'm blessed if i'm not getting discouraged on your account. here i have had you within reaching distance of 'fit for duty' twice, and both times you've gone back on me. it's my belief­ you'd be better anywhere else than here. almy's too high strung for your temperament." "get me once in saddle and i won't come back--or go back on you," said harris. "how's willett?" "high fever, tossing and talking--talking too damned much! you're sitting up much of the time day and night now. you need air and change, yet cannot stand jarring, or i'd take you driving." "let me ride a mule." "i would, if i were sure of the brute behaving, but you never can tell what a mule will do, and now--there's no telling what willett may say." "what do you mean?" asked harris, though he had some reason to know. "just this. he's muttering about matters none of us now want to hear, and want none of the archers to hear. i've got mrs. archer out for a time, and going to get mrs. stannard in for a time, but there's that poor child upstairs going all to pieces for fear that beautiful boy may die, when--it's--it's--_damn_ it, it's my profound conviction it would be the best thing that could happen!" and with that bentley turned about and strode heavily out of the house. just at sunset that winter's evening, when all the eastward heights were a blaze of gold, and the far away fringe of the mogollon was tipped with fire, and the rounded poll of squadron peak shone dazzling against the southward sky, the lookout on the scaffolding above the office set up a shout that brought half the garrison to its feet. "horsemen coming! mcdowell road!" it so happened that, just at the moment, mrs. stannard was walking slowly and thoughtfully from the direction of the hospital to her lonely roof. she had been to see mrs. bennett, whose general condition appeared a little more favorable, but who lay long hours moaning for those she had lost. turner, coming in from the corrals, had joined mrs. stannard for a moment, but at sound of the alarm raised his cap and hurried straightway to the southward bluff. it might even mean a mail. the days were long to mrs. stannard and the nights were weary, for one anxiety followed another, and now, when she had so hoped that all might be gladness and sunshine for the sweet, unspoiled army girl, to whom her heart had so fondly opened, here at the very outset of her dream of love and delight, the grim destroyer threatened, and even if fate should spare the life of harold willett was it at all certain that that life would be what lilian archer deserved? all in three minutes that afternoon, while bending over the unconscious sufferer, replacing with cool, fresh linen the heated bandages on his brow, she had heard words that she fain would have stifled--that caused her to look up, startled, into bentley's sombre face. she was thinking of the sorrows that encompassed her as she came slowly home, and then, as the cry sounded from the lookout station, and people came hurrying to their galleries, and harris slowly felt his way to the open door, she noted how pallid and sad and worn was the keen young face, and, forgetful of her troubles, turned to say a word of cheer to him. "it used to mean the mail," said she, smiling brightly for his benefit, "but now no man can tell what a day may bring forth," she quoted. "the letters _i_ most want would be coming from the east. what would you have coming from the west?" "anything to bring me word of 'tonio," he answered, adding, though not for her ear, "and take me out of this." she stepped to the gallery and frankly took his hand, looking kindly, gravely at him with her sweet blue eyes. "you are not doing well, mr. harris. you are fretting too much, i fear. tell me. you believe in 'tonio thoroughly, don't you? so did captain stannard, and so should i. do you believe he would have tried to kill--mr. willett?" "mrs. stannard, i _know_ he would not!" "then i wish to ask you--something--something else. was there--_is_ there--any one who could--who would--_well_, who--had any reason?" for a moment he stood gazing at her, paler even than before, his stern young face full of strange emotion. "you have some reason for asking that, mrs. stannard," he said, almost below his breath. "you have heard--tell me; has he--has willett told you anything?" "nothing that connects any one with this crime, and yet, while i cannot tell you, and the doctor may not, i'll promise you this, mr. harris. if ever 'tonio is accused and in danger, mr. willett has something to explain, and if he doesn't, then dr. bentley and i may have to." with that, almost abruptly, as though dreading further question, mrs. stannard turned away. thirty minutes later, dusty and weary, five troopers rode slowly through the southward willows, across the sandy flats and up the slope to the adjutant's office, while the garrison, neglecting its evening meal, swarmed out to greet them. six saddle-bags were crowded with letters and papers--the first in a fortnight--and the sergeant-major and his clerks went busily to work sorting out the mail, while archer and his officers eagerly questioned the sergeant in charge. they were men of captain freeman's troop, all out scouting from mcdowell. they camped last night at silver springs, fifty miles south-west, and came on from there while the captain and the troop turned back to the verde valley. no, they had neither seen nor heard of hostile indians. all such seemed to have cleared out, for the time being at least. had they met the almy couriers on their way? not one. they had come the lower trail by way of standard peak, where they had a signal station and guard now, where they left mail and rations for them, and then pushed on over into the valley. the almy couriers took the short cut. no, they had seen nobody but some mexicans, and hadn't much to say to them, 'cause sanchez--'patchie sanchez--had been caught and was in the guard-house at mcdowell, charged with being mixed up in the shooting of sergeant graves. that, at least, was welcome news. had anything been heard of general crook? yes, something. apache-mohave runners came in to the bivouac at silver springs, with despatches, before they left, and that was one reason the captain turned back. one of them was wounded. they'd had a scrimmage with tontos, they said, but got through safely, barring just this one--'tonio they called him--said he was a chief of the old tribe. "'tonio there, and wounded!" cried archer, while strong and bonner almost sprang to their feet, in surprise. "'tonio, sir, certainly," said the sergeant. "the doctor had him dressing his wound when we came away. it was only slight." "then," said the general, "by this time they've got my despatches, and 'tonio's a doomed indian!" chapter xxiii. the week was closing, the third of a mournful little series of seven-day happenings, the like of which almy had never before experienced, and it was hoped might never know again. "the moon of many woes," as later it transpired the indians had named the night goddess of november, was a thing of the past. a new queen had come, hovering like silvery filament over the black barrier of the mazatzal in a sky cloudless and glinting with myriad points of fire. the nights were cold and still, the days soft yet brilliant in the blaze of an unshrouded sun. an almost sabbath-like calm hovered over the valley, for even signal smokes had ceased to blur the horizon. not a hostile indian had been heard of since the coming of freeman's couriers. the brawling gang of "greaser" gamblers had stolen away from the "ghost ranch." even the ghost himself seemed to walk no more. something had happened to call the firm of muñoz y sanchez elsewhere, and dago, darkly glowering and scowling about the store, where day and night the bookkeeper sat absorbed in accounts and letters, muttered many a _carramba_, and had even been goaded into explosive _carrajo_, because a defrauded soldiery, thirsting for revenge or restitution, persisted in connecting him with these skilled but quite unprincipled experts of the alluring game of monte, whereas dago hated the sight of muñoz, of whom he stood in dread. but while all men knew the "greasers" had gone, and many wondered why, and none at almy could tell, there was abundant reason to believe they would soon reappear. much news had been coming in--news from crook's column along the mogollon and the eastward foothills--good news, too, for far and wide the indians were heeding his gospel of peace, which, tersely translated, read: "come in and be fed. stay out and be fought," and by scores the mountain warriors, with their queerly assorted families, were flocking to the san carlos and apache reservations, and at last there seemed promise of a general burial of the hatchet. at last there was hope, wrote stannard, that the bennett boys would be restored. good news, too, and stacks of mail, had come from prescott and from far distant homes, but the bit of news that appealed to all but a chosen few at camp almy, as by all means the most important and welcome, was "the paymaster's coming!" the paymaster, indeed, after weeks of detention, was scheduled to be at the post by nightfall of the coming tuesday or wednesday, and wednesday would usher in the old-time saturnalia of the south-western frontier, the joy of the laundress, soldier and sutler, the dread of every post and company commander from her majesty's dominion to the mexican line--pay day. and stacks of letters and some few papers and magazines--by no manner of means all that were hopefully started--had come to the archers and mrs. stannard and the exiles of official almy, and stacks of letters were there for the slowly bettering young soldier lying helpless under the commander's roof, faithfully tended and devotedly nursed, the object of the fondest hope and love and prayer--lieutenant harold willett, on detached service from "the lost and strayed," as aide-de-camp to the commanding general, department of arizona, who never yet since the day he left vancouver barracks had set eyes on him. most of these letters, tied in tape, stood piled like bricks upon the mantel-shelf in the darkened quarters. some few of them, in feminine superscription and bearing the portland postmark, dr. bentley had seen fit to segregate and set aside. they had been placed for safe keeping in the hands of mrs. stannard, of whom, said bentley, "there are not ten women of her sense in the whole service," which, said lieutenant blake, of camp mcdowell, when told of the fact, "is a most egregious exaggeration," and no woman there knew just what he meant. blake at the moment was riding boot to boot with his captain, freeman, for between the two there dwelt an attachment and understanding rarely seen between captain and subaltern, but freeman guffawed at his junior's whimsical remark, and told it, just to try the effect on three of the four heroines then quartered at the camp. no one of their number was there who did not envy mrs. stannard her place in public estimation, but no one of them, could they have known, would have envied her the plight in which she found herself--joint custodian, with bentley, of hal willett's unconscious confidences--compelled to see a young girl's rapturous love lavished upon a man so saturated with the incense of feminine idolatry as to be more than apt to underrate the priceless boon of a pure woman's heart-whole devotion. they had clipped short, and shaved, much of the hair from the back and left side of harold's handsome head, where fell the blows that had stunned him, but as those severe contusions healed, and it transpired that the skull was sound, the doctor's main anxiety was transferred to the gunshot wound, which might well be serious in view of the amount of anatomy traversed, yet even that was healing, healthfully, steadily. "a beautiful constitution has this damned young lovelace," said bentley to bucketts, in whom he had long since found a kindred spirit. "just look at that!" and with a nod over his pipe stem, he indicated the bunch of letters forwarded from the columbia. "why don't you"--began bucketts, but dropped it--he knew it was impossible. he knew, moreover, that when both mother and daughter have set their hearts on a single man, paterfamilias is powerless. "the whole family's infatuated," said bentley, "and in his whole handsome carcase there isn't half the man in willett that there is in that dried up little chap yonder." "the dried up little chap yonder," dismounting slowly and carefully from one of turner's staidest troop horses, was the unappreciated harris, returning from one of the first tentatives in saddle. days before this, had he been permitted, harris would have been up and away, he cared little whither. he wished to shake the dust of almy from his deerskins, get back to the mountains and the war-path, get over the mazatzal to mcdowell and 'tonio--'tonio, his faithful friend and fellow-scout, now languishing presumably behind prison bars, awaiting the orders of the chief of chieftains in his case, for all pleadings were vain. the last barrier to belief in his guilt had gone with the recovery of the revolver and the exposure of the cock-and-bull story, said archer, by which he had humbugged freeman and blake into believing he had really been slashed in hand-to-hand fight with tonto apaches. the first name spoken by willett, after the fever had left him, and speedily he began to recover sense, was that of 'tonio--'tonio who had shot him. it had affected harris to the point, almost, of relapse. he still fought vehemently against the story, declaring 'tonio too high-minded, in spite of indian blood and tradition, for a dirty bit of assassination. the brutal and bungling way in which the thing was done, said he, was enough to prove that 'tonio had no hand in it. thus could he talk to bentley, at least, and even to bucketts, who would listen, though he would not lie, and say he thought harris right. none the less there had been amaze at mcdowell when archer's demand was received. 'tonio had been taken to hospital on his arrival, kindly, skilfully cared for by the young post surgeon, while the couriers had been sent on to prescott. 'tonio's wound was a knife slash in the left arm, and another in the side. he had lost much blood and had little left to build up with. he was too weak to attempt escape, wrote major brown, the post commander, even if he knew he was under arrest, which he did not. "if i have to confine him it shall not be with such cattle as that half cad, half coyote, sanchez," and harris, being very improperly told of this missive, could almost have walked the weary miles to mcdowell to fall upon the major's neck and bless him. "the very fact that 'tonio was cut and slashed conflicts with every theory in the case," said he. "who would have cut and slashed him but willett, if 'tonio attacked him, and willett had no knife." and still camp almy clung to the belief that 'tonio was harold willett's assailant and would-be murderer. even bonner, a conservative, had this to say: "willett admits he struck 'tonio. what indian ever forgave that affront? he hates willett as he loves harris, and such an indian love is almost as strong as his hate. we have some reason to think willett no friend of harris. 'tonio went further and thought him an enemy. couple that with his own grievance and there's more than sufficient motive for his crime." the topic was too one-sided to be mildly interesting. moreover, the paymaster was coming, which overshadowed all minor considerations, and turner was to take twenty men and meet him midway over to mcdowell, and could have taken fifty had volunteers been called for, and the garrison to a man would have offered to sally forth, "with mattock and with spade" to patch up the crazy road that twisted through picacho pass--anything to get the man and his money to camp almy, for "devil a cent of four months' pay had the garrison, and more than double that," said sergeant malloy, "is owin' me in i.o.u.'s that they wouldn't take for a treat at the store." the night before turner's fellows were to start, mr. harris coming with the doctor slowly homeward from the mess room and listening again, disgustedly, to arguments against his attempting to ride back with the paymaster to see 'tonio at mcdowell, the two came suddenly upon archer, just stepping forth into the pallid moonlight. the general pulled up short at sight of them, and harris silently raised his cap, the old-time salutation to the post commander. "i was just about sending for you, bentley," began the chief, as courteously he returned the salutation. "bella thinks willett's a bit flighty again, just now. could you go in a moment? come and take a chair, harris," he added, as the doctor disappeared from the hallway. "we haven't seen you in a coon's age. what's this i hear about your wanting to go up to mcdowell? bentley says you're not yet strong enough." "it's to see 'tonio, sir. i'm about the only friend he has left," and harris would have ignored the proffered chair, but the general again indicated his wish, which meant compliance. "he'll need all he can get, i am afraid, my boy," and the answer was kind, even conciliatory. how was he ever going to admit to this uncompromising young campaigner that he had done him mighty wrong in his official despatch? some time the boy must know it. better know it through him, when it could be explained, perhaps condoned. they had exhausted the 'tonio subject, so far as was possible between commander and subaltern. they had never yet talked it as man to man. when they did it would be on archer's initiation, not that of harris. the more the old soldier studied the young man the better he liked him. the less they discussed 'tonio, the better harris liked archer. it was useless saying more. harris silently took the chair at his senior's side and archer continued: "if it would contribute to your strength as much as your peace of mind, i'd send you over in the forbidden ambulance, my boy"--how the voice trembled at the word that so often, so constantly in bygone days, was on his lips!