WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT.
Having emerged from the stream, Mendez rode down the bank, toward the
ridge, where the hostiles had been first seen during the day. It will
be remembered that he had now entered upon the bailiwick of Potter, the
scout, who was engaged upon the same errand.
As before, the friendly Apache placed his main reliance upon his pony,
who knew as well as his rider the delicate duty in hand.
The animal walked slowly, his hoofs sinking to the fetlocks in the
soft sand, while the senses of both were at the highest point. To the
surprise of Mendez he passed a full half mile without observing the
slightest sign of his enemies. Then, as before, his animal stopped of
his own accord.
The keenest scrutiny of the front and on every hand failed to show
the cause of the abrupt stoppage of the horse, but he must have had a
cause, for, as may be said, his action was controlled by an instinct
approaching reason.
Several minutes passed without the appearance of anything to explain
the situation, and then Mendez gently pressed one heel against the ribs
of the pony, who resumed his walk, but stopped again after taking a
dozen steps.
Some of the Apache horses must have been less trained than they should
have been, for not one but two or three neighed upon discovering
another of their species in their vicinity.
It was all sufficient; Mendez had located the band and he now turned
his animal’s head in the other direction to report to Lieutenant
Decker. At that moment several Apache horsemen burst into sight,
dashing at full speed toward the scout, who, with a word sent his own
animal flying toward camp.
The race was short and furious. Mendez was the better mounted and
rapidly pulled away from his pursuers, who sent several bullets
whistling after him and then drew off from the pursuit.
When convinced that the chase was over, Mendez checked his speed and
turned slightly to the right, so as to draw away from the stream, which
had been followed most of the time. He was not far from camp and haste
was not necessary.
And again his horse made a discovery. He did not stop but slackened his
pace, with ears erect and head turned to the right, toward the open
plain.
The keen vision of the rider quickly saw the cause. A dark object was
discerned on the sand, but was so indistinct that its nature could not
be learned without a nearer approach.
The first thought was that it might be one of the hostiles, trying to
steal upon the whites in this characteristic fashion. Mendez held his
rifle ready to fire and gently urged his horse to advance. He seemed
loath to obey, but did so, once more halting, after advancing a few
paces.
That which the scout saw was the figure of a man prone and motionless
in the sand. Studying him for some time, no change of position could
be perceived. The pony was urged more sternly than before. As if aware
that it was useless to disregard his master’s command, he snorted
and then walked straight to the figure, not stopping until his owner
checked him within twenty feet.
The form on the ground was that of Potter, the scout. He was lying on
his face and did not move a muscle. There was good reason for this as
was shown by the feather-tipped point of an arrow which projected from
between his shoulders.
Mendez slipped from his steed and stooping over rolled the body on its
back. The scout had been dead for some time, killed by an arrow driven
with such terrific force into his back that the tip showed in front.
While he was stealing upon his enemies he must have been discovered
by one of them, without the knowledge of the scout. Although the
Apaches are experts in the use of firearms, they are equally skillful
in handling the bow and arrow, which, because of their noiselessness,
sometimes serve their cruel purposes better than the more common
weapon. They have often slain a white man within a few rods of his
friends, without awaking suspicion, the twang of the bowstring being
scarcely louder than a sudden puff of air.
With all his experience in scouting against those people, the white man
had met his death at last through their superior cunning.
Mendez vaulted upon the back of his pony and a few minutes later
rejoined his friends. The horse of Potter had arrived some time before,
so that his companions were prepared for the news. Almost at the same
moment, Martin came in with word that he had been unable to learn
anything, which, in view of the fate of his comrade, was perhaps a
fortunate thing for him.
One fact was evident: the Apaches had been as quick to detect the
presence of the troopers as the latter were to discover them. None
of the sentinels had observed any of the hostiles prowling in the
neighborhood, but there could be no doubt that one or more of them had
crept nigh enough to learn the truth.
“They are a half mile or so away,” remarked Lieutenant Decker to the
leading scouts, whom he was always glad to consult; “and what is best
to do?”
