XII
INDIANS ON THE WAR-PATH
The following day we were so delayed by several minor affairs that wedid not begin our journey until the middle of the afternoon.
At the time of which I write there were but two wagon-roads out ofPrescott--one through Fort Whipple, which, several miles to the north,divided into a road to the west, the one over which we had marchedfrom New Mexico, and a second which left in a northwesterly direction.We took the latter, pursuing it along the east side of Granite Rangefor eight miles, when we passed through a notch in the range to MintCreek, where the road made an acute angle and followed a generallysouthwesterly course to La Paz.
We halted for the night at the creek, eight miles from the fort. Ourambulance was provided with four seats--one in front for the driver,fixed front and rear seats in the interior, with a movable middleseat, the back of which could be let down so that it fitted theinterval between the others and afforded a fairly comfortable bed. Onthe rack behind were carried the mess chest, provisions, and bedding,and inside, under the seats, were the ammunition and some articles ofpersonal baggage. Beneath the axle swung a ten-gallon keg and a nestof camp kettles.
While supper was being prepared the boys wandered about the reed-grassin a fruitless search for some ducks they had seen settle in thecreek. Private Tom Clary, who was acting as our cook, having spreadour meal of fried bacon, bread, and coffee upon a blanket to thewindward of the fire, called them to supper. While sugaring andstirring our coffee, the cook stood by the fire holding two long rodsin his hands, upon the ends of which were slices of bacon broilingbefore the glowing coals. Suddenly he exclaimed:
"Look there, sergeant laddies! look there!" raising and pointing withboth sticks and the rashers of bacon towards the reed-grass behindus.
There in its very edge sat Mistress Vic, winking her eyes andtwitching her ears deprecatingly, plainly in doubt as to herreception.
"Stop, boys! keep quiet!" I said, to prevent a movement in herdirection. "Vic, you bad girl, how dared you follow me?"
No reply, only a slow closing and opening of the eyes and anaccompanying forward and backward movement of the ears.
"Go home! Go!"
The setter rose, dropped her head, and, turning dejectedly,disappeared with drooping tail into the tall grass. Both boysexclaimed at once:
"Don't drive her off, sir! Poor little Vic!"
"Well, go and see if you can coax her back. If she returns with youshe may go to La Paz."
The boys ran eagerly into the grass, and soon I heard them soothingand pitying the dog, telling her that it was all right, and that shecould go. But it was evident she doubted their authority to speak forme, for Henry presently came running towards me.
"She won't come, sir. Keeps moving slowly back in the direction of thefort. She looks so sorry and so tired. Only think how badly she feels,and it is a long distance to Whipple! Can't she stay with us untilmorning?"
"Then she will not come with you?"
"No. She is your dog, and knows it. She never disobeys you."
"But she followed me here; that looks very much like disobedience."
"But you did not tell her not to come."
"I believe you are right. I forgot to tell her to stay."
"And she did not hear you tell the corporal to tie her, sir. You toldhim in your room, and she was outside."
"Then you think she is not to blame for following us?"
"Of course not. She's a military dog, and always obeys orders."
"But how guilty she looked."
"It was not guilt made her look so, sir; it was disappointment."
"Yes, I think you are right, Henry. I'll let her go with us. Let ustry an experiment, and see if she understands ordinary conversation.You know some people think dogs do."
"Yes, sir; I know Vic does."
"I'll speak to her without altering my tone of voice. Now watch.'Here, Vicky, little girl, it's all right; you may go with us.'"
Out of the reeds, bounding in an ecstasy of delight, came Vic. Shesprang about me, then about the boys, the soldiers, and animals, andthen approaching the fire, sat down and looked wistfully at therashers of bacon Clary was still broiling. It was settled in her dogmind that she was now a recognized member of our party.
