MORE BAD LUCK FOR MR. WENTWORTH.
While Bob and his men were staking out their horses they were besieged
by anxious Brindles who wanted to know just where they had been and what
they had done during their absence. No incident connected with the
experience of their successful comrades was deemed too trivial for their
notice. Bob and the rest answered their questions as fast as they were
able, and asked a good many in return. They learned that Captain Clinton
had fallen in with the stolen cattle about one o'clock that morning, but
the Indians they had hoped to find with them were not to be seen. The
captain had pursued them so closely that they did not have time to drive
the stock into the Staked Plains, to die there of thirst, and neither
did they harass the column, as George said they would. Their force was
too small to accomplish anything by it. The captain had spent all the
forenoon in gathering up the stock, and it was now feeding on the
prairie close by, guarded by a large squad of troopers.
"I'll tell you what's a fact, boys," said one of the Brindles. "This
raid must have been a big thing, for just after you left us we struck
the trail of a large drove that joined ours, and a little farther on we
found another. But they were both older than our own, so the scout said,
and the drove we followed was left behind as a sort of bait for us to
swallow, while the main herd was driven off."
"Why didn't you go on after the main herd?" asked Bob.
"It would have been of no use. It had too much of a start; and besides,
we have already got just as much on our hands as we can attend to. We
have been all day gathering up the cattle we have got, and it is just
all we can do to hold fast to them. The fellows up there must attend to
the rest."
By "the fellows up there" the troopers meant to indicate the cavalry
attached to the several posts north of the Staked Plains.
When Bob went back to the captain's head-quarters, George, being a
privileged character, went with him. The officer questioned them
closely in regard to their movements, took copious notes to assist him
in making out his report to the colonel, and by the time he got through
he came to the conclusion that the two young men deserved especial
mention for the skill and courage they had exhibited. He rewarded them
on the spot by giving them more work to do--some that was not supposed
to have any danger in it, but which, nevertheless, gave them an
opportunity to show whether the success that had attended them during
their last scout was owing to good luck or good management.
"I am more than satisfied, because you have accomplished more than I
expected of you," said the captain as he put his note-book into his
pocket. "As you will probably have some hard riding to do to-morrow, I
will see that you are allowed a good night's rest."
"Are we going back to the fort in the morning, sir?" asked George.
Although Bob was fully as anxious as his companion was to know what the
captain meant by saying that he and his squad would probably have some
hard riding to do the next day, he never would have dared to ask such a
question; and if he had, the officer, if he had made any reply at all,
would very likely have told him that he would find out all about it in
due time. But he expressed no surprise at George's inquisitiveness.
"_I_ am going back to fort," said he, "but you and the corporal will
have to stay and help Mr. Wentworth with the cattle. You will be of more
use to him, George, than half a dozen green hands, for you know how to
drive stock and can act as instructor to the rest. You know where
Holmes's ranche is, I suppose? Well, I shall want the corporal to stay
with Mr. Wentworth until he gets there, and then you will have to guide
the squad to the fort. If you should happen to meet any raiders on the
way, why take them in," added the captain with a smile.--"Corporal, is
Carey badly hurt?"
"He grumbles a good deal, sir, but I think it is more from anger than
pain."
"Perhaps you had better take a man in his place and let him go to the
fort with us, so that the doctor can look at his arm," said the captain.
"I tell you there is nothing like having friends at court," said Bob as
he and George walked away. "Until you came among us I didn't know that
these officers could be so very friendly and good-natured. Why, George,
if I knew the country as well as you do, and could get scout's pay, I
would stay in the army all my life. We have got a sort of roving
commission now, and I hope we can do something with it before we go back
to the fort."
Details for such duties as this which had just been assigned to Corporal
Owens are about the only recreations that fall to the lot of a private
soldier on the Plains, and they are eagerly sought after. Being almost
always commanded by a sergeant or corporal who has proved to the
satisfaction of his superiors that he can be trusted, the men never fail
to enjoy themselves to the fullest extent. It is a great relief to them
to be entirely out of reach of their Argus-eyed officers, who are so
prompt to take them to task for the least neglect of duty.
When they reached the place where the Brindles were encamped, they found
that Carey had been successful in his mission. He had brought Mr.
Wentworth and his boys back with him, and the troopers were crowded
about them listening to Sheldon's account of his experience among the
Kiowas.
