THE TROOPERS.
Cemuri, the wounded scout, did his duty well. Convinced that Lieutenant
Decker did the right thing in ordering him to return to Fort Reno, to
have his hurt looked after, he was as eager as ever to befriend the
gallant young officer and his companions, thus deprived of his services.
The White Mountain Apache waited but a short time after the
disappearance of Maroz and Ceballos, when he climbed into the saddle
and headed his pony for the fort. His suffering was great, but his
iron will mastered the weakness of his body, for which he showed his
contempt by striking his animal into a gallop, which served to increase
his pain.
A mile away he came directly upon six cavalrymen who were out on a
scout. Among them were Armon Peyser, Budge Colgate and Jack Redfield,
who had campaigned for years in New Mexico and Arizona and knew all
there was to know of the cunning and ferocity of Geronimo, Natchez and
their fierce followers.
Cemuri quickly told his story. He was able to locate the raiders and
direct the party to the spot where the three scouts were doing all they
could to hold them in check. Despite the pluck of the friendly Apache,
he could not hide his suffering, and Peyser, in his sympathy, offered
to send one of his men with him to the post.
This proposition, made with the best of intentions, was almost an
insult to Cemuri. He refused it point-blank, and, to prevent its
repetition, galloped away without so much as a farewell. None knew
better than he that he could not receive aid too soon, but he would
accept no guidance or assistance from these friends.
“That’s good news of his,” said Peyser, as he and his companions sat
grouped together in the moonlight, “for it means a fight.”
“But Geronimo has some twenty of his bucks with him,” reminded Budge
Colgate, “and to put matters in a good shape, we ought to have more of
the boys with us.”
“We’ll do it if we can, but, if they can’t be found in time, we won’t
be cheated out of our fun.”
“I don’t think Jennings and the rest are far off,” suggested Jack
Redfield, who now made the signal used by Lieutenant Decker, who was
too far off to hear the reports.
To their delight, the hail was instantly answered from a point so near
at hand that the three instinctively turned their eyes to the south
whence it came.
A few minutes later, a ringing “Halloo!” sounded through the stillness
and a round dozen horsemen loomed to view, coming at a swinging pace.
In a twinkling, as may be said, eighteen well-mounted and armed
United States troopers gathered in the middle of the sandy plain.
Armon Peyser, as the oldest campaigner and by virtue of his office as
sergeant, was leader, though when a junction should be effected with
Freeman and Decker, the lieutenant of course would assume command.
A hurried consultation followed. It was nearly five miles to the
bend of the stream, where Cemuri had left his friends, and Peyser
began describing the place, as well as he could, when Budge Colgate
interrupted him.
“I know the spot! We can ride there in a bee line; lead on sergeant.”
And away they went, hardly drawing rein until within a fourth of a mile
of the stream. Knowing they were near it, the party slackened their
pace and were cautiously advancing, with Colgate at the head, when the
signal of Lieutenant Decker reached them.
“Good!” exclaimed the scout; “I knew it wasn’t far off.”
As has been shown, the hail was promptly answered and a second junction
took place, with the result that a round twenty horsemen were brought
together, all eager for a brush with the hostiles. Mendez had not yet
returned from his reconnaissance upon which he ventured some time
before. He was not so far off, however, that he did not know of the
arrival of the reinforcements, and he was but a few minutes behind them
in reaching the spot.
Being ready for the serious business now in hand, the all-important
requisite was to know the situation of the foe whom they meant to
strike. Mendez had no information to give on that point, for when he
left his two friends he went only a short way. His purpose was not so
much to spy out the hostiles as to prevent their spying out the two
whites and stealing a march upon them.
Lieutenant Decker was as indisposed as any of his companions to remain
idle until the rising of the sun. Accordingly the three best scouts,
including Mendez, were sent out to locate the raiders, if possible,
with a view of attacking them at the earliest moment. In their absence,
the troopers dismounted and lolled about in the sand, some snatching
a little sleep, others smoking and talking in low tones, while the
sentinels, as a matter of course, were placed at the proper points to
guard against surprise.
