An Apache Princess: A Tale of the Indian Frontier

by Charles King

  CHAPTER IV

  A STRICKEN SENTRY

  Sentry duty at Camp Sandy along in '75 had not been allowed to beartoo heavily on its little garrison. There was nothing worth stealingabout the place, said Plume, and no pawn-shop handy. Of course therewere government horses and mules, food and forage, arms andammunition, but these were the days of soldier supremacy in that aridand distant land, and soldiers had a summary way of settling withmarauders that was discouraging to enterprise. Larceny was thereforelittle known until the law, with its delays and circumventions, tookroot in the virgin soil, and people at such posts as Sandy seldom shutand rarely locked their doors, even by night. Windows were closed andblanketed by day against the blazing sun and torrid heat, but, soonafter nightfall, every door and window was usually opened wide andoften kept so all the night long, in order that the cooler air,settling down from _mesa_ and mountain, might drift through every roomand hallway, licking up the starting dew upon the smooth, roundedsurface of the huge _ollas_, the porous water jars that hung suspendedon every porch, and wafting comfort to the heated brows of the lightlycovered sleepers within. Pyjamas were then unknown in army circles,else even the single sheet that covered the drowsing soldier mighthave been dispensed with.

  Among the quarters occupied by married men, both in officers' row andSudsville under the plateau, doors were of little account in acommunity where the only intruder to be feared was heat, and so it hadresulted that while the corrals, stables, and storehouses had theirguards, only a single sentry paced the long length of the eastwardside of the post, a single pair of eyes and a single rifle barrelbeing deemed amply sufficient to protect against possible prowlers therear yards and entrances of the row. The westward front of theofficers' homes stood in plain view, on bright nights at least, of thesentry at the guard-house, and needed no other protector. On darknights it was supposed to look out for itself.

  A lonely time of it, as a rule, had No. 5, the "backyard sentry," butthis October night he lacked not for sensation. Lights burned untilvery late in many of the quarters, while at Captain Wren's andLieutenant Blakely's people were up and moving about until long aftermidnight. Of course No. 5 had heard all about the dreadful affair ofthe early evening. What he and his fellows puzzled over was theprobable cause of Captain Wren's furious assault upon his subaltern.Many a theory was afloat, Duane, with unlooked-for discretion, havingheld his tongue as to the brief conversation that preceded the blow.It was after eleven when the doctor paid his last visit for the night,and the attendant came out on the rear porch for a pitcher of coolwater from the _olla_. It was long after twelve when the light in theupstairs room at Captain Wren's was turned low, and for two hoursthereafter, with bowed head, the captain himself paced nervously upand down, wearing in the soft and sandy soil a mournful pathwayparallel with his back porch. It was after three, noted PrivateMullins, of that first relief, when from the rear door of the major'squarters there emerged two forms in feminine garb, and, there being nohindering fences, away they hastened in the dim starlight, pastWren's, Cutler's, Westervelt's, and Truman's quarters until they wereswallowed up in the general gloom about Lieutenant Blakely's. PrivateMullins could not say for certain whether they had entered the reardoor or gone around under the deep shadows of the veranda. When nexthe saw them, fifteen minutes later, coming as swiftly and silentlyback, Mullins was wondering whether he ought not to challenge and havethem account for themselves. His orders were to allow inmates of theofficers' quarters to pass in or out at night without challenge,provided he "recognized them to be such." Now, Mullins felt morallycertain that these two were Mrs. Plume and Mrs. Plume's vivaciousmaid, a French-Canadian damsel, much admired and sought in soldiercircles at the post, but Mullins had not seen their faces and couldrightfully insist it was his duty and prerogative to do so. Thequestion was, how would the "commanding officer's lady" like and takeit? Mullins therefore shook his head. "I hadn't the nerve," as heexpressed it, long afterwards. But no such frailty oppressed theoccupant of the adjoining house. Just as the two had reached the rearof Wren's quarters, and were barely fifty steps from safety, thecaptain himself, issuing again from the doorway, suddenly appearedupon the scene, and in low, but imperative tone accosted them. "_Who_are you?" said he, bending eagerly, sternly over them. One quick lookhe gave, and, almost instantly recoiling, exclaimed "Mrs. Plume! Ibeg--" Then, as though with sudden recollection, "No, madam, I do_not_ beg your pardon," and, turning on his heel, abruptly left them.Without a word, but with the arm of the maid supporting, the tallerwoman sped swiftly across the narrow intervening space and was lostagain within the shadows of her husband's home.

