Just what an officer's actual rank might be in the days that followed
close on the heels of the war was a matter no man could tell from either
his dress or address. Few indeed were they who escaped the deluge of
brevets that poured over the army and soaked some men six deep. There
were well-authenticated cases of well-preserved persons who had never so
much as seen a battle, and were yet, on one pretext or another,
brevetted away up among the stars for "faithful and meritorious
services" recruiting, mustering or disbursing. We had colonels by title
whose functions were purely those of the file-closer. We had generals by
brevet who had never set squadron in the field and didn't know the
difference between a pole yoke and a pedometer. Every captain, except
one or two who had laughingly declined, wore the straps of field
officers, some few even of generals, and so when one heard a
military-looking man addressed as colonel the chances were ten to one
that he was drawing only the stipend of a company officer, and in
matters of actual rank in the army it was money that talked.
But there could be no questioning the right of the senior of the two
officers who had alighted at Sancho's to the title of colonel. Soldier
stood out all over him, even though his garb was concealed by a
nondescript duster. His face, lined, thin-lipped and resolute, was
tanned by desert suns and winds. His hair, once brown, was almost white.
His beard, once flowing and silky, was cropped to a gray stubble. His
steely blue eyes snapped under their heavy thatch, his head was carried
high and well back, and his soft felt hat, wide-brimmed, was pulled down
over the brows. His deep chest, square shoulders, erect carriage and
straight muscular legs all told of days and years in the field, and
every word he uttered had about it the crisp, clear-cut ring of command.
It was safe to bet that no mere company was the extent of this soldiers
authority, and Sancho, keen observer, had put him down for a
lieutenant-colonel at least. Full colonels were mostly older men, and
Arizona had but one in "the days of the Empire."
The ranchman had eagerly whispered questions to the loungers as to the
identity of the two arrivals, but without success. Both were strangers,
although the junior had been seen at the ranch once before, the day
Blake's troop was camped there on the way back from the Dragoons. There
was the packet left by the orderly to be called for by officers arriving
on the Yuma stage, addressed in clerkly hand, but Sancho, alas! could
not read. Hovering as near as the gravity and dignity of his station
would permit, he had heard the colonel's query about Blake. He pricked
up his ears at once. Teniente Blake! Thirty miles east on the Maricopa
road! Why, how was this? Some one had told him Blake had been to the
Colorado and was coming back by this very stage. How did Blake get to
the east of Sancho's ranch, after having once gone west, without
Sancho's knowing it? Suspiciously he watched the two soldiers, the
grizzled colonel, the slim lieutenant. They were talking together in low
tones, at least the colonel was talking, eagerly, energetically, and
with much gesticulation. The junior listened wordless to every word.
What had he meant by "the bird had flown?" Why should Nevins "skip?" An
unpleasant fear seized upon Sancho. He knew Nevins, at least a Nevins, a
captain whom everybody knew, in fact, and few men trusted. What had
Nevins been doing? or rather, what that he had been doing was he to be
held to account for? Why should the colonel so eagerly ask where they
could reach Blake? Time was when Sancho flattered himself that there was
no deviltry going on in Arizona, except such as originated with the
Indians, in which he had not at least the participation of full
knowledge, yet here came two officials, hastening by stage instead of
marching with military deliberation and escort, and they were in quest
of the Señor Capitan Nevins of whom all men had heard and at whose
hands many had suffered, for was not he a player whom the very cards
seemed to obey? Was it not he who broke the bank at Bustamente's during
the _fiesta_ at Tucson but five months agone? Was it not Nevins who won
all the money those two young tenientes possessed--two boys from the far
East just joining their regiment and haplessly falling into the hands of
this dashing, dapper, wholesouled, hospitable comrade who made his
temporary quarters their home until they could find opportunity to go
forward to the distant posts where their respective companies were
stationed? Was it not Nevins who, right there at Sancho's ranch, finding
a party of prospectors, several ex-Confederate soldiers among them,
languidly staking silver at the monte table presided over by Sancho's
own brother, had calmly opened a faro "layout" and enticed every man
from the legitimate game and every peso from their pockets before the
two-day's session was finished? Well did Sancho recall his own wrath and
that of his brother at this unlicensed interference with their special
business, and the surprising liberality, too, with which the Señor
Capitan had silenced their remonstrance. Rascal though he was, Sancho
had sense enough to know that such proceedings were not seemly in a man
bearing the commission of an officer. But Sancho little knew how many a
congressman along at the close of the war, finding himself compelled to
provide some kind of living for political "heelers," or some impersonal
reward for services rendered, had foisted his henchmen into the army,
then being enlarged and reorganized, and Nevins was one of the results
of the iniquitous system.
