Tonio-Son of the Sierras

by King, Charles

  "I don't know what you mean," began Willett, shifting uneasily.

  "You do know what I mean! You've only to go back to your graduating June, when you were spooning day and night over a society flirt there at the hotel—a married woman at that—and your mantel-shelf was stacked high with unopened, unanswered letters from the poor girl you were engaged to. You were, Willett, in sight of God and man, so don't deny it! And she was telegraphing to me in pity to say was Harold sick—or what. She broke with you, of course, after you broke her heart. And you've been at that sort of thing ever since, unless the Division of the Pacific is a nest of liars—oh, bosh! I don't count Case, though it's like enough he told the truth. But now, Willett, you're here! and—what have we to expect at Almy?"

  "Damn my past all you like, Harris. No man's more ashamed of it than I, but don't damn my future!" And now Willett was on his feet, his eyes snapping, his face aflame. "I was never so earnest in my life. [Small comfort that! thought Harris.] I never knew before what it was to be utterly in earnest. Stop it! Why, man, where have I—or you—ever known a girl like her? Stop it! Oh, here, Hefty, I can't talk as I feel. You must see how different this is—how much this means to me! The man doesn't deserve to live that—that could be untrue to a girl like that?"

  "That's—sound enough," said poor Hefty. "But how long will you hold to it?"

  "So long as I live, Harris," was the solemn, the surprising answer. "God knows I mean it," and Willett held forth his hand.

  And Willett believed he meant it—firmly, solemnly believed he meant it, and his handsome face was never handsomer, never more eloquent of love, repentance, determination to do a man's manful part in furtherance of his devotion than at this moment when, in the dimly lighted, scantily furnished, low-ceilinged little room, these two men of different mould, these classmates of the nation's soldier school, stood and looked into each other's eyes, and slowly Harris began to stretch forth his left hand, then, stopping suddenly, slipped the right forearm from its broad white sling, steadied the elbow with his left, and slowly turned the thin, feeble fingers to meet the warm clasp of that before him.

  "It's one of 'Tonio's tricks," said he. "Mano recto, mano cierto. Stick to that, Willett, and, by God, I'll stand by you in spite of everything I've ever thought or heard. Steady!"

  Somebody was at the door. Harris saw and checked the effusive thanks on Willett's lips.

  "What's that about 'Tonio?" said a ringing voice, as a "blouse" and buttons followed the blue sleeve into the field of vision, and the adjutant came slowly in. "Queer! D'you know I was thinking of him that very minute. Signal fire out south-east! Some Indians want to talk and afraid to come in. Turner's gone out with a squad to sample 'em. Willett, how soon are you coming over? The general's got the despatches ready."

  "Right away, if you like! What's it now?"

  "Ten twenty," said Strong, with a squint at his watch. "There's no hurry. He's writing personals now, and Bentley's just up from the store. There's news in of some kind from McDowell way, and Muñoz and Sanchez have jumped the game and quit. You'll probably have 'Patchie guides after all, Willett. Going down to the store after awhile?"

  "For a moment, perhaps, after I've said good-night at the general's," answered Willett, anxious now to end the business and be away. But in came Bentley.

  "Get back to the office, Strong," said he; "the general wants you; Turner's in and says there's no one near the fire, no one to answer. All they found was this. The general thought you might understand it, Harris. It lay on a rock by the fire."

  He held forth a single feather, gray and white, tied with a bit of pink tape to a scrap of cardboard, torn from some cartridge case and folded over. Within, roughly traced in paint, were two figures—a 3 and a 2.

  "It means, 'Tonio," said Harris simply, "and he wants to talk. What has happened that he should be afraid to come in—here?"

  Willett heard and knew and would have stayed, but the doctor for once looked embarrassed, and Strong signalled Willet to come with him. "I'll be back presently, Hefty," said Willett significantly, and vanished.

  Even then Bentley faltered. "I'll let the general answer that," said he. "How can 'Tonio be summoned in?"

  "Only as I did, at the Peak, and on honor that he may go," was the answer. "Unless—I can go out to him."

