of the muddy creek, just above where the old overland stage-road had
managed to find a practicable crossing. As the trail left the ford, it
wound sharply up the slope and passed between the ranch building and a
huge outcrop of volcanic rocks which stood directly opposite the main
entrance to the inner court, or corral. This pile of rocks had been
regarded as having some defensive value when the ranch was built,
apparently with the idea that, in the event of an attack, it might serve
as a kind of outwork which could be defended for several hours before
the garrison would be compelled to fall back to the shelter of the ranch
proper. It was also so situated that, in case of siege, a small party
could sally out of the main building and find cover behind the rocks
long enough to enable its defenders to get a supply of water from the
creek.
The enclosure, which was rectangular in plan, measured about sixty feet
on each front or side. The middle of the front wall, facing the north,
was pierced by a sally-port, or entranceway, about fifteen feet in
width, which was closed by a heavy oaken gate. In conformity to the
style of domestic architecture prevailing in all Spanish-American
countries, where life and property are less safe than they are in the
lands more favored of Heaven where the Anglo-Saxon dwells, this gateway
was the only means by which an entrance could be effected, as the other
walls were without openings of any kind save those which looked upon the
inner court. The rudely constructed interior can be quickly described.
On the east side of the entrance was a large living-room some twenty
feet square; on the west were several smaller rooms for horse-gear and
the storage of grain. The other three sides were roofed, but not
otherwise enclosed, and were used as stables.
At the southeast corner, opposite the living-room, Lawson had built a
circular flanking tower, which projected a little more than three feet
beyond the outer walls, and from this corner tower, which was loopholed,
the east and south sides of the enclosure could be raked or flanked. It
was a novel construction, and Mexican cargadors, wrapped in their
serapes of manta, sat squat on their haunches and soberly regarded it
for hours, wondering at the Gringo's strange conceit in building.
Curious travellers casually observed it in passing, and thought it a
spring-house, or perhaps a place where whiskey and other precious
valuables could be safely deposited; but none, even the most
inquisitive, suspected its real purpose or gave it a moment's serious
thought. We shall presently see, however, how useful it proved to be.
The living-room was simple and plain to the last degree. In the first
place, there was a fireplace of adobe, at which all the cooking was
done; there were two rude bunks, in which Lawson and his partner slept,
and there was a rough table, made out of a discarded hardtack box, which
stood under the window overlooking the interior court. These, with a
half-dozen stout chairs with rawhide seats, completed the scanty array
of furniture. Each man wore a pistol and a thimble-belt always, and was
never far from a repeating Winchester rifle. At the head of each bed,
ready for instant use, stood a perfect arsenal of weapons of all dates
and calibres. Some were modern, and likely to be of service in an
emergency, the rest were antiquated and obsolete, mere bric-à-brac
indeed, and were kept because, as Lawson put it, "they might come in
handy sometime."
So, as the matter stood, the garrison--that is, Lawson and his partner
Green, an ex-Confederate from the Army of Northern Virginia--had thought
the thing all over, and settled in their minds that, in the event of an
attack, they would proceed in about this wise. If the attack came from
the north, which was by all odds the most exposed and dangerous quarter,
they would first hold the rock outwork to the last extremity. It was
agreed between them that their principal danger would consist in an
attempt on the part of the Indians to scale the walls, either to make a
lodgement on the roof or to set it on fire. Now if such an attempt
happened to be made on the east or south side, which was commanded by
the flanking tower, the garrison would be heard from, and serious injury
might be inflicted upon the assailants--enough, perhaps, to hold them in
check until the mail-drivers, who passed daily in either direction,
could carry the alarm to the regular cavalry posts at Tucson and the
Apache Pass. It should be said, however, that so much of the partners'
ingenious plan of defence as depended upon the arrival of a mail-rider
was, at best, a feeble reliance, as they were more likely to be killed
than not in the event of an attack; but feeble as it was, it was all
that seemed to stand between the occupants of the ranch and a lingering
death by torture, should the Apaches conclude to make a descent in force
upon the Cienega; and thus matters stood there just before sunrise on
the morning of the 21st of July, 1870.