Commissioned a first lieutenant of a regiment that had had a proud
record in the regular division of the Army of the Potomac, and had been
hurried at the close of the war to the Pacific coast, Nevins had joined
at Fort Yuma and served a few weeks' apprenticeship as a file-closer,
just long enough to demonstrate that he knew nothing whatever about
soldiering and too much about poker. All his seniors in grade, except
the West Pointers graduated in '65, had brevets for war service, and
Nevins' sponsor was appealed to to rectify the omission in the
lieutenant's case. Nevins had held a commission in a volunteer regiment
in the defenses of Washington the last few months of the war, and that
was found amply sufficient, when a prominent member of the committee on
military affairs demanded it, to warrant the bestowal of a brevet for
"gallant and meritorious services." Hence came the title of captain.
Then, as company duty proved irksome, and Nevins' company and post
commander both began to stir him up for his manifold negligences and
ignorances, the aid of his patron in congress was again invoked. A
crippled veteran who could do no field service was in charge of a supply
camp for scouting parties, escorts, detachments, etc., and, to the wrath
of the regimental officers, this veteran was relieved and Lieutenant and
Brevet-Captain Nevins by department orders was detailed in his place.
This made him independent of almost everybody, beside placing in his
hands large quantities of commissary and quartermaster stores which
were worth far more to the miner, prospector and teamster than their
invoice price. The stories that began to come into Yuma and Drum
Barracks, and other old-time stations, of the "high jinks" going on day
and night at Nevins' camp, the orders for liquors, cigars and supplies
received at San Francisco and filled by every stage or steamer, the
lavish entertainment accorded to officers of any grade and to wayfarers
with any sign of money, the complaints of victims who had been fleeced,
the gloomy silence of certain fledgling subalterns after brief visits at
"Camp Ochre," as Blake had dubbed it, all pointed significantly to but
one conclusion, that, so far from living on his pay, Nevins was
gormandizing on that of everybody else, and doubtless "raising the wind"
in other ways at the expense of Uncle Sam. Even in Arizona in the days
of the Empire it could not last forever. Easy come, easy go. Nevins had
lavishly spent what was so lightly won. Tucson and Yuma City were within
easy stage ride, even San Francisco had twice been found accessible.
Dashing associates of both sexes were ever at hand. The sudden turn of
the tide came with the order that broke up the supply camp, required him
to turn over his funds and stores to the quartermaster at Camp Cooke,
and report for duty in person at that post. Then came the expected
discovery of grievous shortages in both funds and property, the order
for the arrest of the delinquent officer and his trial by court-martial.
Colonel Turnbull, inspector-general of the department, was hurried out
from the shores of the Pacific to sit as one of the senior members of
the court. Lieutenant Loring, vainly striving along the Gila to find
some resemblance between its tracing on a government map and its
meanderings through the desert, was selected to perform the duties of
judge advocate. The court was authorized to sit without regard to hours,
and to sift the official career of the _protégé_ of the house committee
of military affairs without regard to consequence, when that volatile
and accused person took matters into his own hands, and between the
setting and rising of the sun, disappeared from the brush, canvas and
adobe shelters of old Camp Cooke and left for parts unknown, taking with
him the best horse in the commanding officer's stable, and, as genius
has ever its followers, the admiration if not the regard of much of the
garrison.
