and bedraggled dog, who dropped at my feet a chip. Carrying her in my
arms to my room, I lighted a lamp and examined her collar, and found a
few leaves of a memorandum-book covered with Frank's hand-writing.
The news of Vic's arrival with a message spread quickly, and soon the
household was gathered in my room and in possession of the news of the
exploit of the boys and Tom Clary.
"Good! good!" exclaimed the director of the Navigation Company. "Come
with me to the _Cocopah_. We'll steam across and get the whole party."
On the western shore of the Colorado, Private Tom Clary and the boy
sergeants sat by the fire broiling quail, which they seasoned from the
supplies of Texas Dick and Juan Brincos, and accompanied by slices of
toasted bread from the same source. In the midst of their enjoyment of
"quail on toast" a loud "who-o-of! who-o-of! who-o-of!" came across
the river.
"Hullo!" said Henry; "the old _Cocopah_ is starting for the Gulf
mighty early. I should think the pilot would find it difficult to keep
off the shores when it is so dark."
The boys could see by the boat's changing lights that her bow, which
had been headed up-stream, when she lay at the bank, was swinging
slowly out into the stream, and they expected shortly to see her
starboard lights as she headed downward. But she seemed to pause, with
her furnace fires and pilot lanterns pointing towards them.
"Who-o-of! who-o-of! who-o-of!--patter, patter, patter." The noise of
the steamer grew louder and louder, until the boys rose from their
seats and stared in surprise at the rapidly growing lights.
"I really believe she is coming here," said Frank.
"She is, or she nades a dale of space to turn in," observed Private
Tom.
Presently two tall smoke-stacks separated themselves from the darkness
and appeared high above their heads.
"Ahoy there, boys!" shouted the captain's voice from the bridge.
"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Frank.
"Get ready to come on board! Below there--stand by to lower
gang-plank! Now!--lower away!"
Down came the plank, and a joyous group of friends walked down to the
shore to greet the boys and the soldier.
A few moments afterwards the boy sergeants led their ponies on board,
and Private Tom Clary escorted the prisoners. The _Cocopah_ cleared
away and paddled back to the La Paz side, where Texas Dick and Juan
Brincos were turned over to the civil authorities, and Sancho and
Chiquita to the escort in Mr. Gray's corral.
Three days later the boys and I took leave of Mr. Hudson, who was now
in charge of the government storehouse, and, accompanied by Mr. Gray,
started for Fort Whipple. Hanging under the hind axle of the ambulance
was a ten-gallon keg, and inside was another. We left La Paz early in
the morning and arrived at Tyson's Wells at nine o'clock. Remaining
there until six o'clock in the evening, we watered our animals, and
with freshly filled kegs started for Hole-in-the-Plain, where we
stayed until the following evening, the animals passing the day on
grass without water. A second night-drive brought us to Cisternas
Negras, and the third to Date Creek, from which last point we resumed
travelling by daylight.
At Skull Valley, at the earnest request of Miss Brenda Arnold, Henry
was allowed to remain for a few days' visit. He promised to join the
next incoming mail-rider, and to ride back to the fort by way of the
mountain-trail.
XVI
APACHES IN SKULL VALLEY
It was near midnight, four days after my return from La Paz, that I
sat by my open fire, absorbed in a recently published popular novel. I
was suddenly aroused by a distant and rapid clatter of horse's feet.
The sound came distinctly through the loop-holes in the outer wall of
the room--loop-holes made for rifles and left open for ventilation.
Dropping my book upon the table, I listened intently to the
hoof-beats. Some one was riding from the direction of Prescott,
evidently in great haste; and Arizona being a country of alarms, I
surmised that the rider was coming to the fort. The horseman stopped
at the great gates.
"Halt! Who comes there?" rang out the voice of Private Tom Clary, who
was sentinel No. 1, stationed at the post entrance. "Sargint Hinery,
is it you, laddie?" the voice continued, in a lower and gentler tone.
"Yes, Tom; and, oh, tell Mr. Duncan, quick, that--"
"Whist! Take care, laddie! Howld on a bit!" and a rifle fell
clattering to the ground and two solid feet sprang forward with a
rush.