--"but bentley says 'not yet'--not even for a week, so what can an old fellow do?" "you are all that is kind--to me, general," was the grave answer, "and i hope to persuade bentley before the paymaster goes back. if i do----" "if you do--that settles it---what is it, dear?" he asked, half rising from his chair. harris was already on his feet. lilian, all in white, save the belt at her slim waist, stood at the doorway and had spoken. "dr. bentley asks that you come to him a moment, father. he is with--mr. willett." she saw who stood there by his side, and it was not so easy to say "harold." harris, bowing, would have backed from the veranda, but archer interposed. "no, stay here awhile, lad; i--i want to talk with you. i'll be back in a moment." very possibly he thought he could be. but the moment lengthened. lilian had come slowly forth. something had told her she was neither needed nor desired in the room just then. even her mother, silently, had left the bedside and was hovering about the doorway. and now here was harris. lilian had matured a little, and paled not a little, in these few days of vigil and anxiety, but she was inexpressibly lovely as she stood and looked wistfully into his face. "you know he isn't quite so well to-day?" she said. "there's fever again. he craves ice so. what wouldn't i--we--give for some? what do you think he called me"--she gave a queer little nervous laugh--"just a moment ago as i was fanning him?" harris did not answer. he would have hazarded "sanctissima," possibly, as he stood there looking intently into her clear, soft eyes, with all their depth of tenderness and trust. good god! why should any man have to have a past, when love such as this was possible? "he called me stella. mother said he was dreaming of the pet dog he left at vancouver, but his eyes were wide open--looking right up at me." harris knew well who stella was. the name was appended to many a letter and "wire" that came to him during first class camp, and later, begging him to tell her of mr. willett, and now here was this fair girl virtually bidding him say he had known a stella. he ground his teeth as he turned aside to set a chair for her. there had been others since stella, unless all indications lied. what might she not say if she knew them all? "_i_ called my mother topsy and aunt ophelia, both, when i was getting over typhoid and uncle tom's cabin," said he. "then stella was only----" and the blue eyes were searching his. "only a--you know i was nearly 'found' in french. what would you call the parallel to a _nom de plume_? _nom de chien?_ _nom de_--something visionary, at all events. he'll be sitting up day after to-morrow and telling you--all about it." she stood before him, with those pretty, slender, white hands loosely clasped, the clear, truthful, beautiful eyes looking straight into his sun-tanned, yet pallid face. no man in his time at the point had ever known harris to flinch at the truth or dodge an issue. "he is square as they make 'em," was the verdict of his classmates, and square he had been through his subaltern days, and now to be square meant the dealing to this sweet and trusting girl a blow that, while it might down his rival, would wreck her happiness. he now had dodged an issue at last, and then came the further trial: "mr. harris, dogs don't write. harold's talking about stella's _letters_, and says _you_ get them." he had dodged. he might as well flinch. the truth he would not tell her. a lie he could not tell her. he did, perhaps, the best he could for himself and the worst, perhaps, for her. he acted. "don't believe a word of it, miss lilian. he's mooning yet." "then--there wasn't any girl?--any letters?" "there's only one girl in creation he cares for." "but--stella?" she persisted. "never saw his stella in all my life. what he needs is ice, and i'm going to see he gets it." with that he was gone, deaf to the words of relief the poor child would have spoken--trying to be deaf to the fierce upbraiding of conscience, and failing as he deserved, miserably. an hour later that evening, with a pack mule, blankets, old newspapers and a brace of cracker boxes, two half-tamed mohaves were heading for the heights to the north-east, where water would freeze in the canteens these december nights, and the rock tanks were nearly solid ice. two hours later while harris, nervous, irritable, and filled with nameless self-reproach, was pacing the narrow veranda at the doctor's quarters, there was a stir at the southward end of the post, a sound of hoofbeats and footfalls, a running to and fro and lighting up at the office. an orderly came on the jump and banged at the adjutant's door, and strong shuffled forth in the moonlight and joined other dark forms over at head-quarters. the sentries were calling the midnight hour without, and the doctor was snoring placidly within. it was barely ten minutes before strong came back, in one of his hurries, and harris hailed for the tidings. "oh, _you'll_ be glad, i'm betting!" was the answer, half-rueful, half-relieved, for somehow strong had "taken to" the doctor's guest--and to doubting his own. "those galoots at mcdowell let up on their watch, and 'tonio's walked off--'gone where the woodbine twineth'--'patchie sanchez with him!" chapter xxiv. that meant new trouble--trouble for major brown commanding the little two-company station--the "tuppenny post," his subaltern, blake, derisively termed it--trouble for blake, who was officer of the day, and was held on tenterhooks for many a day thereafter--trouble for sergeant collins, who was directly in command of the guard--"collins _né_ oolahan," as freeman wrote him down, it having been discovered that this versatile celt had served a previous enlistment in the "lost and strayed," when four of its companies were pioneering shortly after the war, where even the paymaster couldn't find them. such of them as could be found in course of years were gathered up and sent to san francisco for further exploration in other desert lands, but oolahan and four of his fellows of company "a," not having returned from wagon escort duty, were finally dropped as dead or deserted (those were days wherein nobody much cared which), whereas they were merely drunk at cerbat. under other names, as orthodox as the originals, they were now doing valorous and valuable service in other commands, collins in particular proving a capital fighter and trooper, to the end that the best interests of the service were subserved by keeping a keen eye on his present and a "nelson blind" on his past. of the three soldiers thus involved at mcdowell, collins was the one who took it most to heart, for collins had come to think ill of 'tonio, whom at first he had championed. collins despised 'patchie sanchez, whom he had known five years, and described as a "durrty cross betune a skunk and a spitbox," a greaser indian who would knife his best friend. as for 'tonio, whom he had known ever since he came to arizona in '65, and once held to be "the wan good indian in it," 'tonio had made him believe he too held sanchez in contempt. yet, to all appearance, the two, who up to this night had been confined entirely apart, had gone together. one of the counts in the unwritten indictments against mcdowell was that its officers and men had lionized the dangerous indian they were bidden to hold under careful guard, had held him without bond or shackle in a vacant room of the hospital, until that very day, when, stung by an inspector's comment, brown ordered him at last into confinement with sanchez, who was shackled to a post in the prison room. yet all that was left of either was the "greaser's" chains. _could_ there have been collusion? it meant more trouble for 'tonio. instead of facing investigation, as harris declared he would, he had fled. it even meant more trouble for harris, who, having stood his friend through thick and thin, proclaimed his innocence in spite of accumulation of evidence, now found himself utterly alone in his views and all almy beginning to veer over to willett. willett, now able at last to recognize those about him, was sitting up a little to be nursed and petted and read to, a recovery in which the ice, for which harris had sent his indian followers forty miles, had played no unimportant part. willett was now the object of devoted care and unspeakable interest, for all almy hoped to hear the story of the assault with intent to kill. but almy was doomed to disappointment. beyond the expression of an unalterable conviction that he had been shot down from ambush by 'tonio, hammered senseless, and left for dead, willett declared he knew no more about it than they did. he seemed, in fact, to know as little of them as he knew of stella, when at last the doctor gave him, without a word, the little packet held in trust by mrs. stannard. "he is muddle-headed yet," said bentley, in explanation. "he'll know more after awhile, which is more than we may," was the mental addition, as he looked into mrs. stannard's doubtful eyes. but meanwhile further tidings had come from the san carlos and beyond. "big chief jake" had been doing some famous rounding up among the late recalcitrants. the general-in-chief had given a feast to the incoming indians, had shaken hands with their leaders, ordered rations for the families until the agency could again take them under its wing, had detailed escorts to conduct them by easy stages to the reservation set apart for them, but, as punctilious to the keeping of one part of a promise as to another, he sent forth his scouting parties to look up those indians who had not come in, with strict orders to stick to it until the fate of the bennett boys was definitely settled, and the scattered renegades were captured or destroyed. and this was why mrs. stannard was destined to wait still awhile longer for the home-coming of her beloved captain. this was why, within the week that followed their mission in quest of ice, three indian scouts that were still "casuals" at almy, set forth eastward, full panoplied for the field, with little harris at their head. "wouldn't you like to see harold before you go?" mrs. archer had asked him when he called to say good-by. her heart had warmed to him, as had lilian's, in grateful appreciation of that gift of ice ("though of course mr. harris should know that now, under the circumstances, he really--well, it wasn't at all a matter to be spoken about, but dear mrs. stannard could see for herself that--it were quite as well that mr. harris got back to his duties"). both mother and daughter, knowing well what it must have cost in time and labor, had thanked harris very prettily, and fully meant all they said, which kept them from saying too much. it was but natural that his classmates should do anything for harold. "would he care to see me?" asked harris, very quietly. "well, he is sleeping just now, and he needs that so much. lilian soothes him to sleep when no medicine can. he can't bear to have her out of his sight." "then i think i should not disturb them," said harris. "he'll be himself again before we are a week away, and you can say good-by for me, also to miss lilian, will you not?" it was thus he would have gone, but, as he turned away, compassion seized the mother's gentle heart, still bleeding--bleeding for her own beloved boy. after all, how could any young fellow help loving her lilian? how could harris help it? why should she wish to seek to hold him aloof? "come back one minute," she cried, half choking, then disappeared within. and so he turned again. he could not well refuse, and presently she came and smiled upon him and put her long, slim hand, cool from contact with iced towelling, into his hot, dry palm, and slipped the fingers slowly forth again, and spoke almost in whisper, lest the sleeper might hear her voice and know she had ventured forth and was conversing with some other man--all in that exaggerated precaution of word and manner that, whenever so much in love with one man, a girl so often observes toward others even ever so little in love with her. "you have been so good to--us, mr. harris, and i know how--he will thank you when he is able. till then you must let me. _good_-by!" poor comfort at best, yet what one of us would not have sought it rather than nothing? and then she was gone lest he should awake and remember--or harris should awake and--and forget. she was but a child, after all, and her fond and beloved mother little less so. and of such was harris's leave taking, cool as his contribution to that happy rival's comfort, he thought, as he rode drearily away to the ford, with but a wave of the hand in response to the shout of craney and watts at the shack, while "barkeep" and a few hangers-on stood gazing from under the canvas shade at the store, and case, the silent bookkeeper, bent over his desk by the east window--the desk wherein still reposed that big calibre 44, with every chamber loaded and the handle more coated with dust. half-way to the ford harris's broncho stumbled and kicked up a muddy splash in the shallow pool. his rider reined him up sharply and spurred on; the three pack mules, following in file a scrawny mexican on the bell horse, shied clear of the water cloud and emerged with dripping bellies from a deeper pool just to the left. the indians, skipping dry-shod over the bowlders, a dozen yards below, turned their heads at sound of the stumble, and their keen eyes exchanged glances. presently one of them shed his moccasins and waded in toward the mud cloud on the face of the rippling waters, and, while his companions stood at the bank, began searching in the knee-deep puddle. presently again he swooped, thrust down a bare, brown arm almost to the shoulder, and drew forth a dripping object a foot long, covered with rust and mud. "huh!" was all he said, as he splashed back to shore, exhibiting his prize to his fellows. then together the three went a jog trot after harris and held it up for his inspection. he took it curiously--an old-fashioned, war-time, percussion-capped navy colt--the pistol officers carried through the four years of battling in preference to the so-called army colt issued to the cavalry. "some relic of the old volunteer days at almy," said harris to himself, and bade the indian keep it. nor did he think again of that pistol until many days later. that night they bivouacked among the tanks under diamond butte. next day, toward sunset, as the smoke from the little cook fire went sailing aloft from the bank of a mountain stream that came tumbling from the black mesa, another little column of smoke answered from among the pines far up the heights. an indian touched the young soldier's sleeve and pointed. another moment and he was up, blanket in hand and signalling. that night the escaped prisoner, whom all commanders of posts or detachments were ordered to arrest wherever found, stood erect in the firelight, clasping hands with his young leader--'tonio, the apache-mohave, and 'tonio had a stirring tale to tell. barely five days later still, archer and his wife sat hand in hand in the cool veranda, taking the air. the sun was just down and the flag had just fluttered to its rest. from the open casement came the murmur of happy voices, one so very happy it thrilled their hearts. across the barren parade the men were just breaking ranks after retreat inspection, and the officers were coming homeward, unbelting sword or sabre as they neared their doors, in the impatient fashion of the day. strong, the adjutant, still precise and buckled, stalked up to his commander's steps, halted, saluted, and said: "all present, sir, and couriers coming up the valley." archer rose to his feet and reached for his binocular. forgetful of supper, many men began to gather at the edge of the bluff over by the office. a brace of sergeants had clambered to the lookout, and mrs. stannard, eager ever for news from her husband, came hurrying to join her friends. twilight faded with almost tropical suddenness, but not before the coming riders could be recognized as troopers, and mrs. stannard's heart was praying they might be her luce's men. "if you had your wish," said archer, as he lowered the glass and turned to where the two friends stood, their arms entwining, "what would you ask for, mrs. stannard?" "my husband, i suppose," was the answer, "and yet--i've been sitting hours by poor mrs. bennett this day," and the blue eyes began to fill. "heaven send us news of those little fellows soon," said archer piously. "if not, i'm afraid her heart will break. bentley says the faint hope is all that holds her. listen to that!" he suddenly cried. "listen!" far down beyond the store somebody had set up a shout. then, as they stood with beating hearts and straining ears, from the store itself went up another--three, four voices in unison--a shout that set every man along the edge of the mesa to swinging his hat. but a veteran sergeant, bonner's level-headed right bower, sprang among them, with uplifted hand and voice. "quiet, men! don't yell! wait!" then he came hurrying across the parade, straight to his post commander. "what is it, sergeant?" was the anxious query, and at the very moment the riders came wearily jogging over the brow of the hill. "couriers from general crook, sir. they say the boys are found--safe." bentley was there almost as the foremost horseman sprang from saddle. "not a word of it to her--yet!" said he. "wait until we know exactly. go you, sergeant, and tell the steward on no account to let any one disturb her." and by this time archer had torn open the letter handed him, and doyle had come running out with a lamp. the expressions that chased each other over the general's features as he hurriedly read would have baffled an actor: first rejoicing, then amaze, then perplexity, if not trouble. "can you tell us, dear?" was the gentle query that recalled him. "read it--aloud," he said, and though her voice was tremulous, the tone was clear and the hush breathless. even lilian and her lover could hear every word. camp on tonto creek, december --, 5:30 a.m. dear general: almy scores again. general crook sends his best congratulations. the little bennetts should be safely with you to-night. we see them as far as el caporal. the general takes short cut for mcdowell and thence home. old stannard never slept from the moment he got the word until he got the boys. harris and 'tonio located the rancheria and led unerringly. we are all happy. yours in haste, bright. even in her womanly joy over the rescue, there was wifely sympathy and instant understanding of her husband's swift-changing mood. the children were safe--that meant rejoicing for all. stannard and his troop were the rescuers--that meant credit and triumph for archer's post, and the general awarded it. but harris and 'tonio were the discoverers and leaders. 