CONCLUSION.
The men about the cabin were so engrossed in their work of destruction,
and the horse-guards were so intent on watching them, that Bob's advance
was not discovered until he and his followers were within less than two
hundred yards of the cabin. So entirely unexpected was their appearance
that for a moment the cattle-thieves were struck motionless with
astonishment; then they recovered their power of action, and those who
were on foot made a rush for their horses. Some succeeded in reaching
them, but others did not. Two or three of them fell before the carbines
of the troopers, who opened a hot fire as soon as they saw that they
were discovered, and the horse-guards, believing that the attacking
party was backed up by a large force of soldiers which was close at
hand, instantly put spurs to their nags and galloped off, taking the
loose horses with them and leaving their companions to look out for
themselves.
"Throw down and throw up, Greasers!" commanded Corporal Owens as he
dashed up to the cabin swinging his sabre over his head; and the order,
which meant, "Throw down your weapons and throw up your hands," was
obeyed by five sullen fellows, who muttered Spanish oaths between their
teeth and looked mad enough to do almost anything.
There was no fight at all. If there had been a shot fired at the
troopers, they didn't know it. The party that had gone off with the
horses outnumbered Bob's, and could, beyond a doubt, have driven them
off the field if they had only thought so; but their surprise was
complete, and, more than that, they were demoralized. The presence of
the troopers they regarded as part of a pre-concerted plan to cut them
off from the river, and that frightened them more than Bob's sudden
onslaught.
"Still another feather for your cap, Corporal Owens," said George, after
he and Loring and a few others had taken a shot or two apiece at the
retreating cattle-thieves, "and nobody hurt on our side, either. Now
I--What are you doing here? Is this the way you keep your promise?"
These questions were addressed to one of the prisoners, who took off his
sombrero and scratched his head as if he were trying to stir up his
ideas so that he could make some reply to these peremptory
interrogations.
"Springer," continued George, slowly, "what are you doing here? Where's
the squatter?"
"In there," replied the cattle-thief, jerking his head toward the cabin,
which was now fairly ablaze and sending out so much heat that the
troopers were obliged to draw away from it. "He never would have touched
him, Fletcher wouldn't, if he had kept in the house an' left us alone;
but he plumped one of us over when we fust came up; an' this here is the
consequence," added Springer, nodding his head toward the cabin again.
George knew why it was that the cattle-thieves had stopped to destroy
the squatter's house. He had killed one of their number, and they, in
turn, had killed him after a hard fight, and it was now too late to
recover his body or to save a single thing the cabin contained.
"So this is the fellow who twice befriended you, is it?" said Bob, who
was surprised to hear George call one of the prisoners by name. "Don't
you think it would be a good plan to chuck him into the fire too?"
"_I_ do," said Loring fiercely.
Springer drew a little nearer to George for protection.
"I didn't have any hand in it," said he earnestly--"honor bright, I
didn't. I can explain everything, so that you can see that I am not to
blame for being here."
"Carey," exclaimed Bob, "go back to Mr. Wentworth and give him his
choice between taking care of himself and going to the fort with us.
Hurry up, now.--If I only had a spade or two, I would make these
prisoners bury their dead comrades."
"Springer," said George, "can these friends of yours understand
English?"
The cattle-thief replied that they could not; they were all Mexicans.
"I am glad to hear it, for I want to ask you a few questions before you
explain how you came to be here. Did Fletcher have his whole band with
him to-night?"
"Not half of 'em," was the reply; "he had only about thirty men."
"How many has he in all?"
"Two hundred or so."
"Does he still make his head-quarters at the Don's ranche?"
"Yes; but look here, Mr. George," said Springer earnestly; "if you are
goin' over there after him, be mighty careful. You know what sort of a
looking place that ranche is--all stone, you know--an' them fellows is
all old soldiers, an' they'll fight awful."
