system of maneuvering, Lieutenant Decker asked himself what other
method could be adopted. There must be a change in the order of
proceedings, or he himself would be discomfited.
“I’ll do it!” he muttered, compressing his lips.
No part of the rock was more than five feet in height, so that if a man
stood upright beside it, his hat would show from any point. The stone
was so rough that it was as easy to climb as a flight of stairs. The
lieutenant’s decision was to adopt the system of attack which he had
held in so much dread from the first.
Sensible of the necessity of instant action and the great peril
attending the recourse, he kept his revolver in his right hand, as
he grasped the upper edge of the boulder, placed one foot upon an
obstruction, and silently raised his head above the crest of the rock,
intending to draw himself upon it.
His head and shoulders had just moved upward, when with a grasp he let
go and dropped out of sight.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed, “was there ever anything like it?”
Never did two enemies seem to follow so closely the same line of
thought. It looked as if the Apache and the white man’s brains
were working in unison. Thus it came about that at the very moment
Lieutenant Decker raised himself over one side of the rock to the top,
the Apache did the same thing at a point opposite. Both were climbing
to the coign of advantage at the same moment. Either could have let
fly with his pistol (for the Apache had one), but instead of doing so
he made all haste to drop down, so as to interpose the boulder as an
armor in front. Thus was another remarkable example given of a unity
of thought.
Everything thus far done by one was duplicated by the other, and the
two were once more crouching behind the rock, each debating with
himself how best to end a situation, which, to say the least, was
extraordinary in more than one respect.
Lieutenant Decker now resorted to a daring proceeding that was
characteristic of the man. It has been said that boulders were all
around him. Less than a rod to his right was another, perhaps half the
size of the one he had been about to climb. Hesitating hardly a moment,
he took several rapid steps, crouching low, and whisked behind the new
shelter. Had the Apache suspected anything of the kind, he would have
possessed a fatal advantage, for what better target can a man ask than
a fleeing foe only a few yards away? But he could not know it, unless
he happened to be peering around the rock at the critical moment, and
he was not doing anything of that nature.
A creepy feeling came over the officer, during the moment he was
gliding across the open space, such as a man feels who expects to hear
the report of a weapon and feel the sting of a bullet. He flung himself
behind the new shield with a feeling of inexpressible relief.
“By George!” he exclaimed, as he looked cautiously out; “I forgot my
rifle!”
Sure enough, there it stood in plain sight, leaning against the big
boulder, within easy reach of his enemy, should he attempt to seize it.
“But he can’t do it without giving me a chance to wing him,” muttered
the officer, fully resolved to avert the catastrophe.
The one comforting fact about the situation was that the white man
had improved matters and gained an unquestionable advantage. The
Apache could not know of the change, and any attempt to locate his
foe, without knowing he had left the immediate vicinity of the larger
boulder, would expose the warrior to the shot that was awaiting him.
The new position of Decker gave him a view not only of the side where
he had been crouching, but of the upper end, just as a person can see
two sides of an oblong box from a certain point of view—a fact which it
was not to be supposed was known to the warrior, who was, therefore, in
danger of exposing himself to a shot from an unexpected quarter. Better
still, he could not climb the rock without also showing himself and
offering the fairest kind of a target.
All this tended to make the lieutenant much more comfortable, though
the feeling would have been more marked could he have laid hand on the
rifle.
“I wouldn’t be uneasy if sure he’s the only buck near, but if a second
appears, and my gun is left there, they will have me foul—I’ll do it!”
All depended upon quickness and silence. In the same crouching
posture, he darted across the intervening space, and was back again
in a twinkling, with his gun in hand. The success of his reckless act
thrilled him with pleasure.
“I haven’t been in this Apache country long,” he reflected, “but I
think I have learned something. If that fellow gets the better of me,
he’s smarter than I believe.”
But it was unwisdom to count on safety when peril impended. He was
confronted by one of the most fearful of enemies, a member of a tribe
whose exploits in cunning approach the marvelous. The most fatal thing
the officer could do was to underestimate his enemy.
A dismal, disquieting question forced itself upon him: if he had
effected so radical a change of base what was to prevent the Apache
doing the same thing? What warrant had the white man for believing a
scheme of that nature would present itself to him and not to the dusky
marauder? What was to hinder his adopting the artifice?
The thought was like a wet blanket to Decker, who instead of keeping
“eyes to the front,” began glancing to the right and left and behind
him in quest of an insidious approach from that direction.
Nothing was seen, but the element lacking to make his situation
intolerable came the next moment with the unmistakable noise—faint, but
loud enough to him in his tense, nervous state to be heard plainly—made
by a body gliding over the ground. Hardly had the conviction formed
that it was his old enemy stealing a march upon him, when he saw his
mistake. An immense rattlesnake, in its nocturnal wanderings, had been
disturbed by his intrusion, and retreating a few feet, as if to gain a
better point of view, threw itself into coil, reared its head and gave
its warning rattle.
It was nigh enough to reach the startled man with its venomous fangs,
but before it could deliver its blow, he leaped beyond reach and
leveled his revolver. There was sufficient moonlight and the distance
was so slight that he could have shattered its head at the first fire,
but, when about to press the trigger, he restrained himself.
The shot would betray his presence to the Apache, and not only put him
on his guard, but give him the chance to serve the white man as the
serpent had been treated.
“This is a lovely situation,” muttered the lieutenant; “I like one
about as well as the other, but I don’t intend to let you have your own
sweet way.”
The latter was addressed to the rattler, a bite from which was fatal,
but it could inflict no harm except by a closer approach. If it
attempted to come nearer for the purpose of striking, the officer would
blow its head off. He kept his eye on it. But the _crotalus_ species is
cowardly, and the serpent, finding itself not likely to be attacked,
came out of its coil and glided off among the boulders and was seen no
more.
CHAPTER XXII.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
“Now,” said Lieutenant Decker, as the horrible serpent glided from
sight in the gloom, “if you’ll pass round the end of that big rock over
yonder and give that Apache your attention, I’ll forgive you for the
way you scared me.”
As nearly as he could judge, the rattler was heading in the direction
named, and the officer listened, hoping to hear favorable results, but
the silence was unbroken, and, if the reptile passed near the warrior,
there was no collision between them.
One of the uncomfortable facts connected with these fearsome pests is
that when you come upon one in the desert or wilderness, you are likely
to meet another or perhaps several of them. The species attain enormous
size in New Mexico and Arizona, and a sting from one of them, though
slower in its results than the bite of the cobra, is about as fatal. No
man can contemplate the probability of coming upon a rattler unawares
in the night without a shudder. While it was not likely that the
reptile, seeing the crouching man, would attack him, yet such things
have occurred and the lieutenant never allowed himself to forget the
fact.
His chief concern, however, was with the “two-legged rattler” who,
as matters stood, was tenfold more dangerous than the creeping one.
Neither of the men had gained a shot at the other, but both were
hopeful of doing so.
“It must be that in some way he has learned of my change of base. I
can’t understand how he got the knowledge, but if he thought I was
still sneaking along the side of that boulder he would not content
himself by waiting for me to come into range——”
Fortunate was it for Lieutenant Decker that he had made the change
described, for, with the same unity of thought that was marvelous,
the Apache had resorted to a similar artifice. Instead of confining
himself to the big boulder, he had stolen back among the smaller ones,
and wormed his way forward and around until he secured a position
some twenty feet distant, which allowed him to scan the two sides of
the boulder that had been under the eye of the white man for the last
fifteen or twenty minutes.
What prevented the perfect success of the Apache, however, was the fact
that he did not suspect his stratagem had been anticipated. He expected
to find his enemy crouching along one of the sides of the boulder,
waiting for the buck to reveal himself through some unguarded movement.
Failing to discover him at the first scrutiny, the Apache silently rose
to a half-standing posture, and, with his head thrust forward, peered
here and there in search of the man whom he was eager to shoot on
sight.
In this position his side was toward the officer, who laid down his
revolver and brought his Winchester to the front, carefully sighting at
the miscreant, who was not only hungry for his life, but had doubtless
dyed his hands in the blood of many an innocent person. No one could
have been more cautious than Lieutenant Decker, and yet, when he came
to adjust his aim, he made the exasperating discovery that no Apache
was in sight. He had vanished like the shadow of a passing cloud. It
was hard to say what had caused his disappearance. It may have been
due to the slight noise made by the white man in preparing to shoot,
or his failure to discern him where he thought he was, may have told
the startling truth with that lightning-like quickness which marks the
trained warrior, and caused him to drop out of view and withdraw from
the post of danger with the same celerity that had brought him to it.
Be that as it may, he was gone, and the problem seemed to revert to its
status at the beginning. The two enemies were still maneuvering against
each other, with no apparent advantage to either. The lieutenant,
however, fancied he had a trifle the better of it, for the Apache did
not know where to look for him, while he had a general knowledge of the
other’s location.
Now followed fifteen or twenty minutes of the most trying nature.
During the interval, the lieutenant neither saw nor heard anything
that could give him the slightest clue to the other’s whereabouts or
his line of procedure. When the ignorance had continued that long, he
began to suspect the warrior had left the place. He might have become
convinced that it was too risky to attempt to outwit the white man, or
he may have suspected he had a companion in the neighborhood, who was
likely to appear at any moment and turn the scales against him.