"Get all you can out of them, boys," exclaimed Bob, "for you will not
see them after to-night."
"Why won't we?" asked half a dozen troopers at once.
"Because they are not going to the fort. They are going to Holmes's
ranche, wherever that is, and we're going to see them safely there with
the stock."
"We? who?"
"Our same old squad--all except Carey."
The owner of that name, whose face had lighted up with pleasure, jumped
to his feet with an angry exclamation. "What do you mean by that,
corporal?" he demanded.
"It's no fault of mine, Carey," replied Bob. "The captain thinks you had
better go to the fort, so that the doctor can look at your wound."
Carey made no reply, but elbowed his way through the crowd and started
toward the other end of the camp. In a few minutes he was standing in
front of Captain Clinton with his hand to his cap.
"What is it, Carey?" asked that officer after he had returned the
salute.
"My respects to you, sir," answered the trooper, "and, if I might take
the liberty, I'd like to know why I am to be left behind while the rest
of our squad goes off on a picnic with them cattle?"
"Why, you are wounded," said the captain.
"Just a little scratch, sir," protested the trooper. "But even if I had
no right arm at all, I could ride and shoot, and when it came to yelling
I'd be there too."
"Very good. If you think you can stand it, go on."
"Thank you, sir. I knew you wouldn't go back on old Carey. I've been in
every muss my troop has been in, and nobody ever hinted that I didn't do
my duty."
The captain nodded his head and waved his hand in token of dismissal,
and the trooper hurried away.
Up to this time George Ackerman had always messed with the officers, but
that night he took supper with Bob's squad, because both he and they
considered that he belonged to it. During the progress of the meal he
reminded the corporal that the latter had promised to tell him a story.
"Oh yes," said Bob, after thinking a moment. "I was telling you, I
believe, that if Mr. Wentworth killed that Indian he would be arrested
and tried for murder. Well, that's an Indian's idea of justice, and it
seems to be the agents' idea too. The Indians think they have a perfect
right to kill and scalp whenever they feel like it, but if a white man
kills one of them it is an awful thing. If they can't get hold of the
man who did the shooting or any of his relations, they look to the
government for pay. On a certain occasion a scouting-party of ten men
was surprised and utterly wiped out. The surprise was so complete that
every one of the party was killed at the first fire, with the exception
of a corporal, who had just time to knock over two of the reds before he
too was shot. Shortly afterward a peace was patched up, and a band of
braves came in, bringing with them an old woman for whom they asked a
government pension because her two sons had fallen in battle. Inquiries
were made, and it turned out that these two sons were the very Indians
who had been killed by the corporal. What do you think of such
impudence?"
George did not know what to think of it, and probably the reader doesn't
either; but this very incident is on record.
By daylight the next morning the camp was deserted. The main body of the
troops was riding rapidly toward Fort Lamoine, and a few miles behind it
came the herd which Captain Clinton had recaptured. It was moving
leisurely along in front of Mr. Wentworth and George, who controlled it
with less difficulty than the rest of the squad would have experienced
in managing a dozen cattle. Behind them came Bob and his men, with the
two boys, who were mounted on a couple of their father's horses which
had been found with the herd. George's quick eye had already noticed
that there were at least half a dozen different brands among the cattle,
and he told himself that when the animals bearing these brands had been
delivered up to their lawful owners, Mr. Wentworth would have very
little stock left.
Bob and his troopers enjoyed this "picnic" by being lazy. They had
nothing to do worth speaking of but to follow along in the rear of the
herd and talk to the boys, the most of the work being performed by
George and Mr. Wentworth, who during the first part of the journey
managed the cattle both day and night. They offered to assist in any way
they could, but the practised herders did not need them, and besides,
they were afraid to trust them.
"I don't want to lose these steers and horses again, after all the
trouble I have had to get them," Mr. Wentworth always replied. "I know
you are good soldiers, or else you couldn't have got my boys back for
me; but you can't herd cattle. The least awkward movement on your part
would send them galloping back toward the Staked Plains again. Wait
until they get over their fright, and then you can try your hands at
guarding them during the night."
On the afternoon of the fifth day Bob noticed that George's field-glass
was often brought into requisition both by himself and Mr. Wentworth,
and on riding forward to inquire the cause of it, he was informed that
they were looking for Mr. Taylor's ranche.
"And who is Mr. Taylor?" was Bob's next question.
