As it was not necessary to waste any precious time in giving verbal orders, a complete code of signals having been decided upon before they left their horses, George at once threw himself upon his hands and knees, and worked his way along the edge of the bluff until he reached a position directly above the camp, the location of which was pointed out by a little blaze, scarcely larger, apparently, than the flame of a candle. He looked in vain for the sentry, and would have given something handsome if there had been some one at hand to tell him just where he was.
"If he still holds his position on the top of that sandhill, we are all right," said George to himself, "but if he has taken the alarm, we are all wrong. In that case the Indians have done one of two things: they have either made ready to ambush us, or else they have fled, taking their prisoners with them. Well, we shall soon know, for here goes for the fight that none of us may ever come out of alive."
As these thoughts passed through George's mind he seized Bob's waist-belt and gave it two jerks, which meant "Follow me." Then he crept back along the line, and as he passed each trooper he took him by the arm and pulled him around, so that his head pointed toward the camp-fire. This meant a movement by the right flank. After this he and Bob placed themselves in the centre of the line, the men giving way right and left to make room for them, and at a given signal Bob stuck his elbow into the ribs of the trooper to the left of him, while George in a similar manner admonished the one on the right of himself; and the advance began, the guide being centre. We mean by this that the men on Bob's left kept themselves in their proper place in line by touching the shoulder of the man next on their right, while those on George's right hand kept within easy reach of the men next on their left, each member of the line moving no whit slower or faster than the guides in the centre, Bob and George. If they stopped and listened and tried to peer through the bushes in front of them to obtain a view of the camp, the whole line stopped and listened and peered. When the guides advanced the troopers did the same, their movements being conducted without a whisper, and with such extreme caution that scarcely a leaf was heard to rustle. It took them almost an hour to descend the bluff, which was probably not more than a hundred feet in height, but the sight that greeted them when the final halt was made more than repaid them for all their toil. They had crept up within less than a dozen yards of the fire, and the camp and all its inmates were in plain view of them.
Their first care was to find the boys, and the next to ascertain the number and position of their adversaries. The boys were there, lying side by side on a bed of leaves, with their arms thrown around each other, and wrapped in slumber as peaceful, apparently, as ever came to their eyes while they were safe under their father's roof. Every one of the troopers shut his lips tightly at the sight of them, and half a dozen cocked carbines were pointed over their unconscious heads, ready to send to kingdom-come the first thing in the shape of a Kiowa that dared approach them. They were not protected in any way from the night air save by the branches of the trees which waved gently above them, while every one of the four Indians who were lying around them was wrapped up head and ears in a quilt or blanket which he had stolen during the raid.
One sweeping glance was enough to enable Bob and George to take in all these little details, and it is scarcely necessary to say that they were highly elated over the promise of success which the situation seemed to hold out to them. Bob would have been a little better satisfied if he could have seen any way of taking the Indians alive, and so making a "finished job of it," as he afterward told his friend George; but, knowing that this was entirely beyond his power, he was about to give the signal to advance when a most unexpected interruption occurred. They heard the snapping of twigs behind them, accompanied by a slight rustling among the leaves, such as might be made by some heavy body working its way cautiously through the thick undergrowth. The astonished troopers hugged the ground closely, holding their breath in suspense; and in a second more, without a single footstep being audible, the bushes parted and the form of an Indian warrior could be dimly seen through the darkness.
"Beyond a doubt it is the sentry coming in to call his relief," thought Bob. "Now, how am I going to act? Shall I let him go into the camp, or not?"
Without pausing an instant, the Indian, all unconscious of danger, approached the line, and might have passed through it between Bob and Carey without discovering anything to excite his suspicions, had not the former, acting upon the impulse of the moment, made up his mind that he would not go back to his comrades without at least one prisoner to reward him for his long and tiresome scout. Throwing out his arm, he caught the warrior around the legs and lifting him from the ground threw him upon his back. He fell across Carey and Loring, both of whom turned like lightning and seized him, one trying to secure his arms, so that he could not draw a weapon, and the other taking him by the throat. Everything was done quickly, but not quickly enough to shut off the wild yell with which the captive Indian awoke the echoes of the gully. Seeing that all further attempts at concealment were useless, Bob and George jumped to their feet.