This was a comforting theory, but the officer was too wise to trust his
safety to it. It would have been in accord with the subtlety of the
Apache to contribute to the delusion. The strained situation, however,
could not last forever. Mendez was expected to arrive ere long, and he
would be certain to bring a change. If the warrior was as shrewd as
he appeared to be, he would find that instead of one man to contend
against, he had two and possibly more.
This reasoning became so convincing at the end of fifteen minutes more
that the lieutenant acted upon it. Withdrawing still further from
the big boulder, he picked his way among the smaller ones until near
the spot where he had seen the Apache rise to view and then drop out
of sight again. He certainly was gone, but might be not far off. The
lieutenant resumed his cautious circling of the huge boulder until he
had passed entirely around it and come back to his starting point. This
took considerable time and was accomplished with the utmost skill and
care, but he neither saw nor heard anything of his enemy.
“He has vamosed the ranch, of a certainty,” was the gratifying
conclusion of Decker, who felt a greater degree of security than had
been his since the discovery of his peril. “At any rate, I’ll signal to
Freeman.”
And he emitted the low, vibratory whistle, like the call of a
nightbird. It could be heard but a short distance away, though capable
of being made much louder and more penetrating.
“Freeman will be certain to hear it. He must be wondering at my delay
and won’t tarry in coming to me. It may be that the Apache is listening
for something of the kind and will read its meaning. If he does he is
welcome.”
The officer compressed his lips and held himself ready for any
demonstration from the dusky miscreant, who never would have given up
his attempt on his life unless compelled to do so by a fear of his own
safety. Glancing here, there and everywhere, the officer was prepared
to fire the instant the opportunity presented, and was a trifle
disappointed that it did not appear.
He had gone through too many perils, brief as was his service in the
Southwest, to throw away any opportunity by impatience or carelessness.
He repeated the signals several times, at intervals of a few minutes,
and watched and listened for the reply from an enemy instead of his
friend, but none came.
“The fellow has left, beyond a doubt,” was the decision reached; “he
has gone to join his companions and nothing further is to be feared
from him. There’s no saying, however, what some of the others may be
doing.”
The distance to the spring was short. The lieutenant showed the effects
of the heat by lying down on his face and taking another deep draught
of the tepid water, after which he donned his hat and looked around in
the gloom.
“Since the Apaches must know of this supply, I shouldn’t be surprised,
if some of them came here to quench their thirst, which being so, I’ll
locate a few paces from it. What the mischief can be the matter with
Freeman?” he asked himself, with a feeling of vague uneasiness; “I
thought he would be quick to respond to my call, but he hasn’t even
answered it.”
It was well that Decker took the precaution of withdrawing from the
spring and ensconcing himself among the surrounding boulders, where
he could peep forth, and, by the exercise of a little precaution, see
without being seen.
He had hardly taken this position when he caught the sound of footsteps
and the murmur of voices. In the stillness he plainly heard the words
spoken. Their surly, guttural tones, the very few sentences uttered,
and the fact that he could not understand a syllable, were proof that
the new arrivals were his old enemies, the Apaches. The carelessness
displayed by them was proof also that they had no suspicion of the
presence of any whites near. When anything of the kind is apprehended,
the cunning and caution of those red men cannot be surpassed. It is
almost impossible to approach them undetected, and they never indulge
in the carelessness shown in this instance.
Just before reaching the spring, they passed over a spot where the
moonlight struck them. There were three, dressed and accoutered like
the members of the band that had wrought such sad havoc during the past
day or two.
They took turns in kneeling down and quaffing from the spring, after
which they rose to their feet, and stood grouped together in plain
sight of the officer, who was stealthily watching them. One of them
appeared to hold his peace, while the others exchanged views upon some
matter that interested all.
“The next thing I must do,” thought the listener, “is to take lessons
in the beautiful Apache language. I may persuade Geronimo to give me
instruction, but, before he did that, he himself ought to have a few
lessons in other matters.”
Nothing would have been easier than to shoot one, and perhaps all,
from where the lieutenant was hiding. The distance was short, and the
wretches deserved no mercy. Had Freeman been with him, it is more than
probable that the two would have opened fire upon them with destructive
results.
“If they’ll only be obliging enough to stand in a row,” mused the
officer, struggling against the temptation, “I would let them have a
broadside, but the instant I dropped one the others would be off.”
Prudence demanded that he should leave them undisturbed. The sole
purpose of this remarkable expedition was to recover the lost child.
To make an attack on the group, without the certainty of annihilating
the whole three, would apprise the Apaches of what was on foot and
inevitably defeat it. Besides, there was no telling what had become
of Freeman. He, too, was likely to become involved, with disastrous
consequences to himself. The occasion was unquestionably one for the
exercise of self-control.
And Lieutenant Decker exercised it. He held himself motionless, with
his trusty Winchester in his ready grasp, and with a strong yearning to
try his skill upon the miscreants who knew no such quality as mercy.
The three warriors stood in plain view for fully ten minutes. Then they
walked deliberately away, taking the opposite course from that leading
to the rock where the two white men had arranged to await the return of
Mendez with word of the stolen child of Freeman.
The officer kept his position for several minutes after the
disappearance of the trio. There was no probability of their coming
back, after quenching their thirst, but he meant to make sure they were
beyond hearing before he moved.
He was uneasy over the silence of Freeman, and what he had just
witnessed increased his misgivings. If these warriors made this
visit, it was not unlikely that others had done the same before them.
Coming upon the white man suddenly, nothing was more certain than a
fatal collision, and yet it would seem that if anything of the kind
had occurred, there must have been a shot, an outcry or some kind of
noise which assuredly would have been heard by the lieutenant a short
distance away.
But it might have been otherwise. They may have been more guarded than
the last, and, stealing up to the spring, discovered the presence of
the white man. In that case, they could have crept forward unawares
and despatched him without any disturbance that could have been heard
twenty feet away.
“I hope this suspense will soon be over. It doesn’t seem to me that
there’s much chance of Freeman getting his little fellow back, even
with the aid of the matchless Mendez, and now it begins to look as if
it had gone ill with him. What a blow to the wife and mother, and yet
how many similar ones have been struck in the Southwest!”
The lieutenant now resorted to signaling again, listening with a
painful throbbing of the heart for the reply which came not.
“Something is wrong,” was his conclusion; “the poor fellow may have
grown impatient with waiting and started off on a hunt of his own. If
he has attempted anything of that kind, it is the end of the business
so far as _he_ is concerned. I should not have left him alone—Sh!”
At that instant he was thrilled by a peculiar sound. It was not a
signal or spoken word, but the low, moaning outcry made by a person in
the depth of distress or great suffering.
“It’s Freeman,” whispered the lieutenant; “and some grievous ill has
befallen him! He is not far off; what can it mean?”
CHAPTER XXIII.
WHAT BEFELL MAURICE FREEMAN.
It will not be denied that a most memorable experience befell
Lieutenant James Decker, and yet what shall be said of that which came
to Maurice Freeman, whom he left beside the spring, while he went
forward to reconnoiter?
After taking his second deep draught of water, he walked aside, as will
be remembered, being impelled thereto by the same distrust that led the
young officer some time later to hide himself while the three Apaches
came forward to quench their thirst.
“I understand his action,” reflected the father; “he distrusts my
judgment; he believes I am so upset by my affliction that I would run
blindly into danger; but he is mistaken. Heaven knows that I have
suffered and am still tortured by anxiety for my little boy, but I know
better than to make his peril greater by any recklessness on my part.
“I would be offended if it were any one except Lieutenant Decker,
but who can be offended with him?” asked the captain, with a glow of
admiring gratitude; “he has risked his life for the sake of little
Fulton and will continue to risk it so long as a shadow of hope
remains. He is one of the most chivalrous, noble-hearted young men I
ever knew, and if he lives will earn his star.”
When fifteen minutes passed without bringing the expected signal from
the lieutenant, Freeman wondered whether anything was amiss. Had he
thought any danger threatened the young officer, he would have hastened
to his aid, without hearing his call; but decided to await something
more definite.
With the same suddenness as his young friend, he became aware that he
was not alone. Some one was near him and that some one must be an enemy.
The disturbance which brought this knowledge was so exceedingly faint
that at first the captain could not decide what point it came from. He
did not dare move, therefore, through fear of a misstep; but, grasping
his Winchester, he looked and listened with all the acuteness he
possessed. The Apache must have been the first to detect the presence
of another, for, with all of Freeman’s caution, he was outwitted by the
warrior, who appeared so suddenly that he seemed to rise out of the
very earth and to be standing erect in front of the astonished captain
before he knew where to look for him.
But Freeman was a veteran soldier and was not the man to surrender, so
long as he was able to strike a blow for himself. He recoiled a step,
so as to secure elbow room, and was in the act of raising his rifle to
his shoulder, when the Apache spoke:
“No fire—me friend.”
“Heaven! Mendez, where did you come from?” asked the astounded white
man, recognizing the Apache, upon whom it may be said all their hopes
rested.
The warrior was standing in the edge of the moonlight where his hard
features were in so plain view that Freeman wondered why he failed to
identify him the instant he presented himself.
“’Pache here—soon come,” explained Mendez; “we go ’way, where don’t
come.”
