A strange tribunal was this--"a method of procedure," as the acting
judge advocate of this distant department took frequent occasion to
tell us when the general wasn't around, "that would seem to have no
warrant in law." Something to this effect being suggested to the
general by the chief of the department staff, who went on to say that
he supposed it was a case of "_Inter arma silent leges_," the general's
beard, which hid his mouth, was observed to twitch, and the wrinkles at
the corner of his steely-blue eyes followed suit. It was a way of his
when trying _not_ to smile. Then Bright was heard to say that where the
laws were silent, wise lawyers should he likewise, an epigram which
long-legged Lieutenant Blake, of Camp McDowell, was delightedly and
explosively repeating for the benefit of certain of the ladies looking
on from among the cedars, even as 'Tonio appeared. Then no crier was
needed to proclaim silence and declare this honorable court now open.
Blake had come to Prescott ruefully expectant of official displeasure,
and found it, so far as the chief of staff was concerned. But the
general's greeting had been so cordial and kind that "Legs" took heart
instanter. There was evidently something behind it.
Mrs. Crook had marshalled her forces early that brilliant morning. Camp
chairs and rugs had been sent down to the cedars, and with two of her
favorites, Blake and Ray, in attendance, she and her guests from Camp
Almy were seated where they could watch the proceedings and almost hear
what was said. Many a curious glance was levelled in their direction,
for by Mrs. Stannard's side sat Lilian Archer, pale almost as a calla,
and rarely smiling or speaking, but, as all Fort Whipple could see, she
was _there_, whereas Evelyn Darrah had not been out since the night of
the dance. The colonel had explained, as he was probably bidden, that
Evvy had contracted a severe cold, and her mother could not leave her.
At least, said certain eager spectators, Willett must now be here, "for
he is back from McDowell, or wherever he went." But even in this there
was disappointment. The general had looked to that. Willett's
accusation against the chieftain had been reduced to writing. It had
all been carefully translated to 'Tonio, as had the reports of the post
commanders of Camps Almy and McDowell. No further allegations had been,
or were to be, made. With his witnesses in readiness, 'Tonio stood
before the Great White Chief, the only man, save one, perhaps, to whom
he would deign full explanation.
And now, with the agency interpreter at his left and the agent himself
seated among the officials, an eager and nervous listener, 'Tonio
strode forward a pace or two, halted, looked calmly round upon the
circle of expectant faces, then, the observed of every eye, the object
of absorbed attention, with occasional use of a Spanish phrase, but, as
a rule, speaking only in the dialect of the Apache, the tall chieftain
began. With every few words he would pause, that the interpreter might
repeat. It would be difficult, indeed, to translate his exact words or
to portray their effect. To imitate the simple dignity of the aging
warrior would be in itself a triumph of dramatic art.
"My father has told me of the lies against my people--and me. My people
are not many now, and we are poor, often hungry and homeless, and our
hearts are sore. We believed the promise of our father and we strove to
obey him, but while he was gone, and we knew not where to find him,
others came, unlike him. Our enemies, the Tontos, were many and strong.
Their agent gave them much meat and bread, but my people were denied.
The Tontos jeered at them; their young braves taunted ours, and our
young women were afraid. The Tontos killed our white brothers and
burned their homes, and said it was we. Then the soldiers came to
arrest Comes Flying, and Comes Flying was killed, and my people fled
far in among the Red Rocks. They had done no wrong, but they were
afraid. Then the Tontos killed our white brother, Bennett, always our
friend, and burned his house and carried away his wife and children.
Our young men were few, but they followed and fought the Tontos and got
the woman and her little ones and tried to hide them away among the
rocks until white soldiers could come, but there came more Tontos. They
were too many, and they kept between the soldiers and Comes Flying's
band. They killed two of our young men and got the woman once more, and
then my young chief, Capitan Chiquito, followed, with only the braves
you count on one hand, but he caught the Tontos and rescued the woman,
and was shot. Gran Capitan Stannard brings me, and all his soldiers,
and follows after the Tontos, but it was Capitan Chiquito who first
reached her, and who would have saved her and her babies in their
hiding-place, only he was held back--held back----" and with his head
high and his black eyes sweeping the circle, 'Tonio stood and glared
about him in search of an absent accuser. Then, with appeal in his
gaze, he turned once more to the general.
"It is as 'Tonio says," answered Crook, with grave inclination of the
head. "His brother chief, Captain Stannard, sustains him. Is it not so,
Stannard?"