[Illustration: AS GREEN SPED THROUGH HE FELT THE HOT BREATH OF HIS
PARTNER'S WINCHESTER.]
The attack came about in this way: At the gray of dawn, Green, who was
astir feeding the animals, as was his custom, fancied that he heard some
suspicious noises among the hogs who were hunting young rattlesnakes in
the big rock pile in front of the main door. Seizing his rifle, he
unfastened the gate and stole cautiously out across the road, and pushed
up, under cover of the bowlders, to a point of vantage from which he
could overlook the swamp lying to the northward. He had hardly reached
shelter when two sharp reports rang out in the still morning air, _not
from the swamp in front, but from the road at his right and rear_!
Green's soldierly instinct told him what this meant, and before the
reports had ceased to echo he plunged back across the road, and shot
through the big gate in safety. As Green sped through the storm of
bullets, closely followed by an athletic warrior, he felt the hot breath
of a rifle-ball from his partner's Winchester, which brought down his
pursuer stone-dead well within the entrance-gate. The long-looked-for
attack had come, and the first brief passage at arms was over. Save that
their skins were whole, the partners had but little to congratulate
themselves upon. The first step in their carefully elaborated plan of
defence had utterly miscarried. Green had been compelled by a flank
attack to abandon the outwork without even an attempt at resistance.
Lawson had tried to shut the gate, but had failed, and it was now too
late to undertake so dangerous a task under the rifles of a score or
more of Apache warriors, who, from their perches in the rocks, now fully
commanded every approach to the building from the north.
So the partners fell back towards the south wall of the enclosure, and
established themselves among the kicking-posts, in a position from which
they could still command the half-open gateway. It would now seem as if
the Indians had it in their power to carry the building by a single bold
rush through the entrance-gate; and that is precisely what would have
happened had the attacking party been composed of white men, or of Sioux
Indians or Cheyennes--or Nez Percés, for that matter--but the Apache is
a brutal coward, and doesn't do things that way. With him the taking of
human life is always a means to an end. His first object is plunder, and
he kills whatever stands between him and the object of his unholy
desire. But he does nothing blindly or without carefully calculating all
the chances, so as to eliminate or reduce to a minimum the risk of
losing his own worthless life or those of his companions in iniquity. A
marauding party will spend hours in planning the murder of a mail-rider,
and will arrange every detail with such devilish cunning as to leave
their victim absolutely no loophole of escape.
And this, strangely enough, was Lawson's present salvation. The Indians
did not know how many men there were in the ranch, or how they were
posted. Until they had gained this information, the partners could count
upon it that there would be no assault by way of the half-closed gate,
as it shut out from view more than half of the interior of the court. A
thorough knowledge of their wily enemies, however, served to determine
the next step in their scheme of defence. It is a dogma of the Apache's
crude and grewsome religious belief that some dire happening will befall
the band that leaves its dead in the hands of an enemy. Now Green's
pursuer, carried forward by the tremendous pace at which he was running,
had fallen, as we have seen, well within the gateway, and his dead body
was stretched out in full view of the partners from their station in the
corral. It was certain as anything in Apache warfare could be that the
next move of the enemy would be to recover the body of the dead Indian;
the only question was as to whether, in making the attempt, they would
charge in considerable force or intrust the difficult task to the
prowess of a single warrior.
