by Charles King
CHAPTER XVII
A STRANGE COMING
With one orderly and a pair of Apache Yuma scouts, Neil Blakely hadset forth in hopes of making his way to Snow Lake, far up in the rangeto the east. The orderly was all very well,--like most of his fellows,game, true, and tried,--but few were the leaders who had any faith inApache Yumas. Of those Indians whom General Crook had successivelyconquered, then turned to valuable use, the Hualpais had done well andproved reliable; the Apache Mohaves had served since '73, and in scoutafter scout and many a skirmish had proved loyal and worthy alliesagainst the fierce, intractable Tontos, many of whom had never yetcome in to an agency or accepted the bounty of the government. Even acertain few of these Tontos had proffered fealty and been made usefulas runners and trailers against the recalcitrants of their own band.But the Apache Yumas, their mountain blood tainted by the cross withthe slothful bands of the arid, desert flats of the lower Colorado,had won a bad name from the start, and deserved it. They feared theTontos, who had thrashed them again and again, despoiled them of theirplunder, walked away with their young women, insulted and jeered attheir young men. Except when backed by the braves of other bands,therefore, the Apache Yumas were fearful and timorous on the trail.Once they had broken and run before a mere handful of Tontos, leavinga wounded officer to his fate. Once, when scaling the Black Mesatoward this very Snow Lake, they had whimpered and begged to be senthome, declaring no enemy was there in hiding, when the peaks werefound alive with Tontos. The Red Rock country and the northward spursof the Mogollon seemed fraught with some strange, superstitious terrorin their eyes, and if the "nerve" of a dozen would desert them whenordered east of the Verde, what could be expected of Blakely's two? Nowonder, then, the elders at Sandy were sorely troubled!
But the Bugologist had nothing else to choose from. All the reliable,seasoned scouts were already gone with the various field columns. OnlyApache Yumas remained, and only the least promising of the ApacheYumas at that. Bridger remembered how reluctantly these two had obeyedthe summons to go. "If they don't sneak away and come back swearingthey have lost the lieutenant, I'm a gopher," said he, and gave ordersaccordingly to have them hauled before him should they reappear.Confidently he looked to see or hear of them as again lurking aboutthe commissary storehouse after the manner of their people, beggars tothe backbone. But the week went by without a sign of them. "There'sonly one thing to explain that," said he. "They've either deserted tothe enemy or been cut off and killed." What, then, had become ofBlakely? What fate had befallen Wren?
By this time, late Saturday night, acting for the department commandernow lost somewhere in the mountains, Byrne had re-enforced the guardsat the agency and the garrison at Sandy with infantry drawn from FortWhipple at Prescott, for thither the Apaches would never venture. Theuntrammeled and sovereign citizen had his own way of treating theobnoxious native to the soil.
By this time, too, further word should have come from some of thefield columns, Sanders's especially. But though runners had reachedthe post bearing brief dispatches from the general, showing that heand the troops from the more southerly posts were closing in on thewild haunts of the Tontos about Chevlon's Fork, not a sign had comefrom this energetic troop commander, not another line from SergeantBrewster or his men, and there were women at Camp Sandy now nearly madwith sleepless dread and watching. "It means," said Byrne, "that thehostiles are between us and those commands. It means that courierscan't get through, that's all. I'm betting the commands are safeenough. They are too strong to be attacked." But Byrne was silent asto Blakely; he was dumb as to Wren. He was growing haggard withanxiety and care and inability to assure or comfort. The belatedrations needed by Brewster's party, packed on mules hurried down fromPrescott, were to start at dawn for Sunset Pass under stout infantryguard, and they, too, would probably be swallowed up in themountains. The ranch people down the valley, fearful of raidingApaches, had abandoned their homes, and, driving their stock beforethem, had taken refuge in the emptied corrals of the cavalry. EvenHart, the veteran trader, seemed losing his nerve under the strain,for when such intrepid frontiersmen as Wales Arnold declared itreckless to venture across the Sandy, and little scouting parties weregreeted with long-range shots from hidden foe, it boded ill for alldwellers without the walls of the fort. For the first time in theannals of Camp Sandy, Hart had sandbagged his lower story, and he andhis retainers practically slept upon their arms.