'tonio, probably, was the man without whose aid nothing could have been accomplished. 'tonio was the hero, therefore, in the eyes of the commanding general--'tonio, the man whom archer would have condemned and shot. this meant perplexity, if not worry, as she quickly saw, and went and nestled to his side. did ever soldier have such contrary luck as did hers? but all were crowding about the couriers for particulars. "yes," said the sturdy corporal, who was spokesman for the two, "the little fellows had been brought in a mule litter from way over toward chevlon's fork, straight to crook's camp." captain stannard with most of his people would scout the country far as the chiquito before returning. lieutenant harris and 'tonio stayed with him, and the general's escort from "g" troop brought in the boys. and by ten o'clock another rider came loping in. the party with the litter were just behind, the tiny occupants worn out and sound asleep. "take them straight to the hospital," said dr. bentley. "mrs. archer, mrs. stannard, will you come with me?" all almy sat up late that night. probably not a soldier eye was closed until long after eleven, and half the garrison clustered about the hospital, treading on tiptoe and speaking in whispers, as the little fellows were tenderly lifted from the litter, the weary mules were led away, and, in the arms of mrs. archer and mrs. stannard, the sleeping boys were borne, without word or sound, to the darkened room where, in the broad white bed that had been the hospital matron's, lay in the slumber of exhaustion their unconscious mother. bentley closed the door behind them, noiselessly as possible. the steward and his wife, both with tear-brimming eyes, stood by to aid. deft hands disrobed the sleeping little forms (mrs. archer nearly sobbing aloud at sight of their thinned and wasted limbs), and invested them in borrowed "nighties" from buxom mrs. kelly's store. then, cautiously, noiselessly, the light coverlet was partly raised, the weary little curly heads were pillowed close beside the mother's, and then, leaving the night light turned low, stealthily they drew away and waited. "she never sleeps more'n an hour or two at a time," whispered the steward. "she'll be sure to wake before long," and so they lingered near the doorway, and camp almy, much of it, clustered in the moonlight without. ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still there was no sound from the darkened room, and then, over at the guardhouse, the sentry on number one started the call of eleven o'clock. number two, at the storehouse, took it up in his turn and trolled off his "all's well," and then it was number three's turn, out just under the edge of the bench, and three muffled his voice and strove to turn it into a lullaby as he began, and, as the first words of the soldier watch cry came floating in through the partly open window, mrs. archer's hand stole forth and clasped that of mrs. stannard's, for the mother had begun to stir. then, finger on lips, in tremulous excitement, those loving-hearted friends bent forward, and the watchers, five, listened and gazed, the women quivering with sympathy and emotion, for mrs. bennett's dark head was slowly lifting from the pillow, and then, all on a sudden went up a piercing cry--in a very agony of joy--incredulous, intolerable--"_danny!_ danny! oh, my god! don't say i'm dreaming! and jimmy!" and then, with lusty yowl, the younger of the startled cherubs entered his protest against this summary awakening, and the words of ecstatic thanksgiving were for the moment drowned in the chorus of infant lamentation. even the rapture of restoration to mother arms was dimmed by consideration of present discomfort. but within were glad-hearted friends, weeping joyfully with her. without were sturdy soldiers, shaking hands and slapping backs and shoulders in clumsy delight, and somebody was moved to say he'd bet the old man wouldn't care if it _was_ after taps, "and--craney's was still open." and so by dozens they went trooping down, for, though cash was scant and the paymaster overdue, the rules were suspended and craney bade "barkeep" credit all comers who drank to harris; and case, the bookkeeper, with white and twitching face, waylaid such men as came from the escort with odd, insistent questioning. if 'tonio was really leader in the rescue, had nothing been seen of 'patchie sanchez? was sanchez heard of--nowhere?--until, with his fifth free drink to the health of everybody concerned, corporal dooley turned on case with "what the hell's it to you, anyhow, whether 'tonio led or sanchez's dead?" and craney, listening and watching, turned to watts and asked had case begun again? if so, they couldn't too speedily check him. "come up here, if you're a man," insisted dooley, "and have wan on me to big little harris and 'tonio--'tonio, bedad, even if he _did_ do up loot'nent willett!" whereat, even in the noisy barroom there was sudden silence, save for responsive murmurs of 'tonio's name, for strange sympathy had come sifting in from the columns afield. but craney had heard in the adjoining room and was up in an instant, watts following suit. this would never do. this was disloyalty to the best and gentlest and most courteous of post commanders, and no soldier should, no employé of his _could_, drink such a toast within craney's doors. but he need not have feared. promptly a big sergeant had interposed, and caught the corporal by the wrist, with thunderous "none of that, dooley!" prompt came case's answer, though low-toned and guarded: "i'm drinking nothing, man, till after pay-day. _then_ come at me and i'll settle it with you drink for drink." but dooley's irish blood was up, five fingers of tanglefoot tingling in each fist and bubbling in his brain. struggling in the sergeant's grasp, he shouted his reply: "settle be damned! how'd _you_ settle wid willett for the girl he did you out? bluffed him on a queen high, and called it square! you're nothin' but a bluffer, case, an' all vancouver knowed it!" in the instant of awkward, amazed silence that followed no man moved. then, his face still whiter, his lips livid, case turned to sergeant woodrow. "that man has no right to be heard here--much less to be wearing chevrons," said he. "his name's quigley, a deserter from the lost and strayed!" it was then just midnight, and the sergeant of the guard, coming to close the festivities, went back with an unlooked-for prisoner, who, every inch of the way, cursed and foamed and fought, and swore hideous vengeance on case for a cur and a coward, so that the fury of his denunciation reached even the general's quarters, where peace and congratulation were having sway, and lovers were still whispering ere parting for the night--reached even the ears of willett himself, reclining blissfully at the open window, with lilian's hand in his, her fair head pillowed on his shoulder. there in the open hearth lay the ashes of the letters, unread, unopened, that had come to accuse him, but even the fires of hell could not burn out the memory of the wrong that, after all, had tracked him here unerringly, for in the few half-drunken, all-damning words that reached him, harold willett heard the trumpeting of his own disgrace. his sin had found him out. and, barely an hour before, he had sworn to her that the stella of whom he had babbled in his dreams was indeed but a favorite hound he had lost in the columbia; that no stella had penned a line to him in years, and, taking her sweet, upturned face between his palms, with the soft, tender brown eyes looking fondly down into the trustful, beautiful blue, he had said: "my darling, like other men, i have had fancies in boyish days, and even a flame or two, but never a love, _real_ love, until you came into my life. in a week now i must be with my general at prescott, but every day, every moment of my absence, you will be the only girl in all the world to me. i shall shrink from the mere touch of another hand. i shall count the hours until you become my wife." and she believed him, utterly, poor soul. he even believed himself. chapter xxv. the gray fox had returned to his own. the general commanding the department was spending a month at head-quarters--for him, who loved the mountains and the field, a most unusual thing. the wild tribes of arizona, with the exception of one specially exempted band of chiricahuas and a few hopeless desperadoes with a price on their heads, were gathered to their reservations--a most unheard-of thing in all previous annals of the territory--and a season of unprecedented gayety had dawned on the post of fort whipple and the adjacent martial settlement, the homes of the staff and their families. the general and his good wife, childless, and boundless in their hospitality, had opened their doors to army wayfarers. new officers were there from 'frisco and the states. matrons and young women, new to arizona, had come to enliven the once isolated posts of the desert and mountain. major dennis, of one supply department, was accompanied by a young and lovely and lively wife, who danced, if dennis did not. major prime, of another, had recently been joined by his wife and two daughters, bright, vivacious girls, just out of school and into society, and, perhaps most important of all, colonel and mrs. darrah, of the infantry, had come, accompanied by their daughter evelyn, as beautiful and dashing a belle as had ever bewildered the bachelors about the golden gate, and from every camp or post within a hundred miles or more junior officers had been called in to prescott, on "board," court-martial duty or leave, until nearly a dozen were gathered, and while boards and courts dragged their slow length, and maps, reports and records of the recent campaign were being laboriously yawned over at odd intervals during the sunshiny days, far more thought and time and attention were being given to riding, driving, tramping and picnic parties--even croquet coming in for honorable mention--while every night had its "hop" and some nights their ball that lasted well toward morning, and for the first time in its history "head-quarters" was actually gay. time had been in the recent past when a fort whipple hop consisted, as said a cynical chief commissary, in "putting on full uniform and watching thompson dance a waltz," there being then but one officer at the station equipped with the requisite accomplishment. now there were more dancers than girl partners. the latter were in their glory, and the married women in clover. "_let_ them have a good time," said the chief, when his pragmatical adjutant would have suggested sending some of them back to their posts to finish maps and reports they were only neglecting here. "but they'll be getting impatient at division head-quarters," said the man of tape and rule. it was a whip which often told on department commanders, but not on crook. "_let_ them have a good time. every one of those youngsters has been scouting and fighting and living on bacon and beans for the last six months, and i like to see them dance." the office-bred officer sighed, and wondered what the papers, or congress, would say if they knew it. the service-tried soldier said he'd take all the raps and responsibility, and that ended it. so here were the young gallants of the cavalry and infantry, active, slender, sinewy, clear-eyed, bronze-cheeked fellows, as a rule, capital dancers and riders, all-round partners, too, though few had a penny laid by for a rainy day, and several had mortgaged pay accounts. there was billy ray, from camp cameron, who could outride a _vaquero_, and "legs" blake from mcdowell, who could outclimb an apache, and stryker, of the scouts, who had won fame in a year, and "lord" mitchell, his classmate, whom the troopers laughed at for a fop the first few months, and then worshipped for his daring after the pitched battle at the caves. there were three or four young benedicts with better halves in the far east, who had forgotten little of their dancing days, and not too much of their wooing, and there were lesser lights among the subs, and two or three captains still uncaught, and even one or two men of whom others spoke not too highly, like craven, and "that man gleason," to whom blake would not speak at all. then there were steele and kelly from wickenberg and date creek, and strong was to come up from almy, bringing with him in chains the desperado, 'patchie sanchez, secreted by his own people when charged with the killing of the interpreter, but tamely sold when a price was set on his head. and the commander sent still another missive to archer, whom the luckier general held in especial affection, enclosing one from the good wife to mrs. archer, begging that she and lilian should be their guests for a week, "and as long thereafter as practicable," that the engagement might be ratified and celebrated, "for we all think mr. willett the most fortunate of men." and then, of course, there were wickham and bright, the general's other aides, who were famous entertainers, and then, above all, perhaps--pitted for the first time against all the soldier beaux of arizona--there was the general's latest acquisition, handsome, graceful, charming hal willett, who had, with characteristic modesty, made no mention of the fact that he was an engaged man until mrs. stannard's letter to mrs. crook told all about it, and we, who knew and loved mrs. stannard, knew just why she wrote, and never blamed her, as did willett. the very night of the very day it came he was dancing gloriously with, and had been saying things to, evelyn darrah that she one day earlier had listened to with bated breath. now his mustache swept her pretty ear as he lowered his head in the midst of the loveliest "glide," and murmured something more, whereat she had suddenly swung herself out of the circle of his arm, swept him a stately courtesy and fairly startled--_stunned_ him by the question: "isn't that just a little high--for a gentleman's game, mr. willett?" the very words were enough to amaze him! "what on earth do you mean?" he demanded, as soon as he recovered self-control. "i mean," said she, straightening to her full height again, and looking him fairly in the eyes, "that for an engaged man you have exceeded, or, as you would say, 'raised the limit.'" there were dozens dancing, chatting, laughing about them, and some few watching, for his attentions, first to pretty mrs. dennis, and then the devotions by means of which he had swept aside all other suitors of evelyn darrah, had set all tongues to wagging. "the old willett over again," said bright, who had known him at the point. only that day had the mail come up from almy and mcdowell, and he ought to have known what it would betray. there must have been other letters--men's letters--for at mess there had been sly allusions to the fluctuations of fortune, the comparative values of "straights" and "pats," and this girl had turned and taunted him with the very words of that infernal, and he had hoped, forgotten game. moreover, she, a brilliant, beautiful, practised woman of society, by no means the delicate and sensitive little desert flower whose worship he had won so readily, had