The garrison had not long to wait. There was a hurried conference among
the rocks, a scratching of moccasined feet on the hard clay without the
gate, and then the notes of the death-song rose on the morning breeze as
a lusty warrior made a dash for the body of his comrade. As he bent to
lift his ghastly burden, he fell under the sight of Lawson's rifle and
dropped across the lifeless body of his companion. There were now two
dead Apaches in the gateway under control of the partners' rifles, and
to Lawson's mind the next move of the enemy was perfectly clear. For
their souls' peace, the bodies of the dead must be gotten back at all
hazards. The attempt was only a question of time, and of a short time at
that. The only hope in the situation for the partners was that the rush,
when it came, would be for the sole purpose of recovering the bodies,
and that the Indians would not succeed at the same time in gaining a
view of the defenceless interior. And so, as matters stood, if the
partners could in some way manage to delay the recovery of the bodies,
there would be so much time gained, and they would increase to that
extent their slender chance of relief. It must be confessed that the
outlook was far from cheerful. The cloudless sky glared over them, and
the stifling heat reflected from the white clay floor penetrated every
corner of the enclosure as the morning hours slowly burned themselves
away. An ominous silence reigned without everywhere, and neither sight
nor sound came from the enemy to relieve the consuming anxiety of the
beleaguered garrison.
Through the partly open gate nothing could be seen of what was happening
outside, for a chopping-log intervened in such a way as to shut out from
their view the narrow opening under the gate, between its lower rail and
the ground. As the sun rose higher and began to light up the dark
passageway leading out of the enclosure, it occurred to Green that by
moving down a stall or two nearer the front it would be just possible
for him to see out, _under the gate_, from beyond the end of the
chopping-log, and thus, perhaps, get some notion of the movements of the
enemy. And so, quietly communicating his intention to his comrade, he
cautiously pulled himself along by the hay-racks to gain his point of
view.
Just as he was straining his neck to get sight of the opening under the
gate, he was brought to his feet by a shot from his partner's
Winchester, only to find that his manoeuvre was too late--_the bodies
of the Indians were gone_. Lawson, who was standing erect, had seen the
bodies begin to move, and had fired somewhat at random, in the hope of
preventing their recovery. He was not successful, however, and he could
only look on as they slowly disappeared from his view. The partners
looked at each other in silence. Each changed his tobacco slightly and
tightened his thimble-belt, but otherwise made no sign. Both knew only
too well what the movement meant. It was now a matter of watching out
the day, not knowing when or in what form the direful end would come. It
seemed idle to count upon anything in the shape of relief from the
mail-drivers, who were really in greater peril than themselves, as the
Indians were watching the roads for some distance in either direction.
More than this, the buckboard from the west would not reach the Cienega
until midnight, while the driver from the San Pedro crossing, though due
just after dark, if he were so fortunate as to escape with his life,
would have a stiff hundred-mile drive to double back to the cavalry post
at Apache Pass. They knew that Colonel Stanwood, its able and resolute
commander, would start at the first note of alarm, and ride hard and
fast to their relief; but push as he might, the distance was great, and
the better part of twenty-four hours would be consumed in covering the
hot hundred-mile march across a waterless desert that lay between his
post and the beleaguered garrison at the Cienega.
The sun grew hotter, the blinding glare increased, the morning breeze
fell away, and not a sound from the enemy reached the strained ears of
Lawson and his comrade. The hours dragged heavily along until the sun
stood past noon, and still the partners kept their weary vigil, and
strained eye and ear for some sign or sound of the enemy. Their
continued silence was felt by the garrison to be due to the fact that
part of the Indians had gone some distance away to bury their dead in
the rocks, or hide them from view in the dark fastnesses of the swamp;
but when and in what manner they would renew the assault was still a
mystery past their solving.
Suddenly, an hour or more past midday, Lawson, who had crawled down
towards the living-room in quest of water, heard a faint grating sound
which seemed to come from the top of the corral wall upon which the flat
roof of the stable rested. Springing back into the corner tower, and
adjusting his eye to the loophole, the plan of the assailants could be
seen at a glance. The Indians had brought a light cottonwood log from
the ruins of a disused bridge, a mile or more up the road, and were now
attempting to scale the wall with a view to set fire to the rough thatch
which covered the stables at the northeastern corral. As Lawson reached
the loophole, an athletic Apache had succeeded in reaching the top of
the wall, while two of his fellows, standing on the ground, held the
pole steadily between them as their companion climbed. It seemed never
to have entered their heads that their movements could be observed from
the flanking tower, or that they were in danger from any other quarter
than the entrance-gate in the north wall of the enclosure. They were now
to get their first lesson in civilized warfare, and a sorrowful lesson
it was to be for the scaling party.