This precaution was so sensible that Freeman willingly followed him a
few steps further, to a spot where they were not likely to be seen by
any one approaching the spring. When they halted it was beside one of
those boulders, so numerous in that section that it may be said they
were never out of sight. The Apache kept his feet, as did his companion.
The heart of Maurice Freeman was throbbing painfully, for instinctively
he felt that this singular visit had something to do with his child.
He and Lieutenant Decker supposed the friendly Apache was at a
considerable distance, intent on his task of rescuing the little one,
and now, much sooner than was anticipated, he had come back, almost to
his starting point, and the boy was not with him.
“But he brings news—he brings news and my heart tells me it is bad
news,” thought the stricken parent, striving manfully to quell all
signs of his great sorrow.
What intensified his anguish was the evident fact that something was
the matter with Mendez. While walking in front of the captain, he
made several missteps. Once he stumbled, lurching far to one side, and
violently recovering himself. Then he straightened up and moved with a
firm step, as if he had regained his self-control.
“He has managed in some way to get hold of his favorite drink,” was the
despairing thought of Freeman; “he is a fine one to attempt to get my
boy out of the hands of a band of his countrymen!”
If anything was needed to confirm this belief it was the manner of
Mendez. It has been shown that he was morose by nature, but now his
tongue was loosened in a way that Freeman had never known before. He
did not stop his walk until he had gone more than a hundred yards from
the spring. Then he stopped abruptly, wheeled about and said:
“Cap’n Freem’n brave man—heap big warrior!”
“No, Mendez, I am no braver than you, nor as good a warrior in fighting
your people, for I know less of them than you; but tell me, do you
bring any news of my boy, who was stolen by some of your people?”
Instead of replying, the Apache devoted a minute or two to regaining
mastery of himself. He managed to fix his black eyes on the white man,
with something of his old defiant expression, when meeting the gaze of
an enemy. By the exercise of his iron will, he succeeded in keeping his
poise, but he could not drive out the fumes of the horrible tiswin
from his brain. They loosened his tongue and gave an odd twist to his
ideas.
“’Pache got boy,” said he; “Mendez see ’im.”
“I know that as well as you, for I too saw him in their hands. Is that
all the news you bring me?”
“Mendez can’t git ’im.”
“Why not? Have they put him to death?”
The Apache shook his head, without speaking.
“I thought Mendez was a great warrior,” said Freeman, hoping to taunt
him into an effort that he seemed reluctant or unable to make; “they
told me he could do anything; that he could get my child for me; that
he would earn the reward I will give him——”
“Mendez want no reward—he take no money!” interrupted the Apache,
fiercely thumping his breast.
“Then has he become a squaw? Is he no longer the great warrior that he
used to be? Has he become old and weak?”
“Mendez not old—Mendez not weak! He great warrior!”
Any reflection upon the courage or skill of the friendly Apache roused
his resentment, which was the reason why Freeman pressed him.
“Where is your greatness? You come and tell me that you cannot get my
boy away from your people, and yet it is not long ago that you set out
to do so. You did not say then you could not take him from them, for
you were the brave Mendez that the white people praise and that is
not afraid of any one, whether he be white man or red man. Now you are
_afraid_.”
“Mendez not ’fraid! white man lie!” the warrior thundered as he laid
his hand on his knife.
“I am not afraid of you, Mendez, but you have been too good a friend of
the white people for any of them to wish to harm you. But I repeat your
own words. Shall I tell you what is the matter with you?”
“No matter wi’ Mendez! He brave—he strong—he fight.”
“There is much the matter with you; you have been drinking tiswin; you
are not yourself; but for the tiswin you would be the true, brave,
noble Mendez.”
This charge being true, intensified the anger of the Apache. He again
placed his hand on his knife and drew it partly forth. His scowling
face, never attractive at its best, was working with rage. He seemed
to be gathering himself to leap upon the man who dared to speak these
words to him. Believing he was about to do so, Freeman quietly braced
himself for the struggle. He disliked to come to violence with one that
had done so much for the settlers and the army, but the exasperation of
the captain can be understood. At the moment when his hopes were at the
highest, and when he was certain that the scout was putting forth his
best efforts, he came staggering back to his friends maudlin, helpless,
worthless, good for nothing.
The belief was strong with the parent that if this opportunity was
allowed to pass, it would not come again. More than one peculiar
circumstance favored the cunning and ability of the scout, the
combination being of that nature that a repetition was not in the
natural order of things.
The weakness of Mendez for the vicious drink was well known, and no
person could be better aware of its palsying effects than Mendez
himself. It was to be expected that he would indulge in it when not
on duty and the chance offered, but when engaged on an enterprise
in which his highest skill was needed, there was no palliation for
his dissipation. He must have drunk deliberately, and the father,
distressed by fears for his child, could find no excuse for him. His
anger was natural.
But, if the Apache meditated an attack on the white man, he changed his
mind for the moment. He drew his hand from his knife.
“Say Mendez weak?—say he squaw?” he mumbled.
Freeman saw an appeal in these questions. It was as if the fellow had
become sensible of his condition and craved indulgence rather than
censure.
“The real Mendez is a brave warrior, but, if he is afraid of the
Apaches, he is not Mendez; if he wishes to show to his white brother
that he is still brave let him go the Apaches and bring back the boy
they hold a prisoner; then Mendez will be cunning, he will be brave, he
will be a great warrior.”
The fellow straightened up with a majestic dignity that could not fail
to command respect. He had thrown off the spell of the horrible stuff,
as a Roman warrior might fling off his cloak to give his limbs freer
play.
“Mendez is brave: he is a great warrior; he is greater than Geronimo
or Cochise; he is not afraid of them; he will bring back the child to
his white brother; let his white brother wait here and soon his heart
shall be made glad; he shall sing with joy like the birds in the trees.
Mendez will soon return; let my brother have patience.”
Maurice Freeman was amazed. He had never heard the surly fellow
speak the English tongue with such fluency and eloquence. It was a
revelation. He appeared to be another person. He towered in height and
was the picture of the great Tecumseh himself, addressing an array of
chieftains and urging them to battle.
Before the white man could frame a suitable reply, Mendez turned and
strode off, his step that of a conqueror. Captain Freeman gazed in
silent wonderment at the figure until it vanished in the gloom and he
was left alone.
The only explanation that Freeman could find for this extraordinary
occurrence was that when Mendez came to him, though he was so under the
influence of tiswin, he was conscious of his unfitness for the task he
had undertaken. Prompted by a strange self-accusation, proving that
conscience burns in the breast of every being, he had come to make
confession. Then he was so stung by the reproofs of the white man that
he was roused out of his sodden condition. He had really thrown off the
effects of the poison. In other words he was sober, and the Mendez of
old.
With his self-restoration came his natural courage and confidence in
his own prowess. He felt able to do what he had planned, and set out to
do it. He would show Captain Freeman, not by words but by acts, that he
was the invincible Mendez, as the white man had described him to the
Apache himself.
All this was well, but it could not remove the shuddering dread from
the heart of the father that the fatal blunder had already been made.
The Apache’s relapse had allowed the golden chance to slip beyond
repairing or recovery.
Freeman felt the need of Lieutenant Decker’s presence and counsel,
but he could not go to him, for the signal agreed upon had not been
sounded, and besides, the instructions of Mendez were that the father
should wait where he was until his dusky friend returned. He was
obliged, therefore, to content himself as best he might.
How long would he be gone? Would it be one hour, two hours, until
daylight, or, if he gave way to his weakness again, would he ever
return?
Had not the hostiles learned what he was trying to do? Had they not
plied him with the atrocious stuff on purpose that he should make an
exhibition of himself?
These and similar questionings were rioting in the brain of Maurice
Freeman, when he perceived that Mendez was with him again. He appeared
with the same strange suddenness as before, but alas! he was alone.
“Where is my boy?” asked the agonized father.
“The heart of Mendez is heavy, for he brings evil tidings; the pappoose
of his white brother is—dead.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE REALITY.
As Mendez pronounced the dreadful words, the father, overcome by his
emotions, uttered a groan and sank to the earth. As if pitying his
grief, and feeling that it was idle to say anything more, the Apache
turned slowly about and walked away, leaving the white man alone with
his grief.
And then some one touched Freeman on the shoulder, shook him and
he—awoke.
It was all a dream. He had sat down with his back against the boulder
to await the signal from Lieutenant Decker, and, hearing it not, had
sunk into a restless sleep, and now opened his eyes under the vigorous
stirring of his young friend.
“Come,” said the officer in a guarded voice, “a sentinel must not sleep
on his post. I heard you moan and thought you had been hurt.”
It is impossible to throw off on the instant the effects of a vivid
dream. It will linger for a time in our thoughts, even though strong
sense tells us the whole thing is absurd. Captain Freeman during his
days of campaigning had learned to fall asleep and to awaken quickly.
He saw almost on the instant the true situation and greeted his friend
cordially and cautiously.
“This was a piece of thoughtlessness on my part; but, lieutenant, I
have gone through a frightful dream: it makes me shudder even now.”
“I thought something of the kind was under way, for I was guided to
this spot by a moan that was like that of a dying person. It was only a
little while ago that three Apaches came down to the spring or rivulet,
as you may call it, to drink. They stood for some minutes talking. Had
you groaned in your sleep or breathed heavily, your slumber would have
turned to that which knows no waking.”