We resumed our journey with the first break of dawn and rode to SkullValley. The first section of the road passed through a rough,mountainous, and wooded country; but at the end of thirteen miles itentered a level valley, which gradually broadened into a wide plainthat had been taken up by settlers for farms and cattle ranges. Beingwell acquainted, I made several calls at the log-cabins which skirtedthe road. At the Arnold house we were made very welcome, and after agenerous dinner were escorted through the house and stables by theentire family. I had visited the valley many times when on scoutingor escort duty, and had seen the Arnold cabins gradually substitutedfor their tents, and their acres slowly redeemed from grazing groundto cultivated fields; but since my last visit Mr. Arnold had adoptedan ingenious means of defence in case of an Indian attack.
The house and stables from the first had been provided with heavyshutters for windows and doorways, and loop-holes for fire-arms hadbeen made at regular four-foot intervals. These the proprietor had notconsidered ample, and had constructed, twenty yards from the house, aningenious earthwork which could be entered by means of a subterraneanpassage from the cellar. This miniature fort was in the form of acircular pit, sunk four feet and a half in the ground, and covered bya nearly flat roof, the edges or eaves of which were but a foot and ahalf above the surface of the earth. In the space between the surfaceand the eaves were loop-holes. The roof was of heavy pine timber,closely joined, sloping upward slightly from circumference to centre,and covered with two feet of tamped earth. To obtain water, a secondcovered way led from the earthwork to a spring fifty yards distant,the outer entrance being concealed in a rocky nook screened in a thickclump of willows.
As we were climbing into our ambulance, preparatory to resuming ourjourney, Brenda said:
"If you had reached here three hours earlier you might have had thecompany of two gentlemen who are riding to La Paz."
"Sorry I did not meet them. Who were they?"
"Mr. Sage and Mr. Bell from Prescott. They are going to purchase goodsfor their stores; and that reminds me that not one of you hasmentioned the object of this journey of yours."
"That is really so," I replied. "You have made every minute of ourcall so interesting in showing us your improvements and the fort, andin doing the hospitable, that we have not thought of ourselves. Frank,tell her about the ponies."
Sergeant Frank, aided by Sergeant Henry, told in full of the loss oftheir animals, and said we intended to try to capture Texas Dick andJuan Brincos and recover Sancho and Chiquita.
At the end of the boys' story, Brenda asked: "The thieves were aMexican and an American?"
"Yes."
"The American had a scar on the bridge of his nose, and the Mexicanhad lost his front teeth?"
"Exactly. What do you know about them, Brenda?"
"They were here, but I did not see their ponies nearer than thestable; they were black and cream color. The Mexican traded saddleswith uncle. You'll find the one he left in the lean-to, on a pegbeside the door."
Both boys leaped to the ground and ran round the house to the lean-to,and presently returned with Henry's neat McClellan saddle. It had beenstripped of its pouches and small straps, but was otherwise unharmed.
"Well, when I come back with Chiquita, Mr. Arnold, I'd like to tradesaddles."
"All right, youngkett, I'll trade, or you can take it now, andwelcome," replied the ranchman.
"No; I'll leave it until I return."
The saddle was taken back to the lean-to, and after a few more wordsof leave-taking we started up the valley. A few miles of rapidtravelling brought us to a steep ascent into a mountainous range tothe right. We had proceeded but a short distance through a narrow andrugged roadway when we were overtaken b
y the military expressman whomwe had left at Fort Whipple. He had come from Prescott to Skull Valleyby a short cut.
"I have a letter for you, lieutenant," said he, approaching theambulance.
Unfastening the mail-pouch, he turned its contents upon the back seat.A heap of loose letters and three well-worn books strewed themselvesover the cushion. Frank picked up the books and examined their titles.
"Xenophon's _Memorabilia_, Euripides' _Alcestis_ and _Medea_, and aGreek grammar!" exclaimed the astonished youngster. "What are youdoing with these college text-books on the La Paz trail?"
"Making up conditions," replied the courier, a blush deepening thebrown of his face.