Martin, one of the white scouts, went up the stream, Potter, another,
took the opposite course, while Mendez rode his pony to the other side.
The other two were also mounted, for it will be understood that their
duty differed from that of the Apache scout, when he first went out.
It was then an object with him to steal as close as he could to the
raiders, with a view of learning their purposes, and it has been shown
how well he did his duty.
In the present instance, however, it was only necessary to find out
where the main body of hostiles were. The instant that became known,
the one making the discovery would hasten back with the information.
If well mounted, he could do this much more successfully than if on
foot.
It was not to be supposed that the hostiles would be on the alert
against such an enterprise, and the scouts undertaking it were hopeful
of making their discovery and getting back within an hour from the time
of their going forth.
The most dangerous proceeding, as it seemed, was that of Mendez in
crossing the stream, for the presumption was that the enemies were on
the other side. If he should be seen, as was quite likely, when he
located the raiders he would have to make a desperate ride for life.
It would not do to dash into the stream, for his progress would be so
checked that he would become the best of targets for his enemies.
Recalling where he had last seen Geronimo and his bucks, Mendez rode
in that direction. He knew he would not find them there, for his last
glimpse showed them leaving the spot, but he made his way thither
without detecting the first sign of them.
In the strong moonlight, the scout could readily see the footprints
of the horses, without leaning over from the back of his own steed.
The trail led up the stream, keeping quite near it, and then, to the
surprise of the scout, it circled to the left and away from the water.
He could not fathom the meaning of this, nor indeed did he try to do
so, for the special necessity did not exist, but he kept to it, his
horse advancing slowly, while the rider peered into the gloom on every
hand. The situation became more critical every moment.
The trail showed that the raiders were keeping well together and their
animals were walking. Here and there diverging hoofprints indicated
that one or more of the horsemen had drawn off from the main body, or
else two separate trails crossed each other.
The circle swept inward upon the plain, and by and by turned backward,
that is to the west. To the astonishment of Mendez, it began
approaching the stream, as if the hostiles meant to recross it. If this
were the fact, Potter, who had gone down the bank of the creek would
probably be the first to discover the Apaches.
The probability of this issue caused the dusky scout uneasiness, for
the raiders being on the same side with the troopers were likely to
locate them before being observed, thus securing a perilous advantage,
to say nothing of the great danger in which Potter would be placed,
despite his skill and experience.
Mendez was approaching the stream, whose smooth surface gleamed in
the moonlight, when his steed quietly stopped. He made no sound, but
pricked his ears.
This was enough, for his owner knew what it meant. An enemy was near.
Less than a minute was sufficient to place him. He was directly ahead,
and like Mendez was mounted, being probably one of the hostile scouts
that had been sent to the rear to watch for just such attempts as were
now making against them.
The situation assumed the interesting phase of two highly trained
scouts maneuvering against each other. Wonderful as was the skill of
Mendez, it did not surpass that of his enemy, whose horse was also the
equal of the one ridden by the other.
The pony of the scout had shown astonishing quickness in detecting the
presence of the other equine, but at precisely the same moment the
latter warned his rider of the approach of the other. Both halted and
for a minute or more remained motionless. Then Mendez made the curious
discovery that his foe was gradually fading from sight.
There was no mystery in this vanishment, however, which was in accord
with natural laws. The hostile had whirled his animal around with a
quickness which could not be noted at that distance, and began walking
him toward the stream, closely watching at the same time the movements
of the foe thus thrown to the rear.
Instead of following, Mendez waited until the other had passed out of
his field of vision. Then he turned abruptly to the left and rode to
the edge of the stream. There he and his animal again became stationary.
The rider was listening and looking. The eyes told him nothing, but
a faint splashing noise, several times repeated, came to him. He
interpreted it as meaning that the horseman whom he had seen was
crossing the creek.
This of itself was of little importance, but Mendez accepted it as
evidence that the whole band had done the same thing some time before,
and the horseman was now on his way to rejoin them. So convinced indeed
was Mendez on this point that he guided his animal carefully into the
water and forded the stream, without searching out the place where
Geronimo and his hostiles had also crossed.