"Forward with a cheer!" yelled the former. "Cover the boys, everybody."
This last order was hardly necessary, for each individual member of the squad had secretly resolved to do that very thing, leaving his companions to act as they pleased.
The Indians were wide awake and moving before their unlucky comrade's yell had fairly left his lips. So quickly did they spring to their feet that the troopers might have thought, if they had been allowed time to think at all, that the savages had been merely keeping up an appearance of sleep, so as to be ready to jump from their blankets at the very first note of alarm. So well schooled were they, and so ready to act, and to act quickly and intelligently in any emergency, that they did not hesitate an instant. They did not even look to see from which way the danger that threatened them was coming, but made a simultaneous rush for their captives, intending, no doubt, to carry them away if they could, or to kill them if they found themselves surrounded so that they could not escape. But no Indian's hand touched those boys again that night. Three of them fell dead before they had fairly left their tracks, and the other, taking warning by their fate, dived into the bushes in much the same way that a boy takes a "header" from a log, and got safely off, in spite of the bullets which whistled about his ears and scattered the leaves all over him. The troopers knew that he had got off unhurt, because there was no blood on the trail which George took up the next morning and followed to the place where the Indians had left their horses—a little glade about a quarter of a mile from the camp in which grass was abundant and water easy of access.
George at once made his way to the side of the captives, who were sitting up on their bed of leaves, rubbing their eyes and looking about in a bewildered sort of way, and throwing his arm around them spoke soothing and encouraging words in their ears; while Bob, after ordering one of his men to mend the fire, seized a brand from it and ran back to see what had become of Carey and Loring. The fight was over, and Carey was growling lustily over a wound in his arm which the slippery savage had inflicted upon him, having managed in some mysterious way to gain momentary possession of his knife; but Loring was unharmed and the Indian was insensible. He had been knocked out of time by a vicious whack from the butt of a carbine held in the hands of the enraged Carey. The blow was not, however, as effective as the trooper intended it should be, for it had expended a good deal of its power upon the bushes which happened to be in the way, and instead of sending the Indian out of the world altogether, it had only stunned him. He was powerless now. His hands were securely confined by Loring's carbine-sling, and the latter, having passed the Indian's blanket under his arms and brought the ends together behind his back, was ready to drag his captive into camp.
"I am no slouch—there isn't a boy in the troop, young or old, who can take my measure on the ground—but if this fellow gave us a fair specimen of an Indian's way of rough-and-tumble fighting, I don't want to get hold of any more Indians.—He was a hard one, wasn't he?" said Loring, appealing to his wounded comrade, who grunted out an emphatic assent. "He didn't seem to be so very strong, but he was just a trifle quicker than chain-lightning, and as slippery and wiry as—as—Why, an eel isn't nowhere alongside of him."
"I wish I had whacked him over the head before he gave me this prod," said Carey, shaking his fist at the unconscious object of his wrath. "It's my sword-arm too, and I'll just bet that the doctor won't let me go on another scout for a month."
With Bob's aid the Indian was dragged into camp, and thrown down there as if he had been a sack of corn. The fire was burning brightly (an Indian builds a small fire and gets close to it, while a white man builds a big one and backs away from it), the bodies of the slain warriors had been dragged into the bushes out of sight, and their weapons, saddles and bridles, which the troopers intended to carry back to the fort with them as trophies of their prowess, had been collected and deposited in a safe place.
George had been devoting himself to the boys, who did not seem to be at all afraid, and were by no means so excited as he was. Their astonishing courage called forth the unbounded admiration of the troopers, and the pert answers they gave to the questions that were asked them made them smile.
"Say, Bob, if you want to see what Texas boys are made of, come here," said George. "The older one answers to the name of Sheldon, and the little fellow is Tommy. Sheldon says that if his brother had been a little older and stronger the Indians never would have taken them to their village, for they would have killed them and made their escape."
"Humph!" grunted Carey, whose wound seemed to put him in very bad humor.