“I have been fortunate, but perhaps it is well that I slept, and yet I
am sorry, for its remembrance is terrible.”
“You have no faith in dreams, captain, I am sure?”
“None the less they impress us, no matter how we ridicule them.”
“But come! that must have been a lively one; let me hear about it.”
Seated under the shadow of the huge boulder, where they knew no
danger threatened, the two talked freely, though each took care that
their voices did not penetrate far from the spot. Freeman gave the
particulars of his dream, and it was plain that despite his rugged
nature it had made a deep impression on him.
“Lieutenant, do you suppose there is anything in it?” he asked at the
conclusion of the singular story. The young man respected the sorrow
of the elder too sincerely to make light of what he said, though he
himself felt not the slightest faith in the warnings and visions which
it is claimed sometimes come to people in slumber.
“Nothing at all; your feelings have been so wrought up with anxiety
that it would be still stranger if you had not dreamed of your boy. How
could it be otherwise when there is nothing else in your thoughts?”
“But it was so realistic that it clings by me.”
“As a matter of course; your brain was surcharged and overflowed with
the same string of ideas, and did not cease its throbbings when the
rest of the body was asleep. They say we never dream of anything which
has not previously been in our thoughts, but that is an error, for I
know I have had fancies in sleep which had never been in my head during
waking hours.”
“I have always held the same views as you, and yet we cannot deny,
lieutenant, that there have been many verifications of dreams. To
dispute it would be to make out some of the best of men and women to be
falsifiers.”
“In their cases, I think, a good deal was due to imagination, but you
are not of that build. A physician would explain your ugly dream on the
plainest of physiological principles, so literally there’s nothing in
it.”
“You know how fond Mendez is of tiswin.”
“That feature alone proves the character of your vision. The fellow
shares with his people the weakness for that extract of hades, but when
he is engaged on business like this you could not induce him to swallow
a drop, if you held it under his nose. That phase of your dream,
therefore, condemns it all.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so,” remarked Freeman with a sigh; “you
know more about him than I do, and could hardly mistake on that point.”
“Rather curiously it is only a few days ago that some of us were
talking about that very peculiarity. One of the men who had scouted
for months with him and Cemuri said that both had a certain
conscientiousness or rather devotion to duty which kept them strictly
sober, till their work is done. Then, too,” added the lieutenant, as if
resolved to leave no foundation for Freeman’s fears, “there is no way
by which Mendez could have got the vile stuff, had he been so disposed.”
“Could he not have gone among the Apaches and drunk with them?”
“He, a White Mountain Apache, whose work for us is well known, venture
among the hostiles, when they are on the war path!” exclaimed Decker,
turning with astonishment to his companion; “why do not you and I go
among them? It would be less sensible for him, since they hate him more
than both of us together.”
“Well,” said Freeman, “your words have given me comfort. I have never
had any experience in the dreams which serve as warnings.”
“Besides,” added the lieutenant, as the new thought struck him, “my
recollection of the old superstition is that dreams go by contraries,
so that on that basis your omen is a good one. Let me see—the theory
was that every dream was to be translated by the rule of contraries,
unless it came to us of a Friday night. Since this is Thursday evening
that lets you out.”
“Enough,” said Freeman, now able to rally from his depression; “I care
nothing for the dream, and can look at it through your eyes. You have
not told me whether you saw or heard anything out of the usual, though
there must have been something of the sort, or you forgot to give that
call for me to join you.”
“Well,” replied the lieutenant lightly, “I had a little entertainment
of my own, and at one time it looked as if matters would become lively.”
Thereupon he gave the incidents which have already been told the
reader, and which drove the last remnants of the dream from Freeman’s
thoughts.
“It seems to me,” said the captain, “that what you tell me gives good
cause for uneasiness.”
“How so?”
“You have met four of the Apaches at least, or rather you saw them. We
thought none of them were near. We must be close to the main party.”
“That does not follow; the one with whom I played hide and seek was a
sort of wanderer. He had drifted into this section, and, not liking the
look of things, has gone.”
“But he learned that you were here—you a white man, and would not be
likely to believe you were alone.”
“I do not see why he should not think so, since he himself was alone.
He has known of the water here and concluded that I had come from
somewhere to get a drink and was on my return, when we came near
running against each other. Remember that we did not meet at the rock
where we agreed to await the return of Mendez, so he can know nothing
of that.”
“But, if he carries the news to camp, will not the Apaches suspect the
truth, or perhaps more than the truth? They will think a party of white
men are after my child and become doubly cautious.”
“While it is possible you may be right, I place less importance on the
incident than you.”
“And the three whom you saw at the spring?”
“Their course proved they had not the slightest suspicion of anything
of that nature. Had they believed any of us were near, they would have
come and gone without detection, or they would have done worse.”
“Well, I hope it is as you say; I am in that nervous state that I
cannot look at matters with the coolness you do.”
“Don’t get the idea that I consider it fair sailing before us. Mendez
has a hard job in hand, and, were any one else concerned, I would have
little hope; but he understands what he is doing and is following
some carefully laid plan of his own. At any rate we shall know before
morning.”
The consciousness that the crisis was so near added to the uneasiness
of Freeman. He rose to his feet and looked anxiously around in the
gloom; but they were so far removed from the little rivulet or spring
of water that a dozen men might have come and gone without being seen,
had they but exercised ordinary caution.
“Since there is no telling when Mendez may return,” suggested Freeman,
“is it not best that we should return to the other rock?”
Lieutenant Decker saw no objection to this course, and he, too, rose to
his feet. He stood a moment, debating some question with himself.
“I wonder,” he finally said, “whether any more of them can be in the
neighborhood. I am inclined to take another look at the spring. If you
will remain here, I will promise not to keep you waiting more than a
few minutes.”
“Very well; there’s no fear of my falling asleep again, and if you are
absent too long I will go forward and find out the cause.”
“Wait for the signal, or better, I will return to you.”
“It is the same distrust,” reflected Freeman, when he was once more
left alone; “but in this business I suppose one man is better than two.”
Despite the reassuring words of the lieutenant, he was somewhat
troubled by the new phase of the situation. Of the four Apaches whom he
had seen, one received a sharp reminder of the presence of a white man
in the neighborhood. If he carried the news to the camp of his people,
they would see the probable meaning of it, since no white person
would come thither for a drink of water, unless he left companions
in the vicinity. The fact that he was near the spring would indicate
that others were not far off, and that the solitary Apache held such
belief was almost proved by his withdrawal in the face of danger. A
warrior with his acumen and skill, who had come so near outwitting his
antagonist, would not be apt to give up the game of hide and seek,
unless he expected a change of conditions through the arrival of other
white men. He must have felt himself the equal of a single foe, but
had no wish to become involved with several. His course was simply a
retreat before an enemy whom he expected to be joined by reinforcements.
On the other hand, he might be operating on his own responsibility, or,
if a scout, would not rejoin the main party until he could take more
definite information to them.
It will be seen that the young officer was in a maze of doubt and
speculation. Like the detective trying to trace a crime, he could spin
theories without limit, only perhaps to find them all wrong in the end.
The situation which confronted them was that they were to wait at the
rock some distance off until the coming of Mendez, and when he came, he
would bring good or evil news. That was the situation in a nutshell.
Had the lieutenant discovered more Apaches near the spring, he would
have seen cause for misgiving and alarm. He, therefore, reconnoitered
the spot with the utmost care, listening and peering here and there
with the patient caution of an Apache himself. It required but a brief
while, however, to satisfy himself that none of his enemies were
prowling in the neighborhood. Some of them might have come and gone,
while he was holding converse with Freeman, but it was unlikely.
The lieutenant, therefore, did not hesitate to emit the guarded whistle
which quickly brought his friend to his side.
“I have discovered nothing amiss,” he explained; “I don’t believe any
of them have been here since the three I told you about.”
“I presume you wish to take the lead as usual?”
“It makes no difference,” replied Decker, who, however, took care to
place himself in advance, with the other only two or three yards behind
him. The route had become familiar to both and neither needed to warn
the other to be careful. They advanced in the crouching posture to
which they had become accustomed, with heads thrown forward, stepping
softly, looking keenly on all sides and listening for the first
indication of danger, which might come from the rear as well as from
the front.
When the lieutenant found himself facing the huge boulder where he had
encountered the Apache some time before, he paused, raising his hand
for Freeman to do the same. It seemed as if his old enemy must still
be near, and the young man did not pass the dangerous point until he
had called into play all the skill of which he was master and convinced
himself that nothing further was to be feared. Then the two picked
their way to the rendezvous by the rock.
CHAPTER XXV.
A REMINISCENCE.
Reaching the rock, the two men made another reconnaissance before
sitting down to await the return of the White Mountain Apache. Nothing
was discovered to cause misgiving, and they were almost convinced that
they would remain undisturbed until the coming of the scout upon whom
all their hopes were now placed.
The moon had passed further over in the heavens, and its face was
frequently screened by drifting masses of clouds which rendered
its light treacherous and uncertain. They talked in low tones, not
forgetting to keep constant watch for the approach of their enemies,
some of whom it was certain were at no great distance.
“That affair of mine with the rattlesnake,” said the lieutenant,
“recalled the singular adventure of two scouts under Major Forsythe,
in the autumn of 1868. The peace commissioners concluded treaties the
previous year with the Arapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas, Comanches and
Apaches. Other treaties were formed, the object being to secure the
removal of the different tribes to the reservations selected for them.