  "You can't—to-night, anyhow! Is there no one else he'll meet who can understand him?"

  "Only one American—Case."

  "Humph!" was the answer, with a shrug and a keen, inquiring look in the doctor's eyes. "I've shown it to Case, and he says 'Tonio has only one object in life now, in or out of the post, and that is to square accounts with Willett, who was ass enough to strike him. This from Case, mind you, who, I believe, hates Willett himself. I've just got him stowed away for the night. Had to take him out of earshot of the store and put him in limbo at Craney's shack, where he can't hear what's going on. I gave him a dose that would flatten out St. Vitus himself. There'll be no budging Case this night unless—but that isn't likely."

  "Then I need to go and see the general," said Harris.

  "Then the general will come to see you—here. My word for it," said Bentley, and went his way.

  It was then nearly eleven. Five minutes later Willett, with relieved heart and elastic step, was hastening back to the general's quarters where sweet, yet tearful, welcome awaited him. An hour later he stepped forth into the starlight, turning to kiss his hand and wave silent good-night to a slender, shadowy form at the doorway, under the shelter of the gallery. Something in its pathetic droop and distress called him once again to her side, and with fond, clasping arms he drew the sobbing girl to his heart and pressed kiss after kiss upon the upturned, tear-wet little face. "Try to sleep, my darling!" he murmured. "Mother will wake you at four, and we'll have a moment before I go!"

  "Mother won't have to wake me!" she cried, clinging to him the while. "Oh, Harold, if you only had not—to meet 'Tonio again!"

  "No fear of 'Tonio, sweetheart," he answered. "Now, go I must!" And so, with her kiss upon his lips, he left her to be led by loving mother hands to her little white room, and to her humble prayers, and the love-guarded pillow, where, lying wide-awake, still an hour later, she heard the shot and stifled scream that called a garrison to arms.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  The early game at Craney's had languished that evening. It was too near pay-day—the wrong way—for money to be burning in soldier's pockets, and when the soldier has none the garrison hanger-on has no one to look to. The couriers from the field column, being comfortably filled and fairly well tired, meandered off with their martial chums at tattoo. The few ranchers and packers hovered about the monte table awhile, hopeful, perhaps, of a clash between Dago and Muñoz, but even this hope was crushed when, just about taps, two belated Mexicans, innocent or reckless of the proximity of signalling Indians across the stream, came mule-bestriding into the glare of the common room sconces and "olà'd," for Sanchez, who hurried out to meet them, heard their excited tale, cashed in his few chips, and took himself and fellows off. "Barkeep" stuck his head through the port-hole to the adjoining sanctum where sat Craney, Watts, and that semi-military official known as the "contract doctor," expectant, possibly, of others coming, and told them of the "greasers'" doings, whereat Case, nervously, irritably pacing the floor, looked up in sudden interest and speedily plunged out into the darkness. Then Bentley had come, just at the time when the few packers and ranch folk were making a noise, and Case had reappeared, looking wilder, if anything, and declaring the greasers must have gone down to the old Sanchez place, Indian or no Indian. Then Bentley had felt his pulse and asked a lot of questions, and led him off into a corner for a little talk, and finally had prevailed on him to try to sleep in the vacant room at the "Shack," as Craney's own log-built cabin was called, and had led him away thither. He had never fairly gotten over the recent spree, said Craney. He would never explain what had induced him that Sunday afternoon to quit his old resort in the willows and go up
to the officers' quarters, but go he had, for "Sudstown" had seen him, and had seen him later slinking back the longest way round to the store, keeping far from everybody, and looking badly shaken up. It was known, somehow, that he had been to the doctor's quarters, and, being half drunk, had got into Lieutenant Harris's room and there had made some noise and been ordered out. Rumor had it that there had been a scene between him and Lieutenant Willett, of which neither would speak, and the doctor had laid his commands on the attendant to know absolutely nothing about it—indeed, there was little he did know, save that there had been a disturbance. It was supposed at the store, and generally in the garrison, that Case had been drinking just enough to make him irresponsible, and in this condition he had ventured up to the post and made an ass of himself just when he was being trumpeted as a lion. Then, instead of having his spree out he had tried to taper, hence the highly nervous condition that had followed, which, instead of getting better, seemed getting worse.