"What makes you say that?" demanded Bob, turning upon him somewhat sharply. "Don't you know that such things have been done before now?"
"By boys?" asked Carey.
"Yes, by boys," replied Bob.
"No, I don't know it," said the wounded trooper.
"It's a matter of history, any way," said George. "Two brothers, John and Henry Johnson, aged respectively thirteen and eleven years of age, were captured by two Delaware Indians on Short Creek, West Virginia, in October, 1788. That very night they killed their captors by shooting one and tomahawking the other."
"Did they get away?" asked Sheldon eagerly.
"Yes, sir, they got away. Now, I want to ask you a few questions—and, Bob, I want you to pay attention to his replies.—Where have you been to get so much mud on your boots?"
"Why, back there in the plains we came to a little bayou, and the banks of it was all muddy; and the Injins they pulled us off the ponies and made us walk into all that there mud, and then they laughed at us because we didn't like it," answered the boy; and his ludicrous display of rage over the indignity that had been put upon himself and his brother made the troopers smile again.
"Go on," said George. "What did you do next?"
"Well, they took us out of the mud after a while, the Injins did, and then one of 'em he took us on a pony and rode off by himself until he found this party; and we've been with them ever since."
"What did I tell you?" exclaimed George, hitting Bob a back-handed slap on the chest. "What do you think of my guessing now?"
"I think you are pretty good at it," answered Bob. "And seeing you are, I wish you would try your hand in a new line. Suppose you take a couple of men with you, and all our canteens and coffee-pots, and guess your way down the bluff to the stream, and bring us back a supply of water? We'll have a good fire going by the time you return, and then we'll boil a cup of coffee."
"I'll do it," said George readily.
"And while you are guessing, guess at the probable movements of that Indian who got away," continued Bob. "Will he be likely to trouble us to-night?"
"He will not," was the confident reply. "Our party is too large. He will make the best of his way home, you may depend upon it."
While George and the two troopers whom Bob detailed to accompany him were gone after the water, those who remained in camp were not idle. One bound up Carey's wounded arm, another brought in a bountiful supply of fire-wood, others stood guard, and one assisted the corporal in collecting a quantity of leaves and light branches, and went out with him to signal to the four men who had been left behind with the horses. They readily found the hill which had served as a lookout-station for the warrior who was now a captive in their hands; and they knew it when they found it, for there was the pile of bushes through which he had looked while watching the trail, and the print of his body in the sand. A fire was speedily lighted on the summit, and kept burning brightly to guide the absent troopers to the captured camp. That little beacon shining through the darkness must have been a welcome sight to their eyes, for it told of the complete success of their companions and of the rest and water that were to be found where they were.
When George returned to the camp after nearly half an hour's absence he found the fire blazing cheerily, and the two rescued boys, who seemed almost exhausted by their long journey, sleeping soundly beside it, covered by a quilt which some kind-hearted trooper had thrown over their shoulders. The troopers were laughing heartily but silently at Carey and Loring, who seemed to bear their merriment with very bad grace.
"What's the matter now?" inquired George as he distributed the canteens among them and placed the coffee-pots beside the fire.
"Come here and see for yourself," replied Loring, taking George by the arm and leading him to the place where the captive Indian lay, all the troopers following at his heels.
"Me good Injun," grunted the prisoner, who seemed to have recovered his senses.
"So I perceive," replied George. "Good Indians steal stock and carry off white boys, don't they?—But I don't see anything about him to laugh at."
"Why, he's nothing but a kid," exclaimed Phillips, "and yet Carey and Loring are both willing to confess that it was all they could do to handle him. They told us a wonderful story about the terrible fight they had before they could tie him, and so we took a look at him, expecting to find him a giant; but instead of that—Well, you can see that he's only a papoose."
George looked down at the boyish face and slender figure of the young warrior, then at the two grizzly old veterans who had fought so hard to capture him, and felt more than half inclined to laugh himself. Either one of them could have strangled him with a finger and a thumb if he could have got hold of him; but getting a good hold was the trouble. An Indian makes up in suppleness and activity what he lacks in strength, and it takes a good man to handle one. Of course the troopers were sorry for their wounded comrade, but they had "got a joke" on him, and it was a long time before he heard the last of it.
