think they call him--summoned him up to the lookout there in the
rocks, oh, about an hour ago, and when the sergeant came back he
mounted his horse and rode away down the cañon. He said there was
something requiring his attention. But you are to drink this chocolate
and lie still."
Drummond slowly strove to rise. He was too anxious, too nervous, to
remain where he was.
"And none of them have returned yet?" he asked. "I cannot understand
that. No, please do not strive to detain me here. I'm perfectly able
to be up and about, and if Wing is gone it's my business to look after
things."
Over among the rocks across the narrow cañon the first object to meet
his gaze as he arose was Moreno, reclining there bound and helpless,
while near at hand a soldier had thrown himself on his saddle blanket
and was sound asleep. The plash of the waters in the brook, dancing
and tumbling down the chasm, made sweet, drowsing music for his ears,
a lulling, soothing sound that explained perhaps the deep slumber of
his trooper friend.
"I heard Mr. Wing tell that man to lie down and sleep," said Miss
Harvey, as the young officer's eyes seemed to darken with menace at
the sight of a sentry sleeping on guard. "Moreno is securely tied, and
both Patterson up there and I here are now his keepers. The señora and
her daughter are in the other cave, forbidden to go near him."
Glancing up at the stunted cedar where Patterson stood faithful to his
trust, Drummond saw that he was peering steadily southward through the
black field-glasses.
"What do you see, Patterson?" he hailed. "Where is Wing? Any of the
men coming back?"
"Wing has gone on down the valley, sir. Some of our fellows, two or
three only, were coming back, but they didn't come fast enough to suit
him. The ambulance will be here in a minute or two,--it's just below
us down the cañon now."
Indeed, almost at the moment the click of iron-shod hoofs was heard,
and the dejected mule-team came into view around a jutting point, the
dingy yellow ambulance jolting after them, one soldier in the driver's
seat handling the reins, the other riding behind and leading his
comrade's horse.
"Come up here to the mouth of the cave, Merrill," called the
lieutenant. "You can unhitch and unharness just beyond; but I want
that safe unloaded and put in here."
"The safe's gone, sir."
"What?"
"The safe's gone, sir. We never got it. That's what took Sergeant Wing
off down the valley, I reckon. I supposed you knew it, sir, and him,
too, but he didn't. Those Morales fellows got away with it on
burro-back while we were chasing the white wagon."
For a moment Drummond stood astounded.
"Man alive!" he at last exclaimed, "why was I not told of this? Get me
a horse at once, Walsh," he ordered. "I'll take Patterson's. You two
remain here and see that that old scoundrel don't get loose,--Moreno
there,--and that no harm befall the ladies. I'll ride down after
Wing."
"Oh, Mr. Drummond, you must not think of going," exclaimed Miss
Harvey. "You're far too seriously hurt, far too weak, to attempt such
a thing. Please lie down again. Surely Mr. Wing will do all that any
man could do to recover the safe. All the others are in pursuit. They
must have overtaken them by this time. Come; I am doctor now that he
is away. Obey me and lie still."
Drummond's one available hand found itself clasped by warm, slender
fingers. He would have drawn it away and striven to carry out his
design, but a glance at his two troopers told him that they plainly
and earnestly advocated Miss Harvey's view of the case. He was in no
condition to make the attempt. And at the moment, too, even as he
strove to release his hand, another voice was heard, almost imploring.
"Oh, don't let him go, Fan; don't let him try to ride!"
And turning suddenly at the sound, Mr. Drummond found Ruth Harvey
standing close behind her sister, her eyes suffused, her cheeks
blushing red. It was the first time he had seen her to speak to since
they landed at the old wharf at San Francisco a year gone by, and for
the moment he forgot the safe, the funds, the crippled arm, the
bandaged head, and every other item that should have occupied his
thoughts.
"Why, Ruthie, is this you? How you have grown!"
And then the imprisoned hand was released only to be transferred to
the clasp and keeping of another. In her fear that her knight, her
soldier, would leave them, and, wounded though he was, insist on
attempting to follow his men in their pursuit, the shyness of
maidenhood was forgotten. Ruth had seized and clasped the long, brown
fingers, and Drummond forgot for the moment all thought of quitting
her presence for the field.
