AN UNEXPECTED GUEST.
"Well, old fellow, what do you think of me now?"
It was George Ackerman who uttered these words, and the question was
addressed to his herdsman, Zeke. The former stood in front of a
full-length mirror that hung against the wall (among other extravagant
and useless things for which Uncle John had spent his nephew's money
were two elegant pier-glasses, one for his own room and the other for
Ned's), and Zeke was sitting on the edge of a chair, with his elbows
resting on his knees and his chin supported by his hands.
When the commander of Fort Lamoine accepted his proffered services,
George had asked for and received a furlough for thirty days to enable
him to procure an outfit and to consult with his guardian in regard to
the management of the ranche during his absence. That furlough had
nearly expired, and George was about to start for the fort. The honest
fellows who had so long been employed on the ranche that they began to
look upon themselves as members of the Ackerman family could not bear
the thought of parting from him, and Zeke especially felt very gloomy
over it. He had often denounced, in the strongest terms, the
circumstances which seemed to render it necessary that his young friend
should cast his lot among the soldiers for a season, and on this
particular morning he looked as though he had lost everything that was
worth living for.
George had just put on his new uniform for the first time, and no one,
except a very intimate acquaintance, would have recognized in him the
rough-looking cowboy whom we introduced to the reader in the first
volume of this series of books. During the eighteen months he had lived
in the pilot-house he had fallen in with some of the ways of those by
whom he was surrounded, and grown very particular in regard to his
personal appearance, although he did not by any means go to extremes, as
his cousin Ned had done. As he placed the jaunty fatigue-cap over his
long, curly hair he looked rather complacently at the handsome face and
figure that were reflected from the polished surface of the mirror.
"Come, Zeke, don't be cross," said he, walking up to his herdsman and
giving him a slap on the back. "Say just one kind word to me before I
go."
"I won't," growled Zeke in reply.
"Then wish me good luck in my new calling," added George.
"I won't," repeated the herdsman in a still louder tone. "You're always
going off on some new callin' or another, an' I don't see no sort of
sense in it. Didn't I stay home here, quiet an' peaceable, takin' care
of your critters, while you was a-philanderin' up and down the river on
boats that was likely at any minute to burn up or bust their boilers?
Now that you have got safe home again, why in creation don't you stay
here? Good land o' Goshen!" shouted Zeke, jumping up, spreading out his
feet and flourishing both his huge fists in the air, "of all the fool
notions that ever a livin' boy got into his head--"
"That'll do, Zeke," interrupted George with a laugh. "I have heard that
a thousand times, more or less, already. You will bid me good-bye when
I get ready to go, I suppose?"
"I s'pose I won't do nothin' of the kind," exclaimed Zeke. "Of all the
fool notions that ever a livin' boy--"
"I understand. Come here and pack my clothes-bag for me; you can do it
better than I can."
"I won't. Them things is goin' to hang you higher'n the moon the first
you know," said Zeke, scowling savagely at the elegant Mexican costume
which George lifted from the bed. "Don't you never go 'crost the river
with them duds on, 'cause if you do Fletcher'll string you up for a
spy."
"Not in peace-times, I guess," answered George.
"What odds does it make to sich as him whether it's peace-times or not?
You'll see."
"Well, he will have to catch me before he hangs me. Go and tell the cook
that I am getting tired of waiting for breakfast."
"I won't; I won't never do nothin' for you no more, nor say another word
to you, nuther."
"I am sorry you feel so bad about it," said George as he proceeded to
pack his clothes away in a canvas bag he had provided for that purpose;
"but the thing is done, and it can't be undone."
"I don't care if the Greasers come over here next full moon an' steal
every huf an' horn you've got," exclaimed the angry herdsman.
"I do," replied George; "I don't want them to do anything of the kind. I
don't want them to steal another steer from me or anybody else, and that
is the very reason I became a scout. Our troops are going to teach those
fellows to stay on their own side of the river, and I am going to help
them do it."
"There's enough without you," growled Zeke.
"Suppose that everybody thought so; where would we get the men to fight
our battles?--What in the world is that?"
For just then there was a terrific uproar on the porch. Above the
stamping of heavy boots and hoarse but subdued ejaculations of rage,
such as men sometimes utter when they are engaged in a fierce struggle,
arose the voice of one who spoke in pleading accents, but whose words
suddenly ceased with a kind of gasping sound, as if his throat had been
seized by a strong hand. Zeke sat up on his chair and looked at George,
whose face expressed the utmost bewilderment. Before either of them
could speak the door was thrown open with great violence, and a
dishevelled and half-strangled man, dressed in a dingy blue jacket and a
pair of dirty leather trousers, was pitched into the room, with such
force that when he brought up against Zeke that worthy herdsman was
knocked out of his chair, and the two came to the floor together.
