Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War
Page 15
CHAPTER XV.
Harris was up and fuming for action. With his wound unhealed and hisarm utterly useless, he was insistent that he should be permitted tomount and ride. "What could you do?" asked Bentley. "The post issurrounded. Every trail and both roads are watched day and night. Yourhorse is all that's left you. 'Tonio is gone. 'Tonio has turnedtraitor!"
"That," said Harris, "I will not believe for an instant."
They brought General Archer to see him, and the grave-faced old soldierbent kindly over the impatient and incredulous junior. "It is even asBentley tells you, lad," said he. "Only one messenger has been able tocome or go through their lines since the demoralized pair that got infrom Verde, and they can't be hired to try again. We are hemmed in andhelpless until our cavalry return. Willett will tell you he saw 'Toniofire the shot that killed his horse and was meant to kill him. 'Toniohas intercepted messengers between Turner and me, and killed, Ibelieve, at least one messenger. You must be patient or you will throwyourself into a fever and set you back a month. We've simply got to acton the defensive, guard the post and the women until relief comes. Bythis time, of course, General Crook himself is somewhere in the field,and any moment may bring him; then our Apache friends, hereabouts, willhave to hunt their holes."
"General Archer," said Harris, commanding himself with evident effortand striving to speak with his accustomed deliberation, "I have notseen Willett, but, if I had, I should refuse to believe that 'Toniofired at him. The Apache-Mohaves may be with the hostiles at last, butnot 'Tonio. There is some reason for his absence that we cannot fathom.They may have killed him for his loyalty to us, but loyal he is atheart, no matter how much appearances are against him."
"We'll hope so," said Archer, "but for the present, do as Bentley bidsyou and stay quiet," and the commander rose to go.
But Harris, too, was on his feet, steadying himself with one hand onthe back of his chair. "You will pardon me, will you not, sir, if I aska question? You say you have been unable to communicate with Stannardor Turner. Stannard is, probably, too far away, but if Turner's woundedare over on Tonto Creek, he can be reached. Have you tried signalling?"
"Signalling? We've got some flags and torches somewhere, but I believethat----"
"I don't mean that, sir. No one with Turner would understand if we had.I mean smoke signals--Indian."
"No," said Archer slowly. "No one but Indians could say what theymeant, even if any one here knew their confounded code. Do you?"
"I know enough at least to call 'Tonio; and unless he is dead orspirited away, he'll answer. Then we can get word to Turner."
Archer turned back. He was almost at the door. "Do you mean he _would_answer--that he would come in here?"
"If I may give my word that no one shall touch or harm him, he'llcome--if alive and able."
For a moment the general was silent. It was a grave question. In hiseyes and those of his officers, 'Tonio stood attainted practically withtreason. He had deserted in face of the enemy, joined forces with theenemy, shot as an enemy, conspired and acted as an enemy. He deservedto be hunted and shot down without trial, without mercy. Yet here wasthis young soldier, who had known him best and longest, full ofboundless faith in him, demanding safe conduct for him on the honor ofan officer and gentleman. If Archer gave his word it would be flying inthe face of his entire command--what there was left of it, atleast--and Archer's word was a thing not to be lightly given. "I mustthink of this awhile," said he. "It is a big proposition. You think_you_ can reach him?"
"By night or day, sir, either; but it would have to be from the top ofSquadron Peak."
It was then late on Friday afternoon, the fifth day of what might hecalled the siege. Not a signal had come from without, not a sign fromeither command, not a symptom of surrounding Indian; yet a little partysent to search the rookery down stream, where Case declared he'd beenentertaining the ghost of 'Patchie Sanchez, came back reporting thatfresh moccasin and mule tracks were plainly visible about the premisesand at the neighboring ford, also that the mule tracks led away back ofthe Picacho, as everybody persisted in calling the peak--in spite ofthe fact that from the north it presented no sharp point to the skies,but rather a bold and rounded poll. Squadron Peak was more "sonorousand appropriate," said the trooper who so named it, but now thattroopers were scarce at Almy, there were none to do it that reverence.
