by Charles King
CHAPTER XII.
The moon was throwing black shadows into the deep cleft in the San Saba,where the Crockett trail twisted along beside the swift-running rivulet,that rose in the heart of the hills and bubbled merrily away until lostin the westward valley and the brook that found its source at thesprings far out under the foot-hills towards the Bravo. Slowly, wearily,warily, half a dozen troopers on jaded horses were feeling their way upthe pass, a veteran corporal full thirty yards ahead of his fellowsleading on. With the advance rode an officer whose shoulder-straps,gleaming on the shell jacket sometimes worn in the mounted serviceimmediately after the war, seemed almost too bright and new to accordwith the dust-grimed chevrons and trimmings of his comrades. New andbrilliant, too, were the hilt and scabbard of the sabre that dangled byhis side. New and "green" the men of his command had believed him to be,in cavalry matters at least, when first he joined them some weeksbefore, but the most casehardened old customer among their seasonedtroopers had abandoned that view before ever they started on this scoutafter a gang of notorious outlaws, and now a new and very differenttheory was grinding its way into their tired brains,--that the "DoughboyDragoon," as they had earlier dubbed him, "Captain Gallyhad," as one ofthem heard he was called, could give them points in covering the frontof a column that were worth knowing, even if they had been learned in adoughboy regiment and among the Sioux. It would be a smart "Friday" thatmanaged to ambuscade old Brooks's column that cloudless, moonlit,breezeless night, for, with that veteran's full consent, as well as tohis infinite relief, Captain Barclay had himself gone forward with theadvance the moment they began to wind in among the hills, and there atthe post of danger he had held his way, alert and vigilant, despite longhours in saddle that had told heavily on more than half the command,calm and brave despite the fact that their welcome to the westwardportal of the Pass was the sight of poor Blarney running to them forshelter, sympathy, and companionship, covered with the blood of hisbeloved rider.
And what was that rider's fate? It was now almost eleven o'clock, and noman knew. Only briefly had they halted and flocked about the pantingsteed, for stern was the need that held them to their course. Withawe-stricken faces and compressed lips they looked into each other'seyes, as though to ask, What next? Who next? The major, tender-heartedas a woman, well-nigh choked with distress and anxiety as he turned toBarclay for counsel; and long before the rearmost of the column hadreached the spot the decision had been made. The leaders were againpushing on. Young Brayton, with half a dozen troopers, had beendespatched southwestward along the _falda_, ordered to search high andlow for Lawrence, dead or alive. There was only one theory,--that,pushing eagerly ahead to the relief of Cramer's crippled troop, thegallant ex-captain had taken no thought of personal danger; the oldinstinct of leadership had possessed him, and, foremost of his littlesquad, he had been picked off by lurking bushwackers of the outlaws,crouching like Indians in the shelter of the rocks, and had fallenanother victim of their desperado efforts. "One more fight in Texas,"indeed. Poor, brave, warm-hearted Ned! That one more fight, reported inWashington by an indulgent department commander, might bring aboutimmediate measures for his restoration to the army; but was it worth therisk? Was it worth what might befall those motherless children, prayingfor father hour after hour that livelong day? Should it have beenpermitted, had there been any one to prevent, in view of the fact thatno longer was there soldier duty to lead him on? The government hadreleased him from all that, had bidden him go. It had no further use forthe services of such as he; it had turned him loose upon the world, withheavy stoppages against the stipulated _bonus_. "Oh, what right had he,"cried Brooks, "to forget those babies back at Worth, well knowing as hemust that no man's life is worth a hair in front of the rifles of thatoutlaw gang, much less an enemy such as Lawrence has shown himself tobe?" The major's heart and head were heavy as once more the orderforward was given. With every inclination to turn from his course withhis entire command, to hasten in search of Lawrence's little party andCramer's halted men, he well knew that should the paymaster and hisprecious thousands fall into the outlaw hands of the Friday gang hewould be held responsible, even though San Saba's cantonment sent withhim a force of forty men.