"He is one of Mr. Wentworth's neighbors who was raided by the Indians.
We know it, for we have some of his cattle with us; but whether or not
they did him any damage beyond stealing his stock, we don't know; and we
can't tell, either, until we find his house if it is still standing, or
the ruins of it if it has been destroyed."
"Then we must be getting pretty near our journey's end," said Bob, whose
arms and shoulders began to ache when he thought of the tedious routine
of drill and guard-duty upon which he must enter as soon as he returned
to the fort.
"I don't know what you mean by _near_," replied George. "The fort is all
of a hundred and fifty miles from here, and we are not going toward it.
We are going toward Holmes's ranche; and even if we have the best of
luck, it will take us two weeks to get there."
"That sounds better," said Bob, who was greatly relieved. "When you
spoke of Mr. Wentworth's neighbors, I was afraid that our
pleasure-excursion was about to be brought to an end, for he doesn't
live so _very_ far from the fort, you know."
"It's just over there," shouted Mr. Wentworth at this moment. "I see
cattle, and that proves that the raiders didn't scoop Taylor as they did
me. Now look sharp; we've got rounding out enough to do already."
"What does he mean by that?" asked Bob.
"He means that we mustn't allow our cattle to mix in with Mr. Taylor's,
for if we do we shall have to round them all out again. By 'rounding
out' we mean separating the different herds from each other; and that is
something that none but good herdsmen can do. It requires skill and a
big stock of patience, I tell you. Just let a few green hands try it,
and see how much they would make at it. Why, they would scare the cattle
so that they would run clear out of the State."
Although Mr. Wentworth had declared that Mr. Taylor's ranche was "just
over there," our friends did not reach it that day, nor until late in
the afternoon of the next. Before they got there they knew just what Mr.
Taylor's experience with the Kiowa raiders had been, for they had passed
two or three of his herds, whose keepers had told them all about it. The
Indians had suddenly made their appearance, coming from the south, and
driving before them a large number of cattle; and although they had not
come within five miles of Mr. Taylor's ranche, they had picked up one of
his small herds which happened to be in their path.
Our friends camped that night close by Mr. Taylor's ranche, which proved
to be a perfect little fort. It was built of heavy stone, was well
supplied with provisions, and defended by five stalwart fellows who were
armed with Winchester rifles. The raiders would have had a nice time of
it if they had come there. The owner listened in great surprise to Mr.
Wentworth's story, made much of his boys, and would not let him and
George "round out" the stock that bore his brand.
"You're welcome to the steers, neighbor," said he. "I've got more left
than I can take care of if the Kiowas bounce me as earnestly as they did
you, and you will need them to help you start a new herd."
This same thing was repeated by every one of the half a dozen other
ranchemen to whom Mr. Wentworth offered to surrender their stock. They
all sympathized with him, and wanted to aid him by every means in their
power. The result was, that our friends arrived within one day's march
of their journey's end with just as many cattle as they had when they
left the Staked Plains. Although Mr. Wentworth had been "completely
cleaned out," he was still worth something like twenty thousand dollars.
George and his party made their last camp a short distance from the
cabin of a squatter, who rode over to see them during the evening. He
went home about ten o'clock, and George and his companions lay down on
their blankets, leaving the herd to the care of four mounted troopers.
The latter, who during the journey had exhibited the greatest eagerness
to learn something of the mysteries of cattle-herding, had so far
progressed in knowledge and skill as to be able to stand guard at night,
and to give George and Mr. Wentworth an opportunity to obtain the rest
of which they began to stand so much in need. About midnight George
mounted his horse and rode around the herd to assure himself that
everything was just as it should be. He went on horseback, because
everybody rides while working about Texas cattle. If a man should
venture among them on foot during the daytime, his life would be in
danger; and if he went around them at night, he would probably stampede
the whole herd.
"All serene," said Loring, who was the first guard George encountered
during his rounds. "The moon shines so brightly that I can see the
movements of every steer in the drove."
"If we were a little nearer the river perhaps things wouldn't be quite
so serene," answered George. "The Mexicans take just such a night as
this for their raids."
About an hour after George had retired to his blanket Loring noticed
that the cattle began to show signs of uneasiness. Those that were
standing up began to move about, those that were lying down arose and
moved about with them, and presently the whole herd was in motion. The
cattle did not attempt to run away, but walked restlessly about, as if
they were unable to find a place that suited them.
