by Charles King
CHAPTER XI.
It was at four o'clock of a blistering afternoon, twelve hours from thetime of their start from the post, that the leaders in the long-extendedcolumn hove in sight of a patch of green down in a distant depression tothe south that marked the site of Crockett Springs. Beyond it, hemmingthe broad, shallow valley, there rose a long wave of bare, desolateheights, rounded and billowing in soft and graceful contours as theyrolled away northeastward, abrupt and jagged towards the south andsouthwest, where the stream seemed to have torn a pathway for the suddentorrents of the springtide that foamed away towards the broader valleyof the Bravo. At the point where, rounding the nose of a low ridge, thetrail twisted into view of Crockett's, the major halted to look backover his command, still tripping steadily onward in little bunches, eacha dozen strong, each followed by its own little dust-cloud, eachindependent, apparently, of the others, yet moving as part of oneharmonious train. Foremost, the group at the head of column had receivedaccessions. Fuller, the sutler, finely mounted and bristling with armsof the latest and most approved pattern, backed by two sun-tanned Texansfrom his ranch, had overtaken the command at noon, bent on sharing itsfortunes in the tussle anticipated with the outlaws; and they were nowriding with "head-quarters," from which, on the other hand, two figureswere missing,--Lawrence and one of the orderlies. As early as twoo'clock the ex-captain had pushed on ahead, a double object in view, towarn Cramer's troop of the coming of the Worth command and the tidingsthey bore of the Friday gang, also to have a little party mount at onceand gallop northeast, ten miles to the Saba trail,--a short cut fromWorth to the San Saba Pass, used by horsemen in the rainy season.Captain Cramer might or might not have received warning of theappearance of the gang in the valley below his camp at the Springs; butthe "Fridays," whoever their leader, would certainly have friends andconfederates on the watch near Worth, friends who would probably takethat very short cut and gallop at speed to warn the gang of the comingvengeance. Oddly enough, it was not Brooks nor Lawrence who was first tothink of this, but Barclay. It was his modest suggestion at the noonhalt, a suggestion that was put in form of a question, that had openedthe major's eyes. "I remember, sir," said he, "that the Springs lie ina sort of elbow; the trail runs nearly east and west for many milesbeyond them, and nearly north and south on this side. Is there no way inwhich scouts could gallop across our left and give warning to thosefellows?"
"By Jove!" said Brooks, "there's the old San Saba cut-off. What had webetter do, Lawrence?" And Lawrence said, "Send at once a sergeant with aset of fours to the left, until they cut the trail, in order to preventinformation going to the gang that way, and to report if any horsemenhave already passed, which latter any old frontiersman can tell at aglance." Mullane, lurching drowsily in saddle all through the laststage, had thrown himself on the turf and gone sound asleep the momentthe column halted. Only with extreme difficulty could he be aroused andmade to understand what was wanted. Mr. Winn, standing silently by,turned his back on his temporary commander. He knew the Irish captainwas well-nigh swamped with liquor, and he had no wish to bear witnessagainst him. Those were days so close to the war that officers, old andnew, still thought more of what a man had done than of what he wasdoing, and Mullane had been a gallant trooper. "You 'tind to it,sergeant," was again the Irishman's comprehensive order to his firstsergeant when at last he grasped the significance of Brooks's words, andfive horsemen rode away at the lope to the left front the moment thecolumn again mounted. Again did Brooks see fit to caution his leadingtroop commander. "I am afraid you have sampled that whiskey once toooften, Mullane. No more of it now, or you'll go to pieces when you aremost needed," he muttered, then rode on to the head of column.
And the prediction came true. At the very next halt Mullane had falleninto a stupor so heavy that it was found impossible to rouse him. Theassistant surgeon with the column made brief examination, then unslungand removed the canteen at the captain's pommel, and whispered hisconclusion,--"Better leave his horse and orderly here with him."