It was after midnight. Lights still burned dimly at the guard-house,the adjutant's office, and over at the quarters of the commandingofficer, where Byrne and Plume were in consultation. There weresleepless eyes in every house along the line. Truman had not turned inat all. Pondering over his brief talk with the returned commander, hehad gone to the storehouse to expedite the packing of Brewster'srations, and then it occurred to him to drop in a moment at thehospital. In all the dread and excitement of the past two days, PatMullins had been well-nigh forgotten. The attendant greeted him at theentrance. Truman, as he approached, could see him standing at thebroad open doorway, apparently staring out through the starlighttoward the black and distant outlines of the eastward mountains.Mullins at least was sleeping and seemed rapidly recovering, said he,in answer to Truman's muttered query. "Major Plume," he added, "wasover to see him a while ago, but I told the major Pat was asleep."Truman listened without comment, but noted none the less and lingered."You were looking out to the east," he said. "Seen any lights orfire?"
"Not I, sir. But the sentry there on No. 4 had the corporal out justnow. He's seen or heard something, and they've moved over toward No.5's post."
Truman followed. How happened it that when Byrne and Plume had so muchto talk of the latter could find time to come away over to thehospital to inquire for a patient? And there! the call for half-pasttwelve had started at the guard-house and rung out from the stablesand corrals. It was Four's turn to take it up now. Presently he did,but neither promptly nor with confidence. There were new men on therelief just down from Fort Whipple and strange to Sandy and itssurroundings; but surely, said Truman, they should not have beenassigned to Four and Five, the exposed or dangerous posts, so long asthere were other men, old-timers at Sandy, to take these stations. No.4's "A-all's well" sounded more like a wail of remonstrance at hisloneliness and isolation. It was a new voice, too, for in those daysofficers knew not only the face, but the voice, of every man in thelittle command, and--could Truman be mistaken--he thought he heard asubdued titter from the black shadows of his own quarters, and turnedhis course thither to investigate. Five's shout went up at theinstant, loud, confident, almost boastful, as though in rebuke ofFour's timidity, and, as Truman half expected, there was the corporalof the guard leaning on his rifle, close to the veranda steps, and soabsorbed he never heard the officer approach until the lieutenantsharply hailed:
"Who's that on No. 4?"
"One of 'C' Company's fellers, sir," answered the watcher, coming tohis senses and attention at the instant. "Just down from Prescott, andthinks he sees ghosts or Indians every minute. Nearly shot one of thehounds a moment ago."
"You shouldn't put him on that post--"
"I didn't sir," was the prompt rejoinder. "'Twas the sergeant. He said'twould do him good, but the man's really scared, lieutenant. ThoughtI'd better stay near him a bit."
Across the black and desolate ruin of Blakely's quarters, and well outon the northward _mesa_, they could dimly discern the form of theunhappy sentry pacing uneasily along his lonely beat, pausing andturning every moment as though fearful of crouching assailant. Evenamong these veteran infantrymen left at Sandy, that northeast cornerhad had an uncanny name ever since the night of Pat Mullins'smysterious stabbing. Many a man would gladly have shunned sentry dutyat that point, but none dare confess to it. Partly as a precaution,partly as protection to his sentries, the temporary commander hadearly in the week sent out a big "fatigue" detail, with knives andhatchets to slice away every clump of sage or greasewood that couldshelter a prowling Apache for a hundred yards out from the l
ine. Butthe man now on No. 4 was palpably nervous and distressed, in spite ofthis fact. Truman watched him a moment in mingled compassion andamusement, and was just turning aside to enter his open doorway whenthe corporal held up a warning hand.
Through the muffling sand of the roadway in rear of the quarters, atall, dark figure was moving straight and swift toward the post of No.4, and so far within that of No. 5 as to escape the latter'schallenge. The corporal sprung his rifle to the hollow of his arm andstarted the next instant, sped noiselessly a few yards in pursuit,then abruptly halted. "It's the major, sir," said he, embarrassed, asTruman joined him again. "Gad, I hope No. 4 won't fire!"
Fire he did not, but his challenge came with a yell."W-whocomesthere?"--three words as one and that through chatteringteeth.
"Commanding officer," they heard Plume clearly answer, then in lowertone, but distinctly rebukeful. "What on earth's the matter, No. 4?You called off very badly. Anything disturbing you out here?"
