HELD BY THE ENEMY
"Oh, the dickens!" stammered General Ashley; and out he rolled, in a
hurry. He didn't stop to blame me. "Have you looked for sign?"
"The burros might have strayed, but the flags couldn't and only the hole
is there. And those two fellows of the other camp are gone, already."
General Ashley began to pull on his shoes and lace them.
"Rouse the camp," he ordered.
So I did. And to every one I said: "I slept on guard and the flags and
the burros are gone."
I was willing to be shot, or discharged, or anything; and I didn't have
a single solitary excuse. I didn't try to think one up.
The general took Fitzpatrick, who is our best trailer, and Major Henry,
and started in to work out the sign, while the rest of us hustled with
breakfast. The ground about the flag hole was trampled and not much
could be done there; and not much could be done right where the burros
had stood, because we all from both camps had been roaming around. But
the general and Fitz and Major Henry circled, wider and wider, watching
out for burro tracks pointing back down the trail, or else out into the
timber. The hoofs of the burros would cut in, where the feet of the two
fellows might not have left any mark. Pretty soon the burro tracks were
found, and boot-heels, too; and while Fitzpatrick followed the trail a
little farther the general and Major Henry came back to the camp.
Breakfast was ready.
"Fitzpatrick and Jim Bridger and I will take the trail of the burros,
and you other three stay here," said General Ashley. "If we don't come
back by morning, or if you don't see smoke-signals from us that we're
all right, you cache the stuff and come after us."
That was splendid of the general to give me a chance to make good on the
trail. It was better than if he'd ordered me close in camp, or had not
paid any attention to me.
Fitz returned, puffing. He had followed the trail a quarter of a mile
and it grew plainer as the two fellows had hurried more. We ate a big
breakfast (we three especially, I mean), and prepared for the trail. We
tied on our coats in a roll like blankets, but we took no blankets, for
we must travel light. We stuffed some bread and chocolate into our coat
pockets, and we were certain that we had matches and knife. I took the
short bow and arrows, as game getter; but we left the rifle for the
camp. We would not have used a rifle, anyway. It made noise; and we must
get the burros by Scoutcraft alone. But those burros we would have, and
the flags. The general slung one of the Patrol's ropes about him, in
case we had to rope the burros.
We set right out, Fitzpatrick leading, as chief trailer. Much depended
upon our speed, and that is why we traveled light; for you never can
follow a trail as fast as it was made, and we must overtake those
fellows by traveling longer. They were handicapped by the burros,
though, which helped us.
We planned to keep going, and eat on the march, and by night sneak on
the camp.
The trail wasn't hard to follow. Burro tracks are different from cow
tracks and horse tracks and deer tracks; they are small and
oblong--narrow like a colt's hoof squeezed together or like little mule
tracks. The two fellows used the cattle trail, and Fitzpatrick read the
sign for us.
"They had to lead the burros," he said. "The burros' tracks are on top
of the sole tracks."
We hurried. And then--
"Now they're driving 'em," he said. "They're stepping on top of the
burro tracks; and I think that they're all on the trot, too, by the way
the burros' hind hoofs overlap the front hoofs, and dig in."
We hurried more, at Scout pace, which is trotting and walking mixed. And
next--
"Now they've got on the burros," said Fitz. "There aren't any sole
tracks and the burros' hoofs dig deeper."
The fellows surely were making time. I could imagine how they kicked and
licked Sally and Apache, to hasten. And while we hastened, too, we must
watch the signs and be cautious that we didn't overrun or get ambushed.
Where the sun shone we could tell that the sign was still an hour or
more old, because the edges of the hoof-marks were baked hard; and
sticks and stones turned up had dried. And in the shade the bits of
needles and grass stepped on had straightened a little. And there were
other signs, but we chose those which we could read the quickest. (Note
33.)
We were high up among cedars and bushes, on a big mesa. There were
cattle, here, and grassy parks for them. Most of the cattle bore a Big W
brand. The trail the cattle had made kept dividing and petering out, and
we had to pick the one that the burros took. The fellows were riding,
still, but not at a trot so much. Maybe they thought that we had been
left, by this time. Pretty soon the burros had been grabbing at branches
and weeds, which showed that they were going slower, and were hungry;
and the fellows had got off and were walking. The sun was high and the
air was dry, so that the signs were not so easy to read, and we went
slower, too. The country up here grew open and rocky, and at last we
lost the trail altogether. That was bad. The general and I circled and
scouted, at the sides, and Fitz went on ahead, to pick it up beyond,
maybe. Pretty soon we heard him whistle the Elks' call.
