That was a stirring night at Almy. The general, contrary to habit, was
very grave and quiet, saying little, drinking nothing, even the
customary toddy being declined. The doctor, also contrary to habit, was
drinking a little and thinking a lot, but saying nothing. An abstemious
man, as a rule, and a temperate man at all times, he seemed inclined to
sample his Monongahela more than once before midnight, when, having
gotten his patients to sleep, he tried to do likewise. "They are on an
even keel again," said Bonner, referring to the two casuals, "and I am
not sorry to see it." Evidently there had been comparison of notes
between Strong and Bonner, and an agreement of some kind, for both held
that Willett had exceeded his authority, as well as his discretion, in
conducting a single-handed charge on an outnumbering enemy, secretly
hidden behind rocks and ridges. Strong's men said that Lieutenant
Willett, spurring hard, had called across the stream for them to follow
him, and three of those nearest the bank plunged through the shallows
and were barely three hundred yards behind him when, from their right
front among the rocks at the foot of a bluff, the shot was fired that
wounded the lieutenant's horse, which veered at once and ran away down
among the willows. No, they hadn't charged. They turned, too. For all
they knew, there might have been a thousand Apaches in hiding there,
and when the lieutenant turned they turned. It was not until Lieutenant
Strong and the rest of the men came up with them that they pushed ahead
and found the officer and his horse lying among the rocks by the
stream. Willett had been hurled out of saddle when the frenzied beast
went suddenly down, and there he lay, stunned and bleeding, while the
poor brute was quivering in the agonies of death.
"Did you see anything of 'Tonio?" Strong was asked, as a matter of
course.
"Not so much as a shred of his breechclout," said Strong, "nor of any
other Indian nearer than a mile away, and they were running for the
rocks. It was too dark to do any trailing." But for the shot that
killed Willett's horse, and the tremendous tales of the courier scouts,
Strong would have been inclined to say there were not a dozen Indians
in the north valley. "If there were more," said he, "and if they were
really hostile, even though afoot as they were, was it likely that two
couriers on worn-out horses could have escaped them? No," said Strong.
"There is something about it we don't understand, neither does Willett,
for all he's so positive."
But Strong admitted that two things puzzled him. The horse was
certainly shot, and Willett's Colt, the handsome revolver that he set
such store by, was certainly gone. Willett, when he came to, had asked
for it. He swore that he had drawn it from the holster, and was riding
at "raise pistol" when the shot was fired--that he clutched it as his
maddened horse tore blindly down the slope, and then, among the rocks,
stumbled, staggered and fell. Now revolver, holster, "thimble belt" of
cartridges--all were gone.
The couriers were made to tell their tale while the doctor and his
assistants were getting Willett to bed, and Willett, from several
conditions, was not easy to soothe and quiet. He had not been sparing
of the _spiritus frumenti_ that went with other medical supplies
in the ambulance. Archer and the surgeon saw it, and said nothing. That
was natural, possibly, under the circumstances, and could be controlled
later. Archer cross-questioned the couriers at some length. They had
not followed the Verde Valley southward. They had "lit out" along the
Mesa road, toward Baker's Butte, until they found the trail by way of
Hardscrabble and Granite Creek. They had succeeded in evading Apaches
until the third day out, and after leaving the East Fork they saw
smokes that made them wary, and once down in the Wild Rye Valley, and
in sight of the old Picacho, they came upon recent Indian signs in the
sand--moccasin tracks going down stream bed toward the post. Then they
"chassayed," as they said, out into the open, midway to the foothills,
so as to keep out of rifle range of both, and then Indians came
a-running at them from the foothills, trying to head them off and take
them alive, they supposed, and they had dismounted and fought and
driven them back, and, oh, they must have killed three or four of 'em!
and in fact had had to fight for their lives most of the afternoon.
Archer listened, incredulous, puzzled. Frontiersmen's and fishermen's
tales have much in common. These were men who had been employed three
years, they said, by the agent at the upper reservation and had been
detailed for courier duty with Colonel Pelham, commanding the district
of the Verde. One was American, the other Mexican. Their story might be
straight, but, with all the valor to which they laid claim, it seemed
strange to Archer and his officers that two men could break their way
through an encircling horde of hostiles such as they described, and
hold a hundred fierce Apaches four long hours at bay.