There was delay and bad faith on the part of our agents, and, in the
face of the treaties, many outrages were committed by the Indians in
Kansas and Colorado. Troops were kept on watch along the lines of
travel across the State of Kansas into Colorado, and a company of
scouts under Major Forsythe, numbering fifty picked men, left Fort
Hayes, Kansas, in September. A week was spent in scouting, when they
reached Fort Wallace, where Forsythe proceeded to refit his command.
Then news came that the Indians had attacked a train near Sheridan, a
small railway town, eighty miles away. Forsythe set out with his force
to punish the marauders.
“The Indians were pressed so hard that they resorted to their old
trick of breaking up into smaller parties, thus confusing their trail
and rendering effective pursuit impossible. Forsythe pushed on to the
Republican River, where he struck another trail which grew broader and
more distinct, until it was clear that a large number of horses and
cattle had been recently driven over it.
“At the close of day, the command went into camp on the Arickaree Fork
of the Republican, at a point were the river divides so as to inclose
a low sandy island about a hundred yards long. The soldiers had but
one day’s provisions, but their intention was to push on and strike
the Indians, who were known to be not far off. At daylight, while the
men were saddling up, they were attacked by fully a thousand Brulés,
Sioux, Cheyennes and ‘Dog Soldiers.’ Forsythe retreated to the island,
and the position was made as strong as possible. In the first attack,
Forsythe was badly wounded and two of his men killed. A few minutes
later a second shot shattered the major’s left leg between the knee and
ankle. Almost at the same moment, the surgeon was killed. Every horse
was shot. That fight and siege formed one of the most fearful episodes
in the history of our Indian wars. At the end of the first day not a
horse was alive, the provisions were gone, the surgeon was dead, there
were no medical stores, four men were killed, four mortally and four
badly wounded, ten others being slightly hurt, so that almost one-half
of the command had been struck.
“On the other hand, the Indians had been decisively repulsed, the
soldiers had plenty of ammunition, water could be obtained by digging
in the sand, and the bodies of the horses and mules would ward off
starvation. But the men needed help in the worst way. The nearest post
from which this could be obtained was Fort Wallace, one hundred and
ten miles distant. Two of the best scouts, Trudeau and Jack Stillwell,
volunteered to run the gauntlet.
“As soon as it was dark, they stole from the island. There was little
hope that they would succeed, but both men were brave and cool-headed,
and, if the thing were possible, they were the ones to accomplish it.
The defenders waited long and listened, and hearing nothing, believed
they had been captured. At dusk on the second day, during which there
was continuous fighting, two more scouts were sent out, but they were
discovered and barely succeeded in getting back to the island. This
convinced all that Stillwell and Trudeau had failed, but such was not
the fact.
“Those two scouts, in leaving the island, moved down stream, keeping as
near the middle as they could. The water was so shallow that neither
could swim, and they crawled on their hands and knees for most of the
distance. Lucky for the men, the night was clouded, and the moon had
set before they left the island. They kept in the river for three miles
when they waded ashore, and, hiding their trail as best they could,
made for the nearest timber. When day dawned, they were ten miles from
the river and their danger was greater than ever. The Indians were
patrolling the stream, on the watch for just such attempts and the
prairie grass was so short that it was impossible for the scouts to
advance without exposing themselves. The only way to escape capture was
to conceal themselves and wait for night.
“Sweeping the surrounding prairie, they observed a spot where the grass
was about a foot higher than the rest. With the utmost care they crept
to it and found it just the place they wanted. The dead body of some
animal had acted as a fertilizer, causing the grass to grow with more
vigor and density than elsewhere. The bones were those of a buffalo
whose flesh had disappeared long before.
“Lying down in this hiding place, the scouts munched the slight meal
they had brought with them, and then peeped out at their surroundings,
which were anything but reassuring. Indian horsemen seemed to be moving
on all sides, and the sound of firing from up the river showed that
fighting had been renewed. Neither of the scouts dared rise from a
prone position, and were in constant danger of discovery. If some of
the sharp-eyed redskins detected the trail leading from the river, they
were certain to follow it to the clump of grass.
“Trudeau and Stillwell agreed to take turns in sleeping and watching
for every three hours. Trudeau was the first to act as sentinel. He lay
upon his side, took a big chew of his army plug tobacco, and peeped
between the blades of grass, while his companion slept. Before long
Trudeau saw a sight which was so alarming that he awoke his companion.
Twenty Indian horsemen were approaching and were sure to pass very
close to the clump of grass, even if they did not ride through it.
“Stillwell peeped out and said:
“‘We’ve got to hug the ground close, but if they see us, they’ll find
out we come high.’ ‘You bet,’ replied Trudeau and the two grimly waited
events.
“The Indians seemed to have no special business, and rode so slowly
that it was a long time before they reached the point only a hundred
yards away. It was at this critical moment that a feeling of impending
danger caused Stillwell to turn his head. As he did so, he saw an
immense rattlesnake gliding through the bones of the dead buffalo and
coming straight toward them. It looked as if the scouts had invaded
the reptile’s home, for he did that which my pet did not do—he advanced
upon them with the intention of attack.
“The first thought of the men was to shoot or to club him to death
with the stocks of their rifles, but any such act would have revealed
their presence to the Indians now close at hand. The next thought was
to stare the snake out of countenance as the rattler himself sometimes
does with his victims. Stillwell made the attempt, but without any
success. The snake meant business.
“The rattler came straight forward until within four feet of Trudeau,
when he began coiling to strike. Not a moment was to be lost, and
Stillwell made up his mind to shoot the reptile. He preferred death at
the hands of the redskins to that from the bite of the rattler.
“For a minute or two, however, the jaws of Trudeau had been vigorously
working on the tobacco in his mouth. He had accumulated a volume of
spittle, surcharged with nicotine. He was nearer to the snake than
his companion, and he now shot out a thick yellow stream, as if from
the nozzle of a hose. It landed directly in the eyes and mouth of the
rattler, as he was almost in the act of striking.
“Well,” said Lieutenant Decker, with a smile, “that particular serpent
had never learned to chew, and the pungent stuff in his eyes and mouth
must have disgusted him to fury. He had never been attacked with that
sort of ammunition and it threw him into a panic. He flung himself out
of his coil a good deal quicker than he entered it, and, turning tail,
glided through the grass and out of sight with such celerity that the
scouts, despite their dangerous situation, shook with silent laughter.
“Their mirth did not last long, for the Indians were so near that
discovery seemed inevitable. Lying as flat as they could, and wishing
they had the power to stamp themselves into the earth, the scouts
knew that a minute or two would decide their fate. Capture by the
Indians meant death by torture, and they held their rifles tightly
grasped, resolved that if the worst came they would prove the truth of
Stillwell’s boast that they ‘came high.’
“The redskins, however, were not making for the clump of grass. They
rode past, the horses on a walk and so close that their hoofbeats and
the mumble of their voices were plainly heard, but they did not stop
and that particular danger was over.
“Trudeau and Stillwell alternately watched and slept until night
came again. The rattler was too sick of his reception to bother them
further, and not once did the Indians approach so near as in the early
forenoon. When the coast was clear, the two stole out from their hiding
place and resumed their journey to Fort Wallace, walking rapidly and
often breaking into a trot. They were tough fellows who could keep
this up for hours, and, knowing the extremity of their friends on the
island, they did not spare themselves. They reached Fort Wallace and
quickly made known the need of sending instant help to Major Forsythe.
“Such an appeal is never made in vain, and Major Bankhead was soon on
the way with four troops of cavalry. The Indians tried to jump his camp
twenty miles from the Arickaree, but failed, and, without waiting to
give battle, the whole band retreated. Major Forsythe and what was left
of his command were saved.”[1]
“And it was your experience with the rattler a little while ago that
called this incident to mind?” was the inquiring comment of Captain
Freeman.
“Yes; I had not thought of it for a long time, but when I leveled my
revolver and was about to pull trigger, the whole thing flashed upon
me. I saw the similarity of my situation with that of Stillwell and
Trudeau, though I was not in quite so bad a fix, for the rattler did
not mean to attack me, if I let him alone, and there was but the single
Indian that was looking for me. But to fire my pistol would undo what I
had accomplished by my change of base.”
“You had other charges in the weapon, to say nothing of your
Winchester, which was within reach.”
“It was not that, but the dusky dog would have known where I was and
gained the advantage that was mine.”
“It did you no good.”
“On the contrary, it convinced him that I was up to his tricks and
caused him to withdraw without any more attempts against me.”
During these minutes, the two maintained their watchfulness. The words
were spoken in low tones, and, while the lieutenant was relating his
reminiscence, he continually glanced from side to side. The fact that
all remained tranquil confirmed the two in their growing belief that
nothing was to be feared from the Apaches.
“It must be growing late,” finally remarked Freeman, “and Mendez, it
seems to me, is overdue.”
The lieutenant drew out his watch, but the moonlight was not strong
enough for him to discern the figures.
“I’m bound to know the time,” he said, removing his cap, so as to shade
the light of the match which he drew from the small rubber safe he
always carried and scraped it across the face of the rock.
“That’s risky business,” whispered his companion.