The men who had been left to take care of the horses arrived in about an hour, and then George had another disagreeable task to perform, which was to pilot the animals down to the water and find a feeding-ground for them. Being entirely unacquainted with the gully and surrounding country, it took him a long time to do this; but he accomplished it at last, in spite of the darkness, and about one o'clock in the morning he was at liberty to go to his blanket.
The troopers slept later than usual the next morning, for they were all tired out; but Bob's loud call of "Catch up!" brought them to their feet before the sun had risen high enough to send any of his rays into the camp. As there was a good deal to be done and but little time to do it in, four details were made, and certain duties assigned to each. The first, which consisted solely of Loring, was ordered to dish up a cup of coffee in a little less than no time; George and Phillips were instructed to follow up the trail of the missing Indian and see where it led to; Bob and a companion bent their steps toward the sandhill to ascertain the whereabouts of the main body of the expedition; and the others brought in the horses and gave them the grain that was left in the saddle-pockets.
Before ascending the hill Bob and his companion gathered each an armful of dry grass and weeds. These were deposited upon the highest part of the hill and lighted by a match which Bob struck on his coat-sleeve. As soon as the blaze was fairly started, but before the whole pile was ignited, Bob smothered it by throwing on more grass and weeds; and when this was done a column of smoke that could be seen at the distance of fifty miles began to rise in the air.
"Now let me see," said Bob, pulling out the paper which Captain Clinton had copied from his note-book when he started him on the trail. "I want to say, 'Where are you, captain?' and how shall I say it?"
He ran his eye down the page and finally found these instructions:
"A detached party desiring to ascertain the position of the main body will signal as follows: A long smoke of a minute's duration; three short smokes, followed by half a minute's interval; two short smokes, with half a minute's interval; one short smoke, followed immediately by a long one. If the signal is observed, the reply will be the same. If no reply is received in five minutes, repeat from some other and, if possible, higher point, and so continue until an answering signal is seen."
As the reader may not quite understand this, we will tell just how Bob made the signal. He allowed the column of smoke to ascend just one minute by his watch, then took a blanket from his shoulder and with a quick movement threw it over the smoldering pile, holding two of the corners tight to the ground, while his companion held the opposite corners. This, of course, confined the smoke so that no more arose. At the end of half a minute he raised the blanket three times in quick succession, and three balloon-shaped clouds floated off over the sandhills. Waiting half a minute, he lifted the blanket twice, and two more little clouds arose. At the end of another half a minute he permitted a single cloud to escape, and then threw the blanket off altogether; whereupon a long, slender column, like the one that arose when the fire was first started, shot up into the air. Then Bob seated himself on the ground and waited rather anxiously for a reply; but he was not obliged to wait long. Before the five minutes had elapsed an answering smoke was seen; and though it was a long distance off, the atmosphere was so clear, and the white clouds showed so plainly against the blue sky, that the signal could be plainly read. It was the same as the one Bob had just sent up, and so he knew that it was intended for him.
This mode of signalling, which is usually called "telegraphing by smokes," is in general use among the Plains Indians, and it was from them that our army-officers serving on the border caught the idea. Of course they have a system of their own, which is very different from that of the Indians. The latter cannot read an army-signal, and neither can the officers, with all their striving and scheming, gain a key that will enable them to read the Indian code. It is as much of a mystery as the manner in which a chief conducts a drill of his warriors or controls them in battle without appearing to hold any communication with them. Both these secrets are closely guarded, the Indians considering that it would be "bad medicine" to reveal them to the white man.
"Did you see the exact spot from which that smoke arose?" Bob asked of his companion.
"Yes," answered the trooper.
"Then fix it in your mind, so that you can point it out to George Ackerman. Now that our work is done we will go back to camp."
