MAROZ AND CEBALLOS.
The faint signal had only the breadth of the stream to cross and was
heard by the two men.
“It is Mendez,” repeated Decker in a whisper; “he brings important
news.”
“Are you sure it is he?” was the guarded inquiry of Freeman, whose
longer residence in that section of the Union and greater experience
with the wily Apaches made him distrustful. The events of the preceding
few hours especially warned him that it was impossible to use too much
caution in dealing with their enemies.
“I am as sure as one can well be,” said the officer, who, it will be
remembered, was not on his horse but standing beside him.
“If it be he why does he not come to us? The stream is not deep.”
“Perhaps he expects us to join him—sh!”
The call which had caught their attention a few minutes before was
heard again.
“It will be the height of folly to attempt to reach the other bank
while this uncertainty exists,” said Freeman; “I shall not do it.”
“Withdraw a short distance and wait for me.”
“Remember that those people have wonderfully keen eyes, and they may
be able to distinguish us when we cannot see them. It is better for
both to withdraw.”
“I will soon follow you if there’s anything suspicious.”
Freeman walked his horse a hundred feet from the stream, holding the
bridle of the other animal as he did so. The lieutenant remained by
the water’s edge, where, instead of keeping his standing posture, he
knelt down on one knee, a position which lessened his chance of being
observed by any foe on the other side.
Peering intently in the darkness, he was able to make out the shadowy
figure of two and possibly three men standing motionless in the gloom,
the view being so faint that at first he doubted whether he saw
anything at all.
For the first time Decker made a cautious response to the signal,
the same that had been employed by him and the White Mountain scout
in previous instances of peril. Again it came across the water to
him, and, but for the suspicious circumstances, he would have staked
everything on its being emitted by the dusky lips of his friend.
“If it be an enemy,” he reflected, “I would give much to know where
he got the call, but Mendez had no companions when he left us, and
certainly there is more than one man standing on the other shore.”
Nature now came to the help of the lieutenant. The full moon was near
the horizon, almost directly behind the opposite bank, and the slight
illumination it flung into the sky revealed the forms of three persons
so clearly that there could be no mistake.
“It’s a cunning trick, but it will not work this time, my good friends.”
Kneeling on one knee, the lieutenant took the best aim he could at the
group and let fly with one charge from his Winchester.
This time the bullet sped true. One of the dusky forms leaped into the
air with a screech and fell prostrate on his face, where he remained
without rising.
“Geronimo’s band is short one member,” was the cool observation of
Decker, who instantly changed his position to a prone one, in which he
hugged the ground as closely as he could.
The precaution was not taken a second too soon. Quickly recovering from
their shock, the other two Apaches fired at the point where they had
seen the flash of the rifle, the missiles whistling so close that but
for the act of the young man he must have been struck.
Decker proved his nerve by holding his position for several minutes.
His hope was that his enemies in their exasperation would dash into the
stream to cross to him, in which event he would have them at his mercy,
but they were too wily for that. Instead of advancing, they retreated,
evidently fearing another shot from the one who had outwitted them.
[Illustration: “Geronimo’s band is short one member,” was the cool
observation of Lieutenant Decker.—Page 66.
—_The Young Scout._]
Meanwhile Maurice Freeman was a prey to the gravest anxiety. Much as
he admired his companion, he was almost certain that his rash bravery
would involve both in fatal disaster. He questioned more and more the
prudence of lingering in the neighborhood, when it was certain the
Apaches were seeking their overthrow.
This uneasiness was intensified during the minute following the
discharge of the lieutenant’s rifle by the proof that something was
amiss. Both horses flung up their heads and sniffed, looking not toward
the stream, but away from it.
“It’s a wonder we have escaped so long,” was the impatient thought of
Freeman; “now we are going to catch it. Lieutenant,” he called, “come
here at once.”