He had come out upon a rocky point. The timber ended, and before and
right and left was a great rolling valley, of short grasses and just a
few scattered trees, with long slopes holding it like a cup. The sun was
shining down, and the air was clear and quivery.
"I see them," said Fitz. "There they are, General--in a line between us
and that other point of rocks."
Hurrah! This was great news. Sure enough, when we had bent low and
sneaked to the rocks, and were looking, we could make out two specks
creeping up the sunshine slope, among the few trees, opposite.
That was good, and it was bad. The thieves were not a mile ahead of us,
then, but now we must scout in earnest. It would not do for us to keep
to the trail across that open valley. Some fellows might have rushed
right along; and if the other fellows were sharp they would be looking
back, at such a spot, to watch for pursuers. So we must make a big
circuit, and stay out of sight, and hit the trail again on the other
side.
We crept back under cover, left a "warning" sign on the trail (Note
34), and swung around, and one at a time we crossed the valley higher
up, where it was narrower and there was brush for cover. This took time,
but it was the proper scouting; and now we hurried our best along the
other slope to pick up the trail once more.
It was after noon, by the sun, and we hadn't stopped to eat, and we were
hungry and hot and pretty tired.
As we never talked much on the trail, especially when we might be near
the enemy, Fitzpatrick made a sign that we climb straight to the top of
the slope and follow along there, to strike the trail. And if the
fellows had turned off anywhere, in gulch or to camp, we were better
fixed above them than below them.
We scouted carefully along this ridge, and came to a gulch. A path led
through, where cattle had traveled, and in the damp dirt were the burro
tracks. Hurrah! They were soft and fresh.
The sun was going to set early, in a cloud bank, and those fellows would
be camping soon. It was no use to rush them when they were traveling;
they had guns and would hang on to the burros. The way to do was to
crawl into their camp. So we traveled slower, in order to give them time
to camp.
After a while we smelled smoke. The timber was thick, and the general
and I each climbed a tree, to see where that smoke came from. I was away
at the top of a pine, and from that tree the view was grand. Pilot Peak
stood up in the wrong direction, as if we had been going around, and
mountains and timber were everywhere. I saw the smoke. And away to the
north, ten miles, it seemed to me I could see another smoke, with the
sun showing it up. It was a column smoke, and I guessed that it was a
smoke signal set by the three Scouts we had left, to show us where camp
was.
But the smoke that we were after rose in a blue haze above the trees
down in a little park about a quarter of a mile on our right. We left a
"warning" sign, and stalked the smoke.
Although Fitzpatrick has only one whole arm, he can stalk as well as any
of us. We advanced cautiously, and could smell the smoke stronger and
stronger; we began to stoop and to crawl and when we had wriggled we
must halt and listen. We could not hear anybody talking.
The general led, and Fitz and I crawled behind him, in a snake scout. I
think that maybe we might have done better if we had stalked from three
directions. Everything was very quiet, and when we could see where the
fire ought to be we made scarcely a sound. The general brushed out of
his way any twigs that would crack.
It was a fine stalk. We approached from behind a cedar, and parting the
branches the general looked through. He beckoned to us, and we wriggled
along and looked through. There was a fire, and our flags stuck beside
it, and Sally and Apache standing tied to a bush, and blankets thrown
down--but not anybody at home! The two fellows must be out fishing or
hunting, and this seemed a good chance.
The general signed. We all were to rush in, Fitz would grab the flag,
and I a burro and the general a burro, and we would skip out and travel
fast, across country.
I knew that by separating and turning and other tricks we would outwit
those two kids, if we got any kind of a start.
We listened, holding our breath. Nobody seemed near. Now was the time.
The general stood, Fitz and I stood, and in we darted. Fitz grabbed the
flag, and I was just hauling at Sally while the general slashed the
picket-ropes with his knife, when there rose a tremendous yell and laugh
and from all about people charged in on us.