“That’s the reason I’m doing it,” replied the officer, speaking more
truthfully than he suspected. “But it shan’t give much help to any of
the fellows lurking near.”
Before the twist of flame could assume shape a puff of the breath
extinguished it.
“It’s later than I suspected,” he remarked.
“I suppose it is near ten o’clock?”
“It’s a quarter to eleven.”
“It must be time to look for Mendez.”
“I think so, but there’s no certainty about it; he may be here in five
minutes and not for five hours. I suspect he will delay his return for
a considerable while.”
“For what cause?”
“You know there isn’t much chance of doing anything against Maroz and
Ceballos for a long time yet, and there is no need, therefore, of his
coming here and waiting for hours. He would have to lose sight of
them for a good while, so that the conditions are likely to change
very materially when he ventures on a move against them, whereas, by
keeping the two under his eye until it was time to move, he could do so
intelligently.”
“Furthermore, so long as he keeps beyond our reach we can’t urge him to
a haste that is against his judgment.”
“Doubtless that has something to do with it, but—_st_!”
Both heard the same signal that had alarmed Freeman during the
afternoon, when he believed he was inextricably caught. They listened
for its repetition, but the next few minutes were marked by perfect
stillness. Then, when they whispered their speculations about its
import, they disagreed as to the point whence it came.
Freeman thought it was from the direction of the rivulet, where they
had quenched their thirst, but the lieutenant was positive that it
issued from a spot at right angles to that course.
“We’ll find out when we hear it again, as we shall do in a few minutes.”
“Do you think it is Mendez?”
“Yes, but it won’t do to bank on it until we get further data; it’s the
favorite signal of his to announce his coming, but no doubt others of
his people use a similar call. If it is he he will come right to this
spot—ah, you are right!”
So it proved. The gentle whistle sounded again and this time there
could be no mistaking its source; it was about half way between the
rock and the rivulet or spring.
“Don’t forget that it may be some one else; if so, leave him to
me,” said the officer, stealthily drawing his revolver; “I’ve
been disappointed so many times to-day that I am entitled to this
chance—there he is!”
The outlines of an Apache warrior silently assumed shape in the dim
moonlight, and another “disappointment” fell to the lot of Lieutenant
Decker, who returned his weapon to its place as he recognized Mendez,
when he uttered a single word of greeting.
It takes a great deal to rouse the emotions of an American Indian, but
if ever there was an amazed warrior it was this White Mountain Apache.
He had visited the camp of Maroz and Ceballos and the discovery he made
was one that fairly carried him off his feet, and which, when related
to Maurice Freeman and Lieutenant Decker, held them dumfounded with
astonishment.
[1] This incident is a fact.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A SURPRISE INDEED.
Mendez, the White Mountain Apache and friend of the whites, possessed
mental gifts above most of his race. More than once he had displayed
a grasp of details and a comprehension of plans rarely shown by his
people, and which were so unexpected to the officers on the reservation
that they were filled with admiration. They trusted more to his skill
and perception than they did to any other of the dusky scouts.
He had little to say, immediately after the outbreak of Maroz and
Ceballos, but those who knew him were sure his active brain was at
work, and that, sooner or later, he would surprise them by some exploit
that proved an almost intuitive knowledge of the schemes of the
hostiles.
The part he acted during the day of the revolt of Maroz and Ceballos
has been told. Lieutenant Decker, who was his constant companion,
afterward stated that from the moment he rode out from Fort Reno with
him and the three cavalrymen, he did not utter twenty words, and those
that fell from his lips were mostly in answer to inquiries, while the
majority remained unanswered.
It is to be presumed that Mendez was satisfied with the steps taken to
head off Maroz and his confederates, for, had it been otherwise, he
would have protested. But the effort failed, and then the fellow found
use for his tongue. He was freely consulted by the colonel, and the
steps that were taken to subdue the outbreak were materially modified
to meet the views of the sagacious Mendez.
No member of the hostiles knew more about the fastnesses of the Apache
range than did he. He read in the display of the signal smoke and the
actions of the band that had slain the family of Captain Murray an
attempt to mislead the whites as to their true purpose. Instead of
rendezvousing at the advanced point, where from their actions it would
be supposed they had arranged to come together, they fixed upon a wild,
precipitous gorge nearly two miles further in the mountains.
Locating there and keeping vigilant watch against surprise the leaders
would send out their runners and bring in all the disaffected warriors
that could be persuaded to take the risk of another revolt against the
authorities. When they were fully assembled they would burst from the
mountains like a cyclone and spread woe and death among the ranches and
settlements over an area of hundreds of square miles.
To crush this rebellion in the bud was the work of the soldiers, and
enough has been told to show that it was a task most difficult of
accomplishment. How could the brave boys in blue hope to surprise the
camp of the hostiles, when they were prepared for such an attempt and
were certain to take every possible precaution against it?
Evidently there was but one way and even that offered scant probability
of success. By taking the direct trail of the raiders and following
it into the mountains every rod of advance would become known to the
Apaches. They would form their ambush, empty many a saddle and scatter
the survivors in dismay. It was for just such a campaign that the
hostiles planned and which they believed was to be attempted against
them.
It is not insisted that, but for Mendez, this course would have been
adopted. The intelligent officers and soldiers of the Southwest learned
fast, and speedily became adepts in the subtlety of Apache warfare.
They learned how to ambuscade their dusky foes as well as to avoid the
traps set for them, and the fight was often that of cunning against
cunning, rather than bravery against bravery.
The colonel, however, willingly based his course of action on the
belief of Mendez that the rendezvous of the hostiles had been fixed at
a certain point among the foothills, which he described and located so
clearly that the other White Mountain scouts recognized the spot, and
were able to guide the troops unerringly to it, by a route which would
allow them to use their horses for most of the distance.
Fort Reno, standing on the western bank of the Tonto, is fully twenty
miles north of the Salt River, a principal tributary of the Gila.
Instead of riding eastward toward the Sierra Ancha, which would have
been the most direct route, the cavalry swept down the valley of the
smaller stream, crossed the larger, and then headed eastward toward the
Apache range, passing to the south of Grape Vine Spring, and fording
Pinal Creek, which flows directly northward into the Salt River.
Under the guidance of the Indian scouts, this was carried out with
perfect success, the cavalry entering the foothills from an unexpected
point, and stealing their way toward the Apache camp without detection
from the enemy.
But the ride was a tremendous one, covering as it did a distance of
more than fifty miles. It was not begun until the afternoon was well
along, and when daylight dawned much was still before them. They were
forced to halt to rest their exhausted animals and to prepare for the
more delicate and dangerous work before them.
Meantime Mendez and Lieutenant Decker were doing their part well.
Accompanied by a squad of half a dozen cavalry, they crossed Salt River
at a point where they were certain of being seen by the hostiles,
riding here and there, apparently in a blind search for the trail. They
were ordered to keep this up until night, and then recross at different
points, come together on the northern bank and return to the fort.
It will be understood that the object of this diversion was to deceive
the hostiles as to the real plan of campaign. It was sought to make
them believe the pursuit and attack would come from the front, whereas,
the cavalry were at that very time making all haste to reach the rear
of their camp.
The members of the smaller party found their way in due time to the
fort, with the exception of a couple—Mendez and Lieutenant Decker. They
stayed behind and pushed matters on their own account.
Their purpose was altogether different from that of Captain Shindle and
the others, for they could not hope to accomplish anything effective
against the hostiles: they were aiming to help Maurice Freeman to
recover his boy.
As the lieutenant had stated, Mendez knew and told him that the father
would do precisely what he did do, and that, unless he was checked, he
would fall a victim to Apache ferocity, without affording the slightest
aid to his child. Freeman had made the natural mistake of believing the
hostiles would rendezvous at a point much further in advance than they
did. Some of their scouts would be there, on the watch for the approach
of the whites, and the chance of the father’s circumventing them was as
one in a million.
The lieutenant and the scout, having completed all they could do in the
way of diverting the suspicion of the Apaches, now gave their whole
energy to the help of the stricken parent.
The whole question narrowed down to that of the whereabouts of the
captive, and whether it was possible to secure possession of him
unharmed. Mendez suspected that Maroz and Ceballos, with probably
one or two companions, were at the advanced position referred to,
but whether they retained the immediate custody of the child, or had
sent him further into the mountains with the main band, or had put
him to death, were questions which could be answered only by personal
investigation.
The natural conclusion was that the first proceeding of the leaders
in the outbreak would be to send the child away from them, not only
as a surer means against his recapture, but to leave his abductors
untrammeled in their movements. Such, I say, was the natural theory,
but the sagacious Mendez saw a reason for hoping that the reverse was
the case; in other words, that matters were just as it was desired they
should be.
Maroz was irrestrainable in his ferocity when aroused. No crueler
savage ever lived. He carried off little Fulton Freeman, because he saw
the chance of torturing his parents’ hearts with deeper grief by doing
so than by driving a bullet through his brain. He helped to shoot down
the children of Captain Murray, because their father and mother fell
during the opening of the scrimmage, and, therefore, they could not be
distressed further; but he recognized the son of Freeman and saw his
opportunity.
To turn the little fellow over to the other Apaches back in the
mountains would be to relinquish, for a time at least, control of his
fate. There were turbulent spirits with the main band who were likely
to insist on their own views as to what should be done with him. It was
not improbable that these would conflict with the purposes of Maroz and
cause him keen disappointment.