"Suke, thing! suke, thing!" said Loring coaxingly.
The travelled reader would have said at once that Loring was a
Southerner; and if he could have heard Phillips on the other side of the
cattle trying to soothe them with "Co-boss! co-boss!" he would have said
that Phillips was from the North. But the cattle did not understand
either of them, or if they did they paid no attention to them. Their
restlessness increased every moment, and finally Loring, good soldier
though he was, deserted his post and started for camp as fast as he
could make his horse walk.
"Ackerman," said he in an excited voice, "get up. There is something
wrong with those cattle."
George was on his feet in an instant. One glance at the herd was enough.
"I should say there was something wrong!" he exclaimed. "How long has
this thing been going on?"
"Not more than five minutes."
"Which way are they looking," continued George.
"Every way, but the most of them keep their heads in that direction,"
said Loring, waving his arm toward the south.
"Call everybody in camp while I speak to Bob and Mr. Wentworth. No noise
now. I am afraid we are going to have trouble."
In less than two minutes all the troopers had been aroused, and George
was holding an earnest consultation with Mr. Wentworth and the corporal.
"I've seen cattle act that way before," said he, speaking as rapidly as
he could make his tongue move, for time was precious; "and if we were a
little nearer the river I could easily tell what is the matter with
them; but I never heard of the Greasers coming so far into the country
as this, and it may be nothing but nervousness that's troubling them.
My advice would be to mount the men and move them quietly in line on the
north side of the herd, and perhaps by making such a show of numbers we
can keep them within bounds until they are quieted down.--What do you
say, Mr. Wentworth?"
"It is the only thing that can be done," replied Mr. Wentworth, who
seemed to be greatly excited and alarmed; "and even that is a slim
chance.--Make haste, corporal. Do all you can for me, for if I lose this
herd I shall be ruined, sure enough."
"Catch up!" commanded Bob.
"Look here," said George, seizing his friend by the shoulder and
speaking with all the earnestness he could throw into his tones: "if you
get in line in front of those cattle, and they start to run toward you,
don't try to stop them, for you can't do it, any more than we could stop
those buffaloes the other night. Run before them, and gradually draw off
to the right or left of them, and you will get safely off; otherwise
they will certainly run over you. But I am afraid it is too late to do
anything," added George as he noted the increasing restlessness of the
cattle.
"It is too late! it is too late!" exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, rubbing his
hands nervously together. "There they go!"
Even as he spoke a noise like the rumbling of distant thunder sounded in
their ears, and instantly the whole herd made off at the top of its
speed. Looking over the mass of horns and tails that was tossed wildly
in the air, the troopers were horrified to see Phillips standing
directly in front of it. Being fully determined to do his duty to the
utmost, the brave fellow sat in his saddle, swinging his arms about his
head, and no doubt shouting at the top of his voice to stop the advance
of the frightened herd, which was bearing down upon him with the
resistless power of an avalanche.
"The man is crazy!" cried George in great alarm. Then, raising both
hands to his face and using them as a speaking-trumpet, he yelled, with
all the power of his lungs,
"Run! run for your life!"
Phillips afterward said that he did not hear what George said to him--in
fact, he couldn't hear anything but the noise of those hoofs--but,
seeing that if he remained where he was his death was certain, he
wheeled his horse and fled with the speed of the wind. The last his
friends saw of him was as he dashed over the top of a ridge, with the
stampeded cattle close behind him. When they were all out of sight and
the rumble of their hoofs had died away in the distance, the troopers
turned to look at Mr. Wentworth. He stood with his hands in his pockets
gazing disconsolately in the direction in which the herd had
disappeared, but had nothing to say.
"Now, here's a go!" whispered Bob, giving George a nudge in the ribs
with his elbow. "What am I to do? This is something Captain Clinton
didn't think to provide for, isn't it? I was ordered to go to Holmes's
ranche with Mr. Wentworth, but I wasn't told to follow up and collect
his cattle if they were stampeded."
"You mustn't think of following them up," said George decidedly. "There
is no man in the world who could get that same herd together again, for
it will join others as soon as it gets over its fright; and how could we
tell these cattle from others bearing the same brand? They are gone, and
that's all there is of it. You must mount at once and see if you can
find anything of Phillips."