“If you will allow me,” remarked Freeman, “we can do nothing but wait
for daylight, for the reason that it is impossible now to surprise
them.”
“That is sensible,” commented Peyser, “they will be looking for
us, and, if we make an attack in the moonlight, they will have the
advantage.”
The lieutenant examined his watch. It was considerably past midnight.
He was ready to lead a charge against the raiders, but it would have
been unwise in view of what was already known. He assented to wait
until sunrise.
“But it is well to make a change of base,” he said; “the Apaches,
knowing we are here, will try to gain a shot at us.”
Inasmuch as there was little choice of location, the troopers took
the singular course of riding out on the plain to the spot where the
body of Potter, the scout, lay stretched in the sand. They could not
abandon it, the intention being to take it back to the fort and give it
Christian burial.
Men engaged upon such arduous work as the troopers snatch sleep and
rest as the opportunity offers. The night was cool enough to make their
blankets comfortable, and they were spread on the sand, while the hardy
owners stretched out upon them, sinking almost immediately into deep,
restful slumber. All the horses had been ridden hard and the rest was
grateful to them, even though they suffered for food. Thus the scene
was a curious one. With the exception of three sentinels, placed at
some distance from camp, the entire company were unconscious.
But it need not be said that they slept on their arms, ready to leap to
their feet and fight to the death at the first alarm. They had done it
many a time before and always held themselves ready to do it again.
The sentinel to the north and the one to the south saw nothing to
cause the slightest misgiving. They were extremely vigilant, for each
realized that his own life, as well as the lives of his comrades might
be sacrificed by a moment’s forgetfulness. If an Apache was permitted
to steal nigh enough to launch his deadly arrow, he would thus open the
way for a swift and deadly charge by his comrades.
Three times the guard placed between the camp and stream was on the
point of firing his gun, but checked himself until his suspicion should
become certainty. A faint ripple of water drew his attention to the
creek, and he dimly saw a small dark object floating on the water. At
first it appeared to be drifting with the current, but he fancied it
was gradually working to the shore nearer to him.
“I believe it is the head of one of them,” was his thought; “as soon as
he comes nigh enough I’ll let drive.”
But after floating down stream a considerable way, it disappeared.
The sentinel was an intelligent and alert fellow, who did not allow
his scrutiny to be diverted more than a moment from any point of the
compass within his field of vision. He knew that one of the favorite
tricks of the Apaches was to draw the attention of their enemies to
some point while the real danger approached from the other.
A half hour later the soldier on duty saw precisely the same thing
repeated. A small round object drifted with the current, but, so far as
he could determine, it was working toward the further bank; but, as in
the former case, it remained in the water until it passed from sight.
“I think I could hit it from here,” reflected the sentinel, “but it may
be a piece of wood or something like that, and the boys need their rest
so much that it’s a pity to wake them without good cause—well, I’ll be
hanged!”
It was not in the water this time, but close to it that the suspicious
object now showed itself. It looked as if the first one having effected
a landing at a point down stream was stealing up again, with a view
of approaching camp. To do this, it kept on the very margin of the
current, where the slight depression of the sandy bank afforded a
trifling protection, though not enough wholly to conceal it.
“It’s one of them, dead sure,” muttered the trooper, making ready to
give him a proper reception; “he can’t do any mischief until he comes
nearer, and if I don’t let the moonlight shine through his noddle it
will be because I’ve forgotten how to fire a gun.”
But after all the chance for a test of his marksmanship was denied
the man who was so anxious to pick off the miscreant. While carefully
watching and waiting until he could make his aim sure, the object,
whatever it was, vanished, nor did it appear again.
The soldier could not know of a certainty the explanation of this
curious occurrence and asked the opinion of Mendez the following
morning. That sagacious scout listened attentively to the story and
said in his abrupt way:
“Him ’Pache.”
But the few hours remaining of night passed without further alarm, and
men and animals secured a much needed and refreshing rest. Dawn came at
last and all felt that the day was to prove a decisive one.