Decker heard the voice, but a moment before it reached him he had begun
stealing from the stream, holding his crouching posture until beyond
range of the sharpest-eyed warrior. He was within a rod or two of the
horses, when called to, and vaulted instantly into the saddle.
“What is it, captain? Anything wrong?”
“The action of the animals shows that danger threatens, and in my
opinion——”
“Sh?”
At the same instant the forms of two horsemen loomed to sight on the
right. They came forward as silently as shadows, acting as if they saw
nothing of the others, or, seeing them, counted them as naught.
“Halt!” commanded the lieutenant, “or I fire!” a proceeding which would
have taken place had he not suspected the identity of the two.
“Huh! Maroz—Ceballos!” replied one of the Apaches, without checking his
animal.
“They are friends,” remarked the officer; “they belong to the
reservation and probably have been at the fort.”
“I know them,” remarked Freeman, “but do not include myself among their
admirers.”
As Decker had remarked, Maroz and Ceballos were two Apaches who
were frequently seen at Fort Reno. Two years before they were among
Geronimo’s most ferocious followers, but, for most of the time since,
had claimed to be, and indeed had conducted themselves like good
Indians. Both were addicted to the use of “tiswin,” that decoction of
fermented corn, which is amazingly quick to inflame the evil passions
of an Indian to the highest degree.
Despite the professions of these two bucks, and the fact that nothing
wrong was known against them, they had not the confidence of the
colonel nor of most of the soldiers at the fort.
It will be understood, therefore, that neither Lieutenant Decker nor
Maurice Freeman felt that degree of relief which would have been theirs
had they known of a certainty that they were joined by two friends, for
what can be more trying than the company of those whom we distrust amid
the gravest possible peril?
Having announced themselves, Maroz and Ceballos immediately joined the
two horsemen, who treated them as if certain they were friends.
“Why are you here?” asked the lieutenant.
“Geronimo somewhere,” replied Maroz, speaking for himself and his
companion; “come with warrior—he burn ranch—kill white folks—white
folks brothers of Maroz and Ceballos—dey help brothers.”
It was in the mind of Freeman to interpose with the question as to how
these two had learned of the presence of the Apache leader, when until
a few hours before it was unknown to the white scouts, but it would
have been unwise at this point to let the two know they were not fully
trusted.
“Where are our men?” asked Decker; “I have signaled but hear nothing of
them; they ought not to be many miles away.”
“Maroz and Ceballos don’t know—dey somewhere.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if they were; nothing is more likely, but I would
be glad if we could find the precise spot.”
It was evident the new arrivals were disappointed at not seeing some
one else with the horsemen. It was Maroz who asked:
“Where Mendez—where Cemuri?”
Lieutenant Decker thought the situation warranted a little deception on
his part.
“They are watching Geronimo and the rest; they may slay the chief
before they come back to us.”
“Chief bad Injun—he kill much white folks—he dog—help kill him.”
This expression would have been comforting could the hearers have
believed it honest, for it would have expressed their own sentiments.
“Yes—yes,” replied both, nodding their heads, for the moon having risen
meanwhile, their faces were seen quite plainly.
“Well, all you have to do is to set about it. Some of the hostiles
are on the other side of the stream and some are off yonder to the
westward. Slip in among them and shoot all you can.”
It was evident this was not the part the two wished to play.
“We stay wid brother—we help him fight.”
“No, you won’t; we don’t want you; you can do no good here; we have
sent Mendez and Cemuri away; you must go, too.”
The officer was so peremptory that the Apaches did not question him
further. They glanced at each other, then, without speaking, set off
with their ponies on a walk toward the stream now in plain sight.
To the surprise of Decker and Freeman, they drove their horses into
the water and rode directly to the other side. Near the middle the
animals sank to their flanks, but at no point were they forced to swim.
Emerging they continued straight away until they faded from view.
“I don’t know whether it was wise to send them off in that style,”
remarked the lieutenant, “but I don’t wish their company, even if they
do claim to be friends.”