MESSENGERS TO BONITA.
The mining-camp of Bonita was in Bonita Cañon among the Chiricahua
Mountains, fifty miles to the south of Fort Grant. Sixteen miles from
Bonita lay Fort Bowie. Here, at Bonita, was the military headquarters
in the campaign against the hostiles.
Grayson tried feverishly to secure further news from Bowie, only
to discover that the telegraph-line had been cut. The message
apprising him of the escape of Geronimo and his renegades, and of the
overwhelming of the deserter’s escort, was the last one, barring a
few details of military operations, to get through.
Leaving word that he was to be apprised the moment communication with
Bowie was reestablished, the colonel returned to his house. On his
way he stopped at his office and wrote out some despatches. Then,
sending his orderly for Captain Lund, he continued on to his home.
The young ladies had retired from the porch, and the colonel paced it
impatiently while waiting for Lund.
When the captain appeared, the colonel acquainted him with the
details of the message just received.
“The telegraph-wire has been cut between here and Bowie, Lund,”
finished the colonel crisply, “and there are important despatches to
be sent to Bonita.”
“I understand,” returned the captain. “I should be glad to
volunteer----”
“You will have your hands full, and so will the rest of us,
guarding the water and protecting settlers in this vicinity. We
know Geronimo, and his habit of striking quick and telling blows in
widely separated places. Our work is mapped out for us, and our five
troops are none too many. Can you suggest a reliable man to carry the
despatches? It is dangerous work, and will take some one able to use
his head as well as his heels.”
“Sergeant Patterson is the man, colonel,” answered Lund promptly.
“I’ll back him to make his way through any number of Apaches and bob
up smiling at the far end of the trail.”
“Just the man I would have selected. Have him report to me as soon as
he can get ready.”
Lund saluted and withdrew. The colonel went into the house.
“What in the world is the matter?” clamored Mrs. Colonel. “It must be
something mighty important, colonel, to keep you from supper. We’ve
been waiting for you for half an hour.”
“Business first, supper afterward,” said the colonel.
“What’s wrong?”
“Renegade bucks have jumped the reservation at Fort Apache, that’s
all.”
Mrs. Colonel was all in a twitter in an instant.
“Not Geronimo?” she fluttered. “Don’t tell me that Geronimo has----”
“What’s Geronimo but a scoundrelly, skulking red ruffian? He’s no
more to be feared than any other renegade.”
But the very name of Geronimo carried with it a terror for Mrs.
Colonel. She clasped her hands convulsively and collapsed into a
chair.
“Let’s get right out of here!” she wailed. “If we don’t, we’ll all
be killed and scalped. Oh, dear! Colonel, aren’t you going to do
something to save your family?”
“My family is safe enough right here. Where’s Dell?”
“I haven’t seen her, colonel, since----”
At that moment Dell came hurriedly into the room. The colonel noticed
that she had her revolvers in her belt-holsters. She was also
carrying a pair of silver spurs.
“One good thing about me,” said she, “is that I travel light.
Whenever I decide to make a move, I don’t usually have to rustle even
my spurs or my hardware.”
Seating herself, she began buckling the spurs to her small heels.
“My goodness, child,” cried Mrs. Colonel, “what are you going to do?”
“Ride,” answered Dell, bending down and pulling at the spur-straps.
“Ride!” palpitated Mrs. Colonel, with a wild look at her husband.
“Why, haven’t you heard Geronimo is loose, and that----”
“That’s why I’m going,” said Dell.
“You’re mad,” almost screamed Mrs. Colonel.
“The Double D Ranch isn’t in danger, Dell,” said the colonel.
“Not with the Double D boys to take care of the cattle and the
ranch-house. I don’t think that for a minute.”
“Then why are you leaving us?”
“Because Buffalo Bill and his pards _may_ have escaped, and because,
if they have or have not, they may need me. I told you I was Buffalo
Bill’s girl pard.”
The colonel started back, astounded.
“What good can you do Buffalo Bill and his pards?” he demanded. “Cody
is an old Indian-fighter, and so is Nick Nomad. The little Piute,
too, has been in the army, and all that an Apache knows he knows.”