  "I've fixed him," said Bentley, "provided he keeps his word," and then, bidding Craney good-night, had gone to garrison, and found the general perturbed over Turner's report and the story about Muñoz. Together they had gone to the store again, the general and his medicine-man, to have some half-breed interpret the message of the feather, but by this time none was left. Together they had looked in on Case and found him drowsy and indifferent, but both the commander and his faithful ally distinctly heard his half-mumbled words as to 'Tonio's one object in life ere they came away, satisfied that Case would be of no further use for another night and day. Then Bentley had hurried to his other patient with the result we have already noted, and a little later the general went with him for still another visit, to soothe and reassure Harris, for the invalid officer was mad to be up and doing. There was something in the air.

  Later still a stupid three-handed cribbage game was going on when, after eleven o'clock, Willett came briskly in. Strong had about given him up and was going home in spite of an unsettled account in his favor, which Willett had proposed to play off. They were all tired and ready for bed, and were only up because Willett was to leave and should "square things" before leaving the post. The cribbage game stopped at sight of him. Craney went with him to the private desk in the inner office, whence in five minutes out he came, buoyant as before, declined to sit in again, laughingly said he'd take his revenge on the back trip later, called for a night-cap all round, bade everybody in the room a cordial good-night and good-by, and left with Strong at his heels.

  "By gad!" said Craney, "he may not play like a sport, but he pays like one, and a game one," and he locked a roll of treasury notes in his safe. Then he and Watts and the disappointed deputy doctor went off to bed, leaving "barkeep" to close up when the few loungers quit paying for drinks, and only in the common room was there further stir about the store. Arrived at the shack, as Craney declared in the morning, he had taken a candle and gone softly to the back room where he found Case in bed and either dozing or drowsy or drugged—at all events he cared not to speak. His hat, coat and trousers hung on a chair; his shoes were at the foot of the bed, his watch on the table by his side, his money was locked in the trader's safe. Some medicine and a spoon stood by the watch. There was no light in the room save that which Craney carried; the one window was blanketed; sufficient air came through the loopholes, and the window sash was down against the hound pups that would otherwise have had free entrance. Then Craney went to bed and almost immediately to sleep, and heard nothing until after one o'clock, when, with shocking news, men came banging at his double-locked and bolted door.

  Strong was one of the first to stir him, and Strong's face was white, as well it might be. As the sentries began calling midnight he had left Willett at the office, saying he must turn in for a few hours' rest. Willett, seemingly in excellent spirits, had been writing a few pages and addressing envelopes.

  "I'll follow in twenty minutes or so," said he, "for I, too, need a snooze. I'll be up as soon as I've finished a little business." Strong had gone almost immediately to his pillow and to sleep, and was roused by the corporal of the guard who had run in to call him with the news that Lieutenant Willett had been shot dead.

  At the moment of the shooting, so later said the guard, the waning moon, only a dull crescent, was up far enough above the eastward heights to throw a faint gleam over the valley. One of Turner's own men was on post at the south-east corner, and his yell for the corporal, instantly following the distant shot, was so excited and vehement that the infantry non-commissioned officer, who went at a run, was minded to rebuke him for raising such a row over a mere shooting scrape among the Mexican packers. "Packers, your granny!" said Number Six. "It's Lieutenant Willett that's shot, and I know it! He came down out of the office not twenty minutes ago and went straight out south for Craney's shack, and I'm betting he's done for."