"What do you mean by such work as this?" demanded George, looking first
at the prostrate man and then toward the door, where stood Jake and Bob
with their hands clenched and their faces flushed with anger.
"Jest take a good squint at that feller's figger-head an' answer the
question for yourself, Mr. George," answered Jake, shaking his fist at
the man who had been so unceremoniously introduced into the room.--"Give
it to him good an' strong, Zeke!--Well! I'll--be--blessed!--Won't you,
Bob?"
This exclamation was called forth by an action on the part of George
Ackerman that astonished Jake and Bob beyond measure. Zeke had instantly
recognized the man who had so unexpectedly prostrated him, and, seizing
him by the back of the neck in his iron grasp, began shaking him as a
dog would shake a rat. George also recognized the man after he had taken
a second look at him, and springing forward he seized Zeke's arm and
tore his grasp loose. Then he assisted the man to his feet, and taking
his hand in his own shook it cordially.
"Well, I _will_ be blessed!" repeated Jake, who stood looking the very
picture of astonishment.--"Won't you, Bob?"
"I should say I would," replied the latter, who was equally amazed.
"That's something _I_ never expected to see--an Ackerman shaking hands
with a cattle-thief!"
"Springer," exclaimed George, "I am glad to see you again; and without
your crutches, too! I hope you have entirely recovered."
Yes, the man who had made his entrance into George's room in so unusual
a manner was Springer, whom we have often spoken of as the wounded
cattle-thief. He had, as we know, once been in the employ of George's
father; but proving to be utterly unfit for the position he held, Mr.
Ackerman had discharged him, and Springer had sought revenge by making
an unsuccessful effort to burn the ranche. Of course he could not stay
in Texas after that, so he fled across the river and joined his fortunes
with the Contra-Guerrillas, a regiment of desperadoes in the employ of
the ill-starred Maximilian. He belonged, with other renegade Americans,
to Fletcher's band, who were the principal foragers for Maximilian's
army; but instead of robbing the adherents of Juarez, who probably had
no stock worth stealing, they made numerous raids across the river and
ran off the cattle belonging to the Texans. Springer was one of the band
who stampeded George's herd at Catfish Falls, and during the short
skirmish that followed Zeke sent a bullet through each of his legs,
wounding him severely. He managed to keep up with the band a few miles,
but the rapid motion was too much for him, and he was finally abandoned
by his companions, who hurried the captured cattle toward the river,
leaving Springer to look out for himself.
The pain occasioned by the wounds that had been inflicted upon him by
Zeke's Winchester was so intense that the raider was forced to travel
very slowly. Arriving on the banks of a little stream that ran across
the trail he was pursuing, he rolled out of his saddle to quench his
thirst, which had became almost unbearable; but his bridle slipping from
his hand, his horse wandered away, and, as Springer was not able to
walk, he could not catch him again. He sank helplessly down beside a
tree, where he was presently discovered by George Ackerman, who was
making his way on foot toward Mr. Gilbert's ranche. The boy ministered
to his wants by bringing him water in his hat and sharing with him his
slender stock of provisions, and Springer showed his gratitude by
warning George of a plot which his uncle John and cousin Ned had laid
against him. He went into all the details, but George refused to believe
a word of it until subsequent events, which we have already described,
proved to his entire satisfaction that the thief had told him nothing
but the truth.
After spending half an hour in the man's company, George caught his
horse, assisted him into the saddle, and Springer succeeded in crossing
into Mexico without being discovered by any of the settlers whom Zeke
had gathered together to recapture George's herd. He made his way to Don
Miguel's ranche, and there our hero found him when he was captured by
Fletcher's men. The raider seemed to be sorry for his misdeeds, and
George had assured him that if he ever made up his mind to turn over a
new leaf and lead a different sort of life, he would assist him by every
means in his power.
"Springer," said George, drawing up an easy-chair for the use of his
guest, "what brought you over on this side of the river? Have you
abandoned Fletcher for good?"
The cattle-thief gasped and coughed three or four times, as if he were
trying to clear his throat of something that stuck there and choked his
utterance, and finally nodded his head in reply.