  Private Mullins, silent and probably unseen witness of this episode,slowly tossed his rifle from the port to the shoulder; shook hispuzzled head; stared a moment at the dim figure of Captain Wren againin the starlit morning, nervously tramping up and down his narrowlimit; then mechanically sauntered down the roadway, pondering muchover what he had seen and heard during the brief period of his earlymorning watch. Reaching the south, the lower, end of his post, heturned again. He had but ten minutes left of his two-hour tramp. Thesecond relief was due to start at 3.30, and should reach him at 3.35.He was wondering would the officer of the day "come nosin' round"within that time, asking him his orders, and was everything all righton his post? And had he observed anything unusual? There was CaptainWren, like a caged tiger, tramping up and down behind his quarters.At least he had been, for now he had disappeared. There were, orrather had been, the two ladies in long cloaks flitting in the shadowsfrom the major's quarters to those of the invalid lieutenant. Mullinscertainly did not wish to speak about them to any official visitor,whatever he might whisper later to Norah Shaughnessy, the saddlersergeant's daughter--Norah, who was nurse girl at the Trumans', andknew all the ins and outs of social life at Sandy--Norah, at whosewindow, under the north gable, he gazed with love in his eyes as hemade his every round. He was a good soldier, was Mullins, but gladthis night to get off post. Through the gap between the second andthird quarters he saw the lights at the guard-house and could faintlysee the black silhouette of armed men in front of them. The relief wasforming sharp on time, and presently Corporal Donovan would bebringing Trooper Schultz, of "C" Troop, straight across the parade insearch of him. The major so allowed his sentry on No. 5 to be relievedat night. Mullins thanked the saints with pious fervor that no moreladies would be like to flit across his vision, that night at least,when, dimly through the dusk, against the spangled northern sky, hesighted another figure crouching across the upper end of his post andmaking straight for the lighted entrance at the rear of thelieutenant's quarters. Someone else, then, had interest atBlakely's--someone coming stealthily from without. A minute latercertain wakeful ears were startled by a moaning cry for aid.