Hearing this, I started for the secret postern, and as I opened my
door, heard the honest old soldier shout:
"Corpril uv th' guard, No. 1!" and, in a lower and appealing tone:
"Liftinint, if ye hear me, come quick to the little sargint. I fear
th' dear b'y is dyin'."
In an instant I was through the narrow gate-way, standing beside a
group of the guard that surrounded Clary, who, kneeling beside a
panting and reeking pony, held the inanimate form of Henry Burton in
his arms.
"Corpril Duffey, will ye let one uv the b'ys walk me bate a minate
till I can take the laddie in?" asked Tom.
"Yes, Clary, go ahead, and stay as long as you're needed," was the
kindly answer.
"Is it to your room I'll be takin' him, sor?" asked Clary, rising and
holding his burden across his breast.
"Of course, and place him on my bed. Corporal Duffey, send a man for
the surgeon and hospital steward, and send another with the pony to
the stable."
It was too dark to take in details, but I noticed Chiquita was utterly
exhausted, and that she was covered with foam. Following Clary to my
room, I saw, when the light fell upon Henry's face, that his right
cheek and neck were bleeding, and that his left arm hung unnaturally
limp by the bearer's side.
We placed him upon the bed, and Surgeon Coues, who had now arrived and
pronounced the boy to be simply in a faint from loss of blood and
over-exertion, applied restoratives and brought him back to
consciousness. As Henry's eyelids raised, and he recognized me, he
said, weakly:
"Oh, Mr. Duncan, tell Captain Bayard the Indians have attacked Mr.
Arnold's ranch, and that Mrs. Arnold is dead!"
"Indians attacked the ranch! When?"
"About four o'clock."
"How many?"
"Don't know. Seemed as if there were over a hundred. And don't stop to
worry over me. Don't stop an instant--these scratches are nothing--but
send the soldiers, quick, or Brenda and all will be killed!"
"How did you get away from the ranch? But you are right, this is no
time for talk."
I aroused the other officers instantly, and sent Frank to his brother.
All assembled in my quarters, and, while the surgeon dressed the
wounds in cheek and neck and set a fractured radius, orders for an
expedition to Skull Valley were issued, and Henry told his story.
At the time this incident occurred the Californians had been mustered
out of service and returned to their distant homes, and the garrison
at Fort Whipple consisted of infantry only. But there were many
"dough-boys" who were good riders, and a number of excellent horses
were kept by the quartermaster for emergencies which required speed
and short service.
Captain Bayard gave orders for a sergeant, three corporals, and
twenty-two privates to be got in readiness for mounted service, with
rations for five days. The command was given to me, and Private Tom
Clary immediately applied to be relieved from guard in order to
accompany me. His request was granted.
Sergeant Frank concluded to remain with his brother.
"I know it is rough on you, Frankie," said Henry, "not to have a
chance to win a few scars, too; but I should be dreadfully worried if
you were to go, and I'm worried enough about Brenda now. You must stay
with me."
And so it was settled, and Frank remained behind, lending his pony
Sancho to Private Clary.
During all this preparation, dressing of wounds, and setting of
fractures, Henry had managed to give us an account of what had
happened at Skull Valley before he left. I will, however, repeat it a
little more connectedly, with additions obtained later from other
parties.
After I left Sergeant Henry in the valley, as I passed through there
from the Xuacaxélla, he had for three days devoted himself to the
amusement of his young hostess, Brenda, and her cousins.
There were many reasons why the Arnolds were not fearing an attack at
the time, the principal one being that the Indians had recently been
defeated at Date Creek. With that affair they seemed to have
withdrawn, and no signs of them had been seen since.
Near the close of the afternoon of the fourth day of Henry's visit a
party of forty-one Apaches had suddenly appeared, and had spent an
hour or more reconnoitring the valley and its approaches. Apparently
becoming satisfied that they would not be interrupted in their attack
by outside parties, they began active operations by collecting the
Arnold cattle and horses, and placing them in charge of two of their
number near the spring.
Next they fired one of the out-buildings, and under cover of the smoke
gained entrance to a second, which stood less than a hundred feet from
the north side of the house. Knocking the mud and chips from between
the logs here and there, they were enabled to open fire upon the
settlers at short range.
With the first appearance of the Indians, Mr. Arnold, assisted by two
travellers who had arrived that afternoon from Date Creek on their way
to Prescott, closed the windows and doorways with heavy puncheon
shutters, removed the stops from the loop-holes, directed the girls to
carry provisions and property into the earthwork, got the arms and
ammunition ready, and awaited further demonstrations.