George nodded his head as if to say that he knew all about that, and
spent some minutes in questioning the prisoner in regard to the road
that led to the ranche, while Bob sat by on his horse and listened. By
the time George had heard all he wanted to know, and Springer had told
how he had been arrested by the officer at Eagle Pass and rescued by
Fletcher, Carey came back.
"Mr. Wentworth will take care of himself," reported the trooper. "He
says that if he went to the fort he would have to come back to Holmes's
ranche, anyway--he is going to make his home there for a while, for he
and Holmes were boys together--and so he might just as well go there in
the first place, and save time and travelling. He sent his best wishes
to everybody, and hopes we will catch all the scoundrels who wiped out
the squatter."
"I wish we could," said Bob, facing about in his saddle and gazing in
the direction in which the thieves had retreated; "but we have five
prisoners to take care of, and so our hands are tied."
"You just ought to have seen him, corporal," continued Carey. "He had
thrown his three horses in a sort of triangle by tying their feet
together and tripping them up in some way, and there he lay with his
boys behind his living breastworks, all ready for a fight. Grit to the
last, wasn't he? When I asked him why he hadn't mounted and dug out as
soon as we left, he said that that wouldn't have been safe, for he might
have run right in among the Greasers before he knew it."
"Well, boys," said Bob, gazing sorrowfully at the glowing bed of coals
that covered the site of the squatter's cabin, "there is nothing more we
can do here, and so we will make a break for the fort."
"Look here, corporal," said one of the troopers: "if you are going to
make us carry double with those dirty Greasers, I am going to kick."
"Don't you worry," answered Bob. "I shouldn't do it myself, and of
course I sha'n't ask you to do it. They'll have to walk.--Springer, draw
these Mexican gentlemen up in line."
Springer gave the necessary order in Spanish, and it was sullenly
obeyed.
"Just remind them, Springer, that if they don't step faster than that
somebody may hasten their movements with a prod from the point of a
sabre," said Bob angrily. "We are in no humor to stand a great deal of
nonsense from them. Now, right-face them; that's better.--Fall in around
them, squad, four on each flank and four in the rear. Forward,
march!--Now, George, which way is the fort from here?"
"Off there," replied George, "but I am going to take you to the
river-trail."
"What for?"
"So that you can get something to eat."
If they had been a little farther down the river, say about twenty-five
miles, George would have taken them to his own house. It would have
given him no little pleasure to entertain these companions of a long,
toilsome and dangerous scout under his own roof; but of course he could
not think of leading them out of their way in order to do it. They found
plenty to eat after they reached the river-trail, but the ranchemen at
whose houses they halted could give them no information concerning the
raiders. They had been on that side of the river, and had gone back
empty-handed, and that was all the ranchemen knew about the matter. This
made it plain that Bob's gallant dash had not been without its effect.
It had frightened the thieves so thoroughly that they dared not stop to
pick up any of the cattle they found in their way.
Bob and his troopers camped that night near a farm-house whose owner was
so delighted to see the five prisoners they had brought with them, and
to learn of the success that had attended them ever since Captain
Clinton sent them off by themselves, that he insisted on giving them a
seat at his table. The next morning he gave them a breakfast; but the
first squad who went in--which included Bob and George--had scarcely
taken possession of their chairs when one of the sentries was heard
calling lustily for the corporal of the guard. Bob excused himself and
ran out, only to return again almost immediately and startle everybody
with the order, "Boots and saddles!" George jumped up from the table,
wondering what was the matter. When he reached the porch he found out.
About a mile up the trail was a long column of blue-coats coming down at
a sweeping trot.
"They are our boys, and they are after the Greasers," exclaimed Bob, as
George came down the steps. "It's lucky we are here, for you are the
very man they want if they are going across the river.--Catch up, boys,
and fall in just as we do when we are on the march, only face to the
left, so as to front the column when it comes up."