And then having--as she supposed--won her point, and having caught the
new light in his admiring eyes, it became necessary to struggle for
the release of the hand she had so unhesitatingly used to detain him.
This might have proved a difficult matter, judging from the expression
in Drummond's face, but for a sudden hail from Patterson.
"Can the lieutenant come up here a moment? There's something going on
down there I can't understand."
Old Moreno, whose bonds could not restrain his shifting, glittering
eyes, glanced quickly upward. Then, as he caught a menacing look in
the sunburned face of the Irish trooper Walsh, he became as suddenly
oblivious to all earthly matters beyond the pale of his own physical
woes. And now it was Ruth's hand that would retain its clasp and
Drummond's that was again struggling for release. In a moment the
lieutenant stood under Patterson's perch.
"What did you see? What was it like? How far away?"
"Six or seven miles, sir. The valley is broad and open, and three of
our fellows were riding slowly back on the west side, while Wing was
galloping as though to meet them, and when they weren't more than a
mile apart Wing's horse went down,--looks no bigger than a black
speck,--and the other three sheered off away from the rocks on this
side and seemed to be scattering apart."
The words were low spoken so as to reach only his ear. Now it was no
easy scramble for a man in Drummond's condition to make, but it took
him only a little time to clamber to Patterson's side.
"There's something back of all this, and you know it, Patterson. What
Apache sign have you seen?"
"Smoke, sir, on both sides. But we agreed, the sergeant and I, that
the young ladies mustn't be alarmed nor you aroused. Then he rode away
to hurry in any of our fellows who were in sight and warn them to keep
out from the rocks. What I'm afraid of is that they've been ambushed,
or at least that the Indians have ambushed him. His horse is down, and
those others you see are away out on the plain now. They're working
around towards the horse as though he were lying behind it, and they
appear to be firing mounted."
What was Drummond to do? To leave his charges here, unprotected, was
out of the question. Fail to go, or send, to Wing's relief he could
not. Decide he must and decide quickly.
"Patterson, that party of Apaches can't be over a dozen strong or they
would have rushed out of their cover by this time, yet they are too
strong and too securely posted to be driven by that little squad,
especially if Wing is wounded. I can't shoot now, but I can ride and
direct. Every man who can shoot may be needed here. You have four now
and can stand off forty Apaches--Tonto or Chiricahua--in such a
position as this, so I leave you in charge. You have everything to
help you stand a siege. Now see to it that the ladies are kept well
under cover, and I'll hurry back with Walsh and what men I can find."
Then down he scrambled, giving one look at Moreno and his sleeping
guardian as he passed, then gave a low-toned order to Walsh.
"Saddle your horse again and ride just to the other side of that rock
yonder and wait for me."
Well he understood that it would be impossible for him to ride away
without Fanny Harvey's knowing that something of a serious nature was
impending, and that he could not get away at all without their knowing
it. What he desired was to conceal from them that there was any danger
from Apaches.
Just as he expected, both girls were eagerly awaiting him at the
entrance to the cave. His revolvers were in there beside the rude
couch on which he had slept so peacefully.
"Now are you ready to return to hospital and proper subjection?" asked
Miss Harvey, laughingly. "It is high time. What could have tempted you
to climb to that high point?"
"Why, it's the first chance I've had of a look around," was the
answer. "This is an awfully strong spot for a place of refuge. You are
safe here, safer than anywhere between Yuma and Tucson, now that the
former possessors are scattered. But did you hear what took Wing off?"
"No, he didn't stop to explain matters. He simply dashed away without
even a saddle. 'Something I must look after,' was all he vouchsafed to
say."
"Well, the men just in tell me the paymaster's safe was spirited off.
Confound that little green box of greenbacks! Some shrewd packer among
Morales's people whisked it out of the wagon and onto a _burro_, and
now we are all keen to get it back. Of course I can't sleep again
until we know. Some of our people are coming slowly up the valley and
Wing went on down to meet them."
But all the time he talked so airily with the elder sister, Ruth stood
watching him with suspicious eyes.
"Mr. Drummond, please do not go," she broke forth. "You have no right
to--now." And James, the dissembler, found himself trapped.
"Go I must, Ruthie," he said, with sudden change of manner. "I know
you will not blame me or detain when I tell you, as I feel forced to
tell you now, that Sergeant Wing is hurt. His horse has fallen with
him far out on the desert. I'll be back and very soon."