The available defensive force consisted of every member of the family,
including Sergeant Henry Burton and the two strangers. The mother and
daughters had been taught the use of fire-arms by the husband and
father, and Brenda had been taught by the boy sergeants. In an
emergency like the one being narrated, where death and mutilation were
sure to follow capture, the girls were nerved to do all that could
have been expected of boys at their ages.
Until the Apaches gained possession of the second out-building, few
shots had been exchanged, and the besieged closely watched their
movements through the loop-holes. It was while doing this that a
bullet pierced the brain of Mrs. Arnold, and she fell dead in the
midst of her family.
The body of Mrs. Arnold was borne to the cellar by the sorrowing
husband, accompanied by the weeping children. The firing became
desultory and without apparent effect. Ball and arrow could not pierce
the thick walls of the log-house; only through the loop-holes could a
missile enter, and by rare good-fortune none of the defenders, after
the first casualty, chanced to be in line when one did.
The family again assembled in defence of their home and lives, the
grave necessity of keeping off the impending danger banishing, in a
measure, the thoughts of their bereavement. An ominous silence on the
part of the Indians was broken at last by the swish of a blazing arrow
to the roof. Mr. Arnold rushed to the garret, and with the butt of his
rifle broke a hole in the covering and flung the little torch to the
ground.
But another and another burning arrow followed, and in spite of
desperate and vigilant action the pine shingles burst into flames in
several places. At this juncture Henry, whose station was on the south
side of the house, approached Mr. Arnold and said:
"Sir, I see Chiquita grazing near the spring, close to the edge of the
willows, and the two Indians there with the herd keep well this way,
watching the fight. If you think best, I will creep through the
passage, mount, and ride to the fort for the soldiers."
Mr. Arnold did not at once reply. He took a long look through a
loop-hole towards the spring, and Henry, misinterpreting his silence,
said:
"Don't think I want to desert you, sir, and skip the ranch. I'll stay
here and do my best with the others, but I thought, perhaps, if I
could do it, I might save you all."
"God bless ye, my boy; nobody can doubt yer fightin' 'bility; yer was
born a soldier. I was only thinkin' yer chance uv gittin' by them two
redskins at the spring's mighty small."
"Then you think it a good plan?"
"Yes; I'd like to have ye do it, if ye can."
"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."
Then the lad passed around the rooms, taking the hand of each defender
in farewell until he reached Brenda. As he took her hand in his right
and fondly lay his left upon it, the young girl broke into
uncontrollable sobbing, and, throwing her disengaged arm over his
shoulder, said:
"Oh, Henry! what a dear, brave boy you are! You never think of
yourself, but always of your friends!"
"I will bring the soldiers, Brenda, and you shall all be saved. Keep
up a good heart."
"But it is such a long ride, and even if you do get away, you may find
us dead or captives when you return."
"You must be brave, Brenda--no, not brave, for you are that already;
but be patient. We are sure to be here before those fellows can take
the little fort. That can be defended as long as the ammunition holds
out."
Then the boy kissed the pretty Brenda and her cousins, and dropped
into the cellar. Passing into the earthwork, he selected his saddle
and bridle from a heap of others, buckled on his spurs, dropped with
bowed head upon his knees a moment, and crept into the passage leading
to the spring. Groping his way between the narrow walls, he presently
emerged through a natural crevice in a mass of bowlders near the
spring. Standing in the screen of willows, he parted the branches
cautiously in the direction of the two Indians, and saw them less than
a hundred yards distant, standing with their backs towards him
watching the Arnold house, the roof of which was now a roaring,
leaping mass of flame.
Closing the boughs again, Henry opened them in an opposite direction
and crept softly up to Chiquita, holding out his hand to her. The
docile pony raised her head, and, coming forward, placed her nose in
his palm, submitting to be saddled and bridled without objection or
noise.
Leaping into the saddle, the boy drove his spurs into the animal's
flanks, and was off at a furious run in the direction of Whipple.