It cannot be denied that this was theorizing matters down to a fine
point, but it was the theory upon which Mendez acted in his attempts to
help Maurice Freeman in his extremity.
The correctness of his belief in the first instance was proven by
his discovery of the white man near where he expected him to be. Not
intending to be hampered by the movements of the anxious parent, his
first step was to pilot him to a safe point, and leave him in the
company of the lieutenant until such time as their services should be
needed—a contingency that, as the Apache viewed it, was so remote as to
be almost out of sight.
Parting from them, as has been described elsewhere, Mendez began one of
the most difficult tasks of his life: it was that of locating not only
Maroz and Ceballos, but the young captive. That had to be done before
the still harder work of rescuing the little one should be attempted.
It is not worth while to follow the wonderful scout, step by step, in
his approach to the camp of the hostiles. It may be described as the
absolute perfection of woodcraft—noiseless, unerring, and as direct
as that of the bloodhound on the trail of the fugitive. As the gloom
closed him in, and the black eyes lost half their function, his
advance showed hardly any diminution, for he was never at a loss as to
the course to take.
But there came a time when he was within a stone’s throw almost of the
spot he had fixed upon as the right one that his phantom-like progress
was checked. The slow, silent, gliding motion ceased and the dusky
scout stood motionless.
At that moment he was among the stunted pines, where the moonlight was
so faint that his keen vision could penetrate only a short distance
in any direction, but the conviction was strong upon him that some
person was near. He had not seen or heard anything to impart such
knowledge, but that peculiar sense known by the name of intuition was
as unmistakable as sight or hearing could have been.
Sure enough, while gazing to the right, he outlined the figure of an
Apache warrior, standing as quiet as himself, in a spot where the dim
illumination would have been secure protection against any eyes except
those of Mendez. The figure remained stationary only a few seconds
when it vanished among the trees in the direction of the camp of the
hostiles.
As it moved off the friendly scout received a shock, caused by
observing a resemblance to one whom he had known before, and who was
the last person in the world he expected to see. The emotion, however,
was transitory, and, waiting but a minute or two, he resumed his
stealthy approach to the camp.
A few steps further and he caught the twinkle of a fire among the
trees, and he had only to put forth the matchless caution he had
displayed from the first to gain sight of that which he was so desirous
of seeing.
There was a small fire of broken sticks kindled against the face of
a boulder, and in front of it was an Apache warrior stretched on the
ground in a lazy attitude, smoking his pipe and seemingly half asleep,
as he gazed thoughtfully at the embers; but Mendez needed no one to
tell him that every sense of the fellow was on the alert, and that the
slightest misstep on the part of the scout would bring him to his feet
like a flash.
It was Ceballos who lolled in this fashion, and he was the only Indian
in sight. His companion or companions were absent, doubtless on the
lookout for the approach of the soldiers, who had been observed
hovering on the trail during the afternoon. Mendez scanned every
portion of his field of vision, but Ceballos was alone.
That he had friends near, however, was proven the next minute when a
call, similar to that used by the friendly scout, sounded among the
trees. Instantly the Apache came to a sitting posture, with his head
turned partly sideways, in the attitude of intense attention.
Then he answered the signal in the same guarded manner, and looked to
the left, whence a second figure emerged, with the noiselessness of a
shadow. As the firelight fell upon his face, Mendez recognized Maroz,
the fierce Apache, who had led the revolt and whose hands were already
stained with crime.
He bent down by the fire, lit his pipe, coolly seated himself beside
his companion, and the two began talking together.
It was all important that a part at least of their words should be
overheard, since they were sure to help materially in gaining the
knowledge which the White Mountain Indian was seeking. Their voices
were low, but it was rather in obedience to custom than through fear
of any eavesdroppers. The stillness was profound, and the listener was
able to catch enough of the words to hold the drift of conversation.
The result was a remarkable confirmation of his own wisdom, for it
proved that the couple had placed themselves in this position, near
the trail leading into the mountains, to detect the approach of the
soldiers, and to give notice to the band, that they might fully
prepare to receive them. Maroz and Ceballos speculated as to whether
their pursuers had formed any suspicion of the truth, and were making
their advance with such care that they would not reach the spot until
midnight or later. Nothing, however, that was overheard showed that
they suspected the cavalry would try to steal to the rear of their
camp; they looked for them over the direct route, as it may be called.
But the great question, after all, remained unanswered. Where was the
boy that these vagrants stole from the destroyed home of Captain
Murray? Inasmuch as he was not in sight, it was fair to presume he was
with the main band, further in the mountains. Mendez suspected this
was the fact, but he was not prepared fully to believe it until proof
was given. It need not be said, therefore, that he listened with the
closest attention to the words of the couple.
But the minutes passed without affording a hint of the information he
was after. Neither Maroz nor Ceballos referred to the lad, but talked
about the soldiers, whom they were expecting, and who they were anxious
should come. The two took turns in moving back over the trail, so as to
prevent any possible surprise, and their presence together was intended
for only a short time, and came about because they were quite sure
their pursuers would wait until the night was further along.
All at once Mendez caught a reference to the child, but the usually
stolid fellow was roused to the point of exasperation by the action
of Maroz, who, at the moment he made the remark, shifted his position
so as to turn his face directly away from him. Ceballos imitated the
movement in order to accommodate him, so interfering with the sounds
of their voices that Mendez could not identify a word, even though all
were uttered in the same tone as before.
No more trying situation can be imagined than that of the scout, who,
on the threshold of information, found the door shut in his face. It
was evident that the couple were uttering the very sentences he wished
to hear, and it was equally evident that he could not hear them so long
as the relative position of the parties remained the same.
Instead of waiting in the hope that they would make another move that
would favor him, Mendez promptly took the only course that offered
hope; he moved round to the other side of the camp, so as to place
himself in front of his enemies.
This was a task of such extreme delicacy that he stealthily withdrew
until beyond sight of the little blaze. With all his wonderful
woodcraft he dared not attempt the circuit while so near to camp, nor,
great as was his impatience, did he allow himself to be unduly hurried.
But he was expeditious, and striking the right point he again advanced,
catching the glimmer of the fire before he had gone a dozen steps in a
straight line.
It was a night of surprises, and the greatest of his life now came to
him.
Maroz and Ceballos held the same position as before and were talking
apparently about the captive, concerning whom the spy was anxious to
secure information; but a third Indian was present. He must have come
during the few minutes the scout was out of sight of camp. His coming
was as skillful as that of Mendez himself, for he had heard and seen
nothing of him. That singular intuition which revealed the presence of
another, when invisible to the eye and inaudible to the ear, was not
always with Mendez, or he would have discovered his approach.
The new arrival was standing erect, between the couple on the ground
and the fire, with his back toward the latter. He was talking, and
while holding his rifle in one hand gesticulated with the other. The
same indefinable something in his appearance and manner told Mendez
that he was the warrior whom he had seen a short time before.
But the face of the Apache was in shadow, and for several minutes he
could not identify him. At the end of that time, however, he suddenly
turned, so that the firelight fell upon his countenance. And then, as
Mendez looked, he recognized him as Cemuri, his companion of years,
whom he was certain was slain by Maroz within the preceding twenty-four
hours.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CONCLUSION.
It must not be supposed, from what has been related about Mendez, the
White Mountain scout, that he was superior to the weaknesses peculiar
to his race. That he was brave, loyal to the whites, cunning, full of
resources and a consummate master of woodcraft, was conceded by his
bitterest enemies; but while he possessed these admirable traits, it
must be stated that he shared the unfortunate fondness of his people
for intoxicants. At times he indulged in this love for the frightful
decoction, “tiswin,” which, as has been made known elsewhere, is the
product of fermented corn, and is one of the most villainous forms of
“fire-water” conceivable.
Had Mendez related the particulars of the outbreak of Maroz and
Ceballos, he would have stated that he, Cemuri and they were indulging
their weakness and that, humiliating as the confession must have been,
he fell more under its influence than any one of them. In fact, he was
so far gone that his recollection of the affray was always exceedingly
misty. He recalled that, like the explosion of a bombshell, the
party suddenly became engaged in a fierce conflict, in which he was
the principal offender, and in some way he was slightly wounded and
then left alone. The facts that afterward came to light were of an
interesting character.
It is a physiological fact that intoxicants remove the sense of moral
restraint in a person, or, as it has been expressed, a man, when under
their influence, will do that which he would do when sober if he dared;
in other words, while in that condition he acts out his natural self.
This was the case with Maroz and Ceballos, who, though less helpless
than Mendez, became so reckless that they threw off the mask they had
been wearing so long, and showed themselves the ferocious miscreants
they had always been. They cast aside all restraint, and, being more
sober than Mendez, would have slain him but for the interference of
Cemuri, who had more self-command than even they. He was able to
refrain when he had barely tasted the fiery stuff, and with a subtlety
like that of Mendez, when he was his own master, he convinced Maroz and
his companion that he was with them in sentiment and would eagerly join
in the outbreak.
He professed to have a grievance against the colonel at the fort, and
was only awaiting the chance to repay it. He would have preferred to
wait still longer, but since the couple were determined upon taking the
warpath without delay, he was ready to risk everything.
