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
employé. 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."