Taking in the situation at a glance, Lawson summoned his comrade with a
gesture, and they quickly agreed upon their plan. The loophole in the
north side of the tower, which commanded a view of the assaulting party,
was about eighteen inches high and hardly more than two inches wide at
the outside, but as it entered the wall it flared or opened to a width
of nearly a foot in order to give the defenders a greater field of fire.
To insure the greatest results, both were to fire together. Lawson, who
was the taller of the two men, was to fire from the top of the loophole
and was to bring down the Indian who had climbed the pole and had just
succeeded in starting a little blaze in the dry tulle grass at the edge
of the loosely thatched roof. Green, who was to give the signal, was to
fire below Lawson, and was to wait until his sights covered the two
Apaches who were steadying the pole. It seemed to Lawson, whose task was
easy, as if the signal would never come. First one Indian would stoop to
adjust his hold, then the other would move forward; then for an instant
both would cross each other as they strove to keep the pole from
turning. At last, after what seemed an age of waiting, the warrior at
the top, satisfied with his incendiary endeavor, signalled to his
comrades below to hold fast and make ready to descend. As the Indians at
the bottom braced themselves squarely to steady the improvised ladder,
the signal came, and two deafening reports rang out in the burning air,
filling the narrow tower with smoke so dense as for a time to conceal
the enemy from view. As the smoke slowly cleared away, the partners
anxiously looked out. _The scaling party were nowhere to be seen!_ The
climber and one of his supporters lay dead at the foot of the wall.
Above them the thatch was beginning to crackle and burn. The other had
disappeared from view, but the sounds of scurrying feet in front of the
ranch, however, made it plain to the little garrison that he had not
escaped scot-free. The partners silently shook hands, and for the first
time since the investment began, renewed their chews of tobacco and
made a general and deliberate readjustment of their clothing and
cartridge-belts.
Assault number two had been repulsed, and the Apaches had had their
first lesson in modern fortification. But they were apt pupils, and, as
will presently be seen, were to apply their dearly bought knowledge in a
manner most surprising to the closely besieged ranchmen. Now the
besetting sin of all flanking arrangements is the "dead angle," well
known to all military men, and studiously avoided by them in all
defensive constructions. That the reader may rightly know what awful
misfortune resulted to Lawson from his neglect in this particular, I
will explain as best I may the mystery of the dead angle. Now a bastion
or corner tower, or what device soever may be resorted to by those
skilled in the art of fortification to bring a cross or raking fire
along the exposed face of a fort or a field-work, _must itself be
flanked_ in some way, else its defensive value is lost, and it becomes a
source of weakness to the besieged, and gives a great and positive
advantage to the besieger. For an enemy may approach its outer or
unflanked side with impunity, and work there such havoc as he wills; and
to this space, not swept by fire from any other part of the work,
military men have given the name of dead angle.
So it chanced that when Lawson--who, as we have seen, had not been
trained in the schools--was constructing his corner tower, he had cut
loopholes close to the eastern and southern walls, through which those
fronts might be raked along their entire length, but it had not occurred
to him that, by omitting the loopholes in the outer circumference of his
tower, he left a large dead angle against which an assault could be
brought which the garrison would be utterly powerless to hinder or
obstruct.
The Indians, after their second rebuff, seemed to have again gone into
silent committee of the whole, and were now brewing another scheme of
assault which should take into account the white man's new engine of
destruction. The sun was beginning to cast slanting shadows from the
west, but the heat and glare showed no sign of relenting, and the close
corner tower glowed like a living furnace. As the Indians seemed to have
given up all thought of an assault by the entrance, gate, the partners
determined to abandon the general defence of the interior, and restrict
their endeavors to the flanking tower. And so, panting with heat and
tortured by thirst, the defenders stood at their posts, each watching
from his loophole the angle of ground outside the walls that fell within
the limits of his narrow view, and waited, stoically, for what the
afternoon was to bring in the way of unwelcome or dangerous surprise. As
we are about to see, the outcome of their waiting was not to be long
delayed.