"Every word of it, sir!" was the blunt reply, as Stannard rose from his
seat. "We found two Apache-Mohaves killed. We chased the Tontos into
the mountains. Lieutenant Harris and 'Tonio, with Apache-Mohave scouts,
rescued Mrs. Bennett, and led us." Whereat Archer's sad, white face was
bowed upon his hands. Oh, that luckless despatch!
"We are listening, 'Tonio," said the general, as Stannard slowly
resumed his seat, looking almost disappointed that there had been none
to contradict or doubt his view.
"My father asks me why I left the camp after we had brought home our
Capitan Chiquito. It was because my people came to the willows and
called me. The sister of Comes Flying was weeping for her brother.
Ramon and Alvarez were angered and talking battle and revenge, and
Pancha came to warn me and to beg me come or there would be much
trouble. My young men were doubly angered. They said the white brother
had broken his promise, had feasted the Tontos and had starved them,
had killed Comes Flying and driven our women and children to the
mountains. They had seen more. They had seen their chief struck in the
face with the glove of the young soldier chief--who is not here." And
again the black eyes sought everywhere throughout the circle. "Ramon,
Alvarez and others had vowed that he should die because of Comes Flying
and of me. It was for this they played all so many hours with the
riders from the Verde. They would head them off and hold them. The
soldiers would come to rescue, and maybe the young chief. If so, they
would lure him out beyond the others, and they did. I could not break
their will. I saw their plan only just in time. They were in hiding
among the rocks beyond the ridge, with only one or two in sight before
them. He was galloping straight into their trap. There was just one way
to save him and be true to our pledge to the Great Father. I shot to
kill his horse, not him. My rifle would have carried just as true had
it been aimed at his heart. He who struck me at the ranch--and
denounced me here--owes his life to 'Tonio."
In the dramatic pause that followed a murmur of sympathy and
admiration, irrepressible, flew from lip to lip. He noted it, but gave
no sign.
"The young white chief says again I shot or sought to kill him that
night at the ford. Again I could have done so, and again I sought to
save. He was my enemy. He was"--and here, with affection all could see,
the glittering eyes seemed to soften as they turned on Harris, sitting
pale, silent and observant--"the enemy of this my brother and my
friend. I would no longer go within the soldier lines. In spite of what
I had done the white-haired chief ordered his soldiers to kill or take
me prisoner. They could not find me, but I tried to warn my brother
there was trouble--they would kill _his_ brother chief, then there
would be fearful war, but my brother was wounded still and could not
come.
"Then the young stranger chief was lured out again by Sanchez--his
people and mine. They swear to me they did not kill him--that the white
man, Case, did that. He, too, hated him. But Sanchez lied to me. He
promised to take back the pistol my people found the night I shot his
horse, and he never did, nor messages I sent. So I know not who fired
the shot, who clubbed him, _but_ Sanchez had that pistol--Sanchez lied
to me! I was not that night so near as the Picacho, and when the
soldiers came to find me I went farther, with two of my people. We met
the Great Chief's couriers. We met more Tontos. We fought them back and
I was wounded. They took me to McDowell, and no man was unkind until
the night they put me in the iron cell with Sanchez, and he told me I
should never see the Great Chief, my father; that I should hang for
shooting the white chief, Willett. When I slept he was there. When I
awakened he was gone, and the iron bars were gone. I went out into the
night--into the mountains--until I found my young chief. Then the truth
was told me. Then we followed, and found Sanchez. Then my people heard
the story and helped me find the way to the cave where the boys were
hidden. The Great Spirit of my fathers knows I have never broken my
promise. That is all that 'Tonio can say. I have spoken."
And then as he finished and the last word had been translated, all in
language far less vivid than his native tongue, all men seemed to
breathe a sigh of relief and seek instinctively to rise and gather
about him. The general slowly found his feet, rose to his full height,
stepped straightway forward to where the Indian stood, placed his left
hand on the gaunt and bony shoulder, and with his ungloved right seized
and grasped and held that of the elder chieftain, his own eyes
twinkling, moistening, as he spoke.
"'Tonio--Brother--the Great Father shall know, and if I live, all his
people shall know, how deeply you have suffered, how truly you have
stood our friend."
And then, still clasping the warrior's hand, Crook turned to his
officers, for by this time every man was on his feet, every eye was
again upon them, every face lighted with interest, and many with
emotion. Silently the general glanced about him, and at his signal
Archer came forward, his handsome old head bared, his fine eyes
filling. At his approach the commander drew back a step, releasing
'Tonio's hand. Then the soldier who but a fortnight back had sought to
prison, possibly to kill, this soldier of the desert and the mountain,
following his superior's lead, held forth his hand, a thinned and
trembling one, yet the clasp in which it took that sinewy brown one was
one an Indian could never doubt. Looking straight into 'Tonio's
fearless eyes, the veteran spoke: "'Tonio--Brother--I did you wrong. I
beg your pardon and I ask your friendship."
