the government wagons. They consisted of two large "prairie
schooners," drawn by three pairs of oxen each, a lighter wagon, drawn
by four horses, beside which four cows, two ponies, and four dogs were
usually grouped. The father and eldest daughter drove the ox-teams,
the mother the horse-team, and two daughters rode the ponies. Brenda's
pony, Gypsy, was her own property, purchased soon after she joined
her uncle in Colorado. As my station and Frank's were with the
rear-guard, or along the flanks of the train, Miss Brenda commonly
rode with us after daylight. Henry, after leaving Fort Wingate, rode
with the advance.
After supper at Agua Fria, Corporal Frank ordered all water-kegs to be
filled, for the water at El Morro, or Inscription Rock, our next
camping-place, was poor. The distance was seventeen and a half miles.
The next march was to the junction of the Rio Pescado and Otter Creek,
twenty-two miles, and the following to Arch Spring, nineteen miles.
This way took us through the ancient town of Zuñi, an Indian community
described by the Spanish priest, Father Marco de Niga, in 1559.
After leaving Zuñi, a march of thirty-two miles brought us late in the
evening to a spring variously called by Mexicans, Indians, and
Americans, Ojo Rodondo, Wah-nuk-ai-tin-ai-z, and Jacob's Well. It is a
funnel-shaped hole in a level plain, six hundred feet in diameter at
the top, and one hundred and sixty feet deep.
At the bottom of the hole is a pool of brackish, green water, reached
by a spiral track around the wall. Our cooks first procured a supply
of water, and then the animals were driven down in detachments. They
waded, swam, and rolled in the water until it was defiled for human
use.
An hour after our arrival four Navajos appeared and were admitted to
an interview with Captain Bayard, of whom they asked information
concerning the terms offered their bands as an inducement to surrender
and go upon the reservation. In reply to our questions they told us we
would find plenty of water at Navajo Springs, seven miles from Jacob's
Well, and that there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. As the
Indians were preparing to leave, Corporal Henry came forward and asked
Captain Bayard to inquire for Manuel Perea. The captain thanked the
boy for the suggestion, and did so; and we learned that a Mexican boy,
answering the description given, was assisting in herding the ponies
of Elarnagan, north of the Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo Creek.
"Carizo Creek," said Frank, reflectively, turning over his schedule of
distances, "that is 19.05 miles from here."
[Illustration: "CORPORAL HENRY ASKED CAPTAIN BAYARD TO INQUIRE FOR
MANUEL PEREA"]
"Yes, and there are the Twin Buttes," said Henry, pointing to two
prominent peaks to the northwest. "Can't we go there, sir? It cannot
be more than thirty miles."
"I would not be justified in leaving the road except upon an
extraordinary emergency," replied Captain Bayard.
"Don't you suppose, sir, that Elarnagan would give Manuel up for the
large reward his mother offers?" asked Brenda Arnold, who stood by the
side of the boy corporals, an interested listener to all that had been
said.
The captain asked her question of the Indians, and one of them replied
that the chief had refused large offers heretofore, and would
doubtless continue to do so.
"Cannot you scare him by a threat?" asked Henry.
"I will try it, corporal," answered the captain. Then, turning to the
Navajos, he continued: "Tell the chief, Elarnagan, that it is not the
part of a brave warrior to cause grief and sorrow to women and
children; tell him that the great chief at Santa Fé is fast bringing
this war to a close, and that two-thirds of his people are already on
the reservation at Bosque Rodondo; tell him that when he
surrenders--which will not be long from now--if the boy Manuel is not
brought in safe he will be severely punished."
"Thank you," said Henry.
The Indians left in a northerly direction.
At guard-mounting Captain Bayard announced that, owing to the recent
fatiguing marches and the lack of good water, we would go no farther
than Navajo Springs the following day, and that we would not break
camp before eight o'clock.
This announcement was received with pleasure; for since leaving Agua
Fria little water had been drunk, it being either muddy, stagnant, or
alkaline. The water at Navajo Springs was said to be pure.
Ten o'clock next morning found us at the springs. They were fifteen in
number, clustered in an area of less than an acre. Each was of the
dimensions of a barrel set upon end in the ground, with a mere thread
of water flowing from it--a thread which the fierce sun evaporated
before it had flowed a rod from its source. It soon became plain to
every one that we could not long remain there.