"What are conditions?" asked Henry.
"Oh, blissful ignorance! Why was I not spared the task of enlighteningit?" answered the courier. "Conditions are stumbling-blocks placed inthe way of successful trackmen, football players, and rowing men bynon-appreciative and envious professors."
"'Joseph Gould Hudson, University of Yalvard,'" read Frank from thefly-leaf of the _Memorabilia_. "Is that your name, Mr. Hudson?"
"I'm so borne on the Yalvard catalogue."
"Please explain, Mr. Hudson," I said, "how a college boy happens to bein Arizona running the gantlet of this mail-route and making upconditions in Greek?"
"I was stroke in the crew that won the championship for Yalvard at NewLondon one year ago, and got behind in these. I was conditioned, andbeing ashamed to face an angry father, struck out for myself on thePacific coast. I drifted about from mining-camp to cattle-range untilI was dead broke; this place offered, and I took it because I couldfind nothing else. I've had lots of opportunities for reflection onthe Xuacaxella. I'm the repentant prodigal going home to his father."
"Oh, you are no prodigal, Mr. Hudson," observed Henry. "We've heardall about you; you are too brave."
"Thank you, Sergeant Henry. No, I've not wasted my substance inriotous living, nor have I eaten husks, but I've been prodigal inwasting opportunities."
"Lost a whole college year, haven't you?" I asked.
"I hope not. There is a German university man at La Paz who has beencoaching me. He thinks if I keep at work until after Christmas I cango on with my old class. This is my last trip, and if I escape theApaches once more I'm going to lay off and work hard for a few months,and then return to New Havbridge for examination. There's something inthat letter that concerns me."
Opening the letter, I learned that Captain Bayard knew Mr. Hudson'sstory. He said this was to be the last trip of the courier, but thatafter his return to La Paz he would come out to meet me at Tyson'sWells and report whether the horse-thieves were in town. He alsosuggested that in establishing a transshipment storehouse at thesteamboat-landing I place Hudson in charge. The pay would be of use tohim while "making up."
The courier wished us a pleasant journey, and rode away at ascrambling canter up the pass. He had been gone but a few moments whenI heard a shout, and, looking up, saw him standing on a pinnacle bythe way-side, on the summit of the ascent. He was looking in theopposite direction, and I saw him fire three shots from his carbine inrapid succession. Dismounting the men, I made rapid preparations tomeet an attack, and proceeded to work our way slowly up the height,and when we reached the narrow level at the top we found Hudson andthe two soldiers that formed our advance occupying a shelter among therocks to the left, and gazing down the opposite slope.
"What is it, Hudson?" I asked.
"A party of Indians attempted to jump me here. There they gonow--across that opening in the sage-brush!"
A dozen Indians dashed across an open space south of the road, but toofar away for effective shooting, and then two more passed over,supporting a third between them.
"You must have hit one of them."
"I tried to. I think another was hurt more seriously, by the way heacknowledged my shot."
"Are you hurt?"
"A slight scratch on the arm near the shoulder, and my horse is hurt."
An examination of Hudson's arm proved that the scratch was notserious, but I thought it best to exchange his horse for one belongingto a soldier. We then went on, Frank and I walking in advance of theambulance mules.
"There's something down there in the road by Ferrier's grave, sir,"said Corporal Duffey. "Looks like a dead man."
"Is that where Ferrier was killed?" I asked.
"Yes, sir; I was in command of the detail that came here to look himup. He had built a little stone fort on that knoll up yonder, and keptthe redskins off three days. He kept a diary, you remember, which wefound. He killed six of them, and might as many more, but he couldn'tlive without sleep or food, and the rascals got him. They scatteredthe mail in shreds for miles about here."
"Who was Ferrier?" Frank asked.
"He was a discharged California volunteer, who rode the express beforeMr. Hudson."
"Do you think Mr. Hudson knew his predecessor had been killed?"
