Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XIX.

  An atmosphere of peace ineffable surrounded old Camp Almy. The Indianslately infesting the neighborhood seemed to have gone away into themountain fastnesses. Turner had pushed little scouting partiescautiously into the foothills to the west and the rugged countryeastward across the stream. Others had ventured down to the Peak andscaled it in search of signal smokes or fires. Others still hadexplored the valley toward Dead Man's Canon, and back by way ofBennett's, without finding so much as a moccasin print. Even theApache-Mohaves seemed to have gone from the neighborhood. Malloy withhis chosen ten was still out, and a rumor was prevalent that theirorders might keep them away some days, so no apprehension was felt attheir continued absence.

  Another week was nearing an end. A runner, Hualpai, had come in fromthe far north-east, with despatches from Stannard. He was with GeneralCrook and their comrades from the northward camps and stations. Theyhad abundant supplies, had scattered and driven the Tontos, had madesome prisoners of squaws and pappooses, who, even to the general,declared they knew not where the Bennett children had been hidden. Thegeneral was expecting to work southward along the Black Mesa to meetthe column out from the Upper San Carlos under Major Randall ("BigChief Jake," the aforementioned) and between them they meant to leaveno stone unturned in the effort to find the boys. Stannard enclosed aletter for his bonny wife, and closed with a word by way of postscriptover which Archer and the three B's found themselves pondering not alittle.

  "Wish we had Harris and 'Tonio with us. Hope they are doing well. Thegeneral is anxious to meet and know them both."

  Harris was not well. His convalescence had been interrupted andimpaired, as we have seen, and no man thrives bodily when heart andsoul are sore within him; and, heart and soul, Harris was sore. He wassitting up, to be sure, but it was plain to be seen he was suffering.Mrs. Stannard, wise woman that she was, believed she knew something ofthe cause and held her peace. Dr. Bentley, believing also that he knewsomething of the cause, was not so thoroughly wise. Between Mrs.Bennett, his patients at the hospital, mostly convalescent, and thisyoung knight, the doctor was having a busy time of it. Mrs. Bennettimproved not at all, but had at least become less violent in heranguish. At times she seemed almost in a stupor, and Mrs. Stannard wasbeginning to wonder whether the matron, worn out with her lamentations,had been administering surreptitious opiates. Mrs. Archer's visits hadbecome less frequent, because for long hours she had had to go and sitwith Lilian and her crippled hero. But now that hero was up and out onthe veranda, basking in the sunshine of love unutterable, thoughenjoined as yet to avoid the fervor of that of Arizona. Willett hadnever appeared to better advantage in his life than now, in modestlyaccepting congratulations, manfully asserting his unworthiness of theblessing that had come to him, and his determination, please God, tolive a life of devotion to his new-found delight, this sweet floweretof the desert that so suddenly, so wonderfully, so dominantly had cometo gladden, to bless, to inspire his career. Love is a marvellousbeautifier, mental, moral and physical. In such pure and exquisitecompanionship, in the radiance of her presence, in the ecstasy of hersweet, shy, still half-timid caress, in the undoubted honesty of hisresolution to be all her fondest wishes would have him, and in noeasily shaken conviction that, even as he stood, he was a remarkablyfine fellow, well calculated to make any girl happy, it was notdifficult for Willett to rise superior to his past--to forget it, infact, and to fancy himself for all times the high-minded, love-guidedgentleman he stood to-day. Why should he not to the full rejoice in herdelicious homage?--indulge her sweet rhapsodies?--encourage her fondday dreams? It was so easy now to be all deference and tenderness tothe gentle mother he was soon to rob of her one darling, to be allrespect and attention to the gallant old soldier father, to beeverything that was exquisitely tender, fond, impassioned to thisinnocent and lovely girl, who trembled with delight at his kiss andclung in speechless rapture to his side. Life for him, even here atdesolate Almy, had suddenly become a veritable heaven. Small wonderthen that he quite forgot the purpose of his coming, the sordid eventsthat preceded that most fortunate catastrophe, the fire,--forgot orthrust aside all consideration of the episode at the store, theencounter at Harris's bedside, the events of the evening when he washurled headlong among the rocks, the victim of 'Tonio's vengeful aim.He had even ceased to remember that he had ever been capable ofconsidering "Hefty" Harris a rival, that he had ever been capable ofundermining or intriguing or inspiring an official report thatreflected sorely on Harris as an officer and leader. In his presentmood, in fine, forgetful of all his past, his heart was overflowingwith the milk of human kindness, even to Harris, and, havingsuccessfully tricked him out of everything worth having at the post,was quite ready to forgive him and once more be the friend, comrade andclassmate of his own imaginings.