Before we could escape we were seized. They were eight to our three. Two
of them were the two kids Bat and Walt, and the other six were town
fellows--Bill Duane, Tony Matthews, Bert Hawley, Mike Delavan, and a
couple more.
How they whooped! We felt cheap. The camp had been a trap. The two kids
Bat and Walt had come upon the other crowd accidentally, and had told
about us and that maybe we were trailing them, and they all had ambushed
us. We ought to have reconnoitered more, instead of thinking about
stalking. We ought to have been more suspicious, and not have
underestimated the enemy. (Note 35.) This was just a made-to-order
camp. The camp of the town gang was about three hundred yards away,
lower, in another open place, by a creek. They tied our arms and led us
down there.
"Aw, we thought you fellers were Scouts!" jeered Bat. "You're easy."
He and Walt took the credit right to themselves.
"What do you want with us?" demanded General Ashley, of Bill Duane. "We
haven't done anything to harm you."
"We'll show you," said Bill. "First we're going to skin you, and then
we're going to burn you at the stake, and then we're going to kill you."
Of course we knew that he was only fooling; but it was a bad fix, just
the same. They might keep us, for meanness; and Major Henry and Kit
Carson and Jed Smith wouldn't know exactly what to do and we'd be
wasting valuable time. That was the worst: we were delaying the message!
And I had myself to blame for this, because I went to sleep on guard. A
little mistake may lead to a lot of trouble.
And now the worst happened. When they got us to the main camp Bill Duane
walked up to General Ashley and said: "Where you got that message, Red?"
"What message?" answered General Ashley.
"Aw, get out!" laughed Bill. "If we untie you will you fork it over or
do you want me to search you?"
"'Tisn't your message, and if I had it I wouldn't give it to you. But
you'd better untie us, just the same. And we want those burros and our
flags."
"Hold him till I search him, fellows," said Bill. "He's got it, I bet.
He's the Big Scout."
Fitz and I couldn't do a thing. One of the gang put his arm under the
general's chin and held him tight, and Bill Duane went through him. He
didn't find the message in any pockets; but he saw the buckskin thong,
and hauled on it, and out came the packet from under the general's
shirt.
Bill put it in his own pocket.
"There!" he said. "Now what you going to do about it?"
The general was as red all over as his hair and looked as if he wanted
to fight or cry. Fitz was white and red in spots, and I was so mad I
shook.
"Nothing, now," said the general, huskily. "You don't give us a chance
to do anything. You're a lot of cowards--tying us up and searching us,
and taking our things."
[Illustration: "BILL DUANE WENT THROUGH HIM."]
Then they laughed at us some more, and all jeered and made fun, and said
that they would take the message through for us. I tell you, it was
humiliating, to be bound that way, as prisoners, and to think that we
had failed in our trust. As Scouts we had been no good--and I was to
blame just because I had fallen asleep at my post.
They were beginning to quit laughing at us, and were starting to get
supper, when suddenly I heard horse's hoofs, and down the bridle path
that led along an edge of the park rode a man. He heard the noise and he
saw us tied, I guess, for he came over.
"What's the matter here?" he asked.
The gang calmed down in a twinkling. They weren't so brash, now.
"Nothin'," said Bill.
"Who you got here? What's the rumpus?" he insisted.
"They've taken us prisoners and are keeping us, and they've got our
burros and flags and a message," spoke up the general.
He was a small man with a black mustache and blackish whiskers growing.
He rode a bay horse with a K Cross on its right shoulder, and the saddle
had brass-bound stirrups. He wore a black slouch hat and was in black
shirt-sleeves, and ordinary pants and shoes.
"What message?" he asked.
"A message we were carrying."
"Where?"
"Across from our town to Green Valley."
"Why?"
"Just for fun."
"Aw, that's a lie. They were to get twenty-five dollars for doing it on
time. Now we cash it in ourselves," spoke Bill. "It was a race, and they
don't make good. See?"
That was a lie, sure. We weren't to be paid a cent--and we didn't want
to be paid.
"Who's got the message now?" asked the man.
"He has," said the general, pointing at Bill.
"Let's see it."
Bill backed away.
"I ain't, either," he said. Which was another lie.
"Let's see it," repeated the man. "I might like to make that twenty-five
dollars myself."