For a moment, silence, then for answer came but the single word:
"_Hermano._"
When presently hands unclasped and others began to gather about him, it
was seen as Stannard came forward he had linked his arm in that of
Harris, and would not be denied. The general caught sight of them, and
a smile like sunshine lighted up his beaming face. "That's right,
Stannard. This way, Capitan Chiquito! We all want you." And then,
though by dozens now--officers, agent, interpreter and territorial
officials--they were swarming about the impassive central figure, they
gave way right and left that the two friends might meet, and 'Tonio,
turning from Archer's handclasp, saw his young champion and leader, and
the stern, dark features melted, the bold, fearless, challenging eyes
softened on the instant. He would have sprung forward to some act of
Indian homage, but Harris was too quick and checked him. Their eyes
met. Then both hands--all four hands--went out at once.
It was at this juncture, as certain of the department staff began to
bethink themselves of important duties awaiting them at their offices,
that one of the old-time characters of the old army, a field officer of
distinction in the war days, was heard to express himself somewhat as
follows: "Well, whereaway is Willett now?"--a question that had
occurred to every member present, and to many a man and woman without
the council, but this was its first audible expression.
"Willett," said the general calmly, yet in tone that all beneath the
canopy could hear, "made known to me days ago that he desired to
withdraw his accusation, but I had my reason for insisting. As to the
question, where is Willett?--he is here to testify, if need be, before
a civil court. We have still to settle with Sanchez."
Moreover, as the Indians finally moved away, Bright and Harris both
escorting 'Tonio, there were emissaries of the agency at their heels,
for in 'Tonio's train walked both Ramon and Alvarez, on whom it might
be well to keep an eye.
But 'Tonio's trial--"'Tonio's triumph," as Blake declared it--was not
yet over for the day. The watchspring saws and tiny file found on
Sanchez, when finally taken, had explained the method of that McDowell
escape. With these and with bacon-rind to grease them, only a little
time and labor had been needed, nor was there ever found proof against
Corporal Collins, or the sentry, that either had connived at the
subsequent escape of 'Tonio. He had awakened and found his undesired
cellmate missing, and the window was clear. So that way he could have
gone, though there were many who believed the door itself had been
opened to him. In any event, he saw freedom without, and suspected
wrong and treachery within. Why should he not go? Who was to blame him?
Crook's cordiality to the accountable officer of the day, Lieutenant
Blake, went far to show that he was far from resentful of the result.
It really looked as though the Gray Fox would rather 'Tonio had never
been confined.
And later that winter's day, along toward sunset, another scene, far
less dramatic and impressive, was enacted at the office of the sheriff,
a mile away in town.
An adobe wall, some seven feet high, surrounded the corral, and beneath
the canvas awning on the southern side certain offenders against the
peace and dignity of Yavapai County had been assembled under the eye of
tobacco-chewing deputies. There were the Sanchez half-brothers,
'Patchie and Jose, both shackled. There was Munoz, similarly decked.
There slouched Dago, unfettered, but carefully watched. There were two
more of the riffraff of the redoubtable ghost ranch, and two of the
victims of the more skilful play, and potent doping, of the
proprietors. All were under surveillance, several under charges, but
where was Case?
It was Blackbeard who answered that question at five o'clock, when,
from the post ambulance, he and Bright sprang forth, and presently
aided to alight a very solemn-looking civilian, shaved, dressed and
groomed with extreme care, but for pallor and nervousness, a
reputable-looking criminal--Case. Accused with assault with attempt to
kill, the bookkeeper, none the less, had been taken in charge by
officers of the army, with the entire consent of the officers of the
law, and Sanchez the elder, Jose, that is, weakened at the sight of
him. He was sober and clothed in his right mind, as Wickham meant he
should be. Moreover, he looked no longer afraid. Case had met his
master at the game of bluff, and now, with nothing left to hope, had
nothing left to dread.
Short work the sheriff made of the matter in hand. There had been a
killing down on the Agua Fria, and the killer was still at large. Here
was only a bungling attempt to kill, and everybody concerned was at
hand.
"Case," said he shortly, "when you were brought here you swore it was
'Tonio who shot Lieutenant Willett."
"I didn't swear," said Case. "I stated; but either would have been
wrong. I said it when myself accused and when I had been drinking. I am
ready to tell everything I know."