"Then," said the major, briefly, "Winn, you command 'L' Troop." And whenagain the column mounted, Barclay rode back and directed his leadingsection to incline to the right, so that they passed the lonely littlegroup, the two horses placidly cropping at the scant herbage, theorderly squatting with averted face, filled at once with shame andsympathy, the recumbent figure sprawled upon the prairie, its bloatedred visage buried in the blue-sleeved arms. Barclay's rearward sectionsinstinctively followed the lead, and only furtive glances were cast, andno audible comments made. The ranks were full of tough characters inthose days, yet imbued with a strange fidelity in certain lines thatreminds one of the dog immortalized by Bret Harte at Red Gulch,--the dogthat had such deep sympathy for a helplessly drunken man. There wasnothing in their code to prevent their stealing from Uncle Sam, theircaptain, or any other victim, but to hint that an officer or a friendwas drunk would have been the height of impropriety.
Winn, not Mullane, therefore, led "The Devil's Own," as Mullane'stroop--together with others, no doubt--had been appropriatelydesignated. Barclay followed at the head of "D." When nearing CrockettSprings at five o'clock, a dim speck of courier came twisting out uponthe trail to meet them, and Brooks long after recalled the thought thatcame to him as he read the despatch that reached him there. It was fromLawrence:
"Cramer got wind of the gang early this morning, followed with thirtymen into the San Saba, had sharp fight, lost three men and many horses,and is corralled out there, about fifteen miles southeast. Cramerhimself wounded, Dr. Augustin killed. Courier says most of Friday ganggone to San Saba Pass. You, of course, must push on to save Pennywiseand his money. I take five men and horses here and hasten to pull Cramerout of the hole. Think you now justified in attacking gang whereverfound. No doubt who were Cramer's assailants. Expect to reach him beforesix and have one more square fight out of Texas. Hastily,
"L."
"By heaven," cried Brooks, as he turned to Fuller and the little partyriding with him, all studying his face with anxious eyes, "it's lucky wegot here with our horses in good shape. Cramer is in a scrape somewhereout in the Range. Lawrence has gone to his aid, and there'll only betime for a bite at Crockett's; then we must push on and go ahead to thePass." Then, dropping into thought, "Now, which of Laura Waite's victimswill most welcome a square fight,--the man she wronged by dropping, orthe man she wronged by taking?"
Two hours later, refreshed by cooling draughts from the brook thatbubbled away from the Springs, their nostrils sponged out, their saddlesreset, their stomachs gladdened by a light feed, the horses of the twotroops seemed fit for a chase, despite their sixty-mile march sincedawn. A courier, galloping ahead, had borne Brooks's directions thatcoffee should be ready for his men, and Cramer's camp guard had foundtime to add substantials to that comforting fluid. Only half an hour didthe major delay, but even in that time the horses had a quick rub-downwith wisps of hay, and the men themselves swung into saddle with an airthat seemed to say, "There's fun ahead!" The sun was shining aslant fromlow down in the western sky as the column once more jogged away on thedusty trail, Barclay's troop now in the lead, opening out just as it hadmarched most of the day, while Winn, between whom and the new captainthere had passed a few courteous yet rather formal words at one or twoof the halts, gave to Mullane's old first sergeant the charge of theleading section, and himself rode at the distant rear of column, for bydusk, if at all, straggling would be likely, and straggling would haveto be suppressed with a firm hand. The sun was at their backs now: awayto the front lay the rift in the hills through which wound the San Sabaroad, and off to the right front, well to the southeast, somewhere amongthose jagged bluffs just beginning to tinge with gold about their sharpand saw-like crests, lay the scene of Cramer's morning tussle with theoutlaws, who, as all now realized, must have opened on him from ambushand shot down several horses and not a few men before the troopers couldreply. No further news had come from him, however. The courier whobrought the first news said he had to run the
gauntlet, although only afew of the gang seemed to be hanging about the scene of thefight,--their main body, as he had previously reported, having gone inthe direction of the Pass. Brooks well knew that the moment he reachedthe foot-hills he would have to move with caution, throwing out advancedguards and, where possible, flankers. He knew that he would need everyman, and believed that Cramer's people, now that Lawrence had gone tojoin them, could take care of themselves; but the courier's story, toldto eager ears, had "told" in more ways than one. His description of theambuscade, the way Cramer, the doctor, Sergeant O'Brien, and others atthe head of column were tumbled at the first fire, all had tended tomake the head of Brooks's column an unpopular place to ride,--at leastless popular than earlier in the day. Fuller and his men decided thattheir horses would be the better for an hour or two of rest at thecantonment, and so the column moved on without them.