Old Sanchez--Jose--the former proprietor, had disappeared entirely, heand his brace of henchmen, after somewhere digging a treasure pit inthe sand and therein "caching" their store of mescal, aguardiente, andcertain other illicit valuables. It was conjectured that he had fled tothe Verde Valley and taken refuge at McDowell until the storm blewover. But Craney was more than curious as to Case's guest, the ghost,and by Friday Case was sober and solemn and sick enough to becross-questioned without show of resentment. Craney went so far as toask Case wouldn't he like a little whiskey to steady his nerves--acocktail to aid his appetite and stir his stomach? "Like it," saidCase, "you bet I would--which is why I won't take it. Three days'liquor, two days' taper, one day suffer, then the water wagon for aspell. Thank you all the same, Mr. Craney. What can I do for youwithout the drink?"
But when Craney mentioned Sanchez, the ghost and the drinking bout bynight at the rookery, Case said he must have been nigher to jimjamsthan he'd got in a year. "I never saw any ghost," said he, and Craneyhad to give it up, and report his failure to the commanding officer.
"Ever try threatening him with discharge?" asked Bucketts, by way ofbeing helpful.
"Ever try? I don't _have_ to try! The one time I started in on that layhe never let me finish; said all right, he'd go just as soon as he'dbalanced the books. Then, by gad, it was all I could do to get him tostay. He is the most independent damn man I ever met. Says he knowshe's a drunkard and nuisance one week out of four, and don't wonder Iwant to discharge him. Discharge him? I couldn't get along without him!Any time he wants a better job and plenty of society all he's got to dois go to Prescott. Discharge him! All I'm afraid of is he'll dischargehimself!"
So Bucketts dropped the subject and he and Strong went to reportnon-success to Archer just as the sun was going down and the peak, inlone grandeur, loomed up dazzling above the black drapery about itsbase, and Bonner, pacing up and down with his much-honored chief, sawthe gloom deepen in his deep-set eyes. Only Lilian seemed able to win asmile from him, as she came and took him by the arm and led him away todinner.
Darkness settled down apace. The moon rose late and the stars wereholding high carnival in consequence, for the skies were gorgeous intheir deck of gold. Mrs. Stannard was dining with the Archers _enfamille_, as she did now almost every evening, for the Archers wouldso have it, and Archer had been talking of Harris's proposition, andhis determined stand for 'Tonio. Mrs. Archer shook her pretty head innegation. She could not see how any one who distrusted her generalcould himself be loyal. She had said the same of Secretary Stantonduring the war, for one of that iron master's most masterly convictionswas that every soldier, Southern born--even such as Thomas--must ofnecessity be a Southern sympathizer. 'Tonio must needs be a traitorsince he avoided sight of, or speech with, her soldier who could do nowrong. And if Mrs. Archer believed in 'Tonio, on her husband's account,what must have been Lilian's conviction? she who had both father andlover--father and the husband soon to be, for of that Mrs. Archer hadnow no earthly doubt--the two men beyond all others combined who weredearest to Lilian on earth, both of them inimical to 'Tonio, one ofthem wellnigh his victim. It was Mrs. Stannard who listened in silence.She had longer known the Apache-Mohave, and as between 'Tonio andWillett it might well be a story with two sides.