Then with sudden impulsive movement he bent, kissed her forehead, and
turned as suddenly away.
When the sisters looked into each other's eyes a moment later one
face was blushing like the dawn, the other was pallid with a new and
deep anxiety.
And now we, too, must follow Wing. He was a total stranger, it is to
be remembered, to the regiment when, after its years of battling in
the Army of the Potomac, it was sent into exile on the far Pacific
coast and speedily lost to sight in the deserts of Arizona. The type
of non-commissioned officer most familiar to the rank and file as well
as to their superiors was the old-fashioned "plains raised,"
"discipplin furst and rayson aftherwards" class of which Feeny was so
prominent an exponent. Brave to rashness and faithful to the very
death, they had reason to look for respect and appreciation. They were
men whose only education was that picked up in the camps and campaigns
of the famous old regiments to which, when mere recruits, they had
been assigned. They were invaluable in the army, and would have been
utterly misjudged and out of their element anywhere else. That "book
learning" and soldiering could ever go hand in hand no man in the old
dragoons would ever have believed for an instant. Such scholars as had
drifted into the ranks were, as a rule, irreclaimable drunkards, lost
to any chance of redemption at home, and only tolerated in the service
in the rough old days because of their meek and uncomplaining
performance of long hours of extra duty in the troop or regimental
offices when, their whiskey and their money alike exhausted, they
humbly went back to their desks, asking only to live in the hope of
another drunk. Hundreds of the old dragoons could barely sign their
names, many could only touch the pen when called upon to make "his (X)
mark." "Another busted clerk" was the general expression when the
young Californian came forward to enlist. Yet he was the picture of
clear-eyed, athletic manhood, was accepted with much hesitancy by the
officers and undoubted suspicion by the men, yet speedily proved a
splendid horseman, scout, shot, and, as was the final admission,
"all-round trooper," despite the fact that he was well educated and
spoke Spanish like a native. Still, such was the prevailing faith, as
it ever is among veteran soldiers, that the old style was the best, it
was long before he won promotion. No one who has not known both can
begin to imagine the difference between the army of a quarter-century
ago and the army of to-day. Just as Feeny was a resolute specimen of
the old, so was Wing a pioneer of his class in the new. At the moment
when the latter struck spurs to the wearied flanks of poor Dick and
called on him for one more effort, the stalwart and handsome sergeant
sped away on the path of duty, confident of the fact that by this time
every man in his own troop and every soldier who knew him at all would
stake his last dollar on "Bob" Wing's tackling the problem before him
as fearlessly and intelligently as any veteran in the regiment.
Having ordered the ambulance up the gorge, he himself spurred away to
gather in all stragglers within reach, so as to reinforce the little
garrison at the caves in the event of attack from the Apaches. To his
practised eye no vestige of doubt remained as to the character and
purpose of the signal-smokes. Not a moment was to be lost. Within that
very hour, perhaps, unseen Indians would come skulking, spying,
"snaking" upon their refuge, would be able, infallibly, to determine
the number and character of its occupants, and, if their own force
were considerable and that of the garrison weak, God alone could help
those innocent women.
When last noted the westward signal was puffing slowly up into the
cloudless sky from a point in the range perhaps six miles below
Patterson's station in the rocks. The three wearied troopers dragging
slowly back from the chase could be seen coming up the valley probably
four miles away, some distance, therefore, ahead of the supposed
position of the foe. Wing well knew with what goat-like agility the
mountain Indians could speed along from rock to rock and still keep
under cover, and every man who had served a month in Arizona could
have predicted that if Indians in any force were within a day's march
of those three stragglers ambush and death would be their fate,
perhaps even when within view of their longed-for goal. That they had
not seen the sign, that they were ignorant of the possible presence of
Apaches in the range, was manifest simply because they rode close
along under the foot-hills, often over the bowlder-strown outskirt of
the _falda_, and, though still far from them, such was Wing's anxiety
for their safety that he rode furiously along, signalling with his
left hand as though to say "Keep out! Keep to your right! Don't go so
close to the rocks!"