“Nevertheless, colonel,” said Dell resolutely, “I’m going.”
“Madness! I’m boss here, and I command you to remain at the post.”
A steely glint came into Dell’s eyes.
“You’re boss of the military; but, as for the army, I don’t belong.
I’m my own boss, colonel.”
The colonel braced himself.
“You’re the daughter of my old friend, and I shall not allow you to
put yourself in peril.”
“Peril!” The girl laughed. “Do you think that peril and I are
strangers? If you lived nearer the Double D, you’d find plenty to
tell you that Dell Dauntless knows how to take care of herself.”
“Be reasonable, can’t you?” stormed the colonel, one eye on Mrs.
Colonel, who was weeping copiously in a handkerchief.
“You don’t see my duty as I see it, that’s all,” said Dell. “Do you
think I could rest easy a moment after the news received in that
telegram?”
“I was a fool to tell you anything about it.”
“You were not, Colonel Grayson. You were just the good, generous
friend to me that you have always been. Don’t make a fuss now,” she
wheedled, pulling her gauntlets from the breast of her buckskin
blouse and swiftly drawing them on. “Remember”--and with gauntleted
hand she slapped at one of the holsters--“I have something to defend
myself with.”
“Defend fiddlesticks! I’ll not have this folly perpetrated at Grant!
What--what do you intend to do?”
“My room is over the porch,” explained Dell. “While I was up there,
getting my spurs and my hardware, I overheard your talk with Captain
Lund. Sergeant Patterson is going south to Bonita; I’m going with
Sergeant Patterson.”
“Not if I can help it, or----”
A tramp of hoofs was heard in front.
“Sergeant Patterson, sir,” announced the orderly, in the doorway.
“Send him in,” answered the colonel gruffly.
While he was talking with the sergeant, giving him his despatches and
certain other oral directions, Mrs. Colonel had thrown herself across
the exit to prevent the departure of Dell.
Dell threw her arms about Mrs. Colonel, kissed her, and set her aside
as easily as she would have moved a child.
“Don’t worry about me, _please_!” and Dell went out.
A moment later Patterson followed her.
“Where’s Dell?” demanded the colonel, whirling around.
“She’s--she’s gone!” answered Mrs. Colonel.
“Orderly,” champed the colonel, “to the stable, at once. See that
Miss Dauntless, on no account, is allowed to saddle and ride off with
her mount, Silver Heels--the white cayuse--everybody here knows the
animal.”
“Sorry, sir,” announced the orderly, with a troubled look, “but the
white cayuse was put under saddle at the same time Patterson’s mount
was made ready.”
“What?”
“She asked me to have it done, calling out from an up-stairs window a
moment after you and Captain Lund separated.”
“And you did it! What was done with the horse?”
“The sergeant brought Silver Heels along when he rode up to the
porch, sir.”
The colonel rushed to the porch. Silver Heels was nowhere in sight,
and neither was Dell. Patterson was just riding through the stockade
gate.
“She’s gone, for sure!” growled the colonel. “Orderly, tell Lund and
Hepburn to mount quickly and ride south, to overtake Miss Dauntless,
if they can, and bring her back. Tell them to keep the trail for two
hours, if need be.”
That night the colonel had little appetite for his supper. There was
much to do, however, and he busied himself about it until eleven
o’clock. By that time, Lund and Hepburn had returned.
Dell Dauntless was not with them.
“No luck, colonel,” reported Captain Lund. “Miss Dauntless got away
from us.”
“She’ll have to go, then,” growled the colonel, tossing his hands.
“Whoever heard of such a madcap?”
“I’ve been talkin’ with Pecos, the ’Pache scout, colonel,” said Lund,
“and, personally, when a girl can do what she did while with Cody and
his pards down near the Three-ply Mine, I don’t think there need be
much worry on her account.”
“It doesn’t make any difference whether we need to worry or not,”
went on the colonel; “she’s gone, and she got away from me. What
would her father say if he were alive?”
“She’s a daring girl--and a pretty one,” and there was a far-away
look in Lund’s eyes as he said it.
He was a bachelor.
“Too all-fired daring,” snorted the colonel, “but we’ve got business
on our hands and can’t bother about Dell.”