"Then wait a moment," answered the official, turning to a deputy, who
pulled at an inner door, and said, "This way, gentlemen," whereat
everybody filed out into the corral where there was far more room, and
where presently they were joined by the agent and his interpreter, by a
little group of officers, Stannard, Strong and Willett--the latter very
pale and weary-looking. A moment later the gateway swung open and in
walked Harris, with 'Tonio by his side and two tribesmen following. The
gate was quickly closed in the face of an eager knot of townspeople,
but at sight of the assembled party the Sanchez brothers cowered still
farther back beneath the shelter, and the sheriff ordered Jose out into
the light. He came, yellow-white, and cringing.
"You said, first, that 'Tonio shot that man," and the sheriff pointed
to Willett. "Did you lie?"
"_Si_," gulped the Mexican.
"Then who did it?"
Jose shrank. His eyes furtively, quickly swept the group, then fell
again.
"You said Case--this man," said the sheriff, with a hand on Case's
shoulder. "Did you lie again?"
"He--he shoot, an' run away."
"You lie, three times! Only one shot was fired and that from your own
pistol. Here it is! Case never had it, for all you swore to it."
"Munoz saw him--shoot!"
"That so, Munoz? Come out here!" and a deputy collared and thrust him
forth.
"_Si_; Case," answered Munoz miserably.
And then at last the dago broke bounds. All the pent-up hatred of the
months boiled over in his heart. All the fear vanished in presence of
these supporters and at sight of these now abject bullies. Out he
sprang, all vehement denunciation:
"Lie!" said he--"damn lie! Munoz hit!--Sanchez shoot! All try kill.
Then run--run, for soldiers come!"
It was then that Lieutenant Willett stepped forward and interposed.
"Mr. Sheriff," said he, "whatever my earlier opinion on the subject, I
know more now. I know it was not 'Tonio. I believe it was not
this--this gentleman--Mr. Case. If you will favor me a moment I can
make it clear to you, but"--and here the heavily lashed, mournful brown
eyes sought the group of Mexicans--"I should hold--those fellows."
And so, once more within the little office, Willett briefly told his
tale. There were present Wickham, Bright and Harris, the sheriff and
one deputy. "I should be glad to have you call in Mr. Case," said he.
So Case was summoned and came and took a chair by the chimney and bowed
his head upon his hands.
"There had been a card transaction," said Willett. "I owed Mr. Case
three hundred dollars, and he or his friends thought I was going to
leave without settling. He sent me a note saying he wished to see me.
It was midnight before I could go down. He had left the office, but
hailed me from the window of Craney's shack. We met near the ford, had
words, and I struck him--struck him twice, knocking him down, and then
his friends, or followers, as I supposed, pitched upon me. I surely saw
one Indian, and, knowing 'Tonio's--grievance, and being warned against
him, that was the last idea I had, as I was knocked senseless. Mr.
Sheriff, I refuse to enter any complaint against Mr. Case. He
is--entirely blameless."
"That seems to let _you_ out, Case," said the sheriff sententiously,
but the bookkeeper never raised his head.
"Is there anything else I can say--or do?" asked Willett, holding his
natty forage-cap at the side of his head. "It should be done now,
for--I am to leave here--to-night."
It was then Case's turn. In an instant he was on his feet.
"Going?" he demanded, a strange, hungry look in his eyes. "I'm not yet
free, and I've got to speak with you."
"There is no need," said Willett gravely. "I _know_."
"You mean?--you heard----?"
"My letters have told me--everything," was the quiet answer.
"And you are going?"
"Back to Portland--and to----"
With that he would have turned, but Case sprang forward. There was
perceptible start among the lookers-on. It might mean another attempt.
The sheriff seized him, but Case, with feverish strength, shook himself
loose, and Willett turned back, faced him, and waited for him to speak.
It was a moment before Case could find breath, then came the words:
"My God, man! Will you give me your word--your hand--on that?"
For all answer Willett drew off the dainty glove of white lisle thread,
took the outstretched hand of Case, wrung it, and turned in silence
from the room.
There were men who mounted and rode with him a mile or more that night,
and came back silent and sorrowing, yet thinking better of Hal Willett
than any of their number had ever thought before.
"He has gone to do the one square thing that's left him," said Old
Stannard, as the buckboard whirled away, "and his resignation goes with
him."
L'ENVOI.