"Don't pay no attention to him, Mr. George!" exclaimed Bob. "He don't
know nothin' but stealin' an' lyin', that feller don't, an' I wouldn't
trust him as far as I could sling a yearlin'."
"If it wasn't for sich fellers as him you could stay to hum quiet an'
peaceable like, an' not have to go off fur a soldier," added Jake.
"When I was a prisoner among the Greasers he gave me advice that
assisted me in making my escape, and why should I not treat him kindly?"
demanded George, turning indignantly upon the speakers. "No visitor at
the Ackerman ranche was ever treated so shamefully before, and I tell
you I don't want the thing repeated."
"Why, Mr. George," stammered Jake, "he rid up to the porch an' said he
wanted to speak to you, an' so we brung him in--me an' Bob did."
"Go and tell the cook to put another plate on the table and to hurry up
breakfast," said George with an air of disgust.
"Mr. George," said Zeke solemnly, "do you mean by that that you're goin'
to break bread with this--this varmint?"
"I mean that Springer is going to eat a good breakfast with me, if that
is what you want to know," replied George.
"Then, Bob, you needn't say nothin' about that there other plate,"
continued the herdsman, picking up his hat and moving toward the door.
"Springer can have the one I was goin' to use."
"Zeke, sit down and behave yourself," exclaimed George.
"No, I won't. I ain't agoin' to eat salt with a man what tried to burn
this ranche over your dead father's head, an' you a little babby at the
time, without no power to help yourself. I don't know what this family
is comin' to, anyhow."
"No more do I," chimed in Bob, while he and Jake looked daggers at their
employer's new guest. "Things ain't as they used to be in the good ole
days. I won't wait on no table that he sets at."
As if moved by a common impulse, the three men left the room, Zeke
closing the door behind him with no gentle hand. The cattle-thief seemed
to be greatly relieved to see them go, but their extraordinary conduct
made him very uneasy, and he looked toward George to see what the latter
thought about it.
"Never mind them," said the boy encouragingly. "They were employed on
this ranche before I was born, and have finally come to think that they
have more rights here than I have. Now, what did you want to see me for?
How can I help you? If I were going to stay at home, so that I could
stand between you and the settlers, I would give you a herdsman's berth,
if that is what you want; but I am going to Fort Lamoine as soon as I
have packed my things and disposed of my breakfast, and I may not be
back for a year. I am a United States scout."
"I wondered what you were doin' with them soldier-clothes on; an' that
explains it," said Springer, speaking with difficulty. "I don't reckon
you can help me none jest now, but mebbe I can help you by puttin' you
on your guard agin' Fletcher."
"Is he after me again?" cried George. "I was in hope I had seen and
heard the last of him."
"Them kind of fellers is always turnin' up when they isn't wanted,"
replied Springer. "He's come back to his ole hole at that there ranche,
bringin' a good many of his ole men with him, an' some new ones that
would be wusser than he is, only that ain't possible. Amongst them all,
they have laid a plan to visit you next full moon."
"Let them come," said George, snapping his fingers in the air; "they'll
not get me, or any stock either."
"He wants you more'n he wants stock," continued Springer. "That is, he
wants you first. Your uncle John put the very mischief into that there
feller's head, an' he's goin' to make a pris'ner of you, like he did
afore. He knows that you are master here now--that you've got more money
an' cattle than you know what to do with; an' he thinks you would rather
give 'em all up than lose your liberty."
"No doubt I would," answered George, "but before he can make any demands
upon me he must catch me. That he will never do, for the next time--"
He was about to say that the next time he saw Don Miguel's ranche he
would be so strongly backed up that he would stand in no fear of the
boss cattle-thief and his band. But he didn't say it, for he did not
know how far it would be safe to trust his friend Springer. He need not
have been so particular on this point, however, for the cattle-thief
knew as much about the contemplated movements of General Ord's forces as
George did himself. The Mexican authorities had been notified that if
the raids from their side of the river were not stopped our troops would
take the matter in hand and punish the thieves wherever they could be
found; and those same authorities had been accommodating enough to warn
Fletcher, and so put him on his guard.
"Where have you been since I last saw you?" inquired George, "and what
has become of my horse? What did the 'boss' say when he found I had
slipped through his fingers? I told you I shouldn't stay there and allow
myself to be robbed. Did he follow me?"