Once within the jaws of the Pass, the little detachment had closed onthe head of column, the advance guard, Barclay's leading section, ridingon and dispersing itself under his instructions, while Brooks held theother sections until Winn's men were all closed up, bringing with themthe little squads that had scouted towards the short cut of the SanSaba and had found no living soul in sight, yet had followed freshhoof-tracks coming their way for miles. Whoever they were, the scouts ofthe gang were well ahead; whoever he was, "Friday" by this time knew thetroops were coming. Then, with the flankers scouring the slopes well outto right and left wherever possible, Brooks's main body too had enteredthe winding defile and was lost in the bowels of the earth.
At eleven o'clock a watcher, gazing back into the broad shallowdepression in which lay Crockett's, and then northward to the low-lyinghills along the trail to Worth, could have seen no gleam of light far ornear that would speak of human habitation or life or movement, no sign,in fact, of life of any kind; yet no sooner was the last shadowy form ofhorse and trooper swallowed up in the black gloom of the defile, nosooner had the last faint click of iron-shod hoofs died away in thehidden distance, than there slowly rose from behind the shelter of aclump of rocks, far out to the right of the trail, a crouching figurethat went almost on all-fours to the edge of the rivulet, slunk awaydown the bank, dodging swiftly, softly, from boulder to boulder, untilit disappeared around a little shoulder of bluff five hundred yardsaway, was lost to view a moment, then reissued into the moonlight, thistime in saddle, swinging, cowboy fashion, a _riata_ about its head as itrode. Spinning up the slopes and out of the stream-bed, away it went,careering up the billowy rise to the south, and was presently lost toview a second time behind some castellated rocks along the crest. Threeminutes more, and these began to glow along their eastward face with thelight of some unseen fire that flared for perhaps a minute somewhereabout the hidden base of the group, and then, far away to the southeast,far out among the buttes and knolls in the heart of the range, there wasa sudden flash of brilliant light, just as though some one had touchedoff in front of a reflector a pound or so of rifle powder. The hills forone second were lighted up, then as suddenly relapsed into gloom. Theblaze at the ledge so close at hand was promptly doused, and the nightrolled on, calm, placid, and unbroken.
When the first streak of dawn crept into the orient sky, Barclay'sshadowy scouts were issuing from the San Saba on the farther side andhalting for the coming of the main body. Neither those who led theadvance nor those out on either flank, where flankers were at allpossible, had seen a sign of outlaw, cowboy, even of human being,outside their own array. Not only had the Friday gang vanished from theneighborhood of the Pass, but, what was most mysterious, not a sign hadappeared of paymaster or escort, who were due at Crockett's early thisvery morning. Brooks, picking out the lightest rider in his wearycolumn, sent him on the liveliest horse to warn Pennywise and hisescort, provided he could find him at the San Saba camp, of what hadtaken place, notify him that they would here await his coming, andmeantime ordered dismount, unsaddle, and graze, and in two minutes everycharger was divested of his load, and many of them were kicking androlling on the turf.
Twenty-four hours had the command been in saddle, except for therequired halts and a long two hours during the dead of night, whenleading their wearied steeds or crouching beside them at rest, whileBarclay and his scouts explored the overhanging heights and listenedeagerly for sound of coming troopers from the eastward. But for thewaning moon there would have been hours of total darkness. Ninety miles,all told, had they travelled, and now, wearied though they were, nineout of ten of the men were chafing with wrath that the wily gang hadmanaged to escape them. Whither were they gone, and where on earth wasthe paymaster, were the questions. Certainly not through the Pass, forthere
were no fresh hoof-prints. Could it be that, balked in their planto overwhelm the escort by this coming of at least an equal force, thegang had turned back angered and thrown themselves on Cramer's crippledparty with the view of getting away with the horses, arms, andequipments? Certainly none of Cramer's people had made their way by thegame trails over the range to join them, but there was reason for that:Lawrence had never succeeded in reaching Cramer.