That was many a long year ago, and for many a month thereafter men and
women at Whipple and Sandy, McDowell and Almy would talk for hours
about Willett, his strange character, his broken career. It was not
long before the truth, the whole truth, was known. Case for a time
would not return to Almy. He found some work to keep him busy at
Prescott, and would have had to do no work at all, said the agent of
the Wells-Fargo, "if he'd kept his money, but he sent every damned cent
of four hundred dollars to somebody up at Portland." He was forever on
the lookout for the coming of the buckboard with the mail--we had no
telegraph until '74--and his excitement over the receipt of certain
letters and newspapers, along in mid-February, was something not soon
to be forgotten. He had been sober and solemn as an anchorite for over
six long weeks, and this night, to the joy of the gamblers in the
Alcazar, insisted on "setting 'em up" for all hands, soldier and
civilian; then, to their amaze, insisted further on their drinking to
the health of Mr. and Mrs. Hal Willett, by gad! "for he's a square man
at last."
And the news lacked no confirmation at the barracks. There came a
missive to Wickham; there was a message to the general; there was a
very earnest message to 'Tonio; there was even a letter in Willett's
hand to Evelyn Darrah. No one ever saw its contents save the girl to
whom it was addressed, but there came nothing to be forwarded to the
Archers at Camp Almy. From that night among the cedars Lilian never
again saw Harold Willett. It was a pitifully insignificant little
packet of letters the young officer found on his desk the morning of
his return from the Hassayampa road. It contained only the pages he had
penned to his Lily of the Desert. The earlier ones were fond,
endearing, sweet as girl could ask, and had been rapturously welcomed,
read and reread, kissed and fondled and treasured. The later ones were
hurried, perfunctory, full of excuses, full, alas! of lies that he knew
and that he hated himself for writing. There was not so much as a line
from her, nor was one needed. Between the few words spoken by his
general in the darkness of the veranda and that one conference with
Wickham, Willett knew exactly what he had to face. Just as it had
dawned upon him that breathless night at Almy, when the ravings of the
Irish deserter told him that his sin had followed and had found him
out, he realized here at Whipple that all was known and, for him, all
was over. He had burned in vain the burning and accusing letters that
poor girl in Portland had written him. Her mother at last, learning
everything, had written to Crook, and, through Wickham, who had
investigated both Case and the deserter Dooley, Willett received his
_conge_. There should be no public break. It was to be announced that
at his own request Lieutenant Willett stood relieved from duty as
aide-de-camp to the department commander, and would proceed to rejoin
his regiment in the Department of the Columbia; but even Wickham
started with surprise and incredulity when, accompanying this
application, at the close of 'Tonio's dramatic trial, Willett gravely
handed him another paper--his resignation as an officer of the army.
"I do not understand this as--demanded," said Blackbeard, looking
quickly into Willett's pallid face.
"You will, when you remember that my wife--and child--would hardly be
acceptable in army circles," was the quiet reply.
"You mean--you are going at once to marry her?"
"What else should I do?" said Willett.
And this it was that explained his unlooked-for escort beyond the
borders of the little reservation, Stannard's words of commendation,
and Case's ebullition at the Alcazar.
Case had not many more. Craney coaxed him back to Almy after awhile,
where every one from Archer down to the drum boys showed him many a
kindness, and where from time to time he received letters that seemed
to bring him comfort, in spite of the fact that Bonner, Bucketts and
even gruff old Stannard, when they spoke of it at all, were given to
saying that there was little happiness in store for the poor girl at
Portland, for Willett was not made of the stuff that kept man faithful
long to any one woman. It was rumored for awhile that the little
family, having moved northward to one of the new and booming
settlements on the Sound, were living in poverty and seclusion,
Willett's wealthy kindred in the East scorning him, as was to be
expected, for the _mesalliance_ and for his abandonment of the
profession he was expected to adorn. But the embryo "Smart Set" and the
tried old Service had little in common, at best. It was in the employ
of the Engineer Corps that Willett found means to keep the wolf from
the door, and the girl was happier longer than most people would have
believed possible, for it was full three years before Willett's father
died, and, relenting, willed him prosperity. Some time after that there
came a tale of Evelyn Darrah, but, as the best authority would say,
"that's another story."
With Case, however, life seemed to have lost its inspiration. He
wandered more and more from the paths of rectitude to those which
meandered through the willows and the old ghost walk. The firm of
Sanchez y Munoz had gone to seed, the ranch to ashes, and the
individual members to jail. Dago had accompanied Mrs. Bennett and the
growing babies to her brother's ranch on the Agua Fria. The Indians had
been gathered to their reservations, and 'Tonio, with Lieutenant
Harris, has been assigned to service under the eye of the Great Chief
himself. A new post, a big post, was projected nearer the reservation.