Harris was awake, and in highly nervous condition, and begging that he
might be allowed to see and question these couriers, but both doctors,
regular and contract, said no, not this night. And so, toward midnight,
the couriers were permitted to go to bed. The doubled sentries were
cautioned to observe the utmost vigilance. The lights were extinguished
at the store, by way of telling everybody that neither game nor glass
was to be had before the morrow. The general was urged by his devoted
adherents, Bonner, Bucketts and Strong, to get such sleep as was
possible, and the post was committed to the charge of Lieutenant
Briggs, officer of the day. The lights were still burning low at the
hospital and in the doctor's quarters and Strong's, as, with a look
about the moonlit valley and a word to his sergeant, Bonner rejoined
his comrades at the quartermaster's veranda.
"Odd," said he, with a tilt of his head toward the quarters next
beyond, "of all our little fighting force, so far the only casualties
are with our two casuals."
That was at one o'clock in the morning. At three, by which time all but
the guard were presumably in bed, Mrs. Archer, lying anxious and
wakeful, listening for the sound of sigh or sob from Lilian's little
room and praying that sorrow might be averted from that beloved child,
felt sure at last that she heard a footstep, and, stealing softly
across the narrow hallway, found Lilian kneeling at the curtained
window and gazing out upon the brilliant night. There was no reproach
in the mother's murmured words. Well she knew what it portended that
her daughter should be at this hour sleepless and striving, perhaps, to
see the light from the window where her young hero lay prostrate and
suffering. Not one word had they yet exchanged about him, but many a
woman, even with mother love brimming over in her heart, would have
upbraided, and many another would have "nagged." What other word have
we for that feminine method, the resort of so very many, the remedy of
so very few? But Mrs. Archer simply circled a loving arm about the
slender form. "We're all on guard to-night, aren't we, daughter?" she
murmured, fondly kissing the tear-wet cheek. "It was so long before
your father dropped to sleep. Have you--heard anything?"
Burying her face in the dear refuge of years, with her arms thrown
instantly about her mother's neck, Lilian's sole answer was a shake of
the bonny head. It was as much as saying, "You know that isn't the
matter; yet, thank you for trying to think so--thank you for not asking
me what is."
"Well, _I_ did," murmured Mrs. Archer, slowly rising to her feet, and
drawing Lilian with her. "I'm sure I heard low voices down there on the
flat toward the ford. The sentries are more than usually watchful and
taking note of everything. You know it was right out there Number Five
heard the crying in the willows only last night." And all the time she
was quietly leading her child back to the little white bed.
Then suddenly Lilian stopped and lifted her head. "I hear now," said
she. "It's coming!" Across the hall stealthily they sped, and together
were presently peering from the southward window in Mrs. Archer's room.
Two dim figures could be seen crossing the flat from the direction of
the ford, coming straight for the low point of the mesa whereon stood
the quarters of the commanding officer. Then they began breasting the
slope, but exchanging no word. As they reached the top Mrs. Archer
caught Lilian's hand. "It's an Indian--a runner, I believe. See, that's
the corporal of the guard with him! It's a despatch of some kind!"
And so it proved. Five minutes later, Briggs, officer of the day, was
heard coming down the line; his sword clicked at the steps; his foot
was on the veranda, but before he could knock, Mrs. Archer met him at
the door.
"We saw them coming," said she. "Is it a despatch--for the general?"
"From Captain Turner," said he gravely. "I read it, hoping not to have
to disturb the general, but--there's been a fight and some are wounded.
Turner needs instructions."
The army-bred woman needed no further word. She knew at once what had
to be done. "Wake father, Lilian, dear," she gently called from the
foot of the stairs. "Will you come in, Mr. Briggs? I can light up in a
moment."
"There's light in abundance out here, thank you, Mrs. Archer. Besides,
I have our runner." And, turning back, he pointed to the steps where,
still watched by Corporal Hicks, the dusky messenger squatted wearily.
All Apaches looked alike to Hicks. His attitude was plainly indicative
of a conviction that treachery of some kind was afoot, and this
particular envoy had designs on his commander or that commander's wife.
They could hear the veteran bustling about upstairs, hurriedly donning
his uniform. Then came Strong, with his quick, bounding step, for
Briggs had called him before disturbing the "Old Man." A moment later,
by the clear light of the unclouded moon, Archer was hurriedly reading
Turner's brief despatch.
BIVOUAC ON TORONTO CREEK, NOVEMBER 24TH, 187--.
POST ADJUTANT,
CAMP ALMY.