Sad, wearied, and depressed, Major Brooks seated himself on asaddle-blanket to take counsel with his officers, now reduced tothree,--Barclay, Winn, and the doctor. He missed Mullane, stanch oldfighter that he was, for Mullane knew most of the country thoroughly,and had been posted for months at the Rio San Saba, now only some twentymiles to the east. He sorely missed Lawrence, for on him he had oftenleaned. He was beginning to take vast comfort in Barclay, to be sure,but now Barclay, Winn, the doctor, men and horses, the entire command,in fact, had come to a stand-still. There was no use in going farthereast; there the country was comparatively open and rolling, and the gangwould hardly dare attack forty troopers on the wide prairie. Besides,the nearest water in that direction was twenty miles away; the littlerivulet rising in the heart of the hills was ten miles behind them, andalready horses were thirsting and men emptying their canteens. Blanklythe major stared up into Barclay's drawn and almost haggard face. "Canyou think of anything we ought to do?" he asked, and, in asking, Brookswas a far better soldier than the man who, having exhausted his ownresources, thought it _infra dig._ to invite suggestions from hisjuniors.
"Just one, sir. Sergeant McHugh tells me he once came out here huntingwith Captain Mullane, and that they took a light spring wagon right overthe range southeast of Crockett's, the way Cramer went. It is a muchlonger way round, but a more open way. The trail must lie some eight orten miles off here to the south, or west of south. Could it be that thegang only started from the place of Cramer's ambuscade as though to goto the Pass and then veered around again and covered that trail, and forsome reason have been expecting the paymaster that way after all?"
Worn and weary as he was, Brooks staggered to his feet at once, his facegoing paler still. "By heaven, Barclay, if that's possible, they've haduninterrupted hours in which to deal with Pennywise already! It ispossible," he added, with misery in the emphasis of his tone. "Iremember having heard of that trail, but never thought it practicablefor an ambulance. Then there is work before us yet. Call SergeantMcHugh," he cried. The word was passed among the wearied groups, where,squatting or lying, the men had thrown themselves upon the ground, andpresently, rubbing his red eyes, a stocky little Irish sergeant cametrudging up to his commander and silently touched the visor of his wornold cap.
"Can you guide us by the shortest route from here to the trail you spokeof to Captain Barclay?" asked the major.
Mac turned and gazed away southwestward along the line of the San Sabahills.
"I don't think we could miss it, sir, if we followed the foot-hills."
"Then we must try it," said Brooks, decidedly, half turning to thesilent officers as he spoke. "Let the horses graze ten minutes more andget all the dew and grass they can, then we'll push for it."
And so, just before five, hungry, weary, and weak,--some of the men atleast,--the little squadron clambered into saddle and once more movedaway. No need to leave any one to say which way they'd gone; the trailshowed all that. Silently they headed for the broad valley of the Bravo,miles away to the invisible west. Once across a little rise in the_falda_, Brooks struck the slow trot he had learned long years beforefrom the beloved major of his old regiment, and doggedly the column tookit up and followed. Not a mile had they gone when the sun came peeringup over the heights far in their wake; for a few minutes the dew flashedand sparkled on the turf before it died beneath that fiery breath, andstill no man spoke. Sound sleep by night, a cold plunge at dawn, and thehot tin of soldier coffee send the morning tongues of a column _enroute_ "wagging like sheep's tails," say the troopers, but it takes aforced all-night march, following an all-day ride, followed by a morningstart without either cold plunge or hot coffee, to stamp a column withthe silence of a Quaker meeting. Let no man think, however, the fight isout of its heart, unless he is suffering for a scrimmage on any terms.Men wake up with a snap at sound of the first shot; dull eyes flash inanswer to the bugle challenge, and worn and wearied troopers "take abrace" that means mischief to the foe at the first note that tells oftrouble ahead. Just two miles out there came the test to Brooks's men,and there was none so poor as to be found wanting.