If we have a reader who is familiar with cavalry tactics, he will have
discovered, long before this time, that Corporal Owens was not at all
particular as to the orders he gave, provided he could make his men act
to suit him. When in the presence of his superiors he always gave the
proper commands, in order to save himself from the reproof that would
have promptly followed the slightest departure from the tactics; but
when he was in command of a scouting-party he was decidedly free and
easy. Even an old trooper might have been puzzled over this last order,
but the men who had marched with him so many miles were quick to catch
his meaning and prompt to carry out his wishes; so that when the whole
available cavalry force of Fort Lamoine, numbering two hundred men, came
sweeping by the farm-house a few minutes later, with Captain Clinton
riding at the head, they were astonished to see Bob's little squad drawn
up in a hollow square, with their prisoners in the centre. Of late there
had been a good many anxious inquiries made concerning these very men,
and here they were, safe and sound, and, wonderful to tell, with more
prisoners to show what good soldiers they were.
"Three cheers for the 'Brindles,' the old reliables!" shouted the
sergeant-major; and the yells that arose from two hundred pairs of
strong lungs could have been heard a long distance away.
George lifted his cap in response to a nod of recognition from Captain
Clinton, and in obedience to a sign from him rode over to his side; but
Bob and his men sat in their saddles as stiff as so many posts, looking
straight to the front. When the next call for cheers came, however, it
almost knocked Bob over.
"Three cheers for Sergeant Owens!" shouted a "Brindle;" and then came
three more yells, followed by a "tiger" as loud and piercing as an
Indian war-whoop. During his absence Bob had been promoted in general
orders for gallantry, his pay as sergeant to begin on the day he rescued
Mr. Wentworth's boys from the hands of the Kiowas.
Presently the bugle sounded, and the column came to a halt. The officers
at once fell out and crowded around George, who, in as few words as
possible, told Captain Clinton what Bob's squad had been doing since the
captain left them back there on the borders of the Staked Plains. The
officers were all very much pleased, especially Lieutenant Earle, who
for a moment threw off his dignity and rode up to thank the members of
the squad which had brought so much credit upon the troop he commanded.
"Sergeant," said he, extending his hand--which Bob accepted after
running his own hand through his sword-knot and dropping his sabre by
his side--"I congratulate you and all your men. You have done well."
Bob managed to stammer out something about being glad to have pleased
the lieutenant, and the latter, after ordering them to sheathe their
sabres, went on to tell how he had followed the Indians in his front
until his men and horses were nearly exhausted and almost dead for want
of water, and how he had finally returned to the fort a day behind the
column, utterly disgusted with his want of success, to find that some of
his own troop had carried off the honors of the scout. He was proud to
command such men.
Meanwhile, Captain Clinton and George were engaged in an earnest
consultation. The former told the young scout that he been sent out to
punish the raiders who had just recrossed the river, and that he was
going to do it, too. He was going to drive them out of their stronghold,
and George must show him the way to it. His men had already had their
coffee, but as George and the rest of Bob's squad had had none, they
might stay there at the farm-house until they had eaten the breakfast
that had been prepared for them, and then ride on rapidly and overtake
the column, which would move down the trail at a trot. This having been
decided upon, a squad was made up of details from the different
companies to take charge of the prisoners, and the command given to a
corporal, who was instructed to take them to the fort. Then the column
rode on, the corporal marched off with his captives, and Bob and his
troopers went back to the farm-house to eat their breakfast.
During the meal George Ackerman, who had thus far been one of the gayest
of the party, was very silent and thoughtful. It was almost impossible
for any one to get a word out of him. His face was as white as a sheet,
but although everybody noticed it, Bob Owens was the only one who could
account for it. When they had satisfied their appetites they went out to
hold the horses, so that the rest of the squad could come in, and George
and the new sergeant, who was not a little elated over his unexpected
promotion, led their nags off on one side, so that they could converse
without being overheard.