Startled by the hoof-beats, the Apaches looked back, and began running
diagonally across the field to try to intercept the boy before he
turned into the direct trail. Arrow after arrow flew after him, one
wounding him in the neck and another in the cheek, and when the
distance began to increase between him and his pursuers and they saw
the boy was likely to get away, one raised his rifle and sent a bullet
after him, which fractured the radius of his left arm.
"Well, Chiquita," said Henry, as he turned fairly into the Prescott
trail and had realized the exact nature of his injuries, "you haven't
got a scratch, and are good for this run if I can hold out."
It was dusk when Henry began his ride, and it rapidly grew darker as
he hurried along the trail. Neither he nor the pony had been over it
before. Twice he got off the trail, and long and miserable stretches
of time elapsed in regaining it; but the fort was reached at last and
the alarm given.
XVII
PURSUIT OF THE APACHES
With twenty-eight men, including two scouts picked up as we passed
through Prescott, and the post surgeon, I left for Skull Valley. The
night was moonless, but the myriad stars shone brilliantly through the
rarefied atmosphere of that Western region, lighting the trail and
making it fairly easy to follow. It was a narrow pathway, with but few
places where two horsemen could ride abreast, so conversation was
almost impossible, and few words, except those of command, were
spoken; nor were the men in a mood to talk. All were more or less
excited and impatient, and, wherever the road would permit, urged
their horses to a run.
The trail climbed and descended rugged steeps, crossed smooth
intervals, skirted the edges of precipices, wound along borders of dry
creeks, and threaded forests of pine and clumps of sage-brush and
greasewood. Throughout the ride the imaginations of officers and men
were depicting the scenes they feared were being enacted in the
valley, or which might take place should they fail to arrive in time
to prevent.
It is needless to say, perhaps, that the one person about whom the
thoughts of the men composing the rescuing party centred was the
gentle, bright, and pretty Brenda. To think of her falling into the
hands of the merciless Apaches was almost maddening.
On and on rode the column, the men giving their panting steeds no more
rest than the nature of the road and the success of the expedition
required. At last we reached the spur of the range behind which lay
Skull Valley. We skirted it, and with anxious eyes sought through the
darkness the place where the ranch buildings should be. All was
silence. No report of fire-arms or whoop of savages disturbed the
quiet of the valley.
Ascending a swell in the surface of the ground we saw that all the
buildings had disappeared, nothing meeting our anxious gaze but beds
of lurid coals, occasionally fanned into a red glow by the
intermittent night breeze. But there was the impregnable earthwork;
the family must be in that. I dashed swiftly forward, eagerly followed
by my men. The earthwork was destroyed, nothing but a circular pit
remaining, in the bottom of which glowed the embers of the fallen
roof-timbers.
A search for the slain was at once begun, and continued for a long
time. Every square rod of the valley for a mile was hunted over
without result, and we all gathered once more about the two cellars,
in which the coals still glowed.
"It was in the cellar of the house that Sergeant Henry said the body
of Mrs. Arnold was laid, was it not?" asked Dr. Coues.
"Yes," I replied.
"Then if all were killed after he left--shot from time to time--would
not their remains be likely to be beside hers?"
"Not beside hers, I think. The last stand must have been made in the
fort."
"Then the bodies, or what is left of them, must lie under that
circular bed of coals, Duncan, if they died here."
"Probably, doctor. It's an uncanny thing to do, but we must stir the
coals and see."
A thorough search revealed nothing.
"Does th' liftinint moind that Sargint Hinery mintioned a covered way
that led from th' cellar to th' spring?" asked Private Tom Clary, who
wielded a rail beside me. "Perhaps th' pretty lassie and her frinds
are in that."
"That is so, Clary; thank you for the suggestion," I answered. "Can
you make out the opening?"
"Nothin' sure, sor. Behoind thim wagon-tires there sames to be a
natural slope of earth."
"Tip the tires over, Clary," I ordered; and presently a number of
tires, from which the fire had burned the felloes, spokes, and hubs,
fell into the coals, disclosing a recently filled aperture.
"Looks as if the end of a passage had been filled, doesn't it?" asked
the surgeon.
"It certainly does," I answered. "Let us go to the spring and
examine."
Accompanied by the doctor and several men, I rode to the spring. When
we arrived there we broke a way through the thick-set willows into an
irregular mass of small bowlders. Climbing over these, we found
ourselves at the mouth of a narrow passage about four feet high and
two feet wide.