The sentry's answer was a mumble of mingled confusion and distress.How could he own to his post commander that he was scared? No. 5 nowwas to be seen swiftly coming up the eastward front so as to be withinsupporting or hearing distance--curiosity, not sympathy, impelling;and so there were no less than five men, four of them old and triedsoldiers, all within fifty yards of the angle made by the two sentrybeats, all wide awake, yet not one of their number could later telljust what started it. All on a sudden, down in Sudsville, down amongthe southward quarters of the line, the hounds went rushing forth,barking and baying excitedly, one and all heading for the brink of theeastward _mesa_, yet halting short as though afraid to approach itnearer, and then, darting up and down, barking, sniffing, challengingangrily, they kept up their fierce alarm. Somebody or something wasout there in the darkness, perhaps at the very edge of the bluff, andthe dogs dare go no further. Even when the corporal, followed by No.5, came running down the post, the hounds hung back, bristling andsavage, yet fearful. Corporal Foote cocked his rifle and wentcrouching forward through the gloom, but the voice of the major washeard:
"Don't go out there, corporal. Call for the guard," as he hurried into his quarters in search of his revolver. Truman by this time had runfor his own arms and together they reappeared on the post of No. 5, asa sergeant, with half a dozen men, came panting from across theparade, swift running to the scene.
"No. 4 would have it that there were Indians, or somebody skulkingabout him when I was examining him a moment ago," said Plumehurriedly. "Shut up, you brutes!" he yelled angrily at the nearesthounds. "Scatter your men forward there, sergeant, and see if we canfind anything." Other men were coming, too, by this time, and alantern was dancing out from Doty's quarters. Byrne, pyjama-clad andin slippered feet, shuffled out to join the party as the guard, withrifles at ready, bored their way out to the front, the dogs stillsuspiciously sniffing and growling. For a moment or two no explanationoffered. The noise was gradually quieting down. Then from far out tothe right front rose the shout: "Come here with that lantern!" and allhands started at the sound.
Old Shaughnessy, saddler sergeant, was the first on the spot with alight. All Sudsville seemed up and astir. Some of the women, even, hadbegun to show at the narrow doorways. Corporal Foote and two of theguard were bending over some object huddled in the sand. Together theyturned it over and tugged it into semblance of human shape, for thething had been shrouded in what proved to be a ragged cavalry blanket.Senseless, yet feebly breathing and moaning, half-clad in tatteredskirt and a coarsely made _camisa_ such as was worn by peon women ofthe humblest class, with blood-stained bandages concealing much of theface and head, a young Indian woman was lifted toward the light. Asoldier started on the run for Dr. Graham; another to the laundresses'homes for water. Others, still, with the lanterns now coming flittingdown the low bluff, began searching through the sands for furthersign, and found it within the minute--sign of a shod horse and ofmoccasined feet,--moccasins not of Tonto, but of Yuma make, saidByrne, after a moment's survey.
Rough, yet tender, hands bore the poor creature to the nearestshelter--Shaughnessy's quarters. Keen, eager eyes and bending formsfollowed hoof and foot prints to the ford. Two Indians, evidently, hadlately issued, dripping, from the stream; one leading an eager horse,for it had been dancing sidewise as they neared the post, the other,probably sustaining the helpless burden on its back. Two Indians hadthen re-entered the swift waters, almost at the point of emergence,one leading a reluctant, resisting animal, for it had struggled andplunged and set its fore feet against the effort. The other Indian hadprobably mounted as they neared the brink. Already they must be a gooddistance away on the other side, rendering pursuit probably useless.Already the explanation of their coming was apparent. The woman hadbeen hurt or wounded when far from her tribe, and the Indians with herwere those who had learned the white man's ways, knew that he warrednot on women and would give this stricken creature care and comfort,food and raiment and relieve them of all such trouble. It was easy toaccount for their bringing her to Sandy and dropping her at the whiteman's door, but how came they by a shod horse that knew the spot andstrove to break from them at the stables--strove hard against againbeing driven away? Mrs. Shaughnessy, volubly haranguing all withinhearing as the searchers returned from the ford, was telling how shewas lying awake, worrin' about Norah and Pat Mullins and the boys thathad gone afield (owing her six weeks' wash) when she heard a dulltrampin' like and what sounded like horses' stifled squeal (doubtlessthe leading Indian had gripped the nostrils to prevent the eagerneigh), and then, said she, all the dogs roused up and rushed out,howling.
And then came a cry from within the humble doorway, where mercifulhands were ministering to the suffering savage, and Plume started atthe sound and glared at Byrne, and men stood hushed and startled andamazed, for the voice was that of Norah and the words were strangeindeed:
"Fur the love of hivin, look what she had in her girdle! Shure it'sLeese's own scarf, I tell ye--the Frenchwoman at the major's!"
And Byrne thought it high time to enter and take possession.
