BY THE CAPTAIN’S ORDERS
Toward sunset of that same day the little squad of cavalry was slowly
crossing the plain. It would not reach camp that night and was
watchful, though not expectant, of assault.
“I reckon the redskins had all they wanted for this particular time!”
exclaimed the lad who had longed for battle, till he had seen Benoni
die, and afterward had dreaded it. However, the whizzing arrow had as
promptly banished the dread, for it had barely escaped the breast of
little Carlota. From then he had fought like the born hero he was, and
his Captain was now regarding him with a grave smile of approval.
“Yes, but not for long. There was sin in their eyes. We shall have work
and plenty of it.” And, after a moment, the officer spoke to the girl
who rode before him on his horse: “I’ve a word or two to say to you,
Carlota. I’d better say them now, before--”
“Oh! Señor Captain! will they come again?” she cried, in terror. “Where
can we go? It is so dreadful!”
“I go wherever my duty calls. What to do with you is the question. At
present, I can neither take nor send you to the fort. It’s too far.
A little way to the north of us is the railroad. One of its stations
should be in our direct line of march, and if we reach it, if all goes
well, I will leave you children there.”
“Shall we see any more Apaches?”
“Humph! You’re not so fond of Indians as you were, eh?”
“I never saw that kind before. Many, many have been to Refugio, but
they’ve always been good.”
“We soldiers believe that the good Indians are all dead.”
“Already, Señor Captain Gray Moustache?”
“Well, there hasn’t been a cataclysm to swallow them, as I know. There,
don’t stare; but if ever you come in the neighborhood of a dictionary
look that long word out. ‘Gray Moustache’ will bother you no more with
a humor you don’t understand.”
“I understand--some, dear Señor. And I didn’t mean that name for harm.
I always do name people something like them till I know their regular
one.”
“Indeed? Wish to be properly introduced, do you? Well, my name is
Sherman. But I like my nickname and, please, don’t look so like a
scared kitten. It’s never so bad but it might be worse. The old Padres
named that spot we’ve left behind us the ‘Spring of Happiness’ in the
‘Mountains of Flowers.’ We found it so, too.”
“Why--where--Benoni died?” she asked, reproachfully.
“Exactly. Where we didn’t die. Where several of the tricky skunks
who would have killed us in ambush were not permitted. The greatest
regret I have is that, though he is past feeling wounded pride, we were
obliged to leave your noble horse in such vile company. There were a
half-dozen dead Apaches in the glen when we left it, and a half-dozen
white men so much the safer.”
When they had again proceeded in silence for some distance, Carlota
asked:
“Don’t Apaches go to railroad stations? and do they keep children at
them?”
“Under the circumstances, yes, to the last question; and to the
first--there’s little danger. There are too many trains passing. If
only, you midget, you were safely at home!”
“I will be, some day, after we find our father.”
“After all your experience, haven’t you dropped that crazy notion yet?
You are a child of ordinary common sense, I hope, Carlota.”
“Yes. That’s why I don’t see what else there is to do but to go on.”
“If a person does wrong I never heard that it was wise to keep on doing
it!” said the worried Captain, testily.
“Have I done that?” asked the child, really astonished.
“I call it wrong to make trouble and anxiety for a great number of
people, as your running away from home must have done. Even for me, of
whom you never heard before.”
Carlota wriggled herself aside.
“I will get right down, Señor Captain.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. Remember what I’ve said, and I’ll scold
no more. I will leave you two at the station. I will have telegrams
sent east and have an advertisement put in the leading newspapers of
the country. If the news comes to your father, as it probably will,
and certainly should, your troubles will be over. He’ll attend to the
rest. This is what I mean by your causing me trouble. I shall do all
this, not because you had any right to put it upon me, but simply for
humanity’s sake. Now, next time you are tempted to act foolishly, stop
and think if you’re going to worry anybody else with your silliness.
That’s all.”
It was the sure end of the severest lecture Carlota had ever received,
and the worst of it was that she felt she deserved it. She could only
say that she was truly sorry and resolve to “do a lot of thinking next
time before she did any acting.” Then she added, as a bitter memory was
stirred:
“I begin to understand that if we hadn’t run away from Refugio our
Benoni wouldn’t have died.”
“Not so fast, little girl, toward that conclusion. The issues of life
and death belong to God. We have no concern with them. Our business is
to do right, as nearly as we can, and--now let’s try a canter!”
At that moment a trooper rode up and saluted.
The Captain gave permission to speak and with a surprised attention,
listened to the other’s few words. Carlota tried not to hear that
which was not intended for her and was sadly startled when her “Gray
Moustache” gave her a hasty kiss on the tip of her nose and said:
“That’s for good-by, my child. I learn that to take you to the station
myself would carry me far out of my way, for my first duty now is at
camp. I will write some directions on a leaf from my notebook and
enclose some money with it. You must give it to the station-master, the
telegraph operator, and he will attend to the matter. Good-by, and a
prompt reunion with your father!”
To lose this soldier, whom she had regarded as her own especial friend,
seemed a terrible misfortune, and her eyes filled as she felt herself
set upon the ground, while, with his squad about him, the Captain
loped away. Then she saw that Carlos was beside her and, also, that
two troopers had been assigned to their escort. However, the faces of
these men had neither the sternness nor the quizzical pleasantry of
their commander’s. They were the faces of those detailed to perform a
troublesome duty while their own desires were elsewhere.
“Bouton, you take the girl and I will the boy.”
“All right.”
One horseman caught up Carlos and one Carlota, and, without another
word, rode off like mad across the plain. They handled the twins very
much as they would have handled bags of meal, and they took a direction
at right angles from that followed by their commanding officer.
Carlos’s temper flamed and he opened his lips to remonstrate against
such contemptuous treatment, but remembered the Apaches just in time
to restrain his hot speech. It wouldn’t do to anger his guardians then
and there, and he did not know that they would not have disobeyed the
Captain’s orders to vent their own spite. Thus they traveled for what
seemed hours. Then they came, all in the starlight, to a strange place
where were two shining things laid flat along the ground and the light
of a lamp showed through the window of a solitary shanty.
The cavalryman who carried Carlota dismounted and struck his saber
against the cabin door. After a brief delay this was opened by a rough
looking man, who held a candle above his head and was speechless from
astonishment.
The troopers saluted and said:
“By Captain Sherman’s orders, these children are to be left here until
further notice.”
The twins were promptly deposited upon the ground, where they clasped
hands and tried to realize this new thing that had befallen them.
Before they could do so, their military escort had again saluted and
disappeared in the distance, leaving them to make the best they could
of their forlorn situation.