  Harris alone had not come to congratulate him, but then, as Willettwell knew, Harris could not. Mrs. Stannard and Dr. Bentley bothreported him still too weak to walk about. He had had much fever andpain and loss of sleep, said they. But now, when in the soft light ofthis Friday evening, Willett essayed a stroll up the line, with Lilianalmost dancing by his side, and with fond eyes following the gracefulpair, he took it quite amiss that Harris did not come forth to envy,and to add his felicitations. Come to think of it, that very truthfulwoman, Mrs. Stannard (who never told even a society lie unless therewas no way out of it), had brought no word from Harris, nor had Bentleymentioned such a thing, and this fact impressed itself upon the happyman as twice, thrice they slowly promenaded past the open door of thedoctor's quarters without a glimpse of Harris, and, finally, on thefourth, the return trip, Willett in his exuberant bliss, would not bedenied.

  "Harris! O--o--o--Hefty!" he shouted. "Come out and see a fellow!"

  For a moment, silence. Then, not so resonant but still clearly audible,for both men had voices that "carried" and were used to command:

  "Come in, if you will. Can't come out!"

  "I can't without leaving my convoy," was the return shout, but asWillett glanced down into the lovely face so near his shoulder, hefound it paling just a bit, and troubled, not rejoiceful. "What is it,sweet? Don't you--care to see him?"

  "I think--I don't know--but--_he_ might not."

  It was too late. She would have led her lover away, for, young as shewas, Lilian Archer had a woman's intuition, if not many a woman's wit.All on a sudden, unheard because of moccasined feet and the doctor'sIndian matting, Harris stood in the doorway. He did not seem to look atWillett. His eyes at once sought her, and seemed closing to a slit asthey encountered even the tempered light of declining day--the curioushabit common to so many who have long scouted in the glare of desertsuns. He hesitated not a moment. At sight of her he came quietly to theedge of the veranda and down the shallow steps, his face pale, as wasto be expected, a grave smile upon his lips and even playing about thecorners of those keen, blue-gray, unflinching eyes. He waited for noannouncement or salutation from his brother officer--Mrs. Stannard andthe doctor had told him the news two days before, and there had beenample time in which to digest it. Down in the depths of his heart hebelieved that Willett had planned this "_coup_" for his especialmortification, and down to the tip of his toes he longed to kick himfor it, whereas in Willett's exuberant self-gratulation, the onethought at the moment was really a "Rejoice with me." That other menshould envy was, of course, to be expected. What worth were any triumphwithout the joy of being envied!

  All his life he had been used to it. All his life, in childish sports,in boyish contest, on campus, rostrum, field or floor, among the ladsat school, his fellows at the Point, his comrades in the service,wherever physical beauty, grace, skill and strength could prevail hehad ever been easily winner, and when it came to women, what maid ormatron had withstood his charm of manner? What man had ever yetprevailed against it? That others should long and strive for that whichhad come to him, unsought, unwooed, was something he could neitherobviate nor deny. That was Nature's gift to him at birth. It was evenmagnanimous t
hat, knowing this power, he should so often spare. Maidsindeed might sigh at his indifference, but their solace lay in theeager offerings of other and less gifted men. Suffice it for him thatat his beck the best of them would quit the shelter of other arms andcome fluttering to his own. But now, of course, all this power offascination must be sternly tempered, even suppressed. Henceforth hemust be guarded. The winning of this pure young heart, the possessionof this sweet and winsome nature, the lavish homage of this fresh andfervent love should steel his hitherto vagrant fancy against allwould-be-willing victims. The time had come when other women must bebidden, if need be, to droop and die. Henceforth he had naught to offerthem but the contemplation of his content and her unquestionedqueendom.