"I know just how it is," said Bob, "for I have felt so ever since
Captain Clinton ordered me to follow up that trail. When you know that a
good many lives besides your own depend upon a decision you may have to
make in an instant of time, I tell you it is rather trying to a
fellow's nerves. I used to envy the colonel and all the other high
officers in the garrison, but I wouldn't give up my little sergeant's
berth for double the money they make. There's too much responsibility
connected with the positions they hold."
George told himself that that was just the objection to his own
position. He began to see that being a scout meant something. There were
two hundred men in Captain Clinton's command, and what if they should
all be sacrificed by some blunder on his part?
As soon as the rest of the troopers had eaten breakfast, and Bob had
thanked the farmer for his hospitality, the troopers sprang into their
saddles and galloped after the column. When they overtook it George rode
up beside the captain, and the Brindles, without creating the least
confusion, fell into their usual places--all except Bob Owens, who did
not belong in the ranks any longer. Being second sergeant, his place was
in the rear of his company, "opposite the left file of the rear four;"
and that was the position he fell into as soon as he had reported the
arrival of his squad to the lieutenant.
"Well, Ackerman," said Captain Clinton as the boy galloped up beside
him, "we are in your hands. We want to go to the nearest ford, and we
don't want to get there before dark."
"Very good, sir. If you will move the column in that direction," said
George, indicating a 'right oblique,' "you will cut off twenty miles,
and besides, you can walk all the way, and save your horses for a rapid
eighteen-mile ride that must come as soon as we cross the river."
We need not dwell upon the incidents of that day's march, or enlarge
upon the feeling of suspense that George Ackerman experienced during
that "rapid eighteen-mile ride" to which he had referred. It will be
enough to say that they crossed the ford just after dark in safety; that
George, without the least difficulty, found the narrow road that led
from the river to Don Miguel's ranche; that at his suggestion the column
marched "right by twos," which changed the troopers from four to two
abreast, Captain Clinton and George riding at the head; that they moved
as silently as possible, so as not to alarm any of the people living
along the route, and rapidly, in order to reach the ranche before the
cattle-thieves could receive notice of their approach; and that at the
end of two hours they galloped into the valley and saw Fletcher's
stronghold in plain view before them. A single glance at it showed them
that they had arrived just in the nick of time. The courtyard was
lighted up with lanterns, excited men were moving to and fro, loud
voices were heard shouting out words of command, and the whole interior
of the building presented a scene of the wildest commotion. Some
watchful friend had got ahead of the column and warned the thieves, and
they were gathering up their plunder preparatory to beating a hasty
retreat. They were on the watch too, for the column had scarcely made
its appearance when a sentry called out, "Who is it?" (equivalent to
"Who goes there?"), following up his challenge with the cry of "The
Americans! the Americans!"
George afterward said that he never had a very clear idea of what
happened during the next few minutes. He remembered that he heard the
bugle sound a charge; that he dashed through the arched stone gateway at
headlong speed side by side with Captain Clinton; and that the rapid
discharge of firearms rang in his ears, accompanied by the cries of the
cattle-thieves, who fled in every direction, and such cheers and yells
from the troopers as he had never heard before. When he came to
himself, his horse, which seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the
matter, was dancing about in front of a pile of forage that filled one
end of the courtyard. When George saw it he threw himself from his
saddle and caught up a lantern.
"I have seen the inside of this hole for the last time," said he to
himself. "If Fletcher lives to make a prisoner of me, he shall not bring
me to this ranche, and neither shall he harbor here to raid on my
stock."