The Indians had said there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. Five
and one-twentieth miles over a rough, red, and verdureless country
brought us to the Rio Puerco of the West. There was not a drop of
water in it.
The commanding officer ordered me to take ten cavalrymen, with
shovels, and go on to Carizo Creek, and, if I found no running water,
to sink holes in a line across its bed. The boy corporals were allowed
to go with me.
The distance to Carizo was seven miles, over a high, intervening
ridge, and the creek, when we reached it, was in no respect different
from the one we had just left. We opened a line of holes six feet
deep, but found very little water.
Sending Corporal Henry back with a message to Captain Bayard, we
pushed on to Lithodendron Creek, a distance of thirteen miles, and
found about an acre of water, four inches deep, in the bed of the
stream, under the shadow of a sandstone cliff. It was miserable
stuff--thick, murky, and warm--but it was better than nothing; I sent
a soldier back to the command, and sat down with Frank under the
cliff to wait.
The march had lengthened into thirty-two miles, over an exceedingly
rough country, and it had been continuous, with no noonday rest, and
under a broiling sun.
Frank and I sat a little apart from the soldiers, watching for the
arrival of the approaching wagons.
Time dragged slowly on until after nine o'clock, when a faint
"hee-haw" in the far distance gave us the first hint that the train
was over the divide and that the unfailing scent of the mules had
recognized the vicinity of water.
An hour more passed before Sergeant Cunningham and half a dozen
privates of the infantry company marched down to the roily pool and
stooped for a drink. The rest of the men were straggling the length of
the train, which arrived in sections, heralded by the vigorous and
continued braying of the mules.
No one felt inclined to pitch a tent, partly on account of extreme
fatigue, but chiefly because the ground was rough and stony and cacti
in endless variety strewed the surface, branching and clustering
about the petrified trunks of giant trees which gave the creek its
name.
There was no grass in the vicinity, and no grain on the train. The
animals when turned loose went to the pool and drank, and then
wandered about the wagons calling for forage. Lowing of cattle,
bleating of sheep, braying of mules, and whinnying of horses never
ceased as the suffering animals wandered in search of food. There was
no fuel for fires in the midst of this petrified forest of prostrate
trees, so hard bread and raw bacon made our supper.
After a time I began to wonder why Vic had not come to greet me. She
had accompanied Henry when he went back with my message, and I knew
that if he had returned she would have looked me up immediately. I was
about to search for her, when Frank appeared, and asked, "Have you
seen my brother?"
"No," I replied, "nor have I seen Vic. They must be with the rear
guard."
"No, sir; they are not there. I have just seen the sergeant of the
guard."
"Have you visited the Arnolds?"
"Yes, sir; and Miss Brenda says they have not seen him since he came
back from you."
"Is not Corporal Henry here?" asked Captain Bayard, who had approached
and overheard a part of our conversation.
"No, sir," I answered. "I sent him to you at Carizo to say we had
found no water."
"He reported to me," the captain replied, "and I sent him back at once
with orders for you to proceed to Lithodendron, as you have done."
"He did not reach me. I came here because it seemed the only thing to
do."
"Henry not here!" and the captain and all of us began moving towards
the train. "Cause an immediate search to be made for him. Examine
every wagon. He may have got into a wagon and fallen asleep."
It is needless to say, perhaps, that this search was participated in
by nearly every individual in the command not too tired to stir. Henry
was known to all, and had in many gentlemanly and kindly ways acquired
the respect and affection of soldiers and civilian employés.
Every wagon was examined, although from the first there was a general
presentiment that it would be useless. In the wagon assigned to the
use of the boy corporals and myself, Henry's carbine and revolver were
found, but Frank said his brother had not worn them during the day.
The mule and cavalry herds were examined for the cream-colored pony,
but that also was missing. Then the thought suggested itself that the
lad might be wandering on the road we had just traversed; but an
examination of the sergeant of the guard showed that to be impossible.
But one conclusion could be arrived at, and that was that Henry had
been picked up by the Navajos when returning from the command to my
detachment on the Carizo.
At the conclusion of the search the officers gathered near their
wagons for a consultation. Frank remained apart, silent and miserable.
Captain Bayard said: "It is impossible for us to make an immediate
pursuit with horses in such a condition as ours. To attempt a pursuit
over the barren region about us would be to invite failure and
disaster. If we had Mexican ponies, or Indian ponies like those of the
boys, we might start at once. The boy is probably a prisoner, and a
delay of one or two days can make little difference to him."