  And so he could forgive it in Harris that he should come forth with nowelcoming look for him, the conqueror, and only a yearning gaze forher. He could have felt quick resentment had Harris manifested nothingbut rejoicing, even in expressing it. He had hated Harris when, deposedfrom his high rank as first captain of the Corps of Cadets, he had seenthat far less showy soldier, his classmate, step easily into commandand hold it with better discipline and ever-increasing respect from theentire battalion. The day of their departure from the Point had been toWillett an unforgotten, unforgiven lesson. It was the custom of thetimes--an unwritten, if unmilitary law--that on graduation day theclass should appear at the mess hall at the dinner hour, and eithersingly or in little groups of two or three leave the building while thecorps still sat at meat. It was even permitted that some should utter aword or two of farewell. Man after man Willett's fellows had takentheir departure, and been accorded by the gray battalion a godspeedmore or less thunderous as the individual was honored, popular, ormerely a negative quantity. Willett had planned to be the last toleave, expectant of ovation that should out-thunder all others, but theofficer in charge apparently would not see that regulations were beingignored, that cadets were on their feet about the head of certaintables, actually clinging to would-be going fellows, in unbecoming andunaccustomed "cits," while he was forcibly restrained by none. So,finally, waving his natty straw to table after table, he passed on tothe broad-arched entrance, the clamor of voice and the battering of theold time iron stool beginning in kindly and cordial fashion--they wouldnot send a dog away, those big-hearted fellows, without some show offriendliness--yet in all that array he numbered not one real friend,for self-seeking had ever been his creed and there was no man of theirsturdy brotherhood that did not know it. Beneath the arch he turned andgazed once more over the familiar scene, his eyes dry and glittering,his throat dry and husky. Yearlings and some upper classmen were makinglively play with stamp and stool, but the din was more perfunctory thanpowerful--nowhere near what had happened the moment before when twowell-beloved fellows, with bowed heads and moistened eyes, had fairlyrushed from the hall lest men should see that at last there had comerealization that this was the parting of the ways, that the daily habitof four long years was shed forever, that to most of their number thegreeting of the gray battalion would be given never again. But he hadhis wits about him, even then. He saw that now at last, with but fourminutes left before the companies must rise and quit the hall, Harriswas coming--the new-made first captain, adjutant and quartermasterescorting--the commandants of table all over the hall springing totheir feet, and the wild rumble of hollow iron beginning the crescendoof swift-coming, stupendous thunder, and Willett stood and swung hishat, and classmates half-way down the slope turned back to see, andunderstood without seeing, that there was something back of it besidesWillett. And then a tornado burst forth, as Harris, pale to the lips,halted at the door. His escort sprang aside, and to a man the battalionleaped to its feet and let go with voice and foot and hand, and the dinwas deafening. One moment he stood there, trembling with emotion,incapable of response, then whirled and darted down the steps, leavingWillett to acknowledge the tremendous ovation that speedily diedaway--almost to silence--ere he, too, turned and followed. "Good-by,fellows! God bless you!" shouted Willett, as though in final triumph.He had had the last word; had "taken the call," and the dramaticsuccess of the day was his, or might have been, but for a mostunprecedented incident.