  And so indeed it looked when they found him but few minutes later—the whole guard, save the relief on post, coming swift at the run to the corporal's cry, and the garrison turning out, thinking sure it was fire. Three hundred yards or so south and east of the shack they found him lying flat on his face, which seemed forced into the soil, senseless, and for the moment apparently dead. Even when they turned him over and dashed water into his face, and brushed away the sand, there was no sign of life, nor sign of shot wound. Not until the doctor came on the run, urged by breathless messenger, was the tiny bullet-hole found under the left armpit, and such blood as had escaped seemed absorbed by the underwear. Internal hemorrhage was feared as they unfastened his uniform and sought for further wound and found none. Craney bade them carry him to his own room, where there would be better light, and while some of them laid him on Craney's bed and others carefully scouted the surrounding willows for trace of the assassin, and others still went in and stirred up Case, sleeping heavily, stupidly, "like a hog," said an indignant few until told of the doctor's "dope." Then Bentley came and drove all but an attendant or two, and Strong and Craney, from the room, until the general arrived, his own face ashen, to ask what hope was left, got but a dubious headshake in reply, and then sat him down, buried his sorrowing white head in his hands, and began to upbraid himself:

  "It's all my fault—my doing," said he. "I see it all. I said the words that sent him!"

  And then to Bentley and Craney the veteran soldier told his story. He had had difficulty, as Bentley knew, in persuading Harris not to get up—not to attempt to find 'Tonio that night; to wait until day, when the Indian more easily might be reached. It was late when he left Harris, and was surprised to see lights at the office. There, all alone, was Willett, writing, and to Willett Archer told the message of the feather, and of Harris's eagerness to find 'Tonio at once.

  "Harris still holds that 'Tonio is utterly wronged, or at least utterly misunderstood," said he, "and that, Indian as he is, 'Tonio would not revenge himself on you as we supposed. 'Tonio knows he is suspected of the attempt to kill you, and yet wishes to come in and be tried. All he asks is fair play and trial before Crook himself. Then," continued Archer, "I asked Willett in so many words if it were true that he had struck 'Tonio with a gauntlet that night at Bennett's, and he said, reluctantly, it was—that 'Tonio had been insolent, insubordinate, that that was the way he had always dealt with such cases. Perhaps with men like 'Tonio it was all wrong, but he had never met Indians like 'Tonio before. I told him gravely that he had made a serious error, and that he should lose no time in getting word to 'Tonio that he realized this and desired to make amend. Willett said he would do it the very first time they met—that he knew how to bring 'Tonio in and would talk to him, man to man. I told him that it would be well to do this before quitting the valley, on his way out in the morning, perhaps. But, my God!" continued poor Archer, as he glanced at the senseless form over which physician and attendants were still working, "I never dreamed of his going out to-night. He said he should signal for a talk at the moment of starting with his escort, and so, probably, meet 'Tonio near the Peak."

&
nbsp; A solemn little gathering was this at the shack, while up at the quarters two sorrow-stricken women, Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard, were striving to soothe and still poor Lilian, to whom the truth had had to be told. All the officers were up and astir, some of them conferring with their gray-faced commandant at the doorway, others heading the search over among the willows and down the stream. A strange fact had developed. Only one shot had been heard, only one shot hole had been discovered (and the probe indicated that the bullet, having struck a rib, had been deflected downward, where it was not yet located), but while this had produced shock and, possibly, temporary unconsciousness, it was another blow, one with a blunt instrument, probably more than one, upon the back of the head, that resulted in this prolonged stupor. Not once had Willett regained consciousness, nor, said Bentley, was it likely that he would. Bentley feared concussion of the brain.

  Turner, a capital trailer, with some of the best of his men, was working down stream, and all who knew Turner felt that no trace would be bunglingly trampled out. The few pathways along the west bank, through the willows, showed recent tracks on only one, where the Mexicans and half-breeds had scurried away toward the old Sanchez place. Already a strong party had been sent thither in search, but meantime Turner was looking, as he frankly said, "for 'Tonio's tracks about the ford," for within forty paces of the lower ford poor Willett was found, and in the minds of every man and woman who could hold a listener that night no other explanation was either sought or expected. The fact that both shores of the stream were stony above and below the spot—that it would be easy for an Indian to conceal them, would account for it if their footprints were lacking, but lacking they were not. In a dozen places about the ford and down the east bank, in a dozen places around the spot where lay the stricken officer, the earliest comers had seen and marked and protected against obliteration print after print of the moccasins of the Apache-Mohaves—'Tonio's own band. This in itself was wellnigh proof positive, but more was to come.