As these thoughts passed through the boy's mind he smashed the glass
globe of the lantern with one savage kick, and picking up the lamp
applied the flame to the pile of forage. He set it on fire in half a
dozen different places, and then turned and threw the lamp into one of
the nearest rooms, which seemed to be well filled with something. When
he had done that he was frightened. What if it was powder in there? But,
fortunately, it wasn't. It was some combustible matter that blazed up
fiercely, sending huge volumes of flames out of the door and lighting up
the courtyard, which was now occupied only by American troopers. The
cattle-thieves had behaved just as they did when Bob Owens so gallantly
attacked a portion of their number at the squatter's cabin. They fled
in hot haste, making their escape by the roof, by doors whose existence
George never dreamed of, and by squeezing themselves through the narrow
openings that served the ranche in the place of windows. And, strange to
tell, there was no one injured on either side. Having satisfied himself
on this point by searching all the rooms to make sure that there were no
dead or wounded men in them, the captain ordered his troopers into the
saddle and departed as rapidly and silently as he had come. George
looked over his shoulder now and then, and when he saw the thick clouds
of smoke that arose in the air growing thicker and blacker, he told
himself that he had made sure work of the old ranche, and that it would
never serve the cattle-thieves for a harboring-place again.
Of course there was an "investigation" made by the Mexican government,
but if it ever amounted to anything, George never heard of it. The
expedition certainly had a moral effect, and no doubt that was just what
the department commander wanted. A body of Mexican troops was ordered to
the river almost immediately, and after that the raiders were by no
means as bold as they had formerly been. They crossed the Rio Grande
now and then lower down, toward Eagle Pass, but the troopers there were
on the alert, and after they had thrashed the thieves a few times on
their own ground, and some of their leaders had been arrested by the
Mexican authorities, the Texans began to feel comparatively safe.
George Ackerman was kept actively employed at the fort much longer than
he thought he would be when he first went there. By order of Colonel
Brown he crossed the river on several occasions disguised in his Mexican
suit, and he always brought back some information concerning the
raiders; and once he came so near being captured by his old enemy,
Fletcher, that it was a wonder how he escaped. But long before this
happened Gus Robbins had received his discharge as a minor, and gone
back to Foxboro', a wiser if not a happier boy; Bristow had found his
way into the military prison at Fort Leavenworth; and the cattle-thieves
whom Bob Owens had captured at the squatter's cabin had been turned over
to the civil authorities. George did all he could to secure Springer's
release, but his efforts were unavailing, and with his companions he was
sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years. Mr. Wentworth
had come out all right. With the aid of his friend, Mr. Holmes, he had
gathered up all his cattle that had been stampeded by the Mexican
raiders, and rebuilt his ranche in a more substantial manner, and he and
his boys made it a point to visit the post very frequently to see the
men who had rendered them such signal service.
The months wore on, the raids in Colonel Brown's district grew less and
less frequent until they ceased altogether, and then the colonel told
George that he might go home if he so desired. He did desire it, for he
was growing tired of life among the soldiers, and besides, he knew it
would be a waste of time for him to remain at the fort when he could no
longer be of any use there. So, after taking leave of the officers and
of the men who had accompanied him on his expeditions, he mounted his
horse, took his pack-mule by the halter and set out. The troopers, who
had assembled at the gate to see him go, cheered him lustily as he rode
through their ranks, and George carried away with him the assurance that
their feelings toward him were very unlike those with which they had
regarded him when he first made his appearance at the fort.
Sergeant Owens never lost the position he held in the estimation of both
officers and men. He did his duty faithfully, never squandered a cent of
his pay at the sutler's store, and at last had the satisfaction of
telling himself that he had refunded every cent of the _Mail Carrier's_
money, interest included. He kept up a regular correspondence with his
father, who told him he was proud of the record he had won, and said
everything he could to encourage him. One thing that pleased Bob was the
knowledge of the fact that everybody in and about Rochdale was familiar
with his history. They knew just what he had done when the steamer Sam
Kendall was burned, and the particulars of his exploit on the Staked
Plains had been published in the papers. He would go home a hero,
instead of sneaking back like a thief in the night; and that is
something that runaway boys don't often do.