Longer grew the shadows and loftier the range far to the front, as oncemore the pace quickened to the trot, and Brooks and his men jogged on.The doctor, a gifted young practitioner whom Collabone held in highregard, seemed still to think that he should have been allowed to takean orderly and his instruments and gallop out on Lawrence's trail to theaid of Cramer's wounded. "Then what is to become of mine?" asked themajor, calmly. "I'm sorry for Cramer, sorry his doctor is killed, but wemay need you any moment more than he does. No, Lawrence has gone to him;he'll do what he can to make the wounded comfortable, leave a smallguard with them, and then guide the rest of Cramer's troop through therange to the San Saba, join either Pennywise's party or ours, andbetween us we ought to give those fellows a thrashing they'll neverforget,--if only they'll stand and take it,--if only," he added belowhis breath, "they don't lay for us in some of those deep twisting canonswhere twenty men could overthrow a thousand."
The doctor admitted the force of his superior's argument, and said noword. All the same, however, his eyes kept wandering off from time totime towards the foot-hills at the southeast, now turning to violet inshade, "like half-mourning," said the doctor to Galahad, as, only halfcontent, he dropped back to ride a few moments at the latter's side."And it won't be long," he added to himself, "before they'll be shroudedin deep black. Pray God there's no ill omen in that!"
And now the road began to rise, very slowly, very gently as yet, butperceptibly, towards the still distant range. The long, spindle-shankedshadows of the horses had disappeared. The sun, yellow-red, was justsinking below the horizon through the dust-clouds in their wake, whenone of the foremost troopers, close at Barclay's heels, muttered, "It'ssomethin' movin', anyhow, and what is it if it ain't a horse?" AndBarclay and the doctor, turning in saddle, caught his eye. "I seen it aminute ago away out yonder towards them buttes," continued the soldier,pointing out across the prairie to their right front, "and I couldn't besure then. It's comin' this way, whatever it is, comin' fast. Look, sir!There it is again!"
And with all their eyes Barclay and the doctor gazed, but could see nomoving object. Only the rolling prairie, growing darker, dimmer everyminute, only the sun-tipped ridge and buttes and shining pinnacles faraway towards the San Saba. And still the relentless trot went on, andthe major's head was never turned; yet his orderly, too, was ducking andpeering from time to time off to the southeast, just where the trooperhad pointed. Barclay, cautioning his sergeant to keep a steady trot,spurred forward, the doctor following.
"What do you see?" they asked, and the orderly too stretched forth agrimy gauntlet.
"Thought I saw a horse, sir. Some of 'K' Troop's, maybe, for there wasno rider."
With this corroborative evidence, Barclay hailed the major. "Major, mayI send a man or two out in that direction?" he asked. "Two of our peoplereport seeing a horse galloping this way."
But, even as he spoke, over a distant divide, popping up against the skyjust long enough to catch the eyes of half a dozen men at once, a blackdot darted into view and then came bounding down the long, gradualincline, looming larger and larger as it ran; presently the body andlegs could be made out, and then the sweeping mane and tail,--ariderless horse, a cavalry horse probably, coming at eager speed to joinhis comrade creatures in the long column. Cavalry horse undoubtedly, as,bounding nearer and nearer, the flapping rein, the dangling,black-hooded stirrups, the coarse gray blanket, and the well-knownsaddle could be distinguished, a gruesome sight to trooper eyes,harbinger of disaster if not of death in almost every case,--a cavalrycharger riderless! And at last, as with piteous neigh the laboring steedcame galloping straightway on, a cry went up from two or three soldierthroats at the instant, a wail of soldier sorrow: "God save us, fellows!it's Blarney--it's the colonel's own!" Officers and men, they swarmedabout the weary, panting, trembling creature, as hope died in everyheart at what they saw: the saddle and blanket, the old overcoat, rolledat the pommel, that so often had stood between Ned Lawrence and theTexas gales, were all dripping with blood, yet Blarney had never ascratch.