dared to fence with him, had interested, piqued, fascinated, and now wellnigh bewitched him. he was not yet well of his wounds by any manner of means. he was still weak--far too weak to ride or climb or do much in the way of walking, but he could look, and be most interesting lolling in an invalid chair. women had come and ministered to him in his convalescence, and pretty mrs. dennis had made quite a fool of herself, said certain elders, but when it came to cutting in for evelyn darrah, willett had had to be up and doing, even finally, for her and her alone, as he murmured, daring to dance. there was nothing else he did so supremely well, and men and women watched them enviously, perhaps, yet delightedly, and men and women were watching now as he followed her to her seat, dropped to the one beside her, and bent absorbedly over her again, pale, agitated, and they saw her speaking, saw him vehemently pleading, saw him prevailing, for his pallor and emotion lent force to his impassioned words. practised belle, coquette, flirt she might have been, but the woman is rare indeed who can utterly disbelieve, in face of such a combination, that she at least is loved. stella's impassioned letters once lay in unbroken packages upon his mantel. another star had risen and set, and sent its missives only to the ashes of his grate, and now this very night, hidden in his desk, lay long, close-written, criss-crossed, exquisite pages, the outpourings of a young and guileless and glorious nature, and they, too, lay, as did that early stella's, unread, unheeded, almost undesired, for the man was inflamed by this dauntless woman's defiance of him, and the devil in him was urging: woo her, win her, conquer her, _crush_ her, come what may! that night was but one of several in quick succession. on every hand he had to smile, and say conventional words of thanks for the pointed and repeated congratulations showered upon him. men and women went out of their way at every turn to remind him, as it were, that he was a mortgaged man; and yet, so strangely was he constituted, life for him at the moment seemed to have but one object worth attaining--evelyn darrah. day and night he sought her, pursued her, and men began to shun him, and he never heeded. women began to shrink from her, and she saw, yet, for to some there is the gambler's madness in the game, she _let_ them shrink. what were their slights in comparison with the thrilling joy of this conquest? this man was at her feet, abject, pleading, praying. it was hers to spurn or sway him as she would. never doubting her own power to turn him any instant adrift, she found delight in the passion of so virile, graceful, glorious a lover, the man of whom she had heard other women speak for three long years, and now he was hers--hers to do with as she dared--to break or make as was her caprice. what--what if men looked stern and women shrank? this was a game well worth the candle, let them sneer who would. what had promised to be a fortnight of jollification had become charged with matters of grave moment. strong had arrived, bringing the shackled sanchez, and, when hospitably bidden to stay a week and have some fun, he said he reckoned he ought to get back as quick as possible--"the old man had much to bother him," this in confidence to bright. "the old man's coming up here," said bright, "quick as the general can coax him, and he's just going to have a welcome that will warm the cockles of his heart," and then, like the loyal aide he was, bright essayed to make archer's adjutant see that while the general commanding had been constrained to differ with the commander at camp, almy, he personally held him in affection and esteem. "i'm afraid," said he, "general archer thinks he is misunderstood about this 'tonio business, and--and--harris. here's willett, now, perfectly willing to drop the whole case against 'tonio and say no more about it." "what?" said strong, in amaze. "why, at almy he damned him time and again--swore he had twice tried to kill him. if he acquits 'tonio, whom in god's name does he suspect?" asked strong, a queer thought occurring to him as he recalled the furious words of the deserter dooley, _alias_ quigley, another prisoner to be tried. bright dodged. "the queer thing about it," said he, "is that brown there, at mcdowell, is demanding investigation, and says he believes there was collusion in camp--men who insist that 'tonio's a trump. and now we have news from harris, and he demands investigation, in 'tonio's name--says there's a side to the story only 'tonio can tell, and will tell only to the big chief." strong pondered a moment. "there's more than one queer thing we can't fathom at almy," said he. "harris and 'tonio never had anything to do with that sanchez crowd. 'tother sanchez, and muñoz, helped the chase of 'tonio--did their best to catch him, and yet over at mcdowell they're thick as thieves." "not a bit of it! they never saw each other until--well, somebody made brown believe the general would censure his showing favors to 'tonio, so what does he do but order him in with sanchez. that night both get away. then 'patchie's own people brought him back for cash. there isn't money or blood enough in all arizona to tempt them to lay hands on 'tonio. sanchez wants to talk with the general, says he can tell things the chief would like to know. can he?" "how should i know?" asked strong. "there's more of a mix in this business than i can straighten out. it looks to me as though more than one man had his grudge against this fine feathered bird that came down to show us how to tackle apaches," and bright changed the subject, as was his way when men or women ventured to question the methods of the powers. all the same, he told his general of strong's suspicions, and that night the general summoned both sanchez and strong, and there was a scene in the moonlight, down by the old log guard-house. sanchez, heavily shackled and scared almost out of his wits in the belief that he would speedily be hanged, or shot to death, fell on his knees at sight of the tall, bearded commander, and strove to seize his hand. in the indescribable jargon of the indo-mexican frontier, he implored the general's mercy; he wailed that he was a poor and wronged and innocent man. he had no thought of killing--only inducing the interpreter to leave him, and the interpreter tried to shoot him. it was to save his own life he slashed at his guardian and ran, never knowing he had hurt him. he was frightened at mcdowell; thought soldiers planned to lynch him. he dared not stay. he had filed his shackles and the window bars, and was watching opportunity to tear them loose and run, when 'tonio was put in his cell. that night he saw his chance, climbed out and slid away to the mountains, just before the third relief was inspected, but he did not wake or tell 'tonio. 'tonio was a wicked indian, who twice tried to kill lieutenant willett. 'tonio should be hanged. 'tonio's people hated sanchez, because he "always friend to the big chief crook and the americanos." 'tonio knew where to find him, it seems, and set lieutenant harris to catch him. now, said sanchez, if big chief only would let him go he would bring in two, three 'patchie-mohaves, 'tonio's own people, who saw 'tonio shoot and try to kill teniente willett--saw him shoot and club, shoot twice. sanchez called on the blessed virgin and all the saints to witness his innocence, his entire truth, and the chief, with just one gesture of disbelief and disgust, turned quietly away. "you may as well tell him, wickham," said he, and, with bright at his side, strode back to head-quarters hill, leaving strong and his senior aide to settle the matter. "you damned fool!" said blackbeard contemptuously. "it wasn't 'tonio; it was your own people gave you up. it wasn't 'tonio; it was your own brother shot teniente willett. his own revolver was found at the spot. your own people say he did it!" "lie! lie!" shrieked sanchez, livid from fright and amaze. "josé no have pistol that night. josé lose him to case--monte--two days before! _case_ shoot him! _case_ shoot him! muñoz see him. 'patchie-mohave see him! look, señor capitan, i bring them all--all say so." "i thought we'd be getting at bottom facts before we finished with our greaser gang," said wickham, with no symptom of either surprise or emotion. "very good, sanchez. we'll give you the chance to swear to it and bring your witnesses. take him in, sergeant, and keep this to yourself. now bring out dooley." half an hour later, just as the midnight call of the sentries was going the rounds, hal willett, after whispered words of good-night to a tall and slender shadow at darrah's door, came swiftly up the steps of his new quarters, and was surprised to find a little group at the adjoining veranda. two civilians were there, one of whom he knew to be the sheriff. strong was there and wickham was giving some instructions in low tone to the three. "you start at dawn," were the words that caught willett's ear, "and you should have him at prescott within the week. sure you need no further escort?" "sure," was the sententious answer of the tall civilian, as he sauntered to the steps. "what is it?" asked willett, at a venture. "just a flyer, willett," said blackbeard, in the most off-hand manner imaginable. "sanchez swears it was case who shot you, and we're having him up to explain." for an instant four men stood watching willett's face. pale at almost any time of late, it seemed to have turned ashen in the pallid light about them. he swayed, too, a trifle, as though from sudden shock, and it was a second or two before he found his voice. then: "what infernal rot! didn't they find my own pistol, that 'tonio had stolen, where his fellows or he had dropped it in their flight?" "o, lord, yes," was the airy answer, "five miles away. but harris found the real one, right there at the spot. case won it from sanchez just two days before. so he'll be here with 'tonio the end of the week." chapter xxvi. that week was a bad one for harold willett. the general, taking bright with him as usual, had whirled away in his stout spring wagon to supervise the re-establishment of the indians lately in rebellion. the agent at the verde reservation had developed symptoms of stampede that were later diagnosed and treated as insanity. it must be owned that he had lived through troublous times and had had experiences to try the nerve of a man of iron, which he was not. the general, after settling matters to his satisfaction at the reservation, purposed a descent on colonel pelham and camp sandy, for consultation with him and a conference with the troop and company commanders returned to their soldier honors, after their strenuous scout through the mountains. he left wickham to represent him at headquarters and continue his investigation, and he left willett to--recuperate, for already he had repented him of the impulse that led to the brilliant officer's appointment on his personal staff. willett had been a valuable and distinguished soldier in that northern field, and only by these things had the general known him. that willett was a many-sided man, that he could be an eager and ambitious officer when once afield, and a mere butterfly about the garrison, had not occurred to this simple-minded chief. the combination of terrier and lapdog is rare in the army. however, willett was not yet fit for field service, and the gray fox meant that he should have fair play and a chance to redeem himself. "we couldn't send him away just now even if he were fit to ride," said wickham confidentially to his brother aide-de-camp. "dooley's trial begins presently, and he wants willett as to character. but archer and his household should be here by friday. then he'll have to behave." willett, of course, knew that archer had been sent for, was coming up and would probably bring mrs. archer and lilian. according to his estimate, too, the family should be here some time friday. meantime he had a fortress to reduce whose garrison had already flung out signals of distress. "evelyn darrah may have been a flirt at 'frisco," said mrs. crook, "and she's had more experience than most girls of her years, but she's not heartless, and that good-looking scamp knows it." "have you talked with mrs. darrah?" asked a fair friend at a venture. "talked with kate darrah! of course i've talked with her! and told her just what people are saying and thinking, but kate darrah was just such a flirt when she was a girl. kate darrah many a time pulled the wool over her mother's eyes, and now hers is being pulled the same way. evvy leads her mother by the nose." "colonel darrah, then," was the suggestion. "dicky darrah!" laughed mrs. crook, in merry disdain. "dicky darrah never dares oppose evvy--let alone his wife. kate darrah says it just serves hal willett right. it's no fault of hers that he's daft about evvy, who's simply bent on giving him a lesson he richly deserves. when the archers come she'll drop it--and him." but the archers came sooner than any one about prescott deemed likely at all. somebody said, and more than one somebody thought, that mrs. archer had had more than a hint as to what was going on. but never did mrs. archer look or admit it. the mail riders had resumed their trips. the paymaster had made his visit to mcdowell and had safely traversed the mazatzal and distributed his shekels at almy. almost every day there had been comings and goings, and though no letters bearing willett's superscription went to almy except by regular mail, even these, it seems, the pressure of his duties made brief and unlike what lilian had looked for, so that the radiance had gone from her sweet face almost as quickly as it came. even the girl who bravely insists that the beloved one is beyond doubt, and above suspicion, and all that is perfect, as lilian strove to insist--even she will feel in her heart of hearts that there has been neglect, and neglect crushes. archer saw and said nothing but "get ready as quick as we can." they were looked for friday noon. they were ushered into the general's hospitable quarters late thursday evening, relayed on from the agua fria, after a good noonday rest in camp, and even in bidding them welcome, welcome over again, mrs. crook pointed to the brightly lighted assembly room down the winding roadway. "they're having a holiday dance to-night," said she to lilian. "we'll toddle down after tea and take them all by surprise." for three days willett had hardly been seen at the office, where indeed there was little for him to do, except perhaps read the letters that had begun to come again from various quarters. he had merely slept at home; he had simply lived at the darrahs. he was hardly seen by any associates except dancing attendance upon this tall, imperious beauty, who, for her part, seemed now to accept his devotions as a matter of course, and to be regardless of public opinion. begun in pique, or vanity, or devilment, whatever it may have been at the start, her indifference at first, her coquetry, her wiles, her defiance of his powers had spurred, fascinated and finally maddened him. then, when she would have drawn back, his apparent, his acted or his actual desperation terrified her, and, all too late, her own battered heart cried out for relief. in spite of herself she found her resolution gone, her indifference rebuked, her strength wasted, sapped. she was yielding to him when she meant to scorn. she was clinging to him when she meant to spurn. and now the last night, the last of their--flirtation had come, and as she fluttered away on his arm to take their place in the dance, the cynosure of all eyes, evelyn darrah _knew_ that she was facing her fate, that before the midnight hour she must answer. he would so have it. recklessly enough she had begun. what meant such affairs to her but a laugh? yet, only the night before, as they stood murmuring in the shade at her father's doorway, and he was begging for some little word, touch, token--something to bid him hope in the hell of his despair, imploring her to see his engagement as he saw it--a something entered into in his enfeebled condition because he saw, everybody saw, that fair young girl's self-betrayal, and he had mistaken gratitude, pity, tenderness for love, until he, harold willett, had met _her_, evelyn darrah, and at last learned what it was to love, passionately, overwhelmingly--to love, to worship, to need, to crave, and then on a sudden she had felt herself seized in his clasp, and before she could, if she would, tear herself adrift, his lips, burning with eagerness, had sought and found hers--upraised. then she had broken from his embrace, but not till then. _this_ morning she had pleaded headache and kept to her room. _this_ afternoon she had had to meet him, and could not repel, reproach, rebuke as she had at last meant to do. others were ever about them then. there must be no scene, and he was quite capable of making one. and now this night he had come for her, yes, and for her answer. he was ready, he said, to resign from the staff at once, return to his regiment, break with the archers, explaining that it was all--all a mistake, and then with her promise to be his wife, what spur would there not be to his ambition? he--but it all made her feverish--frantic! there was but one refuge--to dance, dance until her whirling