George Ackerman was glad to get back to his ranche again. He thoroughly
enjoyed the quiet life he led there, it was so different from the life
of bustle and excitement he had led at the fort. One bright moonlight
night, while he was pacing up and down the porch, thinking over old
times, and wondering what Bob Owens and the rest of the boys were doing
at the fort, he was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by
the sound of horses' hoofs on the trail. He stopped abruptly, and after
listening a moment heard the clanking of sabres mingling with the sound
of the horses' feet. Greatly surprised, George descended the steps, and
walking out to the trail discovered a long line of horsemen approaching.
There was no need that he should ask who they were or where they came
from, for as soon as they saw him they greeted him vociferously. They
were troopers from Fort Lamoine. They rode on past the ranche, but two
men who were riding at the head of the column turned off and came up to
him. One was Mr. Gilbert and the other was Captain Clinton.
"Why, captain," exclaimed George, "this is an unexpected pleasure. May I
ask where you are going? You'll not march any farther to-night?"
"No, we're not going any farther," was the answer. "I was about to camp
near Mr. Gilbert's ranche, but when I happened to mention your name, he
told me that you lived only ten miles away; so I came on, thinking that
perhaps you would like to see the boys again for the last time. We're
going up to Fort Lincoln to join General Terry," continued the captain,
as he dismounted and gave his horse up to one of George's herdsmen.
"That's in Dakota, you know. A determined--and, I hope,
successful--effort is about to be made to crush that old rascal, Sitting
Bull, by throwing three strong columns upon him--one under Crook from
the south, another under Gibbon from the west, and the third under Terry
from the east. There's where your old friends the 'Brindles' are going.
I suppose it doesn't make any difference to you where we camp?"
"Of course not," replied George. "There is plenty of grass and water
close at hand. Come into the house, both of you. I want to hear all
about that great expedition."
Were there not exciting times in the ranche that night? and didn't
George find the greatest satisfaction in acting as host to the men with
whom he had so often messed at the fort? The supper was the best the
house could afford, and all the officers in the column sat down to it.
When they had talked themselves out, and were about to go to camp,
George asked and obtained permission for Sergeant Owens and all the
members of his old squad to come in and visit him. Then there was
another supper to be eaten and another long conversation to be had, and
the consequence was that when reveille was sounded no one in that ranche
had had a wink of sleep.
Bob Owens rode away with his command that morning, and it was a long
time before George heard of him again. He left Fort Lincoln with General
Terry, went off with Custer on that memorable scout, and when that
officer divided his command into three detachments, Sergeant Owens was
one of those who were detailed to remain behind with the packs. He heard
all of that terrible fight on that bright Sunday afternoon when Reno was
defeated and Custer fell with so many of his devoted followers. He took
part in the closing scenes of it, for when the packs were ordered up,
about six o'clock in the evening, he was under fire from that time until
nine, and saw eighteen of his companions killed and forty-six wounded.
He marched back to Fort Lincoln with the remnants of the expedition,
which had been whipped at every point by the wily old savage it had
hoped to crush, and was ordered to Fort Leavenworth, where he received
his honorable discharge. Then he went home, and he is there now, living
on the best of terms with everybody, especially David Evans. Although he
was kept in the army long months beyond his time, he does not complain,
for it gives him the opportunity to refer, when speaking of his frontier
experience, to the "time when he was with Custer."
George Ackerman is living in his Texas home, managing his own affairs
with the assistance of an occasional word from Mr. Gilbert, and keeping
up a regular correspondence with his friend Bob Owens, whom he hopes
some day to see at his ranche again. He has never heard from his uncle
John or from Ned since he parted from them in Galveston. George has seen
some stirring times during his life, and has learned how to enjoy
himself in a quiet way. He has accumulated a large fund of stories
during his travels, and takes pleasure in relating them to any attentive
listener. Of all the numerous adventures in which he had borne a part,
he delights most to talk about those that befell him during his LIFE
AMONG THE SOLDIERS.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's Note:
"himself to be could be coward" on page 106 is left as it
was in the original