"But can we go with any better prospect of success to-morrow or next
day?" I asked.
"Yes, a march of sixteen miles and a half will bring us to the
Colorado Chiquito--a stream flowing at all times with pure water;
there, also, we shall find abundance of grass and a recently
established cavalry camp. I received a letter from the department
commander before I left Wingate, stating that Lieutenant Hubbell and
forty New Mexican cavalry had been ordered there three weeks ago. We
shall find an abundance of grain at the camp, and can put our animals
in good condition for an expedition into Elarnagan's country in a few
days. Now, gentlemen, let us get such rest as we can, and start at an
early hour in the morning."
IX
THE RESCUING PARTY
At the close of the consultation I rejoined Corporal Frank, and we
went back to our former seat under the cliff. The boy was exceedingly
depressed, and I did my best to persuade him that all would end well
and his brother would be rescued.
"But he may be dead, or dying," he answered to my arguments.
"No; that is improbable. Had he been killed, the Indians would have
taken particular pains to mutilate and place his body where the
passing column would have seen it. That in itself is good evidence
that he is living. The worst that is likely to happen is that he may
be held for ransom or exchange."
"But how _can_ I wait?" exclaimed Frank. "I feel as though I ought to
start now."
"That would do no good," I replied. "You cannot find your brother's
trail, nor could you follow it in the night."
"I cannot help thinking, sir, that Henry will send Vicky with a
message, and I fear that she cannot follow us so far. She must be
fearfully hungry and thirsty. I feel as if I ought to go and meet
her."
"You may be right about the message. As Vic was without her collar,
she may not have been killed."
The hours crept slowly on. The uneasy animals never ceased their walk
backward and forward between the water and the wagons, uttering their
discontent. Towards midnight, overcome by the fatigues of the day, I
fell into a doze, and did not wake until called at three.
A breakfast similar to our supper was served, and we were ready for
the road. The mules were harnessed while vigorously braying their
protests against such ill usage, and, once under way, slowly drew the
wagons to the summit of the divide between the Lithodendron and the
Little Colorado, a distance of twelve miles.
I did not see Frank while overlooking the drawing out of the train,
but gave myself no anxiety on his account, thinking he had
accompanied the advance. We had proceeded about a mile when a corporal
of the guard ran after me, and reported that the Arnolds were not
hitching up. Halting the train, I rode back and found Brenda sitting
by the road-side in tears.
"What is the matter, Miss Arnold?" I asked.
"Oh, it is something this time," she sobbed, "that even you cannot
remedy."
"Then you think I can generally remedy things? Thank you."
"You have always helped us, but I do not see how you can now."
"What is the trouble, please?"
"Our poor oxen have worn their hoofs through to the quick. They were
obliged to travel very fast yesterday, and over a flinty road, and
their hoofs are worn and bleeding. Uncle says we must remain behind."
"Perhaps things are not as bad as you think," I said. "Let us go back
and see."
Rising dejectedly, and by no means inspired by hope, Brenda led the
way to the Arnold wagons, where I found the father and mother on their
knees beside an ox, engaged in binding rawhide "boots" to the
animal's feet. These boots were squares cut from a fresh hide procured
from the last ox slaughtered by the soldier-butcher. The foot of the
ox being set in the centre, the square was gathered about the ankle
and fastened with a thong of buck-skin.
"Are all of your cattle in this condition, Mr. Arnold?" I asked.
"Only one other's 's bad's this, but all uv 'em's bad."
"That certainly is a very bad-looking foot. I don't see how you kept
up, with cattle in that condition."
"Had to, or git left."
"That's where you make a mistake. We could not leave you behind."
"I didn't think 'twould be uv any use t' say anythin'," said Mr.
Arnold. "You seem t' have all you can haul now."
"We have over three hundred head of oxen in our commissary herd that
we purchased of a freighter. We can exchange with you. A beef is a
beef. Turn your cattle into our herd, and catch up a new lot. When we
get to Prescott you can have your old teams if you want them."
"Thank you agin, sir. I shall want 'em. They know my ways an' I know
theirs."
From the top of the divide the road, smooth and hard, descended to the
river, ten miles away. At nine o'clock the head of the column had
reached the banks, and a few moments later men and horses had partaken
of the clear, cool water.
As the infantry and cavalry moved away from the shore the wagons came
down the decline, the mules braying with excitement at the sight of
the water gleaming through the green foliage of the cottonwoods and
the verdant acres of rich grass that stretched along the river-side.
