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, cañon 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."]