"No, he didn't foller you, 'cause nobody knowed till mornin' come that
you had skipped out," answered Springer. "When Fletcher went to call
you to breakfast, an' you wasn't there, he thought you was a-loafin'
around somewheres about the ranche; but when somebody told him that the
hoss with the four white feet, that follered us acrost the river on the
night we tried to get the strong-box out of this house, was gone, he
knowed in a minute what was up, an' he was about the maddest man you
ever see. But he couldn't take time to hunt you up, an' all he could do
was to swear that he'd hold fast to you the next time he got his hands
on to you."
"He'll never get his hands on me again," said George confidently.
"I hope he won't, but if he does it'll be worse for you. That there
black hoss of your'n is dead," continued Springer; "he was shot at
Querétaro. You see, when we got down to the place where the fightin' was
goin' on, we knowed in a minute that Max couldn't hold out much longer,
so we started one dark night to cross over to Juarez. His soldiers seen
us comin', an', thinkin' that we were up to some trick or another, they
turned loose on us an' cut us up fearful."
"It served you just right," said George, with honest indignation. "You
had no business to go in with Maximilian in the first place, but having
joined him you ought to have stood by him to the last."
"We _did_ stand by him after that, 'cause we had to," answered Springer.
"But it didn't take 'em long to captur' the place, an' it didn't take
them long either to say what should be done with Max. He an' Mejia an'
Miramon were took out on a hill near the ruins of an old stone fort an'
shot. I didn't see it, 'cause I was under guard with Fletcher an' the
rest; but I heared some of 'em who did see it say that just before the
shooting was done Max he says to Miramon, 'The bravest man should have
the post of honor;' so he puts Miramon in the middle, an' Max he stood
on the left. It was a mean piece of business all the way through," said
Springer, drawing his hand nervously across his forehead, "an' I am
powerful glad that I am well out of it. Now, Mr. George, seein' as how
you belong to the army, mebbe I had oughter tell you something. You
remember them two Greasers who shot that cowboy down to Rio Grande City,
an' was put in jail for it, don't you? Well, they belong to our gang,
an' Fletcher an' the rest are getting ready to go down there an' take
'em out."
"Very well. Go right down to the commanding officer at Eagle Pass and
tell him of it," said George promptly. "Then come up to Fort Lamoine,
and we'll see if the colonel won't do something for Fletcher when he
comes over here to capture me."
"An' there's another thing I had oughter tell you, Mr. George,"
continued Springer, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. "I come over
here as a sort of spy, like. I am to find out all I can about your
ways--where you go of nights, an' all that, you know--an' then I am to
go down to Rio City, take a look about the jail, see how many guards
there are, an' everything else that is worth knowin', an' after that I
am to go back an' tell Fletcher."
"I am glad you didn't say so while my men were in here," observed
George.
"I was just a trifle too sharp for that," said Springer, shaking his
head and looking very wise. "I don't want to make them any madder at me
than they be now."
"But you are not going back to Fletcher with any news, are you? You told
me you had left him for good."
"Mr. George," said Springer earnestly, "I ain't agoin' to take no news
acrost the river that will do anybody there any good. I ain't forgot
that you helped me when I was a-starving for grub an' water, and I ain't
likely to forget it, nuther. I did say I had quit them fellers for good,
an' when I said it I meant it; but you can see by the way your own men
used me, right here under your nose, that I couldn't stay here without
nobody to back me up. I can't starve, so I'll have to go back till you
come home again."
"If you will stay on this side of the river I will see that you don't
starve," replied George. "After you have told the commanding officer at
Eagle Pass of the attempt that is to be made to release those murderers,
come up to Fort Lamoine and I will find some honest work for you to do.
The soldiers at the post are not acquainted with you, and consequently
there will be no one to trouble you. I will say that you used to work
for my father, and that will help you to a position."
While Springer was trying to make the boy understand how grateful he was
to him for his kindness, there was a rap at the door, and Bob thrust his
head into the room to announce in a surly tone that breakfast was
ready.
"Where's Zeke?" asked George.
"Gone," was the laconic reply.
"All right! If he is foolish enough to go off without any breakfast, let
him go. He'll meet me somewhere along the trail and say good-bye, I
know. Bob," added George, pointing to the clothes-bag, which he had
packed while he and his visitor were conversing, "put this into the
pack-saddle, and have everything ready, so that I can start as soon as I
have eaten breakfast.--Come on, Springer."
George led the way into an adjoining room, and found an excellent
breakfast waiting for him. The cook, knowing that this was the last meal
the young master of the ranche would eat at that table for long months
to come, had exhausted all his knowledge of the cuisine in the effort to
serve up a breakfast that would tempt George to eat, no matter whether
he was hungry or not.