Brakes were put on and wheels double-locked, until the harness could
be stripped off and the half-frantic animals set free to take a turn
in the river.
Sheep and oxen plunged down the banks and stood leg-deep in the
current while they drank the grateful water. A few moments later all
the refreshed animals were cropping the generous grass. As I was going
to Captain Bayard I observed Brenda Arnold taking the odometer from
its wheel and making an entry in a note-book. Approaching her, I
asked: "Why are you doing that, Miss Brenda?"
"I promised Mr. Frank I would do it until he and Mr. Henry return,"
was her answer.
"Promised Frank? Where has he gone?"
"Gone to find his brother."
"And you knew what you are telling me when we were exchanging oxen
this morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"Mr. Frank said I must not before we arrived here."
"Have you no idea of the fearful danger in which he has placed
himself?"
"I know he has gone to find Henry, and that he said he should find
him," and the pretty girl betrayed her lack of confidence in the boy's
project by sitting down in the grass and bursting into tears.
"When did Corporal Frank start?" I asked.
"Last night. He gave Sancho about a dozen pounds of hard bread, filled
his canteen with water which Aunt Martha had filtered through sand,
and asked me to attend to the odometer, and rode off in the darkness.
Don't you really believe the boys will return, sir?"
"God grant they may," I answered; "but it is very doubtful."
Here was fresh trouble--trouble the whole command shared, but which
rested heaviest upon Captain Bayard and myself. We were answerable to
Colonel Burton for the manner in which we executed his trust.
"Ride down the valley," said the captain to me after I had concluded
my account of what Brenda had said, "and look for Lieutenant Hubbell's
camp. It cannot be far from here. Tell him to send me three days'
grain for forty animals. While you are gone I will select a camp
farther down stream, and within easy communication with him, park the
train, and establish order. We will remain here until we know what has
become of the boys."
I found the New Mexican cavalry camp three miles down the river, and
obtained the desired forage. When I returned our new camp was
established, fires burning, and cooking well under way.
Captain Bayard informed me that the detachment of Mexican cavalry
which had accompanied us thus far would leave at this point and not
rejoin us. "I have ordered Baldwin to grain his horses and be ready to
start in search of our boys at daybreak," continued the captain. "You
will accompany him. We shall be in no danger, with Hubbell so near.
You can take thirty pounds of grain on your saddles, and you will find
plenty of water on the Carizo where it breaks from the hills."
"How many days are we to stay out?"
"You are to take five days' rations. If the boys are not found in that
time I fear they will never be found."
I went to bed early, and soon fell into a fitful slumber, which lasted
until an hour before midnight. I arose, dressed, and sat down by the
smouldering camp-fire, a prey to unpleasant reflections.
Suddenly the sound of a cantering horse approaching from the north
fell upon my ears. What could it mean? I listened intently. The horse
slowed down to a walk. He entered the camp. The voice of Private Tom
Clary, who was posted as sentinel No. 1, challenged: "Halt!--who comes
there?"
"A friend--Corporal Frank Burton," was the answer.
"Blest be the saints! Corpril Frank, laddie, is it you--and aloive?"
said the sentinel, forgetting in his joy to continue the usual
formality of the challenge or to call the corporal of the guard.
Springing from my seat I walked towards the sentinel, and there, by
the light of the moon, I saw Frank, mounted upon Sancho, with Vic in
his arms. I reached up to take my dog, but the boy quickly exclaimed:
"Be careful, sir, be careful! She's badly hurt. Here's the letter she
brought. Henry is alive."
To attempt to relate all that now occurred would be impossible. In
some mysterious manner the news of Frank's arrival crept through the
camp, and half-dressed figures of officers and soldiers gathered about
the camp-fire, curious to listen to an account of the boy's adventure.
One little, blanketed figure ran out of the darkness, caught Vic's
face between her two palms, nestled her cheek against it, and with a
cheerful "good-night," disappeared as suddenly as she had come.
I took Vic in my lap as I sat on the ground, and by the light of a
blazing pine-knot proceeded to examine her condition. I found the
mouth and feet of the poor animal full of the spines of the _cholla_
cactus, a growth which is simply a mass of fine thorns. This cactus
grows in patches, and when the dead clusters fall to the ground the
spines stick to everything touching them. The dog had stepped into a
bed of these bunched needles, and filled her feet, and in trying to
remove them with her teeth had thrust them through cheeks, lips, and
tongue, literally closing her jaws. Her paws bristled with them like
pin-cushions.