Breakfast was soon despatched, and in less than half an hour the squad was again on the move, three of the troopers, in order to accommodate the rescued boys and the Indian captive, being obliged to "carry double." Their route lay along the edge of the bluff, within easy reach of water, only three halts being made—one for dinner, and two for the purpose of sending up signals to Captain Clinton. As his replies, which were promptly made, came from the same place, Bob became satisfied that the captain was waiting for him. Of course this caused much speculation among the troopers. Had the captain given up the pursuit, or had he overtaken and scattered the thieves and recovered Mr. Wentworth's stock? Bob was inclined to hold to the latter opinion.
"The captain is a hard man to get away from when he once makes up his mind for business," said he; "and I just know that he's got those cattle, or the most of them. If he has, Mr. Wentworth is all right, for we have got his boys. If your theory is correct—and I begin to believe it is, for everything else has turned out just as you said little end of the horn, won't he?"
"Some officer almost always has to do that," answered George. "But the lieutenant will have some honor reflected upon him, if he doesn't win any for himself, for it was a portion of his own troop, commanded by one of his own non-commissioned officers, who rescued the boys."
About two hours before sunset the troopers began to call one another's attention to the fact that the sandhills, among which they had been marching all day long, were growing less in number and height, and to congratulate themselves on drawing near to their journey's end. An hour later they came to the last hill, and as they were riding by it a sentry who had been stationed there presented himself to their view.
"Hallo, Buel!" exclaimed Bob, recognizing in the sentry one of his own company boys, "you'll let us in, won't you?"
"Well, I am beat!" replied the man. "Corporal, you're a brick. Three cheers for the 'Brindles'!"
He stood in the "position of a soldier," with his carbine at a "carry," and spoke in a low tone, for he knew that there were officers with field-glasses not far away, and that he had no business to exchange compliments with anybody after this fashion while he was on post. But when he saw the captive Indian and Mr. Wentworth's boys he could not restrain himself.
"Bob, the boys ought to give you a benefit," he added.
"We've got something to show for this scout, even if we are 'Brindles,' haven't we?" said the corporal, holding himself very stiffly in his saddle and looking straight before him, so as not to 'give the sentry away.' "Have you beaten us any?"
"Not by a great sight."
"What have you done, anyway?"
"We've got the most of the stock back, but nary red. Where's Lieutenant Earle?"
"Haven't seen him," answered Bob.
"We haven't seen him either, nor have we heard from him since that courier arrived."
The troopers now found themselves on the border of a wide plain, whose opposite side was bounded by a long line of willows, which fringed the banks of a water-course. On the edge of the willows were gathered the members of the main body, who, having been apprised by their sentinels of the approach of Bob and his party, had assembled to see them come in. Bob began to grow excited at once. He and his men had performed no ordinary exploit, and so impatient was he to have his success known to his comrades that he could not wait until he reached the camp to tell his story.
"You fellows who carry double, ride out there and square yourselves around, so that they can see that we have not returned empty-handed," commanded Bob, who forthwith proceeded to execute his own order by placing the three men who "carried double" one behind the other, broadside to the camp, so that the officers with their field-glasses could observe that each horse had two riders on his back. "I declare I feel like one of those old Roman conquerors—on a small scale; but in order to carry out the role I ought to make one end of a lariat fast to that Indian's neck and drag him into the camp, oughtn't I? That's the way the Romans used to do with their captives, only they chained them to their chariot-wheels. There you are!—Swing your caps, you kids, and holler, to let your father know you are here."
The boys obeyed with alacrity, swinging their caps around their heads and laughing and shouting by turns, while the two soldiers behind whom they rode raised their own caps on the muzzles of their carbines and joined in with a wild soldier yell. George Ackerman kept watch of the camp through his glass to note the movements of its inmates and make reports of the manner in which this demonstration was received by them.
"There's the captain," said he. "He is coming out in front of the men, in company with some of the officers. Now they are all looking at us through their glasses. Now the captain has taken down his glass and is saying something. Here they come!"
It was evident that the captain had reported the result of his observations, for as George uttered these last words and lowered his glass the men broke into a run and dashed across the plain, raising their charging-yell as they came.
"You fellows who carry double, take the post of honor," commanded Bob; "ride at the head of the squad.—Say, boys," he added, facing about in his saddle and speaking to the men behind him, "look out for Wentworth. There was a look in his eye the last time I saw him that I didn't at all like, and when he finds out that we have captured one of the Indians, he may—"
"There he comes now!" exclaimed one of the troopers.