brain and throbbing heart were exhausted in the wild exhilaration, to dance incessantly, with man after man who sought her, though few had opportunity owing to his persistence. and she had been dancing incessantly, as we danced in those days--galop, deux temps, redowa, waltz, the long, undulating, luxurious, sensuous sweep of the "glide," and men and women stood and watched them, time and again, when willett claimed her--and he hardly had look or word for others--so wondrous was that harmony of motion, that grace and beauty of feature and of form. then at last came exhaustion. there were some little clumps of cedars on the slope just south of the assembly hall, as it stood there on the low ground midway between the head-quarters houses on the ridge to the south, and the even less commodious cottages of the puny garrison. there was a boardwalk of creaking pine, leading across the shallow ravine, for it sometimes rained up here in the mountains, though it never seemed to in the deep, arid valleys to the east. then there was a gravel path stretching away toward the garrison houses north and north-east, and one, still narrower and crookeder, winding up among the pines and cedars and disappearing over the top of the knoll, where the broad veranda of the general's mansion overlooked the entire scene. sometimes when the evenings were warm and the dancers flushed, and sometimes even when there was no such excuse, young couples were wont to saunter out in the starlight for air and sentiment and "spooning." already willett knew the labyrinth, and welcomed the excuse to lead her forth, his arm almost supporting her. it was about eleven. the elders were absorbing mild refreshments at the moment. the musicians were glad of a rest, a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and a puff at a pipe before again resuming their melodious, if monotonous, labor. the windows of the assembly room were so near the ground that it was easy for these who did not attend the dances to supervise from without, and it often happened that a fringe of respectfully admiring spectators would surround the building until the late roll-call summoned the soldier circle away. and yet this thursday night there were two or three little parties peering in at the southward windows, some of whom came down from the general's quarters very late. to mrs. crook's laughing suggestion that they should "toddle down after tea" mrs. archer had entered gentle protest. it was too late. they were not dressed. she feared lilian was too tired. what mother would not oppose her precious daughter's making her appearance at a dance in travelling garb, after a day of driving? to her mother's protest lilian had at first made no rejoinder. the flush of the first few minutes of welcomed arrival soon left her winsome face, and the resultant pallor emphasized her mother's edict--that she was too tired. but it was not long before they noted, all of them--father, mother and hostess--that her thoughts were only there at the dance, that her ears were attentive only to the strains of music that, once in a while, came wafting upward from the hall, and when a little later, refreshed by tea and a bountiful supper, they again returned to the parlor and the sound of the dance, mrs. crook caught the longing in lilian's eyes. "oh, come," she said, "let's just run down a few minutes and peep in; lilian wants to see, and i'll send word in, sidewise, that will bring somebody out with a jump." they seized their wraps and started, archer gallantly tendering his arm to the commander's wife, but she would none of it. "nonsense! i've got to pilot _you_! that walk is steep and crooked and pitch dark when you get among the cedars. i want to chat with mrs. archer," and the old soldier thanked her in his heart. more than ever before he wished to have that arm about his own little girl this night. was it possible she too felt the premonition that had come to him? had her mother, after all, told her of the little hints they had received? something had come. he could swear it. something to make her strangely silent, but eager, fluttering, nervous--something that prompted her as they neared the building, and the little hand clinging to her father's arm shook with strange excitement, to bend forward close to their friend and hostess, and just as the latter was about to hail some young officer on the steps, lilian interposed. "oh--please," was all she said, but her fingers had caught the fluttering fold of the mantle, and mrs. crook turned at once. "you'd rather not?" she asked, with quick, sympathetic understanding. "i won't then. plenty of time. let's watch the dance first." and so saying she had marshalled them close to the southward windows, lilian and her father at the near-most, she and mrs. archer going on to the next. it was keler beler's "am schoenen rhein" they were playing at the moment, with its sweet, weird, luring, mournful, warning lorelei _motif_ dominating in the waltz measure, and, with parted lips and clinging to her father's side, lilian stood close to the window and looked and listened, saying not one word. there were but three couples dancing at the moment. there might as well have been but one for, within the hall and without, the eyes of all seemed fastened on that. some strange caprice had prompted evelyn darrah to wear black that night--a grenadine, with cobweb lace and glinting spangles and sweeping train, the bodice cut low and displaying her shapely arms and neck and shoulders, enhancing the grace of her tall and slender form. her dark hair was coiled in masses, yet here and there a curl or tendril fell upon the soft, polished skin, or floated about cheek and temple. her eyelids, heavily lashed, veiled her downcast eyes. her coral lips were slightly parted. her almost queenly head was bowed as though to incline that little ear to catch the words he was eagerly pouring into it. not a vestige of a smile was on either face, each was dark, sombre, beautiful, absorbed. his handsome head was bowed until the curling mustache swept her rounded, flushing cheek. in exquisite rhythm and harmony the two tall, graceful forms swayed in unison with the exquisite love music, every step, every motion perfectly attuned. it seemed as though no guiding were necessary. slowly gliding, turning, reversing, he in his faultless uniform, she in her sweeping, diaphanous sable, seemed, without effort or the faintest exertion, fairly floating upon air. no wonder they sat or stood and gazed--these elders along the bordering benches--these others among the dancers--these few, wordless, at the windows. then, with the lorelei melody lingering to the last, the sweet, sad music died away and the waltz was ended. people began to move toward the doorway. "they're going for their bite and sup," said mrs. crook. "see, there go the bandsmen. shall--_we_?" "i think not, if you don't mind," said mrs. archer with anxious glance at the other window, where lilian still stood, looking straight at the doorway through which that couple had led and so many now were following. she had neither spoken nor moved, nor had he, her father. his back was toward them, but from the very pose of his head the wife well knew his eyes were fixed upon the face of his beloved child, with who can say what depth of sorrow, sympathy, yearning for her--with what passion of wrath and resentment for him. "come," said mrs. crook briefly, for she, too, saw. then archer gently laid his hand upon the slender fingers that seemed clinching his arm, and with sudden little gasp or sob, and shiver, lilian whirled upon him, her eyes big and dry and glittering. "oh! wasn't it--didn't they dance--beautifully?" she cried, as he ground his teeth and turned to lead her away. and just at that instant--just as such things _will_ happen, who should come chirruping round the corner but the chaplain and his wife, with mrs. chief quartermaster and a guest from camp sandy, just in time to stumble upon mrs. crook and mrs. archer vainly striving to dodge and get home. it was too late. they were captured, surrounded, pounced upon. "oh, _when_ did you come?" "oh, _how_ did you get here?" "oh, _where_ is lilian?" etc., etc., and archer, never hesitating, quick was he in action ever, instantly turned about. "this way, sweetheart," he murmured, in the fond father love that welled from his great heart. a few strides carried them back into the darkness, around by the westward end, where the clamor of voices and clatter of cups and plates at the supper room drowned other sounds, and then in the darkness he led his darling, voiceless still, across the little wooden bridge and up the gentle slope among the cedars, hoping by a wide detour to dodge these importunates and lead his child to her own room, and there mount guard over her until the mother came. there is a sorrow that passeth understanding, and is known not of all men--the mute, helpless, impotent sorrow of the father who feels the heartache, and sees the suffering of a beloved child, and cannot even trust himself to speak of it. and fate was still against them. the god that meant to cure was merciful and merciless as is the knife. sinless as was this gentle flower, even she must suffer and endure, for here were obstacles again, even here across their path! they were upon them almost before they knew it, yet upon them unseen, unheard, for, absorbed in each other, this opposing couple knew nothing but their own affair, and well they might, for a sob was the first sound to catch the soldier's ear, a stifled cry, and then a deep, manly voice imploring, protesting, a torrent of murmured words, fond, assuring, caressing, passionate, a deluge of thrilling endearments, a mingling of sobs and kisses, for the woman's overcharged nature had broken under the strain, and in the refuge of his clasping arms was sobbing her heart out on this new lover's breast. archer, raging, would have brushed them by, but lilian held him. "not that way; oh, not that way!" she whispered hoarsely. and then he understood, and together they fled back the way they came. chapter xxvii. it was a merciful providence, as many of the exiles later said, that brought the commanding general himself late that starlit evening back to prescott. his stout mountain wagon, and special six-mule team had whirled him up from the verde after the briefest of conferences with the cavalry colonel there in command. an indian runner from almy had reached them early that thursday morning, announcing the return of stannard and his troop, accompanied by lieutenant harris, 'tonio and certain of the apache-mohaves, the arrest by civil authorities and attempted suicide of case, and the further gathering under the wing of the law of josé sanchez, of muñoz, and even of dago, all of whom, it was said, were wanted at prescott. stannard found the archers gone, found himself, as senior captain, temporarily in command of the post, and called upon to furnish military escort for the civil _posse comitatus_. stannard was a soldier pure and simple. he would have shown as a mammoth bull in a china shop had he and his troop been at the moment in the southern states, instead of the south-western territory. he stood ready to do any amount of arresting the government might order. he was entirely willing to send a subaltern and a score of troopers to convoy the entire party--sheriff and deputies, posse and prisoners--to the territorial capital, but, like the old war-horse he was, he balked, stiff-necked and stiff-legged, at the sheriff's demand that the escort should report to _him_--should be, in point of fact, under his orders. not to put too fine a point upon it, stannard had said he'd see him damned first, whereupon the sheriff refused to make the trip, and appealed to the territorial authorities, while stannard sent a runner up to district head-quarters for instructions. each messenger had nearly ninety miles to go, so the race was about even, despite the fact that the sheriff's couriers were mounted and stannard's runner went afoot. the uninitiated would have backed the riders to win, but stannard backed the runner. the former were deputies and white; the latter was apache-mohave and brown. the former had a road and a roadside ranch or two, whereat they might and did obtain rest and refreshment. the redskin had only a trail, and no temptations. the apache won out in a walk, literally a jog-trot. luck as well as pluck favored the latter, for he found the department, as well as the district, commander at sandy, and stannard's instructions were started back that very morning. "come up yourself to prescott," they said. "bring harris and 'tonio and such of 'tonio's people as are necessary. come prepared to stay a week at least, and be sure that mrs. stannard comes with you. use your own judgment as to route and escort. offer the sheriff the protection, but by no manner of means the command, of your party." having thus settled that question, the gray fox bethought him that it might be just as well to scoot for home, lest other councils should prevail about the capital. such councils had prevailed, and in the recent past. he had still in mind the embarrassing episode of willett's "instructed" descent upon almy. in view of all the resultant complications he could not well forget it, and so, having finished his chat with pelham, the tireless brigadier went bowling away by mountain road, the faithful bright beside him, and was landed at his own door soon after eleven p.m. in abundant time to meet the situation on the morrow. even in those days, when the stars went to the fighting force instead of the staff corps, it sometimes happened that a bureau officer had political wires to work. and there were other reasons why he had come not a moment too soon. people had so little to talk about in those far western wilds that they who had, as related, unexpectedly met our hostess and her guest in the darkness, and learned from them that they and archer and lilian had been "looking on for ever so long," must needs hurry back to the ballroom and tell it over and again. "why didn't you bring them in?" "why didn't you make them come in?" were the questions impulsively asked and not easily answered. they couldn't make them come in! mrs. crook said they were far too tired! they had only just come down to see how gay and pretty it all looked, and hear the music a minute, before going to bed! now they were going to bed! then the people began looking for willett and evelyn darrah. there were not a few who would have been glad to be able to tell _them_ this piece of news, but the bliss was denied. there was nothing unusual in dancers going out in the starlight, as had willett and evelyn. there was something odd about their not returning, however, and mrs. darrah presently whisked the colonel home to see about it. then they did not return. they found the two on the dark piazza, just home, as said the daughter. she had a headache and could dance no more, and now would say good-night, which she said, and that left the colonel alone with willett. the mother followed the daughter in-doors to see _if_ she knew of the arrival, and then to see _that_ she did. the father felt his way for a moment for some means of getting rid, without rudeness, of this disturbing young man, and found that he could not. willett had something on his mind and, as soon as he saw it, darrah was scared. in evident mental excitement willett had followed, closed the door after her, then, pulling nervously at his mustache, had turned on the putative head of the house. "colonel darrah," he began in a moment, "i have something i feel i must say to you----" "then _don'­t_, my boy, for god's sake!" said darrah. "say it to mrs. darrah, will you? she--er--settles all--this sort of thing for me. she understands--er--evvy--if anybody does--i'm blessed if i can, and--er--if you don't mind, i--i--i think i'll say good-night. have a smoke or a drink before you go?" he asked, in enforced and miserable recognition of the demands of hospitality. "no? well, of course, you'd rather be back, i suppose," and so saying, he hoped to get willett to go without being the one to either hear what willett had to say or even to tell willett what he knew--that at this very moment lilian archer, the girl to whom this young gallant's love and loyalty were pledged--was harbored there beneath their general's roof, where the lights were burning on the brow of the hill. so not for half an hour did willett get the news. he would not return to the hop room. he did not go directly home. he dimly saw the mule team, at spanking trot, go rattling up the road; saw and heard it draw up at the general's, and then whisking back to the valley to deposit bright. he divined at once that the chief must have returned and congratulated himself that he would not be expected to pay his duty until the morning, especially if he at once saw bright. so upon his fellow staff officer he projected himself with proper welcome, and the first question bright asked was: "how are the archers?" it had not occurred to him that no mail had come up for nearly a week--that willett did not know that they had started from almy three days before. then wickham came in and briefly said: "certainly. they're up at the general's. they were down at the dance awhile, looking on through the windows," whereat harold willett's handsome face went white. late