As to Frank's adventures: After leaving the Arnolds, as already
described by Brenda, he retraced the route to Carizo Creek and to the
Rio Puerco without seeing any sign of his brother. Returning to the
west he dismounted at the crossing of the Carizo. He felt sure that if
Henry had been captured by the Navajos he must have been taken in the
dry bed of that creek.
A long and patient search resulted in the discovery of tracks made by
several ponies running along the eastern side of the Carizo to the
north and the hills. One of the set showed the print of iron shoes.
Frank mounted again and followed this trail up the valley for some
hours. He was thinking about returning, when he saw a white object
moving on a hill-side, far in advance. It seemed to tumble, rise, and
go in a circle, then tumble, rise, and circle again. Frank's curiosity
was aroused, and he rode on to examine the object. A few hundred yards
more revealed the fact that he had come upon the missing Vic, and that
something was seriously the matter with her. At first Frank thought
she was mad or in a fit, but as he came nearer she sat up and made
demonstrations of joy at his approach. He dismounted, and found her in
the condition already described. On the ground was a chip, neatly cut
and shaven, which she was in vain attempting to take between her
sealed jaws. Frank understood the matter at once. Whenever Victoriana
was sent on a message she was given a stick to deliver. It was plain
that some one had sent her to either Frank or me. Of course, it could
have been no one but Henry. She had come thus far, and had stepped
into a bed of _cholla_. In trying to remove the needles from her feet
she had absolutely sealed her mouth; in the attempt to recover the
chip she had made the movements that had attracted the boy's
attention.
Nothing was written on the stick. Around the dog's neck was tied a
cravat of dirty buck-skin. Untying and opening it, Frank found the
inner surface covered with writing, evidently traced in berry-juice
with a quill or a stick. It read as follows:
"Captured by the Navajos. Am herding ponies north of Twin
Buttes, at the head of Carizo. Come to butte with cavalry,
and wave handkerchief from left peak about noon. If I do not
come, look for me in plain north of butte. Don't worry; I'm
all right.
"HENRY."
I remained at the fire long after every one had returned to their beds
or duty, busy in extracting the _cholla_ spines from Vic's mouth and
feet. The dog seemed to understand the necessity of the treatment she
was receiving, and bore the pain submissively, with only occasional
moans and cries, until the operation ended. She then received a drink
of water, and went to bed with Frank.
At daybreak the rescue detachment left camp, retraced our route to the
Carizo, where Corporal Frank put us upon the trail of the Indians. We
climbed to the highest point reached by the path, and saw it descend
on the opposite side to a brook, deep in the valley. Here we halted,
took the horses a short distance down the slope we had just ascended,
picketed them in a grassy nook, and Frank and I started to ascend the
left peak.
"Mr. Baldwin," I said, as I moved away, "when you see us start to
return, saddle and bridle as rapidly as possible, so as to be ready
for emergencies."
"I'll do so. You can depend upon us to be ready when wanted," was the
reply.
We scrambled through a scattering growth of piñon and junipers for
several yards, and at last came to a perpendicular shaft of sandstone
twenty feet high, with a flat top. The diameter of the shaft was about
fifty feet.
"Henry could not have come up here, or he never would have set us to
attempt an impossibility," said Frank, as his eyes ran up and down
the rock.
"Perhaps it may not be so impossible as it appears," I replied. "Let
us walk round the butte."
We passed to the right, and, having found a practicable place for
attempting the ascent, accomplished the feat in a few moments.
On the flat summit we found the remains of former fires that had
undoubtedly been lighted as signals. The view was grand and extensive.
Directly to the north lay many verdant valleys--grazing-grounds of the
nomadic Navajos. One of these valleys lay at the foot of the mountain
upon which we stood, with a bright stream of water crossing its hither
border. Well out in the valley were several flocks of sheep and goats,
and close to the opposite side of the brook was a herd of ponies.
After Frank had looked long and anxiously towards the flocks and
herds, he said: "Those specks near the ponies must be men, I suppose.
I wonder if Henry is among them? Shall I make the signal?"
"Not yet. It is not yet noon. Let us lie down among these rocks,
where we shall be less conspicuous, and use the field-glass."
"Tell me what you see, sir, if you please."