True to his promise, Bob kept out of the breakfast-room, and George and
his guest were obliged to wait on themselves; but as they were used to
that, they got on very well. While they were eating George once more
repeated the instructions he had given Springer, and reiterated his
promise to furnish him with steady employment and give him a chance to
make an honest living.
Breakfast over, George accompanied his guest to the door, and saw him
ride away toward Eagle Pass. As soon as he was out of sight the boy went
into the house after his weapons and to take leave of the servants, who
were good-natured enough now that Springer was gone. After shaking them
all by the hand, and listening to their hearty wishes for his safe and
speedy return, he mounted his horse, which stood at the porch saddled
and bridled, took his pack-mule by the halter and rode away toward Mr.
Gilbert's ranche. The first person to greet him as he drew rein in front
of the door was Zeke, who had so emphatically declared that he would not
have another word to say to him.
"Where's that pizen varmint?" demanded the herdsman in no very amiable
tones.
"Look here, Zeke," replied George, "if you should happen to meet that
man while I am gone, I want you to treat him civilly; do you understand?
If you see him in trouble, I want you to help him out. He is sorry for
what he has done, and intends to lead a better life; and if you don't
assist him in every way you can, you are not the fellow I take you for."
"Humph!" exclaimed Zeke contemptuously. "Sorry, ain't he? Wants to lead
a better life, don't he? Well, it's mighty little chance he'll have if
he makes a business of bumpin' up agin me the way he did this mornin', I
bet you."
"He couldn't help it; Jake and Bob threw him against you. I know he is
in earnest, for he has proved it. He came to the ranch to tell me that
my old friend Fletcher is coming over to capture me next full moon, and
he has now gone down to warn the officer in command at Eagle Pass that
an attempt will soon be made to liberate the murderers who are in jail
there.--Good-morning, Mr. Gilbert. I have stopped to say good-bye."
"Why don't you slap your foot down an' tell him he sha'n't go, Gilbert?"
demanded Zeke.
"I am as sorry to have him go as you are," replied Mr. Gilbert. "But it
is to our interest to do all we can to break up this raiding business,
and George can do more than any of us. In fact, he is the only one in
the settlement who can do anything, for you know the colonel wouldn't
accept the services of our company of Rangers when we offered them to
him.--Come in, George, and say good-bye to Mrs. Gilbert and the girls."
This was soon done, for the boy did not like to linger over the parting;
but still, it was much harder for him to take leave of these good
friends than he thought it would be. The whole family accompanied him to
the door, and when he came out Zeke turned his back to him.
"Say good-bye to me," said George, giving him a pat on the shoulder;
"it's your last chance."
"I don't care if it is," shouted the old fellow; "I won't do it."
"Then I will say it to you: Good-bye, Zeke. It will be a long time
before I see you again, if indeed I ever do, but I never shall forget
you. You have been a good friend to me."
This was altogether too much for the honest herdsman. He faced quickly
about, and, seizing George's hand with a grip that brought tears to his
eyes, churned it up and down like a pump-handle. Then he dropped it and
turned away, while George, without saying another word, vaulted into his
saddle and rode off. Zeke watched him as long as he remained in sight,
and then in broken accents addressed the silent group who stood in the
doorway:
"Thar's that there boy."--here he waved his hand in the direction in
which George had disappeared--"he was all I had, an' now he's gone off
to fight them Greasers without askin' me would I let him go. I toted him
in them there arms when he was a yellin' babby not knee-high to a duck;
I put him on the fust hoss he ever rid; I slept under the same blanket
an' herded cattle with him when he got bigger; I larnt him how to throw
the lasso an' shoot the rifle; an' now he's went off an' left me alone!
Dog-gone them pizen Greasers!" roared Zeke, flourishing both his fists
in the air.
He lingered a moment, looking rather sharply at Mr. Gilbert, as if he
had half a mind to take him to task for giving his consent to George's
"fool notion," and then, thinking better of it, he lumbered down the
steps, mounted his horse and galloped off toward the place where he had
left his herd in charge of an assistant.
George camped two nights on the prairie, and on the third afternoon, an
hour or two before sunset, he arrived within sight of one of the
stage-company's deserted stables. Or, rather, it _was_ deserted the
last time he saw it, but now there was an armed soldier in front of the
door, and he was presently joined by others, one of whom, by signs,
invited him to approach. George complied, and presently found himself
surrounded by a squad of troopers under the command of Corporal Bob
Owens, who greeted him as we have described.