as it was he knew he should go over at once, and he did, and it was god's mercy, as wickham said afterwards, that sent the bearded general, not the gray-haired, raging father to meet him at the door. there had been a minute of tearful, almost breathless, conference between the devoted couple before archer released his wife from his arms, sent her in to lilian, and then came down as calmly as he could to face his host and hostess. there had been a moment or two, in the sanctity of their chamber, in which this other devoted but childless couple--the darby and joan of the old army--conferred swiftly over the situation, the wife briefly telling the soldier spouse of what she had seen, heard and believed, and a glance at archer had done the rest. crook saw the anguish in the face of his old friend, and had only measurably succeeded in calming him when willett's step was heard upon the veranda. the chief sprang to his feet. archer would have followed, but with a silent, most significant gesture, the commander warned his comrade back. then, closing the parlor door behind him, confronted the young officer in the silence and darkness of the veranda. what transpired in that brief interview was never told. two or three couples, wearying of the dance, and wending their homeward way, saw the two tall, shadowy forms in the dim light, saw that one of them was standing strictly at attention, and knew thereby that the other must be the general, saw that the interview was very brief, for in a moment the caller raised a hand in salute, faced about, and went somewhat heavily down the steps and, avoiding both the main road and the pathway, disappeared in the direction of the bachelors' quarters under the hill. at ten the following morning a buckboard called at willett's door, and that young officer drove away in travelling rig, with a valise by way of luggage, and when people inquired, as many did, and many more would have done had they followed their inclination, what took willett away in such a hurry and--er--at such a time, all that black-bearded wickham would say was, he heard it was a wagon. as for bright, one might as well seek information of the sphinx. there never was a man who, knowing all about a matter, could look, as more than one fair critic had been heard to say, so exasperatingly, idiotically ignorant. at noon, however, it was known that willett's wagon stopped but a few moments on the plaza in the little mining town and capital, then shot away southward on the hassayampa road. three days later the array of "casually at post" on the morning report of fort whipple showed an increase of something like a score. lieutenant briggs with a sergeant and a dozen troopers rode in the previous evening, after turning over a quartette of dusky civilians at the calaboose, and leaving a guard at the hospital in charge of a pallid, nervous, suffering man, whom a big-hearted post surgeon received with compassionate care. the doctor had known him in better days. it was what was left of the recent lion of camp almy--case the bookkeeper. among the arrivals extraordinary at head-quarters on the hill were captain and mrs. stannard of camp almy, captain bonner, lieutenant strong, post adjutant thereat, and then, as bright's special guest, was lieutenant "hefty" harris, of old camp bowie, and as bright's special charge were 'tonio, sometime chief of the red rock band of apache-mohaves, kwonahelka, his associate and friend, with two young braves of the tribe, kwonahelka's shy, silent wife and her ward, a motherless young apache girl, sister to comes flying, he whose untimely taking off had so seriously complicated the indian question in the district of the verde. bright had his apache visitors comfortably stowed, and abundantly provided for, close to his own roof, and 'tonio, charged with serious crimes against the peace and dignity of the people of the u.s. in general, and arizona in particular, received with native dignity at the entrance to his canvas lodge callers and even congratulations--for great was the desire to see him--and, unbailed, unhampered, untrammelled by fetter, guard or shackle, calmly awaited his examination before the great chief with the coming of the morrow. soldiers like crook and the staff of his training knew 'tonio and his lineage, and unlike willett, valued his word. and early on that morrow willett reappeared, delivered certain despatches at the office long before office hours, betook himself to his quarters for bath, shave and breakfast, and behind closed doors and shrouded windows, awaited the summons if needed to appear before the department commander. his narrative long since had been reduced to writing. between him and black-bearded wickham there had been one significant interview, never till long afterwards given even to intimates on the general's staff. as for 'tonio, to no one less would he plead his cause than the department commander himself, the great white chief. never in the chronicles of that sun-blistered land, home of the scorpion and rattlesnake, the apache and tarantula, had that sun shone on scene so dramatic as that the exiles long referred to as "'tonio's trial," and never, perhaps, was trial held with less of the panoply and observance of the law and more assurance of entire justice. it was a great chief trying a great chief. the powerful commander of the department sitting in judgment on the once powerful head of a warlike band, long since scattered, absorbed, merged in neighboring tribes, worn down in ceaseless battling against surrounding forces and implacable fate. crook knew the indian as it was given few men to know him, and in his own simple, straightforward way generally dealt with the indian direct. but here was a case, as he well understood, where he who had once moved the monarch of these silent, encircling mountains, stood accused of treachery to the hand that had fed, sheltered and uplifted him, to the great father whose service he had sought, to the white chiefs, old and young, whom he had sworn to obey. if guilty he deserved the extent of the law, if innocent, the fullest vindication of the highest power he and his people knew and recognized. to no mere captain or even post commander would 'tonio plead. to no agency official would he trust himself or his cause. there was one soldier chief whom every indian of the pacific slope knew well by reputation and by name--the chief who spoke ever with the straight tongue and told them only the truth--the chief who never broke his word or let others ignore it. "gray fox" they named him later among other tribes, but these of the sierras spoke of him only as "crook." on the greensward, close to the assembly hall in the low ground, the council lodge was pitched--two huge hospital tent flies having been stretched from tree to tree, braced on uprights; and there, in a little semi-circle, sat the general with his principal officers about him--gray-haired, pale-faced archer, looking strangely sad and old, at his right--black-haired wickham at his left, and high officials of the staff departments on either flank, the judge advocate of the department having a little table and chair at one side that all legal notes might be made. half a dozen officers of the garrison, with colonel darrah at their head, grouped in rear of the council. three or four orderlies stood about, but, by order, not a rifle or revolver could be found in the entire array. seated to the right and left were officers prominent in the recent campaign--stannard, turner, bonner, strong and harris among them, while at a distance, among the cedars and looking curiously on, were gathered the wives and families of the officers, with their guests and attendants--at a distance that the dignity of the occasion in the eyes of the indian race might not be put in jeopardy by the presence of a woman. further still, on the other side across the trickling brook, to the number of near two hundred, men, women and children, soldiers, citizens and strangers, all in silence awaited the first act of the drama--the coming of 'tonio with his retinue, marshalled by that expert master of aboriginal ceremonies, lieutenant bright. and presently he came. no picturesque war bonnet distinguished him. no robe or mantle hung in stately folds about his form. 'tonio sought not, as does his red brother of the plains, the theatrical aid of impressive costume. tall, spare and erect, his sinewy legs and arms bare almost their entire length, his moccasins worn and faded, but his fillet, camisa and trailing breech-clout almost snowy white; destitute of plume, feather, necklace, armlet, ornament of any kind, unarmed, yet unafraid, with slow and measured stop the chief approached the council tent, three of his warriors in his train, and, escorted by bright, turned squarely as he came before the outspread canvas, entered beneath its shade, and stopping midway across the greensward, his head upheld, his black eyes fixed in calm, reposeful trust upon the general's face, halted and stood simply before him, saying not a word. "'tonio, will you be seated?" asked the general, and an orderly stepped forward with a camp chair. even before the interpreter could translate, 'tonio understood, motioned the orderly aside, turned and signalled to his followers, who quickly settled to the ground and seated themselves, cross-legged, in half circle beneath him, but the chieftain, accused, would stand. on the dead silence that followed, all men listening with attentive ear, even the women and children across the little ravine, hushing their nervous giggle and chatter, 'tonio's voice was presently uplifted, neither harsh nor guttural, but deep and almost musical. in the tongue of his people he spoke seven words, and there seemed no need of the interpreter's translation: "my father has sent for me. i am here." chapter xxviii. a strange tribunal was this--"a method of procedure," as the acting judge advocate of this distant department took frequent occasion to tell us when the general wasn't around, "that would seem to have no warrant in law." something to this effect being suggested to the general by the chief of the department staff, who went on to say that he supposed it was a case of "_inter arma silent leges_," the general's beard, which hid his mouth, was observed to twitch, and the wrinkles at the corner of his steely-blue eyes followed suit. it was a way of his when trying _not_ to smile. then bright was heard to say that where the laws were silent, wise lawyers should he likewise, an epigram which long-legged lieutenant blake, of camp mcdowell, was delightedly and explosively repeating for the benefit of certain of the ladies looking on from among the cedars, even as 'tonio appeared. then no crier was needed to proclaim silence and declare this honorable court now open. blake had come to prescott ruefully expectant of official displeasure, and found it, so far as the chief of staff was concerned. but the general's greeting had been so cordial and kind that "legs" took heart instanter. there was evidently something behind it. mrs. crook had marshalled her forces early that brilliant morning. camp chairs and rugs had been sent down to the cedars, and with two of her favorites, blake and ray, in attendance, she and her guests from camp almy were seated where they could watch the proceedings and almost hear what was said. many a curious glance was levelled in their direction, for by mrs. stannard's side sat lilian archer, pale almost as a calla, and rarely smiling or speaking, but, as all fort whipple could see, she was _there_, whereas evelyn darrah had not been out since the night of the dance. the colonel had explained, as he was probably bidden, that evvy had contracted a severe cold, and her mother could not leave her. at least, said certain eager spectators, willett must now be here, "for he is back from mcdowell, or wherever he went." but even in this there was disappointment. the general had looked to that. willett's accusation against the chieftain had been reduced to writing. it had all been carefully translated to 'tonio, as had the reports of the post commanders of camps almy and mcdowell. no further allegations had been, or were to be, made. with his witnesses in readiness, 'tonio stood before the great white chief, the only man, save one, perhaps, to whom he would deign full explanation. and now, with the agency interpreter at his left and the agent himself seated among the officials, an eager and nervous listener, 'tonio strode forward a pace or two, halted, looked calmly round upon the circle of expectant faces, then, the observed of every eye, the object of absorbed attention, with occasional use of a spanish phrase, but, as a rule, speaking only in the dialect of the apache, the tall chieftain began. with every few words he would pause, that the interpreter might repeat. it would be difficult, indeed, to translate his exact words or to portray their effect. to imitate the simple dignity of the aging warrior would be in itself a triumph of dramatic art. "my father has told me of the lies against my people--and me. my people are not many now, and we are poor, often hungry and homeless, and our hearts are sore. we believed the promise of our father and we strove to obey him, but while he was gone, and we knew not where to find him, others came, unlike him. our enemies, the tontos, were many and strong. their agent gave them much meat and bread, but my people were denied. the tontos jeered at them; their young braves taunted ours, and our young women were afraid. the tontos killed our white brothers and burned their homes, and said it was we. then the soldiers came to arrest comes flying, and comes flying was killed, and my people fled far in among the red rocks. they had done no wrong, but they were afraid. then the tontos killed our white brother, bennett, always our friend, and burned his house and carried away his wife and children. our young men were few, but they followed and fought the tontos and got the woman and her little ones and tried to hide them away among the rocks until white soldiers could come, but there came more tontos. they were too many, and they kept between the soldiers and comes flying's band. they killed two of our young men and got the woman once more, and then my young chief, capitan chiquito, followed, with only the braves you count on one hand, but he caught the tontos and rescued the woman, and was shot. gran capitan stannard brings me, and all his soldiers, and follows after the tontos, but it was capitan chiquito who first reached her, and who would have saved her and her babies in their hiding-place, only he was held back--held back----" and with his head high and his black eyes sweeping the circle, 'tonio stood and glared about him in search of an absent accuser. then, with appeal in his gaze, he turned once more to the general. "it is as 'tonio says," answered crook, with grave inclination of the head. "his brother chief, captain stannard, sustains him. is it not so, stannard?" "every word of it, sir!" was the blunt reply, as stannard rose from his seat. "we found two apache-mohaves killed. we chased the tontos into the mountains. lieutenant harris and 'tonio, with apache-mohave scouts, rescued mrs. bennett, and led us." whereat archer's sad, white face was bowed upon his hands. oh, that luckless despatch! "we are listening, 'tonio," said the general, as stannard slowly resumed his seat, looking almost disappointed that there had been none to contradict or doubt his view. "my father asks me why i left the camp after we had brought home our capitan chiquito. it was because my people came to the willows and called me. the sister of comes flying was weeping for her brother. ramon and alvarez were angered and talking battle and revenge, and pancha came to warn me and to beg me come or there would be much trouble. my young men were doubly angered. they said the white brother had broken his promise, had feasted the tontos and had starved them, had killed comes flying and driven our women and children to the mountains. they had seen more. they had seen their chief struck in the face with the glove of the young soldier chief--who is not here." and again the black eyes sought everywhere throughout the circle. "ramon, alvarez and others had vowed that he should die because of comes flying and of me. it was for this they played all so many hours with the riders from the verde. they would head them off and hold them. the soldiers would come to rescue, and maybe the young chief. if so, they would lure him out beyond the others, and they did. i could not break their will. i saw their plan only just in time. they were in hiding among the rocks beyond the ridge, with only one or two in sight before them. he was galloping straight into their trap. there was just one way to save him and be true to our pledge to the great father. i shot to kill his horse, not him. my rifle would have carried just as true had it been aimed at his heart. he who struck me at the ranch--and denounced me here--owes his life to 'tonio." in the dramatic pause that followed a murmur of sympathy and admiration, irrepressible, flew from lip to lip. he noted it, but gave no sign. "the young white chief says again i shot or sought to kill him that night at the ford. again i could have done so, and again i sought to save. he was my enemy. he was"--and