In this way, urging Dick to his speed and never thinking of his own
safety, intent only on saving his comrades from possible death,
believing, too, that no Apache could yet have worked his way so far up
the range, Wing was riding, straight as the crow flies, from the
little oasis at the mouth of the cañon towards the ambling laggards to
the south. His course led him along within a hundred yards of many a
bowlder or "_suwarrow_," though his path itself was unobstructed. The
sun had gone westering and he was in the shadow. Presently, however,
as Dick panted painfully, heavily, up a very gentle slope and the
sergeant came upon the low crest of a mound-like upheaval, he saw some
four hundred yards ahead a broad bay of sunlight stretching in from
the glaring sea to the east, and, glancing to his right, noted that
there was a depression in the range,--something like a broad cleft in
the mountains, possibly a pass through to the broader desert on the
other side. He gave it little thought, however. There, only a mile or
so away now, came his fellow-troopers, two in front, another lagging
some distance behind, riding sleepily towards him and dangerously
close to a number of sheltering rocks. Intent only on them and still
wishing to attract their attention, he swung his broad-brimmed hat,
waving it off to the left, but with no apparent result. Confound them!
Were they sound asleep? Could they never be made to see? Poor Dick was
able now only to strike a feeble canter, so utterly was he used up,
and just when Wing, looking only to the front, was thinking that he
might as well discontinue the spur and let his poor horse rest, they
labored forth from the sheltering shade full upon the tawny, sunlit
sand. Then, while the sergeant's eyes were temporarily blinded by the
glare, there came from the rocks to his right a sudden flash and
report. He felt at the same instant a stinging pang in the leg. He had
just time to grasp his own carbine and to attempt to swing off when
the second shot echoed loudly from the rocks. He felt poor Dick start
and swerve; he felt him going headlong, and the next thing he knew he
was vainly striving to peer into the face of the evening sun from over
the quivering body of his faithful friend, unable for the moment to
see the faintest sign of an enemy, and then the blood came welling
through the little hole in his worn cavalry trousers, midway between
the hip-bone and the knee, and he knew he had received a serious,
perhaps a desperate wound.
For the moment, therefore, he could do nothing more but look for
succor. A glance down the desert told him his fellows were at last
rudely awakened. True to the practice of the craft, the instant fire
was opened from the rocks each man had put spurs to his horse and
dashed away to a safer distance with such speed as was possible with
their jaded mounts, each trooper warily scanning the dark line of the
foot-hills in search of the foe and striving as he rode to unfasten
the flap that held his carbine, in the fashion of the day, athwart the
pommel of his saddle; and now, circling farther out upon the plain, in
wide sweep, with carbines advanced, they were hastening to the succor
of their comrade. Presently one of their number suddenly drew rein,
halted his startled "broncho," aimed to the left of the horse's head
and fired, then, cramming a cartridge into the chamber, came riding
farther. The others, too, followed suit, shooting at some object
apparently among the rocks in front of the sergeant's position. One of
the men threw himself from his saddle, and kneeling on the sands drove
two or three shots at long range. Eager to add his own fire to
theirs, Wing pulled his hat-brim over his eyes, threw forward the
barrel over the now stilled carcass of poor Dick, and peered eagerly
up the ravine in search of some foe at whom to aim. Blindly he
searched for dusky Apache skulking from rock to rock; there was no
moving thing in sight. But what was this,--this object that suddenly
shot out from behind a little ledge and, turning sharply to the left,
went clattering into the depths of a dark and frowning gorge? Could he
believe his eyes? Did the Chiricahuas, then, have horses and wear
trooper hats? Bending low over his steed and spurring him to the
uttermost exertion, a tall, even soldierly, form had darted one
instant into view and then gone thundering out of sight. Up to this
moment Wing never had lost full control of his faculties. Now his
brain reeled. Before his eyes rose a dense cloud of mist rushing forth
from the mountain-side. Bowlders, near at hand, took to waltzing
solemnly with their neighbors, and when at last the foremost trooper
flung himself from his horse and crept to the sergeant's side, while
his comrades rode on, keeping vigilant watch against the appearance of
other foe, Sergeant Wing was found lying beside his dead horse: he had
swooned utterly away.
By and by, with anxious face and bandaged head and arm, Lieutenant
Drummond came galloping down; Wing was then submitting to the rude
bandaging of his leg and lying limp and weak, his head resting on
Dick's stiffening shoulder. But Wing's eyes were covered by his
gauntleted hand; he never looked up at his young commander, though he
heard his anxious queries.