"Yes; the incident was much talked of at the time."
We were nearing the object in the road. Suddenly the mules caughtsight of it, backed, and crushed the ten-gallon keg under the axleagainst a bowlder--a serious mishap, as our after experience willshow. Walking on, we came to the mutilated bodies of two men, severalyards apart, whom we had no difficulty in recognizing to be thetradesmen Bell and Sage. With axe, bayonets, and tin cups we dug ashallow grave beside Ferrier's. We placed the bodies side by side, andheaped a pyramid of stones above them.
The courier again bade us good-bye, and we went on. The rest of theride through the mountain-pass was accomplished without adventure, andevening found us encamped at Willow Springs. The boys shot a few quailhere, of the variety known as the California quail, distinguished byan elegant plume of six feathers on the top of its head. Clary broiledthem for breakfast.
The road on the following day was so rough that for much of the waywe were unable to move faster than a walk--the slow walk of draughtanimals. When near a place called Soldiers' Holes, on account of somerifle-pits sunk there, the corporal called my attention to a pool ofblood in the road.
A close examination led us to believe that two men had fallen, thatone had been wounded, and that a second party had come and taken thewounded man away. The locality was well adapted for a surprise. On theleft was a growth of dense shrubbery extending from the road to thefoot of the mountain-range. On the opposite side was an open plain.
We were moving on again, when Frank remarked:
"There seems to have been a big gathering of Apaches along this road."
"Yes; a war-party bent on mischief. They have struck at two points,and I fear a third--Date Creek--may have been attacked by this time.That is where we are to pass the night." Then turning to CorporalDuffey, I continued: "The road from here to the creek is soft andloamy, and we are not likely to make much noise; caution the men tobe quiet and not show themselves outside the track. If the Indians areat the ranch it will be best for us to appear there unexpectedly."
"Do Indians never stand up like white men, and fight?" asked theyounger boy.
"Frequently, but their system is different from ours; however, ourlatest military tactics appear to be modelled on theirs."
Although this section of our journey was but twenty-five miles long,our rate of progress had been so slow that the day was nearly closedwhen we came in sight of the lines of cottonwoods that bordered DateCreek. We turned at last sharply to the left, and began a descentthrough a narrow ravine towards the creek. We were nearing itswidening mouth when a half-dozen sharp reports of fire-arms broke uponour ears. A halt was ordered and the men directed to prevent theanimals from betraying our presence by whinnying or braying. TellingSergeant Henry to remain behind and keep Vic with him, I went inadvance with Sergeant Frank.
"What do you think is going on?" asked my companion, as several morereports rang out.
"What I feared; the Apaches are attacking the men who went out tobring in the dead and wounded men at Soldiers' Holes."
"And if Mr. Hudson was n
ot the wounded man there, I suppose he is sureto be in this scrape. Why not rush in with the escort and frightenthem away?"
"They may be too many for us," I answered, "and it will be prudent tolearn the situation at the ranch before we go nearer. I want to jointhe white men without the Indians' knowledge, if possible."
"If Mr. Hudson is not dead, he must know we are here."
"He may be there, and the men may know we are on the road, but itcertainly does not look like it."
"Can't Vic be sent with a message?"
"No; she will not take a message to a stranger."
We had now reached a point from which we could see a log cabin, astable, and an open shed or tool-house. On the side of the buildingstowards us, as if screening themselves from an enemy in the oppositedirection, were a few men.
"If you would like me to, sir, I can crawl to the house without beingseen," said Frank. "That cart, wagon, oven, and stack will screen me."
"Yes, you can do it easily. Tell Mr. Hopkins that we arehere--seventeen, counting you two boys--and to make no demonstrationwhen we close up. I will explain a plan to him which, I think, willenable us to teach the Apaches a lesson. If you find Mr. Hudson there,tell him to show himself at a window or door."
Captured by the Navajos Page 12