here, with affection all could see, the glittering eyes seemed to soften as they turned on harris, sitting pale, silent and observant--"the enemy of this my brother and my friend. i would no longer go within the soldier lines. in spite of what i had done the white-haired chief ordered his soldiers to kill or take me prisoner. they could not find me, but i tried to warn my brother there was trouble--they would kill _his_ brother chief, then there would be fearful war, but my brother was wounded still and could not come. "then the young stranger chief was lured out again by sanchez--his people and mine. they swear to me they did not kill him--that the white man, case, did that. he, too, hated him. but sanchez lied to me. he promised to take back the pistol my people found the night i shot his horse, and he never did, nor messages i sent. so i know not who fired the shot, who clubbed him, _but_ sanchez had that pistol--sanchez lied to me! i was not that night so near as the picacho, and when the soldiers came to find me i went farther, with two of my people. we met the great chief's couriers. we met more tontos. we fought them back and i was wounded. they took me to mcdowell, and no man was unkind until the night they put me in the iron cell with sanchez, and he told me i should never see the great chief, my father; that i should hang for shooting the white chief, willett. when i slept he was there. when i awakened he was gone, and the iron bars were gone. i went out into the night--into the mountains--until i found my young chief. then the truth was told me. then we followed, and found sanchez. then my people heard the story and helped me find the way to the cave where the boys were hidden. the great spirit of my fathers knows i have never broken my promise. that is all that 'tonio can say. i have spoken." and then as he finished and the last word had been translated, all in language far less vivid than his native tongue, all men seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and seek instinctively to rise and gather about him. the general slowly found his feet, rose to his full height, stepped straightway forward to where the indian stood, placed his left hand on the gaunt and bony shoulder, and with his ungloved right seized and grasped and held that of the elder chieftain, his own eyes twinkling, moistening, as he spoke. "'tonio--brother--the great father shall know, and if i live, all his people shall know, how deeply you have suffered, how truly you have stood our friend." and then, still clasping the warrior's hand, crook turned to his officers, for by this time every man was on his feet, every eye was again upon them, every face lighted with interest, and many with emotion. silently the general glanced about him, and at his signal archer came forward, his handsome old head bared, his fine eyes filling. at his approach the commander drew back a step, releasing 'tonio's hand. then the soldier who but a fortnight back had sought to prison, possibly to kill, this soldier of the desert and the mountain, following his superior's lead, held forth his hand, a thinned and trembling one, yet the clasp in which it took that sinewy brown one was one an indian could never doubt. looking straight into 'tonio's fearless eyes, the veteran spoke: "'tonio--brother--i did you wrong. i beg your pardon and i ask your friendship." for a moment, silence, then for answer came but the single word: "_hermano._" when presently hands unclasped and others began to gather about him, it was seen as stannard came forward he had linked his arm in that of harris, and would not be denied. the general caught sight of them, and a smile like sunshine lighted up his beaming face. "that's right, stannard. this way, capitan chiquito! we all want you." and then, though by dozens now--officers, agent, interpreter and territorial officials--they were swarming about the impassive central figure, they gave way right and left that the two friends might meet, and 'tonio, turning from archer's handclasp, saw his young champion and leader, and the stern, dark features melted, the bold, fearless, challenging eyes softened on the instant. he would have sprung forward to some act of indian homage, but harris was too quick and checked him. their eyes met. then both hands--all four hands--went out at once. it was at this juncture, as certain of the department staff began to bethink themselves of important duties awaiting them at their offices, that one of the old-time characters of the old army, a field officer of distinction in the war days, was heard to express himself somewhat as follows: "well, whereaway is willett now?"--a question that had occurred to every member present, and to many a man and woman without the council, but this was its first audible expression. "willett," said the general calmly, yet in tone that all beneath the canopy could hear, "made known to me days ago that he desired to withdraw his accusation, but i had my reason for insisting. as to the question, where is willett?--he is here to testify, if need be, before a civil court. we have still to settle with sanchez." moreover, as the indians finally moved away, bright and harris both escorting 'tonio, there were emissaries of the agency at their heels, for in 'tonio's train walked both ramon and alvarez, on whom it might be well to keep an eye. but 'tonio's trial--"'tonio's triumph," as blake declared it--was not yet over for the day. the watchspring saws and tiny file found on sanchez, when finally taken, had explained the method of that mcdowell escape. with these and with bacon-rind to grease them, only a little time and labor had been needed, nor was there ever found proof against corporal collins, or the sentry, that either had connived at the subsequent escape of 'tonio. he had awakened and found his undesired cellmate missing, and the window was clear. so that way he could have gone, though there were many who believed the door itself had been opened to him. in any event, he saw freedom without, and suspected wrong and treachery within. why should he not go? who was to blame him? crook's cordiality to the accountable officer of the day, lieutenant blake, went far to show that he was far from resentful of the result. it really looked as though the gray fox would rather 'tonio had never been confined. and later that winter's day, along toward sunset, another scene, far less dramatic and impressive, was enacted at the office of the sheriff, a mile away in town. an adobe wall, some seven feet high, surrounded the corral, and beneath the canvas awning on the southern side certain offenders against the peace and dignity of yavapai county had been assembled under the eye of tobacco-chewing deputies. there were the sanchez half-brothers, 'patchie and josé, both shackled. there was muñoz, similarly decked. there slouched dago, unfettered, but carefully watched. there were two more of the riffraff of the redoubtable ghost ranch, and two of the victims of the more skilful play, and potent doping, of the proprietors. all were under surveillance, several under charges, but where was case? it was blackbeard who answered that question at five o'clock, when, from the post ambulance, he and bright sprang forth, and presently aided to alight a very solemn-looking civilian, shaved, dressed and groomed with extreme care, but for pallor and nervousness, a reputable-looking criminal--case. accused with assault with attempt to kill, the bookkeeper, none the less, had been taken in charge by officers of the army, with the entire consent of the officers of the law, and sanchez the elder, josé, that is, weakened at the sight of him. he was sober and clothed in his right mind, as wickham meant he should be. moreover, he looked no longer afraid. case had met his master at the game of bluff, and now, with nothing left to hope, had nothing left to dread. short work the sheriff made of the matter in hand. there had been a killing down on the agua fria, and the killer was still at large. here was only a bungling attempt to kill, and everybody concerned was at hand. "case," said he shortly, "when you were brought here you swore it was 'tonio who shot lieutenant willett." "i didn't swear," said case. "i stated; but either would have been wrong. i said it when myself accused and when i had been drinking. i am ready to tell everything i know." "then wait a moment," answered the official, turning to a deputy, who pulled at an inner door, and said, "this way, gentlemen," whereat everybody filed out into the corral where there was far more room, and where presently they were joined by the agent and his interpreter, by a little group of officers, stannard, strong and willett--the latter very pale and weary-looking. a moment later the gateway swung open and in walked harris, with 'tonio by his side and two tribesmen following. the gate was quickly closed in the face of an eager knot of townspeople, but at sight of the assembled party the sanchez brothers cowered still farther back beneath the shelter, and the sheriff ordered josé out into the light. he came, yellow-white, and cringing. "you said, first, that 'tonio shot that man," and the sheriff pointed to willett. "did you lie?" "_si_," gulped the mexican. "then who did it?" josé shrank. his eyes furtively, quickly swept the group, then fell again. "you said case--this man," said the sheriff, with a hand on case's shoulder. "did you lie again?" "he--he shoot, an' run away." "you lie, three times! only one shot was fired and that from your own pistol. here it is! case never had it, for all you swore to it." "muñoz saw him--shoot!" "that so, muñoz? come out here!" and a deputy collared and thrust him forth. "_si_; case," answered muñoz miserably. and then at last the dago broke bounds. all the pent-up hatred of the months boiled over in his heart. all the fear vanished in presence of these supporters and at sight of these now abject bullies. out he sprang, all vehement denunciation: "lie!" said he--"damn lie! muñoz hit!--sanchez shoot! all try kill. then run--run, for soldiers come!" it was then that lieutenant willett stepped forward and interposed. "mr. sheriff," said he, "whatever my earlier opinion on the subject, i know more now. i know it was not 'tonio. i believe it was not this--this gentleman--mr. case. if you will favor me a moment i can make it clear to you, but"--and here the heavily lashed, mournful brown eyes sought the group of mexicans--"i should hold--those fellows." and so, once more within the little office, willett briefly told his tale. there were present wickham, bright and harris, the sheriff and one deputy. "i should be glad to have you call in mr. case," said he. so case was summoned and came and took a chair by the chimney and bowed his head upon his hands. "there had been a card transaction," said willett. "i owed mr. case three hundred dollars, and he or his friends thought i was going to leave without settling. he sent me a note saying he wished to see me. it was midnight before i could go down. he had left the office, but hailed me from the window of craney's shack. we met near the ford, had words, and i struck him--struck him twice, knocking him down, and then his friends, or followers, as i supposed, pitched upon me. i surely saw one indian, and, knowing 'tonio's--grievance, and being warned against him, that was the last idea i had, as i was knocked senseless. mr. sheriff, i refuse to enter any complaint against mr. case. he is--entirely blameless." "that seems to let _you_ out, case," said the sheriff sententiously, but the bookkeeper never raised his head. "is there anything else i can say--or do?" asked willett, holding his natty forage-cap at the side of his head. "it should be done now, for--i am to leave here--to-night." it was then case's turn. in an instant he was on his feet. "going?" he demanded, a strange, hungry look in his eyes. "i'm not yet free, and i've got to speak with you." "there is no need," said willett gravely. "i _know_." "you mean?--you heard----?" "my letters have told me--everything," was the quiet answer. "and you are going?" "back to portland--and to----" with that he would have turned, but case sprang forward. there was perceptible start among the lookers-on. it might mean another attempt. the sheriff seized him, but case, with feverish strength, shook himself loose, and willett turned back, faced him, and waited for him to speak. it was a moment before case could find breath, then came the words: "my god, man! will you give me your word--your hand--on that?" for all answer willett drew off the dainty glove of white lisle thread, took the outstretched hand of case, wrung it, and turned in silence from the room. there were men who mounted and rode with him a mile or more that night, and came back silent and sorrowing, yet thinking better of hal willett than any of their number had ever thought before. "he has gone to do the one square thing that's left him," said old stannard, as the buckboard whirled away, "and his resignation goes with him." l'envoi. that was many a long year ago, and for many a month thereafter men and women at whipple and sandy, mcdowell and almy would talk for hours about willett, his strange character, his broken career. it was not long before the truth, the whole truth, was known. case for a time would not return to almy. he found some work to keep him busy at prescott, and would have had to do no work at all, said the agent of the wells-fargo, "if he'd kept his money, but he sent every damned cent of four hundred dollars to somebody up at portland." he was forever on the lookout for the coming of the buckboard with the mail--we had no telegraph until '74--and his excitement over the receipt of certain letters and newspapers, along in mid-february, was something not soon to be forgotten. he had been sober and solemn as an anchorite for over six long weeks, and this night, to the joy of the gamblers in the alcazar, insisted on "setting 'em up" for all hands, soldier and civilian; then, to their amaze, insisted further on their drinking to the health of mr. and mrs. hal willett, by gad! "for he's a square man at last." and the news lacked no confirmation at the barracks. there came a missive to wickham; there was a message to the general; there was a very earnest message to 'tonio; there was even a letter in willett's hand to evelyn darrah. no one ever saw its contents save the girl to whom it was addressed, but there came nothing to be forwarded to the archers at camp almy. from that night among the cedars lilian never again saw harold willett. it was a pitifully insignificant little packet of letters the young officer found on his desk the morning of his return from the hassayampa road. it contained only the pages he had penned to his lily of the desert. the earlier ones were fond, endearing, sweet as girl could ask, and had been rapturously welcomed, read and reread, kissed and fondled and treasured. the later ones were hurried, perfunctory, full of excuses, full, alas! of lies that he knew and that he hated himself for writing. there was not so much as a line from her, nor was one needed. between the few words spoken by his general in the darkness of the veranda and that one conference with wickham, willett knew exactly what he had to face. just as it had dawned upon him that breathless night at almy, when the ravings of the irish deserter told him that his sin had followed and had found him out, he realized here at whipple that all was known and, for him, all was over. he had burned in vain the burning and accusing letters that poor girl in portland had written him. her mother at last, learning everything, had written to crook, and, through wickham, who had investigated both case and the deserter dooley, willett received his _congé_. there should be no public break. it was to be announced that at his own request lieutenant willett stood relieved from duty as aide-de-camp to the department commander, and would proceed to rejoin his regiment in the department of the columbia; but even wickham started with surprise and incredulity when, accompanying this application, at the close of 'tonio's dramatic trial, willett gravely handed him another paper--his resignation as an officer of the army. "i do not understand this as--demanded," said blackbeard, looking quickly into willett's pallid face. "you will, when you remember that my wife--and child--would hardly be acceptable in army circles," was the quiet reply. "you mean--you are going at once to marry her?" "what else should i do?" said willett. and this it was that explained his unlooked-for escort beyond the borders of the little reservation, stannard's words of commendation, and case's ebullition at the alcazar. case had not many more. craney coaxed him back to almy after awhile, where every one from archer down to the drum boys showed him many a kindness, and where from time to time he received letters that seemed to bring him comfort, in spite of the fact that bonner, bucketts and even gruff old stannard, when they spoke of it at all, were given to saying that there was little happiness in store for the poor girl at portland, for willett was not made of the stuff that kept man faithful long to any one woman. it was rumored for awhile that the little family, having moved northward to one of the new and booming settlements on the sound, were living