  "Hush! hush! Shut up!" were the stern, sudden words with which theelders repressed the juniors who, impulsively, would have broken forthagain. "Wait! Wait, you fellows!" was the cry, for on a sudden half adozen stalwart gray coats had sprung from the door, regardless of thecorporal on duty, disdainful of demerit, had hurled themselves onwet-eyed Harris, had heaved him up on their shoulders, with pinioned,arm-locked, helpless legs, and frantic, impotently battling fists, andborne him struggling up the steps and once more within the massiveportals, and then pandemonium broke loose, for this was no dividedhonor--there was none to share it now. They bore him, vainlyprotesting, into the midst of the now risen battalion. They bore himforth into the June sunshine without. They surged about him under thetrees and along the roadway, his halted classmates gazing back from thebrow of the bluff, a swarm of spectators looking on, a stupefied groupsurging out from the officers' mess, conceiving that fire alone couldaccount for the tumult. Then, over the uproar, could be heard theorders of the new captain. "Form your companies!" the shouts of thesergeants: "Fall in, men, fall in!" And then the demand: "March usback, Hefty! Take command once more!" "Start 'em back, Harris, forGod's sake! I can never straighten 'em out," cried his half-laughing,half-sobbing successor, his first sergeant of the year gone by. Hestood there prisoner, held by the staff and special duty men. He couldnot get away. Even the saturnine officer in charge stood a smilingobserver, and, catching the young graduate's eye, waved approval andencouragement, and so there was no help for it. With a voicehalf-broken through emotion, he gave the old familiar commands that,three times a day for nearly ten long months previous, had sent themstriding back through the gap between the old "Academic" and the graygables of the Mess, and so on to the broad area of barracks beyond.Then, breaking away, he sprang over the eastward edge of the road,joined the waiting group of classmates at the crest of the hill, andwith one long look at the disappearing gray and white column, turnedhis face to the winding road and the landing below, where the whistlingferryboat lay impatient of their coming--whither Willett had alreadygone.

  Was Willett thinking of that bygone scene this breathless evening inthe heart of the desert valley, and the shadow of the westwardmountain, as his once successful soldier rival came silently forward tograce his triumph in the field of love? Harris at least was not. Hisbearing was quite undramatic, simple, dignified. His greeting wasalmost too simple. "I can't give you my right hand, Miss Archer," saidhe, smiling gravely, "and I won't give a left-handed felicitation. It'smy first opportunity," he continued, as he stood quietly before her,looking straight into her blushing face, "and I'm sorry it has to be insuch shabby fashion." Then just as quietly and squarely he spoke toWillett, the gray-blue eyes looking keenly into the brown. "You aremightily to be congratulated, Willett," said he, "and we'll shake handson it as soon as I have a hand to shake with."

  "I knew you would, old fellow!" said Willett, putting forth theunoccupied hand and laying it upon the other's shoulder, awell-remembered way of his when he wished to be effusive. "I'm cominground presently to have a talk--but couldn't help coaxing you out now."

  "How--_is_ your shoulder, Mr. Harris?" began our Lilian, all observantof physical ills. On these, at least, she could pour the balm of hersympathy.

  "Doing finely, thank you; and, pardon me, but the general issignalling. You're both wanted, I judge," and then, like the Unionforce at Second Bull Run, fell back in the best of order, in spite ofthe worst of blows.

  "I'll be with you again before a great while, Hefty, old boy," againcalled Willett over his shoulder, as though insistent on an invitation;but an assenting nod was all that came. The general had signalled tohis children because of the concern in Bentley's face at sight ofHarris confronting all that happiness, but Bentley need not have fearedfor him. He would not have feared could he have seen the little thi
ngthat happened. She had put forth a slender hand, half timidly, asHarris stepped backward. She was thinking even in the overmasteringpresence of this hero whom she worshipped, and to whose side she clung,of that moonlit evening on the veranda, of the hiss and skirr of thedeadly rattler, of the peril that had menaced and the quick wit andnerve of him who had saved her, this very plain, sun-bleached, seasonedyoung knight, who seemed quite ready to risk life or limb in herdefence, and who, said Willett, had lost most of his heart. It wasfoolish in him, with her Harold there; still it was something to berewarded, somehow, and, womanlike, she tendered the contemplation ofher inaccessibility in his rival's bliss. "You'll come to see us soon,Mr. Harris? I've so much to thank you for."