That he succeeded in convincing the two of his earnestness was proof
that he was as sagacious in some respects as his comrade for many
years. He would not permit the latter, however, to receive any serious
injury, and thus it was that the courageous fellow, who was literally
helpless, was allowed to wander off in the darkness, with little more
than a scratch, received from Maroz himself, who had meant to destroy
him without mercy. Cemuri joined the rebels, displaying an ardor that
surpassed, if possible, their own, and so well counterfeited that they
were wholly deceived.
Mendez spent the night in sodden slumber, but became himself on
the morrow. Brushing the cobwebs from his brain, and recalling the
grotesque incidents of the night before, he found himself mystified to
understand how it was he was alive and substantially unharmed.
It was a part of Cemuri’s far-reaching scheme to make it seem he was
dead. By this means his opportunities for befriending the whites
were increased. When, therefore, Mendez heard from others that his
former companion had been slain and his body flung into the bush he
doubted the truth of the statement no more than he doubted that Maroz
and Ceballos were leading the formidable revolt. He leaped upon his
pony and dashed to Fort Reno in all haste with the tidings. He was
considerably mixed as to details, but his story was accepted with
little questioning; and the measures were set on foot that have been
made clear elsewhere.
Although Maroz and Ceballos had burned their bridges behind them, they
were not sufficiently recovered from the effects of their debauch to
undertake offensive movements before the morrow.
Enough has been told to give an idea of the emotions of the scout,
when he recognized Cemuri in the camp of the hostiles, and saw him in
friendly converse with them. Even his stolid nature was too startled to
permit him to form a satisfactory explanation, until he had listened
awhile to their conversation, and had managed to recall a little more
clearly the events of the preceding evening. But it was not long ere he
grasped the whole plot of his friend, whose peculiar mental qualities
were better known to him than to any one else.
The first natural question was as to why Cemuri, if aiming to give the
whites his individual aid, had deferred action until this late hour.
There must have been many opportunities for striking an effective blow
before this. It may have been, however, that he contemplated a grand
_coup d’etat_ when matters should approach a crisis.
These and similar thoughts passed through the brain of Mendez, while
standing too far back in the gloom to be detected, watching the party
and listening to their conversation.
The words were disappointing to Mendez, for they gave him no knowledge
not possessed before. They referred to the expected pursuit by the
soldiers and the plan for ambuscading them, whenever they should
penetrate far enough into the mountains to render the success of the
Apaches beyond question. He heard nothing about the stolen child, and
was, therefore, in as much ignorance of his fate or whereabouts as
before.
The one indispensable step remained for Mendez to establish
communication with his friend; that accomplished, and the prospects
would become the brightest. But as matters stood, the task was beyond
the skill of the wonderful scout. The most guarded signal that he could
make was certain to be heard by the hostiles, at the same instant
it reached Cemuri; and, instead of proving a help, must overthrow
everything.
His only possible hope was that the party would break up by and by and
leave Cemuri to himself. If that should take place, the object could
be readily attained. The belief that something of the kind would occur
held Mendez like a statue, during nearly all the long period he was
absent from Lieutenant Decker and Mr. Freeman. He showed the patience
of the Esquimau waiting by the air hole, in the ice for the appearance
of the nose of the seal.
The experience of the scout was another illustration of the truth that
everything comes to him who waits. After awhile Maroz stole away in the
gloom, leaving the couple alone. By and by he returned and Ceballos
took a hand. They reported that the soldiers were not yet near, and
were likely to push their pursuit until the night was further along.
All this time not the first reference, so far as Mendez could learn,
was made to the little captive.
Then, when the scout was looking for Cemuri to start off on his
reconnaissance, a fourth Apache suddenly appeared in camp. He was from
the main body, further back in the mountains, and he remained a half
hour, discussing business with the others, and making sure that no
possible miscarriage could occur in the plan laid for the overthrow of
their pursuers.
But the messenger finally left, and then Cemuri set out to look after
matters, disappearing in the wood in the shadowy manner that his
predecessors had done.
The opportunity had come at last, and it need not be told how Mendez
improved it. He and his former friend met within a hundred yards of the
camp, and that which has been told at the beginning of this chapter was
made clear to the scout, confirming the suspicions he had formed while
playing the part of eavesdropper.
All the information the latter sought was speedily given to him, and,
parting from his companion for a time, he made his way to his other
friends and told them the amazing story.
Maurice Freeman was so overcome that he was forced to sit down until
he could regain mastery of himself. Even Lieutenant Decker lost his
facetiousness for the time, and stood with open mouth and staring eyes,
unable at first to ask the questions that rapidly took form in his
brain.
Mendez was a little foggy, as before, in describing the occurrences
of the preceding night, but the officer suspected the truth, which,
if fully told, would have humiliated the brave fellow. He forbore to
question him on the point, for it was of little importance.
Cemuri was not present at this interview, but was only a short way off,
awaiting the return of his companion. Telling his friends that the two
would soon be with them, Mendez withdrew, and they were again left to
themselves.
“It is the most wonderful thing I ever knew,” remarked Mr. Freeman, in
an awed tone; “in all my calculations and surmises, I never deemed this
among the possibilities.”
“It would have been still more remarkable had you done so,” replied the
lieutenant; “it begins to look as if you will recover your little boy.”
“I hardly dare believe it,” said the parent, with a shiver of anxious
hope, “and yet why not?”
“I think I understand the _motif_ of those fellows in taking the
extraordinary course they did. Maroz and Ceballos, I needn’t tell you,
are among the worst Apaches that ever lived, and that is a tremendous
statement. They saw that if they allowed the child to pass into the
hands of the principal band, they must surrender control of him. In the
complications likely to follow, it is not impossible that the others
would agree to give him up, in order to save their own necks. That
would be wise, but at the same time it would rob Maroz and Ceballos of
their pet scheme of enjoyment.”
“It seems incredible that even an Apache should be so cruel.”
“There is nothing which human ingenuity can conceive that is too cruel
for an Apache to do. This being so, they did not handicap themselves
by keeping your child near them. They were liable to lose him, in the
event of a sudden attack, before they could remove him, after the
fashion that has been popular among the aborigines, ever since the Miss
MacCrea episode, more than a hundred years ago.”
“How readily they might have ended the difficulty by putting him out of
the way at once!” exclaimed the parent with a shudder.
“But for their cruelty of disposition, they would have done that. Such
a course, however, must have robbed them of the exquisite happiness
they are now feasting upon in imagination. So they carried the sleeping
fellow, as tenderly as you could have done, to the place among the
rocks, within a hundred feet of their camp. There they secured him
against molestation from any prowling wild beast, believing he would
sleep until morning, though it mattered little whether he did or not,
since there is no way by which he could help himself.”
“If I only knew the place,” added the parent, half rising to his feet
in his excitement, “I would go thither at once.”
“That is the reason Mendez gave us no hint of its location. I’m afraid,
Freeman, he doesn’t rank you as being among the champion scouts of the
country.”
“I never laid claim to that honor,” replied the man, with an
earnestness that he would not have shown under other circumstances,
“but it is so hard to wait—wait, when there’s no saying what obstacles
may arise.”
“You must content your soul with patience as best you can, for Mendez
is running this administration, and no one can do it better.”
The suspense was briefer than the lieutenant anticipated, though it
seemed ten times its real length to the distressed parent. A gentle
rustling, evidently made intentionally, caused both to turn their head.
There stood Mendez and Cemuri, and the former held in his dusky palm
the dimpled hand of a little boy.
“Oh papa, is that you? Why did you leave me so long?”
“God be thanked!” was the fervent ejaculation of the delighted father,
as he seized his child in his arms, pressed him to his breast and
kissed him over and over again.
Fulton was sleeping soundly when released from his prison among the
rocks, and Mendez started to carry him, but the disturbance awoke the
child, and, seeing that he was feverish and frightened, his rescuer
allowed him to walk at his side as he wished, while he led him to his
father.
When a few minutes later the party was about to start northward, in the
direction of the river, with the intention of picking up their ponies
on the way, and seeing Maurice Freeman safe home again with his loved
boy, Lieutenant Decker remarked:
“It seems to me we’re forgetting that we are not yet out of the woods;
are we not in danger, Mendez, of being followed by Maroz and Ceballos?”
“_No!_”
While the little party were silently threading their way northward to
the desolate home which, in due time, was illuminated with perfect
joy by the return of the child that had been mourned as dead, Captain
Shindle and his cavalry were pressing matters from a different
direction. The severe ride deferred their assault on the Apache
stronghold until later than was desired, but the diversion, described
elsewhere, produced the best effects. Under the guidance of the other
White Mountain scouts, the hostiles were so effectually entrapped that
their overthrow was complete.
In the conflict that followed, half of them were destroyed by the
cavalry, who knew it was mercy to the innocent that such heroic
measures should be adopted. Those who were not exterminated were
captured and taken back as prisoners to the fort.
The disastrous results of the outbreak speedily became known to all the
hostiles on the reservation, Maroz and Ceballos, the leaders, being
among the first victims to the vengeance they had invoked. The lesson
was of the most salutary nature. Others were on the point of joining
the hostiles, and, had a temporary advantage come to the band in the
mountains, one of the most formidable outbreaks known in the history
of the southwestern frontier would have followed, carrying in its train
unutterable woe and suffering.
But the prompt measures of the cavalry, and especially the actions of
Mendez and Cemuri, nipped it in the bud.
THE END.