in poverty and seclusion, willett's wealthy kindred in the east scorning him, as was to be expected, for the _mésalliance_ and for his abandonment of the profession he was expected to adorn. but the embryo "smart set" and the tried old service had little in common, at best. it was in the employ of the engineer corps that willett found means to keep the wolf from the door, and the girl was happier longer than most people would have believed possible, for it was full three years before willett's father died, and, relenting, willed him prosperity. some time after that there came a tale of evelyn darrah, but, as the best authority would say, "that's another story." with case, however, life seemed to have lost its inspiration. he wandered more and more from the paths of rectitude to those which meandered through the willows and the old ghost walk. the firm of sanchez y muñoz had gone to seed, the ranch to ashes, and the individual members to jail. dago had accompanied mrs. bennett and the growing babies to her brother's ranch on the agua fria. the indians had been gathered to their reservations, and 'tonio, with lieutenant harris, has been assigned to service under the eye of the great chief himself. a new post, a big post, was projected nearer the reservation. it was rumored that almy would then be abandoned and case would not have even the ghost walk for his solitary moonings when the whiskey spell was on him, and the spells, though no more frequent, as the scotchman would have it, were of longer duration. he had taken strongly, not strangely, to stannard and his gentle wife, and it was to them he told at last the story of his troubles, and through them, long years after, it became known. he was doing well in portland, had fallen deeply in love with, and was engaged to, as pretty a girl as ever was seen, good and gentle, too; but she was young, the belle of her set, a beautiful dancer, and case could not dance. she loved gayety, pleasure, music, and in those days they picnicked over to vancouver, and danced in a big barrack to the stirring strains of the band of the lost and strayed, and why shouldn't the portland girls love to dance with the young officers? why shouldn't estelle enjoy dancing with such finished performers and partners? there was one at that time who outclassed them all, and in an evil day they met. it wasn't long before her fascination became infatuation, and either there or in portland, or somewhere, they were forever meeting. it was not long before case saw his world swept from before his eyes. he did his best with her, with her mother and friends, but she told him flatly that she loved lieutenant willett and would be no man's wife but his. that clinched case's downfall--and hers, but not until after case saw willett at camp almy, and her mother's letters, and hers, began again to come, did he learn the worst. then came willett's devotions to archer's gentle little daughter, and the rage within his soul overmastered him. he would not--he could not--bear to tell of estelle's shame. he dare not, he owned it, oppose himself man to man, physically, to willett, but he burned with desire for revenge. sanchez and his kind were willing tools. ramon and alvarez, they told him, were thirsting for willett's blood. it would be easy enough to shoulder it all on 'tonio, if the worst came to the worst. sanchez had case deep in his debt, for monte had fascinated him when in liquor. they did not know willett had left with craney payment in full for their financial differences. they insisted on his seeing willett and making him pay before he left the post. dago had the run of the garrison, and dago took the few lines that told willett if he was a man to come down to the ghost walk and settle, dollar for dollar, man to man, or the story of his portland days should be told the archers. sanchez, muñoz, and the two apache-mohaves were lurking there across the stream. case watched for him from the rear window, saw him, and in spite of the doctor's precaution, counteracted by the whiskey he had hidden in an inner pocket, he slipped out in his stocking feet, took the path to the ford, and there met willett face to face. it was all so easy. sanchez knew 'tonio was near, grieving that no answer came from harris, signalling for a talk, ignorant of the fact that sanchez had delivered neither the revolver nor the message. case had with him only his knife, for he knew his confederates would be at hand. he vowed he did not know that they were bringing ramon and alvarez. raging with jealousy, hate, desire for vengeance, and nerved by liquor, he had demanded his money. willett contemptuously bade him seek it of his employer, and asked him how he dare doubt a gentleman, whereat, in a fury, case told him, or started to tell him, why, and was knocked flat in a second. he sprang up, knife in hand, and rushed upon him a second time, only to be floored again, and the knife sent spinning. willett seized it, and was standing over him, panting a bit, when felled by a crashing blow with a pistol-butt at the base of the skull. then in terror case fled the way he came, for he saw both indians and mexicans were on him, realized that murder was meant, and knew he would be involved unless he could instantly get back to his bed. willett made a desperate fight, wounded ramon, and might have killed him but for the timely shot from the pistol of josé. case heard it, and the cry for help as he ran. so quick was the response of the sentry and the guard that the assailants, too, fled in fear, leaving their work unfinished. they had no fear of their drugged countrymen at the ranch. they were ready to help the soldiers hunt the indians, and did, but josé had dropped the old navy colt at the ford. they bought dago's silence for awhile, for he, too, hated willett, and it was so easy to charge the crime to 'tonio. but, when they fell out among themselves, and the pistol was found, and then case was accused, dago let loose on muñoz, and the secret of the attempted murder was out. for a time thereafter case felt dazed, benumbed; but, as willett recovered, he took courage again, and more drink, and tried to shoot his worthless head off, he said, when they came to arrest him. but when he heard of willett's doings at prescott, and had been openly taunted by dooley, he determined to lose his life another way, if need be, in bringing willett to justice. he told it all to wickham, and was amazed, yes, amazed at the result. he never dreamed that willett at the eleventh hour would go to estelle and make the only amend in his power. for that matter, neither did any one else cognizant of the fact, especially harris, who, having been the unwilling recipient of all poor eastern stella's confidences in the past, believed willett still haunted by memories of her, and knew not this new and innocent and confiding star of the west. he had his own sorrows to bear, and his heart was bitter within him at sight of the woe in the sweet blue eyes of the girl who speedily went back to almy, without ever having opened her heart to a soul except that devoted mother. while evelyn darrah kept her room as much as a week after willett's going, it was a wonderful fact that, during a visit of four days, lilian archer appeared in public with her father, rode, drove, played croquet, though she managed to avoid two dinners and a dance. she was very quiet, it is true. "she never _did_ shine in society," said the prime girls. but, under all this silence and fortitude, and the access of tenderness with which she clung to her father, mrs. stannard and others saw how near the little heart was to breaking, and there grew up among the exiles a feeling of love and admiration for this uncomplaining child, so suddenly grown old, that outlived the lives of most of them, for it has come down to those who, in the fulness of time, stepped into their places. they are gone now, nearly all--our bearded general and his beloved mary, gruff old stannard and his wise and winsome wife. bright, bonner, bucketts, grim-visaged turner, white-haired, noble archer and his fond and cherished bella, even willett, but not, thank god, until better and brighter days had dawned on most of them, and of one of these days, and of 'tonio, there is yet this to tell. there had been a year in which the archers took their little girl abroad. the old regiment had been ordered to an eastern station, and the change was welcome, for with all her bravery, and despite their fondest care, she drooped in arizona, and there came a longed-for opportunity they could not neglect. they were many moons away; they were for a time at regimental head-quarters on their return, and then, in days when nothing was so rare as advancement, came archer's promotion to the colonelcy of the very regiment that had taken the stations of their former friends in arizona. in a little less than two years from that eventful night among the cedars, the archers, three, were once more welcomed to the general's roof, escorted the last ten miles of the dusty stage ride from the desert by harris, whose letters to the general or to mrs. archer had been regular as the fortnightly mail. with the morrow he and 'tonio were on hand to hail them, looking fit and spare and sinewy as ever they had of old, for these were strenuous days and stirring times in the apache-haunted mountains--the tontos had broken faith and were again afield. camp sandy on the verde was the centre of the storm. pelham and his cavalry had just been sent to other climes, marching overland to "the plains." archer was needed at once in command of the district, and was speedily there established, and thither too went crook, with bright to write his orders and despatches, with harris and 'tonio to head the scouts. thither presently went lilian and her mother. the post was large, the garrison ample. there was active service that their own white-haired general welcomed eagerly, for crook meant to the full that his loyal old friend and supporter should have all the credit that the campaign might bring him. but campaigns conducted under daily telegraphic promptings from distant superiors were not the brisk and independent matters of a few years back. there were too many advisers within easy, if expensive, reaching distance--too many "friends of the indian," and far too few of the soldier, close in touch at court. crook himself was looking vexed and worried. it is so hard to serve god and mammon, to grapple with the foemen at the front, the press and the pulpit at the rear. at the very moment when he had the "hostiles" hemmed between converging columns and sure of capture, his hand was held by orders from the east. at the very moment when the warriors at the reservation should have been watched and guarded against exhorters from without, the latter got within, and a powerful band stampeded up the red rock country and were gone. the news reached archer toward eleven, one winter's night, and at dawn he, in person, with harris and 'tonio and twenty scouts and barely thirty mounted men, was climbing the rugged trail from the head of the beaver in pursuit, leaving bella and lilian, brave, silent, yet tearful, at the post. it was nothing new, this going forth of veteran division and brigade commanders of the war days, with a handful of soldiery, to cope with a band of savages on their chosen ground. barely two years before the modocs had asked for a talk with the general commanding and killed him. only the year previous the cheyennes lured out a lieutenant-colonel, with but a lieutenant's command, and picked him off. and so, two nights later, there was weeping at old sandy, for a runner was in long hours after sundown with the tidings that there had been a sharp and sudden skirmish among the rocks, that brave old archer had been the first to fall, and that 'tonio had been desperately wounded in the effort to save the veteran's life. they started them homeward within the week, archer calm, conscious, suffering much, but as, the skilled surgeons told the wife and daughter who had rested not until they reached him, with good hope of recovery. it was 'tonio for whom they felt the keenest apprehension. 'tonio had received a bullet meant for the soldier who had once decreed his death, and archer's anguish was more for him. with them, on the slow homeward way around by the old wingate road, was harris, sleepless from anxiety and distress, watching night and day by the side of his two heroes, filling all with wonderment at his endurance; and with harris, much of the time, by the side of both father and father's self-devoted savior, was lilian. they brought them back to sandy. they nursed the general back to life and partial strength. but age and wounds and sorrows all had told on the mohave chieftain, and slowly he sank, despite their every effort and the doctor's skill. they had pitched a little tent fly for him--he would not be borne within doors--and shaded it with brush and willow, yet left the southward view open so that he could look out upon the broad valley and see the shadows of the mountains steal across it as the sun went westering. he seemed to love to watch the morning flame on the bald summit of the huge peak so close at hand; it made him think of the picacho about whose base he had sported as a boy. he seemed to love to see ramon and pancha hovering ever about him. he would look at them, take their hands, then place their hands together and hold them between his own. but most of all he loved to see harris bending over him, moving about him, and when lilian came and gave him drink and touched his fevered head, his glittering eyes would soften and follow her with such a world of wistfulness as though they would speak the longing of his heart. then he would look from her to harris, and from harris back to her, in a way that sent the blushes surging to her forehead, and the sight of those blushes set that young soldier's heart to bounding. one beautiful afternoon, when the sun was slanting low and the great dome of the peak was all agleam with crimson and with gold, they were gathered about his shelter, for the spirit had been wandering and his strength was almost gone. without the canvas, their women weeping with pancha, their young men silent and sad, a group of the old band hovered along the slope of the low mesa. it was thought he could hardly survive the night, and with the sinking of the sun his mind seemed clouding more, and he called, over and over, for "chiquito," who knelt there clinging to his hand. even archer had come, leaning heavily upon his crutches, and bella, his wife, and lilian--lilian upon whom the dying eyes rested again and again. 'tonio was now too weak to lift a hand; he could not signal; but something in his gaze seemed to call her to him irresistibly. he was breathing with such difficulty that the surgeon, bending over him on the other side of the pallet, slipped an arm beneath his shoulders, harris from his side aiding, and together they slowly raised him almost to a sitting posture, his weary head resting on "chiquito's" shoulder. but the eyes still sought lilian, and archer, watching, murmured to her, "go." to take his other hand, feebly plucking at the light coverlet, she had to kneel so close to harris that he could feel the swift throbbing of her heart against his arm, and 'tonio, looking now into the two young faces so near together, so close to his own, began with all his remaining strength slowly drawing her little white hand toward the lean and sinewy fingers that clasped his right, whereat her bonny head drooped lower, her bosom heaved; she seemed at once to read his purpose, and, with the instinct of the maiden, to gently resist. but the almost instant reproach and pleading in the fading eyes melted and unnerved her. harris, too, had seen, and noted, and understood, and his own heart, through all its sorrowing, was beating vehemently; his own right hand, without releasing 'tonio's, crept forth in search of hers, and presently, trembling, but resisting no longer, the lily-white, slender fingers lay softly within the young soldier's clasp, and a big, hot tear fell upon the back of the brown and withered hand that, almost pulseless, drooped upon them both as though in benediction. overcome with emotion, mrs. archer, watching, breathless, dropped her head upon her husband's shoulder and sobbed convulsively. the last brilliant, dazzling beams of the dying day had lifted from the crest of the huge dome that shut the valley, and left it dark and sombre; and 'tonio's eyes, turning upon it for the last time, seemed to note the change; and the flitting spirit, wandering back to the old, old boyish days, and the legends of his people, spoke once more. the gathering darkness, the plash upon his hand, the resemblance to the mountain that guarded his babyhood and youth, all probably had worked their spell, for the pallid lips began to move, and in the silence of the lowering night a few words in his native tongue were faintly heard, and hot tears gushed from the eyes of his young chief, friend and brother, as, in answer to the doctor's quick, questioning glance, harris brokenly murmured the translation: "when the picacho hides his head in the clouds, then will there be rain." and the clouds had lowered, and the day was done, and there was rain of tears from even soldier eyes for 'tonio--son of the sierras. the end.