It was rumored that Almy would then be abandoned and Case would not
have even the ghost walk for his solitary moonings when the whiskey
spell was on him, and the spells, though no more frequent, as the
Scotchman would have it, were of longer duration. He had taken
strongly, not strangely, to Stannard and his gentle wife, and it was to
them he told at last the story of his troubles, and through them, long
years after, it became known.
He was doing well in Portland, had fallen deeply in love with, and was
engaged to, as pretty a girl as ever was seen, good and gentle, too;
but she was young, the belle of her set, a beautiful dancer, and Case
could not dance. She loved gayety, pleasure, music, and in those days
they picnicked over to Vancouver, and danced in a big barrack to the
stirring strains of the band of the Lost and Strayed, and why shouldn't
the Portland girls love to dance with the young officers? Why shouldn't
Estelle enjoy dancing with such finished performers and partners? There
was one at that time who outclassed them all, and in an evil day they
met. It wasn't long before her fascination became infatuation, and
either there or in Portland, or somewhere, they were forever meeting.
It was not long before Case saw his world swept from before his eyes.
He did his best with her, with her mother and friends, but she told him
flatly that she loved Lieutenant Willett and would be no man's wife but
his. That clinched Case's downfall--and hers, but not until after Case
saw Willett at Camp Almy, and her mother's letters, and hers, began
again to come, did he learn the worst. Then came Willett's devotions to
Archer's gentle little daughter, and the rage within his soul
overmastered him. He would not--he could not--bear to tell of Estelle's
shame. He dare not, he owned it, oppose himself man to man, physically,
to Willett, but he burned with desire for revenge. Sanchez and his kind
were willing tools. Ramon and Alvarez, they told him, were thirsting
for Willett's blood. It would be easy enough to shoulder it all on
'Tonio, if the worst came to the worst. Sanchez had Case deep in his
debt, for monte had fascinated him when in liquor. They did not know
Willett had left with Craney payment in full for their financial
differences. They insisted on his seeing Willett and making him pay
before he left the post. Dago had the run of the garrison, and Dago
took the few lines that told Willett if he was a man to come down to
the ghost walk and settle, dollar for dollar, man to man, or the story
of his Portland days should be told the Archers. Sanchez, Munoz, and
the two Apache-Mohaves were lurking there across the stream. Case
watched for him from the rear window, saw him, and in spite of the
doctor's precaution, counteracted by the whiskey he had hidden in an
inner pocket, he slipped out in his stocking feet, took the path to the
ford, and there met Willett face to face. It was all so easy. Sanchez
knew 'Tonio was near, grieving that no answer came from Harris,
signalling for a talk, ignorant of the fact that Sanchez had delivered
neither the revolver nor the message. Case had with him only his knife,
for he knew his confederates would be at hand. He vowed he did not know
that they were bringing Ramon and Alvarez. Raging with jealousy, hate,
desire for vengeance, and nerved by liquor, he had demanded his money.
Willett contemptuously bade him seek it of his employer, and asked him
how he dare doubt a gentleman, whereat, in a fury, Case told him, or
started to tell him, why, and was knocked flat in a second. He sprang
up, knife in hand, and rushed upon him a second time, only to be
floored again, and the knife sent spinning. Willett seized it, and was
standing over him, panting a bit, when felled by a crashing blow with a
pistol-butt at the base of the skull. Then in terror Case fled the way
he came, for he saw both Indians and Mexicans were on him, realized
that murder was meant, and knew he would be involved unless he could
instantly get back to his bed. Willett made a desperate fight, wounded
Ramon, and might have killed him but for the timely shot from the
pistol of Jose. Case heard it, and the cry for help as he ran. So quick
was the response of the sentry and the guard that the assailants, too,
fled in fear, leaving their work unfinished. They had no fear of their
drugged countrymen at the ranch. They were ready to help the soldiers
hunt the Indians, and did, but Jose had dropped the old Navy Colt at
the ford. They bought Dago's silence for awhile, for he, too, hated
Willett, and it was so easy to charge the crime to 'Tonio. But, when
they fell out among themselves, and the pistol was found, and then Case
was accused, Dago let loose on Munoz, and the secret of the attempted
murder was out.
For a time thereafter Case felt dazed, benumbed; but, as Willett
recovered, he took courage again, and more drink, and tried to shoot
his worthless head off, he said, when they came to arrest him. But when
he heard of Willett's doings at Prescott, and had been openly taunted
by Dooley, he determined to lose his life another way, if need be, in
bringing Willett to justice. He told it all to Wickham, and was amazed,
yes, amazed at the result. He never dreamed that Willett at the
eleventh hour would go to Estelle and make the only amend in his power.