"This must be the entrance to the covered way," I remarked, and
placing my head in the crevice, I called: "Oh, Mr. Arnold, we are
here--your friends from Fort Whipple!"
"Thank Heaven!" in a man's tones, came clearly through the entrance,
accompanied by a sudden outburst of sobs in girlish voices.
"We'll be there directly," spoke another man's voice--that of a
stranger. "We've heard your horses' hoofs jarring the ground for some
time, but we thought it safest to lay low until we were sure it wasn't
redskins."
Then followed the sound of steps, accompanied by voices, sounding at
the entrance, as a voice spoken in a long tube appears to be uttered
at the listener's end. Some time elapsed before those who seemed so
near appeared; but at last there emerged from the passage Mr. Arnold,
two strange men, and three girls--but no Brenda.
"Where is Brenda, Mr. Arnold?" I asked.
"Heaven only knows, lieutenant. She gave herself up to the Apaches."
"Gave herself up to the Apaches! What do you mean?"
"That's precisely what she did, lieutenant," said one of the
strangers, adding: "My name is Bartlett, from Hassayampa, and this is
Mr. Gilbert, from Tucson. We were on our way from La Paz to Prescott
and stopped here for a meal, and got corralled by the Indians. But
about the girl Brenda: she took it into her head, after we got into
the little fort, that unless some one could create a diversion to
mislead the devils, we'd all lose our scalps."
"That beautiful young girl! Gave herself up to certain torture and
death! Why did you allow it?"
"Allow it!" exclaimed Mr. Bartlett, indignantly. "I hope, lieutenant,
you don't think so hard of me and my friend as to believe we'd have
allowed it if we'd suspected what the plucky miss meant to do!"
"Tell me the circumstances, Mr. Bartlett," said I.
The party moved slowly along the path from the spring to the fires,
and as they walked Mr. Arnold and the travellers gave an account of
all that had happened after Sergeant Henry left for Fort Whipple.
The burning arrows sent to the pitch-pine roof became so numerous that
the besieged found it impossible to prevent the flames from catching
in several places. Henry was hardly out of sight before the house
became untenable, and the defenders were obliged to retire to the
fort. When the house was consumed, and its timbers had fallen into the
cellar a mass of burning brands, the space about the earthwork was
clear, and the rifles at its loop-holes kept the Indians close within
the out-building they had occupied since the attack began. No one
dared to show himself to the unerring marksmen, who watched every
movement.
For a long time silence reigned among the Indians. The whites,
however, felt sure that plans were being matured which meant disaster
to them.
At last these plans were revealed in a constant and rapid flight of
arrows, directed at a point between two loop-holes--a point which
could not be reached by the besieged, and where, if a considerable
collection of burning brands could be heaped against the logs,
between the earth and the eaves, the pine walls and rafters must take
fire. Walls and roof were too solid to be cut away, and water could
not reach the outside.
The defenders, when they realized what the result of a fire would be,
held a consultation, and decided that in the event of the fire getting
control of the fort they should retire into the covered way, block up
the entrance with earth, and remain there until help should arrive. It
was thought the Indians would suppose all had perished in the flames.
"But they know we came here by an underground passage from the house,"
said Brenda; "will they not suspect we have entered another passage if
we all disappear?"
"P'r'aps they may," answered Mr. Arnold; "I had not thought of that.
We'll have to take our chances."
"If one of us was to appear to escape from here, and join them,"
continued the girl, "I think they would suppose the others had
perished, and make no search."
"That may be true, but I'll take my chances here," said Mr. Gilbert.
"So will I," said his companion. "A fellow wouldn't last a minute
outside this fort. I prefer smothering to the death those devils will
give me."
It soon became evident to the besieged that the outer wall was on
fire.
The sun had gone down and darkness was deepening in the valley when
the first tongue of flame licked through a crevice in the roof and
showed that the fire had gained a foothold. Soon a hole appeared,
close to the eaves, which gradually enlarged towards the centre of the
roof and along the surface of the earth. With blankets the fire was
beaten out on the sides, but it crept insidiously along between the
timber and earth covering.
In making the roof, branches of pine had been spread over the timber,
and the branches in turn covered with a thick layer of straw to
prevent the earth from filtering between the logs. This material was
as dry as tinder, and held the fire.