Two miles out, and the column woke up at the cry, "Yon comes a courier!"and coming he was, "hell to split," said Sergeant McHugh, from afar offover the rolling prairie to the southwest. Five minutes brought himwithin hail,--a corporal from the camp on the Rio San Saba, on foaminghorse, who came tugging at both reins, sputtering and plunging, up tothe head of column, and blurted out his news. "I thought you was theescort, sir,--the paymaster's escort. They left camp at nine last night,and at two this morning Corporal Murphy got back, shot, and said theywere corralled in the hills on the old trail. The captain is comingalong with twenty men, and sent me ahead. They must be ten miles fromhere yet, sir."
"The paymaster, or the captain?" asked Brooks, his heart beating hard,but his face imperturbable.
"Both, sir, I reckon; one one way and the other the other."
Then Brooks signalled over his shoulder. "We've got to gallop, Barclay.It's neck or nothing now." And some horses even then were drooping atthe trot.
Six o'clock now. Six miles from the eastward mouth of the Pass, andspurs were plying here and there throughout the column, for many foundtheir horses lagging sorely. Barclay on his splendid blooded bay was farout to the front, the corporal courier with him, for theirs were theonly mounts that could stand another forcing of the pace. Rearward,three or four horses, exhausted, were being gathered up by a burlysergeant, and with their weary riders led slowly along the trail.Six-fifteen:--Barclay and his corporal were but dots along the _falda_now, and moving swiftly. Then at a higher point, in plain view, one dotbegan circling to the left at speed. Every man knew what that meant, andthe signal was answered by another spurt. The sun was telling at last.The dew had dried, but along the turf there was but little dust to rise,and Brooks could keep most of his men together. Far off to the left, alleyes could see now the sign that told that rival rescuers were gaining.The little squad from the San Saba camp came spurring along the beatentrail, betrayed by the cloud of dust that rose above them. YoungConnolly, the guidon-bearer of Barclay's troop, unfurled his color andset it flapping in the rising breeze in trooper challenge; and down thecolumn set and haggard faces lighted up with the gleam of soldier joy.It was to be a race,--a race to the rescue. Six-thirty, and over a lowridge went Brooks and Winn, close followed by their orderlies; far away,midway up the opposite slope, stretched a slender, twisting, traversingseam,--the winding trail to Crockett's. The black dots in the lead werenow three in number, darting towards two others, black dots, too, somefour miles away and to the right front, right in among the hills. "Keepit up, lads! the quicker to water and rest!" are the major's words now,and spurs set home again, despite equine grunts in protest. Six-forty,and the dots in front are blacker and bigger and popping about, three ofthem, at least, in lively motion, checking suddenly, then darting to andfro, and the cry bursts from the leader's lips, "By God, they're at it!Now, lads, for all you're worth, come on!" Six-forty-five, and, roundinga projecting spur, a shoulder from the range, Brooks, Winn, and thedoctor burst in view of a scene that banishes the last thought ofweariness. Barely a mile or so away, a rocky ledge lies beyond andparallel with the trail. Its jagged crest is spitting smoke and fire.Its smoother slopes, towards the east, are dotted in places by thebodies of dead or dying horses, and in places, too, by other, smallerforms, apparently stiff and motionless. Off the trail, as though draggedthere by affrighted and agonized animals, lies an overturned ambulance,its six draught-mules outstretched upon the turf about it; so, too, areother quadr
upeds, troop-horses evidently. Well back of the ruined wagon,some trusty soul has rallied the remaining troop-horses, while most oftheir riders, sprawled upon the turf or behind improvised rifle-pits,stick manfully to their duty. "Friday's" ambuscade, in the still hoursof the night, has cost the government heavily in horses, men, and mules,but old Pennywise's precious safe is guarded still, and every rush theoutlaws make to get it is met by relentless fire. Six-fifty, and,leaving on the field six outlawed forms that will never fight again, thebaffled relics of the Fridays are scurrying away into the fastnesses ofthe range before the labored rush and sputtering fire of Brooks's men,and Galahad, with his corporal comrade, far in the lead, gets the lastcompliments of the departing gang. Another gallant horse goes down, andGalahad's for the time goes free, his rider falling fainting fromexhaustion and loss of blood.