[Illustration: ALMOST INSTANTLY LAWSON FIRED UPWARD AT RANDOM.]
The declining shadows marked about the hour of four as Lawson drew back
suddenly from his loophole and cast a searching glance upward at the
low-hanging roof. In a moment a suspicious noise which had caught his
ear was renewed. _It was the grating sound again_, as of crackling
adobe, but nearer; and there could be no mistaking its ominous meaning.
Suddenly Green touched his partner, and pointed up to the thatch, where
a few fragments of adobe, dislodged by the jar outside, were falling
over their very heads, showing that the enemy were at work in the dead
angle where there were no loopholes. The Indians had discovered the weak
point in their scheme of flank defence, and the garrison was now
absolutely at their mercy. The exact purpose of the enemy was not yet
quite plain. If it were another endeavor to burn the roof, there was
still a shadow of hope. If the Indians were going to attempt to breach
the walls, or, worse, moisten them with water from the creek and saw
them down with a horsehair lariat, then the end was indeed near.
Meantime the noise increased; there was a scraping of feet on the dry
thatch on the top of the wall, then a shot, and Green, with a bullet
through his brain, fell dead at his comrade's feet. Almost instantly
Lawson fired upward at random, and a heavy thud on the ground outside
evidenced the success of his endeavor to avenge his comrade, and the
temporary failure of the enemy's new plan of assault.
Alone with his dead, Lawson now stoically awaited the end. The Indians
were maddened at their losses; darkness was still some hours away, and
death by torture or, at the last extremity, by his own hand seemed to
the exhausted survivor a question of but a few moments' time. Having
solved the mystery of the dead angle, a dozen warriors could now climb
the tower, or if their next attempt were as original in its conception
as the last, a single Apache, from the top of the pole, could hold his
rifle over the roof and riddle the interior with perfect safety. To add
to his peril, the afternoon breeze from the north had sprung up, and the
gate was beginning to swing slowly back and forth; the least stiffening,
and the gate would be blown open and the whole interior exposed to view.
[Illustration: HE NO LONGER HOPED NOR FEARED.]
Still the silence continued, and Lawson stood by his dead partner and
mechanically turned the cylinder of his revolver as he speculated idly
whether the last cartridge, which he had reserved for himself, would
miss fire when the awful emergency came. They had missed so often--for
it was in the early days of metallic ammunition, and pistol cartridges
were notoriously unreliable. If it did fail, they would give him no
chance to try again. He no longer hoped nor feared; his past was an
eventless, uninteresting blank, which he had neither will nor power to
recall. Dazed at the happenings of the day, his busy brain ceased to
plan; he leaned on his rifle and strove to breathe in the stifling
atmosphere, and waited for what the next instant was to bring. How long
this continued he could never tell. He could only remember how his heart
started to beat as he heard, through the northern loophole, the faint
tinkling of a distant bell. Could it be so? Again he strained his ear to
listen, and again came the harsh tinkling. There could be no doubt of
it; it was relief at last, unexpected and unhoped-for, and seemed to
have come to him from the blazing skies. A train of freight-wagons,
heavily manned, which he had supposed to be still on the Yuma desert,
had left Tucson at dawn of day, and was now slowly making its way
through the swamp, intending to make camp at the Cienega ere the sun
went down. The Indians had accurately measured its strength, and
recognizing their utter inability to cope with twenty well armed
teamsters, had decamped as quietly and silently as they had come, and
the siege was over.
LUCK THAT FELL FROM THE SKIES.
BY ALBERT LEE.
It was an unusually cold Christmas eve, and the keen wind that had come
close after the heavy snow-storm was blowing little white drifts up into
every corner, and howling around the eaves of the tall houses in a way
that made people turn their collars up high about their necks and thrust
their hands deep into pockets and muffs. Nevertheless the streets were
full of shoppers, and every one seemed to be loaded with bundles and
packages that were surely full of all sorts of good things for old
people and young children for the celebration of the morrow.