For that matter, neither did any one else cognizant of the fact,
especially Harris, who, having been the unwilling recipient of all poor
Eastern Stella's confidences in the past, believed Willett still
haunted by memories of her, and knew not this new and innocent and
confiding Star of the West. He had his own sorrows to bear, and his
heart was bitter within him at sight of the woe in the sweet blue eyes
of the girl who speedily went back to Almy, without ever having opened
her heart to a soul except that devoted mother.
While Evelyn Darrah kept her room as much as a week after Willett's
going, it was a wonderful fact that, during a visit of four days,
Lilian Archer appeared in public with her father, rode, drove, played
croquet, though she managed to avoid two dinners and a dance. She was
very quiet, it is true. "She never _did_ shine in society," said the
Prime girls. But, under all this silence and fortitude, and the access
of tenderness with which she clung to her father, Mrs. Stannard and
others saw how near the little heart was to breaking, and there grew up
among the exiles a feeling of love and admiration for this
uncomplaining child, so suddenly grown old, that outlived the lives of
most of them, for it has come down to those who, in the fulness of
time, stepped into their places. They are gone now, nearly all--our
bearded general and his beloved Mary, gruff old Stannard and his wise
and winsome wife. Bright, Bonner, Bucketts, grim-visaged Turner,
white-haired, noble Archer and his fond and cherished Bella, even
Willett, but not, thank God, until better and brighter days had dawned
on most of them, and of one of these days, and of 'Tonio, there is yet
this to tell.
There had been a year in which the Archers took their little girl
abroad. The old regiment had been ordered to an eastern station, and
the change was welcome, for with all her bravery, and despite their
fondest care, she drooped in Arizona, and there came a longed-for
opportunity they could not neglect. They were many moons away; they
were for a time at regimental head-quarters on their return, and then,
in days when nothing was so rare as advancement, came Archer's
promotion to the colonelcy of the very regiment that had taken the
stations of their former friends in Arizona. In a little less than two
years from that eventful night among the cedars, the Archers, three,
were once more welcomed to the general's roof, escorted the last ten
miles of the dusty stage ride from the desert by Harris, whose letters
to the general or to Mrs. Archer had been regular as the fortnightly
mail. With the morrow he and 'Tonio were on hand to hail them, looking
fit and spare and sinewy as ever they had of old, for these were
strenuous days and stirring times in the Apache-haunted mountains--the
Tontos had broken faith and were again afield.
Camp Sandy on the Verde was the centre of the storm. Pelham and his
cavalry had just been sent to other climes, marching overland to "the
Plains." Archer was needed at once in command of the district, and was
speedily there established, and thither too went Crook, with Bright to
write his orders and despatches, with Harris and 'Tonio to head the
scouts. Thither presently went Lilian and her mother. The post was
large, the garrison ample. There was active service that their own
white-haired general welcomed eagerly, for Crook meant to the full that
his loyal old friend and supporter should have all the credit that the
campaign might bring him. But campaigns conducted under daily
telegraphic promptings from distant superiors were not the brisk and
independent matters of a few years back. There were too many advisers
within easy, if expensive, reaching distance--too many "Friends of the
Indian," and far too few of the soldier, close in touch at court. Crook
himself was looking vexed and worried. It is so hard to serve God and
Mammon, to grapple with the foemen at the front, the Press and the
Pulpit at the rear. At the very moment when he had the "hostiles"
hemmed between converging columns and sure of capture, his hand was
held by orders from the East. At the very moment when the warriors at
the reservation should have been watched and guarded against exhorters
from without, the latter got within, and a powerful band stampeded up
the Red Rock country and were gone. The news reached Archer toward
eleven, one winter's night, and at dawn he, in person, with Harris and
'Tonio and twenty scouts and barely thirty mounted men, was climbing
the rugged trail from the head of the Beaver in pursuit, leaving Bella
and Lilian, brave, silent, yet tearful, at the post.
It was nothing new, this going forth of veteran division and brigade
commanders of the war days, with a handful of soldiery, to cope with a
band of savages on their chosen ground. Barely two years before the
Modocs had asked for a talk with the general commanding and killed him.
Only the year previous the Cheyennes lured out a lieutenant-colonel,
with but a lieutenant's command, and picked him off. And so, two nights
later, there was weeping at old Sandy, for a runner was in long hours
after sundown with the tidings that there had been a sharp and sudden
skirmish among the rocks, that brave old Archer had been the first to
fall, and that 'Tonio had been desperately wounded in the effort to
save the veteran's life.
They started them homeward within the week, Archer calm, conscious,
suffering much, but as, the skilled surgeons told the wife and daughter
who had rested not until they reached him, with good hope of recovery.