But other followers were needed at once. "That man must be caught at any
cost, Loring," said the colonel. "No one begins to know the extent of
his rascalities, and you and Blake must catch him."
For answer the engineer took out his watch--it was just a quarter to
one--stepped out into the glare of the sunshine and gazed to the far
horizon. The plain to the east was flat as a board for many a mile and
well nigh as barren. Then he turned sharply on Sancho. "Dinner ready?"
he asked.
"In one--two minutes, Señor Capitan," responded the ranchman gravely,
conferring on the officer the brevet of courtesy.
Out in front of the ranch the old red stage, long since faded to a dun
color, stood baking in the burning rays. The mules had been taken into
the corral for water, fodder and shade. The driver was regaling himself
within the bar. The few loungers, smoking, but silent, seemed dozing the
noontide away. Loring stepped to the side of the vehicle and drew forth
a leather valise, swung it to his shoulder and strode back to where the
colonel stood pondering under the canvas screen.
"Good hefting power in that right arm of his," muttered one of the
loungers to a mate sprawled full length on the sand beneath the shelter
of the tent fly, and watching the officer from under his half-closed
lids. A grunt of assent was the only reply.
"Know what regiment he belongs to?" queried number one.
"No, but it's cavalry," was the murmured answer. "Saw him straddling a
broncho at Maricopa Wells last week. He knows how."
Somewhere within the ranch a triangle began to jangle. "_Quim-a-do!_"
shrilled little Pete, and three or four lazy, drowsing forms began
slowly to get to their feet and to shuffle away toward the doorless
aperture in the adobe wall, the entrance to the dining-room of the stage
and ranch people. Two men lingered, the two who were speculating as to
the military connections of the young officer. One of them, after a
quiet glance about the neighborhood, strolled out toward the stage,
hands deep in the pockets of his wide trousers. There he seemed casually
to repeat his leisurely survey of the surroundings, then he lounged
back.
"No go," said he, in low tones, "both of 'em there yet. Young feller
changing his dress. Their dinner's ready though. The colonel's writing."
Presently Sancho, grave and deliberate as became his race, emerged from
the shadows of the bar and came close before he spoke.
"He goes to ride--that youth. Know you whither? And he has no horse."
And, as though to confirm this statement, with his quick, elastic step,
Loring came forth to the side gate, dumped his valise into the stage,
turned and looked keenly over the group, then as quickly approached
them. He had discarded his linen coat and trousers in favor of a pair
of brown cord breeches with Hualpai leggings and light spurs. A broad
belt with knife and revolver was buckled to his waist. A silk
handkerchief was loosely knotted at his throat. A light-colored felt hat
was pulled down to his eyebrows, and dust-colored gantlets were drawn
upon his hands. "Sancho," said he, "have that roan of yours saddled in
ten minutes. How much if I keep him a week?"
"Everything in my house is at the service of the Señor Capitan," began
Sancho grandiloquently, "but as to that horse----"
"No other will do. How much a week? though I may keep him only a day."
"Señor, he is the horse of my brother, and my brother is not here. If
harm should come----"
"Full value will be paid. Here!" and a glittering gold piece, a double
eagle, flashed in the sun. "Waste no talk now. Take this and saddle
him."
Slowly, gingerly, with thumb and finger tips the ranchman plucked the
coin from the open and extended palm, then bowed with the same native
grace and gravity.
"Come, Loring," growled the colonel impatiently, "dinner," and Sancho
caught the name.
"The Señor Loreeng--will not ride him hard--or far? It is to the camp of
the major he goes?"
But, turning on his heel, not another word would Loring say. Ten minutes
later, his hunger appeased with bacon, _frijoles_ and chocolate, he
mounted and rode quietly away eastward until Sancho's ranch was two
miles behind, then gave the roan both rein and spur and sped like the
wind up the Gila, two of Sancho's oldest customers vainly lashing on his
trail.