  "Just as soon as the doctor will let me, Miss Archer," was his entirelyproper answer, and quite as properly our Lilian breathed a little sighof relief, as, nestling closer still, she sped lightly homeward,clinging to her lover's side. It was so sweet to think of him as allher own.

  It is the mistake other and older girls so often make. Even as sheprattled in her bliss, looking radiantly into the fond, soft brown eyesthat melted into hers, the summons of a rival claimant came swiftlydown the vale, and the sentry at the northward post and the loungers atthe lookouts were already screwing their eyelids into focus on thelittle dust cloud popping up along the stream fringe of willow. Twocouriers came presently jogging into view, and before the general satin the famous butler's pantry chair at the family table, he had toldthe contents of two despatches from the Gray Fox in the field, anddecided for the moment to say nothing of the third. With the first andsecond, reporting progress and enclosing despatches to be forwarded toPrescott, we have nothing to do. With the last we may feel less concernthan did they. Mrs. Archer, scanning the clear-cut face of her soldierlord, as he came within range of the hallway lamp, knew perfectly wellhe had something to conceal, and with never an instant's doubt orhesitation set herself to aid him. Without her tact and skill thatlittle dinner of four, the last they were to know in many a day, wouldhave been a sorrowful feast, for Archer was sore troubled in spirit.Not until an hour later could she get him to herself, leaving Lilianand her handsome Harold to bill and coo unsupervised, and then she onlysmiled bravely up into his face and said, "Now tell me, dear."

  "It's that--that fool despatch I wrote about Harris coming like acurse, and chickens, home to roost." His hands were tremulous, his lipswere twitching as he took from its envelope and unfolded a letter inthe well-known hand of the field commander's favorite aide-de-camp."Read it aloud," he said; "perhaps it won't sound quite so--reproachfulfrom you." And obediently she read:

  PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL.

  CAMP NEAR HEAD OF CHEVLON'S CREEK,

  December 2, 187--.

  DEAR GENERAL ARCHER:

  Referring to the final paragraph of your despatch to Department Head-quarters, dated November --th, General Crook directs me to say that he was unaware of the instructions given Lieutenant Willett, aide-de-camp, to proceed to Camp Almy, and practically authorizing him to make certain investigations. It was far from his desire that anything should be done to even inferentially reflect upon the conduct of scouting parties from the post under your control. From reliable sources General Crook has full information as to the cause of the apparent ill success of Lieutenant Harris. Neither was he, nor were his scouts, to blame. It is the general's intention to see you before returning to Prescott and give you the facts in his possession; but meantime Lieutenant Harris has his entire confidence, and so have the few Apache-Mohave scouts, especially 'Tonio, all of whom, it is feared, have in some way incurred your disfavor.

  Captain Stannard is away at this moment, but will assure you as to the value and gallantry of Harris's effort in behalf of poor Mrs. Bennett, and also that 'Tonio is almost equally entitled to credit. It was far from General Crook's intention that Lieutenant Harris should be impeded or hampered in the least. Lieutenant Willett has rendered distinguished service in the Columbia country, but is a stranger to the situation and the Indians we have to deal with, and should not be permitted in any way to interfere with Lieutenant Harris.

  Orders were sent Willett some ten days ago to join us in the field, but the couriers, returned to-day, report that he was not at Prescott. If he should be still in your neighborhood, kindly inform him of the general's desire, and give him sufficient escort. We move toward Camp Apache to-morrow, and Stannard is already ahead in hopes of rescuing the Bennett boys.

  With the general's warmest regards,

  Yours as ever,

  BRIGHT.

  "It's a very kind letter, dear," said she, kissing his wrinkled cheek."General Crook wouldn't wound you for the world."

  "It isn't--that, Bella," he answered sadly. "I've wounded myself, andnow I've got to send--him--with word of my orders as to 'Tonio."

  "Send him--word?" she faltered. "Do you mean----"

  "Certainly, dear. Who should go--but Willett?"