"Is he much hurt? Were there many of them?"
"Shot through the leg here, sir," answered the sturdy corporal, "and
was in a dead faint when we got to him. I don't know how many there
was of them, lieutenant; they skipped off the moment we opened fire."
"They couldn't have seen us coming, lieutenant," eagerly spoke a young
recruit. "They must have thought the sergeant was alone, for when we
charged they just lit out for all they were worth, didn't they, Mike?"
he eagerly asked his comrade, an older trooper.
"Oh, shut up, Billy! There's nothing an Apache doesn't see, but we
were too far off to tell how many there was. I only saw one as he lept
away. Shure the sergeant was nearer,--he could have seen."
"Sergeant Wing, it is I, Lieutenant Drummond. Look up a moment if you
can. You were close to them, how many did you see?"
"How many Indians, sir?" asked Wing, faintly.
"Yes, how many?"
A pause. Then at last,--
"I didn't see one, sir."
X.
Another day had dawned and another patient was added to Miss Harvey's
hospital list at the caves. The original plan of starting on the
return soon after daybreak had now to be abandoned, as Drummond
explained, because here was a man who could not stand the journey.
Surely there would not be many hours before the relief party from
Stoneman, following their trail, would come speeding to the rescue,
bringing to the wounded the needed surgical skill and attention,
bringing to the Harvey girls their devoted father. The only question
in the young lieutenant's mind as the sun rose, a burning, dazzling
disk over the distant mountains to the east, was, which will be first
to reach us, friends or foes?
Wearied and shattered though he was and replete as the night had been
with anxiety and vigil, Drummond climbed the goat-track that led to
the sentry's perch feeling full of hope and pluck and fight. He and
his men had divided the night into watches, one being awake and astir,
not even permitting himself to sit a moment, while the others slept.
The fact that he was able to send back to the caves, have an
ambulance hitched in and driven down to where Wing lay wounded, and to
bear him slowly, carefully, back to shelter, reaching the caves
without further molestation before darkness set in, had served to
convince the young commander that he could count on reasonable
security for the night. Unless they know their prey to be puny and
well-nigh defenceless, Apaches make no assault in the darkness, and
so, with the coming of the dawn, he had about him fit for service a
squad of seven troopers, most of them seasoned mountain fighters. His
main anxiety now was for Wing, whose wound was severe, the bullet
having gone clear through, just grazing the bone, and who, despite the
fact that Fanny Harvey early in the night had every now and then crept
noiselessly in to cool his fevered head, seemed strangely affected
mentally, seemed unnaturally flighty and wandering, seemed oppressed
or excited alternately in a way that baffled Drummond completely, for
no explanation was plausible. Two or three times during the night he
had been heard moaning, and yet the moment Drummond or, as once
happened, Miss Harvey hastened to his side, he declared it was
nothing. "I must have been dozing and imagined the pain was greater
than it was." Awake and conscious, so stout a soldier as he would be
the last to give way to childish exhibition of suffering, yet twice
Drummond knew him to be awake despite his protestation of dozing, and
he did not at all like it that Wing should bury his face in his arms,
hiding it from all. What could have occurred to change this buoyant,
joyous, high-spirited trooper all on a sudden into a sighing, moaning,
womanish fellow? Surely not a wound of which, however painful, any
soldier might be proud.
Somewhere along towards four o'clock, when it was again Patterson's
watch and Drummond arose from his blanket after a refreshing sleep of
nearly two hours and he and his faithful sentry were standing just
outside the mouth of the cave, they distinctly heard the same moan of
distress.
"Is there nothing we can do to ease the sergeant, sir?" whispered
Patterson. "This makes the second time I have heard him groaning, and
it's so unlike him."
"We have no opiates, and I doubt if he would use one if we had. He
declares there is no intense pain."
"Well, first off, sir, I thought he was dreaming, but he was wide
awake, and Miss Harvey came in only a moment after I got to him. Could
those devils poison a bullet as they do their arrows, and could that
make him go into fever so soon?"
"I hardly think so; but why did you say dreaming?"
"Because once it was 'mother' he called, and again--just now--I
thought he said mother."
The lieutenant turned, looking straight at his soldierly subordinate.
"By Jove! Patterson, so did I."