"All right!--Mr. Wentworth," said Bob, "we are very sorry for the loss
you have sustained, but we have done all we could for you."
"I know it, corporal, and I am very grateful to you and to the captain,
who was kind enough to send you with me. Such things as these will
happen sometimes, in spite of everything. Now I hardly know what to do."
Neither would anybody else have known what to do under the same
circumstances. Mr. Wentworth had no home, no property except his rifle
and the horses he and his boys rode, no work to do, and but little to
eat in his haversack. It was a trying situation for a man who but a few
days before had been worth a fortune, and almost any one would have been
disheartened.
"I'll tell you what you can do," said George. "You can easily find your
way to the Ackerman settlement, and if you go there and give Mr. Gilbert
a note of introduction which I will write for you, he will take care of
you until you can decide upon something."
George did not feel at liberty to tell Mr. Wentworth all he had on his
mind. As soon as he returned to the fort he intended to write to his
guardian, asking him if he might furnish Mr. Wentworth with a
sufficient number of cattle from his own herds to give the impoverished
man a new start in life. Of course Mr. Wentworth had a few cattle of his
own among those that had just run off, but it would take some time to
gather them up; and as he would not want to be troubled with his boys
while he was engaged in the work, George intended to ask Mr. Gilbert to
take care of them during their father's absence, and to lend Mr.
Wentworth a few good herdsmen to assist him in getting his stock
together. While he was thinking about it, and before Mr. Wentworth could
thank him for his generous offer, something happened which told them
very plainly that the stampede that had just taken place was not owing
to the nervousness of the cattle, but to the presence of those of whom
George Ackerman had every reason to stand in fear.
Their attention was first attracted by some unusual sound. They could
not have told what it was or from which direction it came, but they all
heard it, and waited for it to be repeated, that they might locate and
define it. There was a moment's silence, and then a chorus of wild yells
arose on the night air, accompanied by the rapid discharge of firearms.
The troopers looked at one another in blank amazement, and then at
George, who was not long in assigning a cause for the disturbance.
"The Greasers are attacking the squatter," he exclaimed; and he was
quite as much astonished to be called upon to say it as the troopers
were to hear it. It must be a strong and daring band that would venture
so far into the country, and almost involuntarily George whispered the
name of Fletcher. Bob was quick to decide upon his course. He knew just
what Captain Clinton would expect of him if he were there.
"Mr. Wentworth," said he, "we must lend that man a helping hand. As you
can't go with us on account of your boys, you will have to look out for
yourself and them."
"And I am just the man who can do it," replied Mr. Wentworth. "Good-bye
and good luck to you! Shoot hard, and shoot to hit."
"How cool and confident he is! I wish I had half his courage," thought
Bob as he ordered his men into their saddles, following it up with the
commands, "Forward! Trot! gallop!"
The troopers fell into line as they moved off, and a few yards in
advance of them rode George and Bob. The former could easily have taken
the lead if he had desired to do so, but, knowing that he did not
command the squad, he curbed his impatience as well as he could and kept
close by his friend's side. The troopers unslung their carbines, George
made ready his Winchester, while Bob, who believed as firmly in the
virtues of "cold steel" as did the gallant officer whom he afterward
accompanied on his last memorable march, drew his sabre. All on a sudden
the firing ceased, and when the troopers rode over the brow of a ridge a
few minutes later, they saw a thin blue smoke arising from the
squatter's cabin, and that told them more than they wanted to know.
George was both astonished and enraged at the sight--astonished to know
that the raiders would stop during one of their marauding expeditions,
when haste was so necessary, to attack and burn so humble a dwelling as
the abode of the squatter, and enraged to see that they had been
successful enough to do even that. There was a crowd of Mexicans around
the building, and others with horses were standing close by.
"Gobble the horses, Bob," said George, who was so highly excited that he
could scarcely speak, "and then you can ride down and capture the
raiders at your leisure."
Bob caught the idea in an instant. Turning in his saddle, he waved his
sabre over his head, but instead of giving the command "Charge!" he
effectually closed the mouths of his followers, who had already opened
their lips and drawn in a long breath preparatory to giving vent to
their favorite yell, by saying in a low tone, "Silence!"
Bob did not know whether or not this order had ever before been given
during a charge, and, what was more, he did not care. His object was to
cut the men who were lingering about the burning cabin off from their
horses, and in order to do that he must get as close as he could to them
before he was discovered.