Now Bill was sorry he had told that first lie. The first is the one that
gives the most trouble.
"Who are you?" he said, scared, and backing away some more.
"Never you mind who I am," answered the man--biting his words off short;
and he rode right for Bill. He stuck his face forward. It was hard and
dark and mean. "Hand--over--that--message. Savvy?"
Bill was nothing but a big bluff and a coward. You would have known
that he was a coward, by the lies he had told and by the way he had
attacked us. He wilted right down.
"Aw, I was just fooling," he said. "I was going to give it back to 'em.
Here 'tis. There ain't no prize offered, anyhow." And he handed it to
the man.
The man turned it over in his fingers. We watched. We hoped he'd make
them untie us and he'd pass it to us and tell us to skip. But after he
had turned it over and over, he smiled, kind of grimly, and stuck it in
his hip pocket.
"I reckon I'd like to make that twenty-five dollars myself," he said.
And then he rode to one side, and dismounted; he loosened the cinches
and made ready as if to camp. And they all let him.
Now, that was bad for us, again. The gang had our flags and our burros,
and he had our message.
"That's our message. We're carrying it through just for fun and for
practice," called the general. "It's no good to anybody except us."
"Bueno," said the man--which is Mexican or Spanish for "Good." He was
squatting and building a little fire.
"Aren't you going to give it to us and make them let us go?"
He grunted. "Don't bother me. I'm busy."
That was all we could get out of him. Now it was growing dark and cold.
The gang was grumbling and accusing Bill of being "bluffed" and all
that, but they didn't make any effort to attack the man. They all were
afraid of him; they didn't have nerve. They just grumbled and talked of
what Bill ought to have done, and proceeded to cook supper and to loaf
around. Our hands were behind our backs and we were tied like dogs to
trees.
And suddenly, while watching the man, I noticed that he was doing things
left-handed, and quick as a wink I saw that the sole of his left shoe
was worn through! And if he wasn't riding a roan horse, he was riding a
saddle with brass-bound stirrups, anyway. A man may trade horses, but he
keeps to his own saddle. This was the beaver man! We three Scouts
exchanged signs of warning.
"You aren't going to tie us for all night, are you?" demanded
Fitzpatrick.
"Sure," said Bill.
"We'll give you our parole not to try to escape," offered General
Ashley.
"What's that?"
"We'll promise," I explained.
Then they all jeered.
"Aw, promise!" they laughed. "We know all about your promises."
"Scouts don't break their promises," answered the general, hot. "When
we give our parole we mean it. And if we decided to try to escape we'd
tell you and take the parole back. We want to be untied so we can eat."
"All right. We'll untie you," said Bill; and I saw him wink at the other
fellows.
They did. They loosened our hands--but they put ropes on our feet! We
could just walk, and that is all. And Walt (he and Bat were cooking)
poked the fire with our flagstaff. Then he sat on the flags! I tell you,
we were angry!
"This doesn't count," sputtered the general, red as fury.
"You gave us your parole if we'd untie you," jeered Bill. "And we did."
"But you tied us up again."
"We didn't say anything about that. You said if we'd untie you, so you
could eat, you wouldn't run away. Well, we untied you, didn't we?"
"That isn't fair. You know what we meant," retorted Fitz.
"We know what you said," they laughed.
"Aw, cut it out," growled the man, from his own fire. "You make too much
noise. I'm tired."
"Chuck," called Walt, for supper.
They stuck us between them, and we all ate. Whew, but it was a dirty
camp. The dishes weren't clean and the stuff to eat was messy, and the
fellows all swore and talked as bad as they could. It was a shame--and
it seemed a bigger shame because here in the park everything was
intended to be quiet and neat and ought to make you feel _good_.
After supper they quarreled as to who would wash the dishes, and finally
one washed and one wiped, and the rest lay around and smoked pipes and
cigarettes. Over at his side of the little park the man had rolled up
and was still. But I knew that he was watching, because he was smoking,
too.
We couldn't do anything, even if we had planned to. We might have untied
the ropes on our feet, but the gang sat close about us. Then, they had
the flags and the burros, and the man had the message; and if they had
been wise they would have known that we wouldn't go far. Of course, we
might have hung about and bothered them.
They made each of us sleep with one of them. They had some dirty old
quilts, and we all rolled up.