We have had two more brushes with Tonto Apaches, resulting in the
breaking up of two rancheri-as and the scattering of the band,
leaving several dead in each affair, also a few wounded bucks and
squaws that I had to leave, as we had no means of sending them to
the post or caring for them in any way. Sergeant Payne, Corporal
Smith, G, and Troopers Schreiter and Wenzel, wounded, are doing as
well as can be expected, but must remain at this point under a
small guard while we follow the renegades. The scouts report many
signs toward the Black Mesa, and we shall strike wherever we find
the hostiles, but I shall have but twenty-five men with me now, and
barely forty rounds per man. Instructions sent by bearer may reach
me among the foothills toward Diamond Butte. Otherwise, we shall
return by the way we came. Trooper Hanson, died of wounds in the
affair previously reported, was buried here.
Respectfully,
TURNER, Commanding.
"Then the other runner failed to get in," said Archer gravely. "There
was a fight before this. Turner's found a raft of Indians. This
despatch is two days old now. Have we nobody who can talk with this
Indian?"
"Nobody, I fear, sir," answered Strong, bending over the scout and
examining the brass identification tag worn by each of those regularly
employed and mustered. "He's a Hualpai. No. 21. Even Harris doesn't
know that tongue, sir."
"If anybody here does, it's one of those two that got in from Verde
last evening," said Archer reflectively. "Turner evidently had no idea
the hostiles were all about us, and he thinks the previous despatch
must have reached us. Corporal, go find the couriers and fetch them
here. Be seated, gentlemen," he continued, in his courtly way, then
turning from everybody, stepped out on the sandy level between his
quarters and the office building, and began pacing slowly up and down.
What was to be done? No word had come from Stannard. Stirring, yet
disquieting news they now had from Turner, whose wounded lay in need of
medical attention a long day's march through stony wilds, with jealous
and savage eyes watching every trail. Here at Almy he had two companies
of sturdy foot, capable of covering ground almost as fast as the
cavalry, but wearing out shoe leather much faster. Twenty of these
fellows could fight their way through to the Tonto, but might have just
as many more wounded to care for, and be unable to transport them.
Moreover, with so many hostiles on every side, was he justified in
stripping the post of its defenders? It was no pleasant situation. It
was more than perplexing. Presently he turned and, using such signs as
he thought might be comprehensible, asked the impassive runner if he
knew where the first fight took place, and the Hualpai, as would almost
any Indian partially gathering the drift of a question, began a
rambling reply, pointing as he spoke, with shifting finger, all over
the range to the south-east.
"Bella, dear, have we anything that this incomprehensible creature
could eat?" asked Archer. "It may help matters." And presently the lady
of the house appeared at the hall door again, with a tray in her hands.
Briggs ceremoniously took it, and set huge slices of bread and jam
before the gaunt mountaineer, who found his feet in an instant;
received a slice on the palm of his outspread hand; lifted it
cautiously, his yellow teeth showing hungrily; smelled it suspiciously,
thrust forth his tongue, and slowly tasted the strange mixture on the
surface; then, with confidence established, finished it in four gulps,
and, like a greyhound, looked eagerly for more. Briggs laughed and
pointed to the tray on the steps, but the Hualpai shook his head and
drew back shyly.
"You'll have to give it piece by piece, Briggs," said Strong. "His
squaw would scoop the whole trayload into her skirt or blanket, but not
a Hualpai brave."
Approached in accordance with Hualpai views of table etiquette, the
Indian ate greedily, and was still eating when the corporal came and,
with him, the sleepy and dishevelled courier, the American. And now in
the radiant moonlight the strange war council was resumed.
"Ask him, if you can, where the first fight came off, and who was sent
with the despatch," demanded the general of the new-comer, upon whom
the Hualpai looked in recognition, but with neither light nor welcome
in his piercing eyes. Question and answer in halting, uncanny speech
progressed fitfully a moment. Then came the report:
"He says there was a fight the first day out; another when they struck
Tonto Creek, and two soldiers were killed."
"And as to the first runner?"
"He says 'Patchie Mohave brought it all way safe. This buck met him
going back. He said he gave it to 'scout capitan' out by Picacho."
"'Out by Picacho!''Scout capitan!' Who on earth does he mean?" asked
Archer, with a sudden fear at heart.
Once again, stumbling question, much gesticulation, many words in
strange gutturals--and a name. Then the final report:
"He means Apache-Mohave--'Tonio!"