  Just what happened, and how it happened, within the minute, led toconflicting stories on the morrow. First man examined by Major Plumewas Lieutenant Truman of the Infantry, who happened to be officer ofthe day. He had been over at Blakely's about midnight, he said; hadfound the patient sleeping under the influence of soothing medicine,and, after a whispered word with Todd, the hospital attendant, hadtiptoed out again, encountering Downs, the lieutenant's striker, inthe darkness on the rear porch. Downs said he was that excited hecouldn't sleep at all, and Mr. Truman had come to the conclusion thatDowns's excitement was due, in large part, to local influences totallydisconnected with the affairs of the early evening. Downs was anIrishman who loved the "craytur," and had been known to resort tounconventional methods of getting it. At twelve o'clock, said Mr.Truman, the striker had obviously been priming. Now Plume's standingorders were that no liquor should be sold to Downs at the store andnone to other soldiers except in "pony" glasses and for use on thespot. None could be carried away unconsumed. The only legitimatespirits, therefore, to which Downs could have access were those inBlakely's locked closet--spirits hitherto used only in thepreservation of specimens, and though probably not much worse than thewhisky sold at the store, disdainfully referred t
o by votaries as"Blakely's bug juice." Mr. Truman, therefore, demanded of Downs thepossession of the lieutenant's keys, and, with aggrieved dignity ofmien, Downs had referred him to the doctor, whose suspicions had beenearlier aroused. Intending to visit his sentries after the change ofguard at 1.30, Truman had thrown himself into a reclining chair in hislittle parlor, while Mrs. Truman and the little Trumans slumberedpeacefully aloft. After reading an hour or so the lieutenant fell intoa doze from which he awoke with a start. Mrs. Truman was bending overhim. Mrs. Truman had been aroused by hearing voices in cautious, yetexcited, colloquy in the shadows of Blakely's back porch. She feltsure that Downs was one and thought from the sound that he must beintoxicated, so Truman shuffled out to see, and somebody, bendingdouble in the dusk, scurried away at his approach. He heard ratherthan saw. But there was Downs, at least, slinking back into the house,and him Truman halted and accosted. "Who was that with you?" he asked,and Downs thickly swore he hadn't seen a soul. But all the while Downswas clumsily stuffing something into a side pocket, and Truman,seizing his hand, dragged it forth into the light. It was one of thehospital six-ounce bottles, bearing a label indicative of glycerinelotion, but the color of the contained fluid belied the label. A sniffwas sufficient. "Who gave you this whisky?" was the next demand, andDowns declared 'twas a hospital "messager" that brought it over,thinking the lieutenant might need it. Truman, filled with wrath, haddragged Downs into the dimly lighted room to the rear of that in whichlay Lieutenant Blakely, and was there upbraiding and investigatingwhen startled by the stifled cry that, rising suddenly on the nightfrom the open _mesa_ just without, had so alarmed so many in thegarrison. Of what had led to it he had then no more idea than thedead.

  Corporal Donovan, next examined, said he was marching Schultz over torelieve Mullins on No. 5, just after half-past three, and heading forthe short cut between the quarters of Captains Wren and Cutler, whichwas about where No. 5 generally met the relief, when, just as theywere halfway between the flagstaff and the row, Schultz began to limpand said there must be a pebble in his boot. So they halted. Schultzkicked off his boot and shook it upside down, and, while he wastugging at it again, they both heard a sort of gurgling, gasping cryout on the _mesa_. Of course Donovan started and ran that way, leavingSchultz to follow, and, just back of Captain Westervelt's, the thirdhouse from the northward end, he almost collided with LieutenantTruman, officer of the day, who ordered him to run for Dr. Graham andfetch him up to Lieutenant Blakely's quick. So of what had taken placehe, too, was ignorant until later.

  It was the hospital attendant, Todd, whose story came next and broughtPlume to his feet with consternation in his eyes. Todd said he hadbeen sitting at the lieutenant's bedside when, somewhere about threeo'clock, he had to go out and tell Downs to make less noise. Downs wascompletely upset by the catastrophe to his officer and, somehow, hadgot a few comforting drinks stowed away, and these had started him tosinging some confounded Irish keen that grated on Todd's nerves. Hewas afraid it would disturb the patient and he was about to go outand remonstrate when the singing stopped and presently he heardDowns's voice in excited conversation. Then a woman's voice in low,urgent, persuasive whisper became faintly audible, and this surprisedTodd beyond expression. He had thought to go and take a look and seewho it could be, when there was a sudden swish of skirts and scurry offeet, and then Mr. Truman's voice was heard. Then there was some kindof sharp talk from the lieutenant to Downs, and then, in a sort of alull, there came that uncanny cry out on the _mesa_, and, stoppingonly long enough to see that the lieutenant was not roused ordisturbed, Todd hastened forth. One or two dim figures, dark andshadowy, were just visible on the eastward _mesa_, barely ten pacesaway, and thither the attendant ran. Downs, lurching heavily, was justahead of him. Together they came upon a little group. Somebody wentrunning southward--Lieutenant Truman, as Todd learned later--hurryingfor the doctor. A soldier equipped as a sentry lay moaning on thesand, clasping a bloody hand to his side, and over him, stern, silent,but agitated, bent Captain Wren.