They had finished their coffee and were just coming forth upon theveranda into the exquisite evening air, and, as bidden by her father,Lilian had just begun to tune her guitar, when across the parade amongthe men seated along the low front of the barracks there was suddenstart, sudden rush, and, from up the line of officers' quarters notmany doors away, came agonized cry for help. Archer
sprang to his feetand started, but Mrs. Archer, in a paroxysm of fear, thinking only ofIndians and treachery, seized him by the arm, clung to and held him.Mrs. Stannard sprang within the hall and back with Archer's revolverwhich, without a word, she thrust into his hand. Then all threetogether started, for while fifty men came tearing headlong across thesandy level, making straight for the adjutant's quarters, Lilian, theirlittle Lilian--the silent, sad-eyed, anxious child of the days and daysgone by--heading everybody, was flying like a white-winged bird,straight along the line, and when the father reached her she had thrownherself upon a heap of burning, smouldering bedding, thrashing it witha wet blanket snatched from the olla, and then, with her own fair,white hands, was beating out the few sparks that remained about thesleeve and shoulder of a soaked and dishevelled gown, and brushingothers from the hair and face of an unheroic, swathed and drippingfigure--Harold Willett in the midst of the wreck of his cot, whileBlitz, the striker, aided by Wettstein and the doctor's man, werestamping and swearing and tearing things to bits in the effort to downother incipient blazes. Between them they had dragged Willett from themidst of the flames and drenched him with a cataract from the olla. Therush of the men from the barracks made short work of the fire, but whenMrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard, with throbbing hearts, bent over thescorched and smoking ruin on the south porch, a tousled brown head,with ghastly face, was clasped in Lilian's arms, pillowed on Lilian'sfair, white bosom. Willett had fainted from fright, pain and reaction,and the unheroic, untried, unfearing girl had blistered her own fairhands, her own soft, rounded, clasping arms, yet saw and felt nothingbut dread for his suffering and joy for his safety. Even the mother fora moment could not take her rescued darling from that fond, fearless,impassioned embrace. All in that desperate instant the veil of virginshame had burned away. In the fierce heat and shock and peril thelatent love force had burst its bonds, the budding lily had blossomedinto womanhood.
And upon that picture, pallid, weak and suffering, another neighbor,another pain-stricken young soldier gazed in silence, then turnedunobtrusively away. There was no one to help him back to the recliningchair from which he had been startled at the almost frenzied shriek ofalarm. There was no further talk--no thought of signals that night;Archer had had enough of fire. They bore the reviving officer,presently, to a vacant room in Stannard's quarters, and Lilian was ledto her own. There were bandages about both hands and arms when nextmorning she appeared upon the gallery. They hid the red ravages on thefair, white skin, but what was there to veil the radiant light thatshone in her eyes, the burning blushes that mantled her soft androunded cheeks? Archer took her to his heart and kissed her and turnedto his duty with a sigh. Mrs. Archer clung to and hovered about her,silent, for what was there to say? Mrs. Stannard came over, all smilesand sunshine, to announce that "He" had passed a comfortable night, and"His" first waking thoughts and words were for her, as indeed theyshould have been, and, so far as audible words were concerned, theypossibly were. What else could Mrs. Stannard have said when she sawthat winsome, yet appealing little face?
And in such wise was our Lilian wooed; in such wise was she won.Contrary to Bentley's wishes, Willett had essayed to smoke, and so sethis bed afire. Contrary to all convention, the love of the maiden hadbeen the first to manifest itself to public eye, but Willett manfullyrose to the occasion. In the midst of anxiety, uncertainty and dangerthere beamed one ray, at least, of radiant, unshadowed, buoyant hopeand bliss and shy delight. Lilian Archer envied no girl on the face ofthe globe, no white-robed seraph in heaven; and for her sake others,too, strove hard to hope, to help, to shower good wishes andcongratulation.
"But to think of my little girl in love," said Archer, with brimmingeyes. "Why, you--you won't be nineteen!"
"And mother was but seventeen when she married you," softly laughedLilian, snuggling to his side.
"And Mr. Willett so far from his captaincy," sighed her mother.
"Much nearer than father was to even a first lieutenancy when youmarried him," was the joyous answer. "_He_ was only a secondlieutenant by brevet."
"Well," said Mrs. Archer, "it seems different--somehow."
And so it seemed to us. "All too brief a wooing," said poor Archer."God send her longer wedded bliss!"