It was 'Tonio for whom they felt the keenest apprehension. 'Tonio had
received a bullet meant for the soldier who had once decreed his death,
and Archer's anguish was more for him. With them, on the slow homeward
way around by the old Wingate road, was Harris, sleepless from anxiety
and distress, watching night and day by the side of his two heroes,
filling all with wonderment at his endurance; and with Harris, much of
the time, by the side of both father and father's self-devoted savior,
was Lilian.
They brought them back to Sandy. They nursed the general back to life
and partial strength. But age and wounds and sorrows all had told on
the Mohave chieftain, and slowly he sank, despite their every effort
and the doctor's skill. They had pitched a little tent fly for him--he
would not be borne within doors--and shaded it with brush and willow,
yet left the southward view open so that he could look out upon the
broad valley and see the shadows of the mountains steal across it as
the sun went westering. He seemed to love to watch the morning flame on
the bald summit of the huge peak so close at hand; it made him think of
the Picacho about whose base he had sported as a boy. He seemed to love
to see Ramon and Pancha hovering ever about him. He would look at them,
take their hands, then place their hands together and hold them between
his own. But most of all he loved to see Harris bending over him,
moving about him, and when Lilian came and gave him drink and touched
his fevered head, his glittering eyes would soften and follow her with
such a world of wistfulness as though they would speak the longing of
his heart. Then he would look from her to Harris, and from Harris back
to her, in a way that sent the blushes surging to her forehead, and the
sight of those blushes set that young soldier's heart to bounding.
One beautiful afternoon, when the sun was slanting low and the great
dome of the peak was all agleam with crimson and with gold, they were
gathered about his shelter, for the spirit had been wandering and his
strength was almost gone. Without the canvas, their women weeping with
Pancha, their young men silent and sad, a group of the old band hovered
along the slope of the low mesa. It was thought he could hardly survive
the night, and with the sinking of the sun his mind seemed clouding
more, and he called, over and over, for "Chiquito," who knelt there
clinging to his hand. Even Archer had come, leaning heavily upon his
crutches, and Bella, his wife, and Lilian--Lilian upon whom the dying
eyes rested again and again. 'Tonio was now too weak to lift a hand; he
could not signal; but something in his gaze seemed to call her to him
irresistibly. He was breathing with such difficulty that the surgeon,
bending over him on the other side of the pallet, slipped an arm
beneath his shoulders, Harris from his side aiding, and together they
slowly raised him almost to a sitting posture, his weary head resting
on "Chiquito's" shoulder. But the eyes still sought Lilian, and Archer,
watching, murmured to her, "Go."
To take his other hand, feebly plucking at the light coverlet, she had
to kneel so close to Harris that he could feel the swift throbbing of
her heart against his arm, and 'Tonio, looking now into the two young
faces so near together, so close to his own, began with all his
remaining strength slowly drawing her little white hand toward the lean
and sinewy fingers that clasped his right, whereat her bonny head
drooped lower, her bosom heaved; she seemed at once to read his
purpose, and, with the instinct of the maiden, to gently resist. But
the almost instant reproach and pleading in the fading eyes melted and
unnerved her. Harris, too, had seen, and noted, and understood, and his
own heart, through all its sorrowing, was beating vehemently; his own
right hand, without releasing 'Tonio's, crept forth in search of hers,
and presently, trembling, but resisting no longer, the lily-white,
slender fingers lay softly within the young soldier's clasp, and a big,
hot tear fell upon the back of the brown and withered hand that, almost
pulseless, drooped upon them both as though in benediction.
Overcome with emotion, Mrs. Archer, watching, breathless, dropped her
head upon her husband's shoulder and sobbed convulsively. The last
brilliant, dazzling beams of the dying day had lifted from the crest of
the huge dome that shut the valley, and left it dark and sombre; and
'Tonio's eyes, turning upon it for the last time, seemed to note the
change; and the flitting spirit, wandering back to the old, old boyish
days, and the legends of his people, spoke once more. The gathering
darkness, the plash upon his hand, the resemblance to the mountain that
guarded his babyhood and youth, all probably had worked their spell,
for the pallid lips began to move, and in the silence of the lowering
night a few words in his native tongue were faintly heard, and hot
tears gushed from the eyes of his young chief, friend and brother, as,
in answer to the doctor's quick, questioning glance, Harris brokenly
murmured the translation:
"When the Picacho hides his head in the clouds, then will there be
rain."
And the clouds had lowered, and the day was done, and there was rain of
tears from even soldier eyes for 'Tonio--Son of the Sierras.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Tonio, Son of the Sierras, by Charles King