Bob looked toward the camp, and saw that his man had not been mistaken. Behind the troopers, who were still running forward to meet their returning comrades, but rapidly overhauling them with every jump of his horse, was the father of the rescued boys. He rode without saddle, bridle or hat, his long hair was streaming straight out behind him, he carried in his hand the rifle with which he had done such deadly work while he was defending his home, and he was constantly digging his heels into the sides of his horse, as if he were trying to make him go faster. The man could have but one object in view: that was Bob's opinion, and it must have been Captain Clinton's opinion too, judging by his actions. The latter had raised both hands to his face and stood with his head thrown back, as if he were shouting out some orders; but if he gave any they were drowned in the lusty cheers of the approaching troopers, who ran as if they were engaged in a foot-race.
"That man certainly means mischief," said George.
"I am sure of it," replied the corporal. "But I should act in just the same way if I were in his place. I'd put an end to that Indian in spite of all the soldiers that ever wore the 'honored blue;' but that, I know, would be very wrong, for this red imp is one of the government wards, and nobody must presume to lay an ugly hand on him."
"What would be done with Mr. Wentworth if he should shoot your prisoner?" asked George.
"'What would be done with him?'" repeated Bob, bitterly. "Why, he would be put in arrest before he could say 'Jerusalem!' and the agent of the Kiowas would insist on his being tried for murder, notwithstanding the fact that this same Indian was one of the party that burned Mr. Wentworth's house and carried his children into captivity. Why, George, unless you are posted you have no idea—But I will tell you a short story by and by. Just now I must attend to our friend Mr. Wentworth. Stand by me, for I believe I shall need a helping hand before I get through with him."
While this conversation was going on Bob had kept a watchful eye upon the movements of Mr. Wentworth, who had by this time passed the troopers and was guiding his horse so as to come up on the left flank of Bob's squad. As soon as the latter became satisfied that this was the man's intention, he rode out of the line and placed himself beside the captive Indian, who was riding on Loring's horse and was by no means an uninterested spectator of what passed before him. He too was keeping his gaze directed toward Mr. Wentworth, whom he doubtless recognized.
"White man very angry—heap mad—as mad, in fact, as a wet hen," said Bob, trying to imitate an Indian's way of talking, but making a sad mess of it in his excitement. "He's mad at you for carrying his boys off, and he's going to shoot you dead—heap dead—as dead as a door-nail; and he'll serve you just right, too."
"I hope he won't miss the red and hit me," said Loring.
"You needn't be afraid of that, for these Texans are all good shots," answered Bob; adding in a lower tone, "I'll just tell you what's a fact, Loring: I wouldn't interfere with him if I could help it."
The young savage understood what Bob said, but not a muscle of his face changed. If he had been an old warrior, he would probably have begun his death-chant; but having performed no deeds of which he could boast, he remained silent and calmly awaited the fate that would have been inevitable had it not been for George Ackerman's skill in horsemanship.
The animal on which Mr. Wentworth was mounted was evidently accustomed to being ridden without a bridle, for his master guided him with the greatest ease. When he had almost reached the squad he suddenly swerved from his course, in obedience to a signal conveyed to him by a quick movement of his rider's body, and galloping swiftly around the head of the line stopped short on the other flank. By this unexpected change of tactics the enraged father had gained a position on the unguarded side of the prisoner, and if he had acted as soon as his horse came to a standstill he would have accomplished his purpose in spite of everything; but he could not resist the temptation to talk for just a moment, and that moment's delay defeated him. Cocking his rifle with great deliberation, he said fiercely,
"You have eaten salt in my house, you have slept by my fire, you have drunk from my spring when you were thirsty, you Indian dog, and now—"
When the man had gone thus far rage choked his utterance, and he could not say another word. He drew his rifle to his shoulder, but the muzzle, instead of covering the head of the Indian, covered the person of George Ackerman, who was coming toward him with all the speed his horse could put forth.
The boy had sprung into life and activity the instant he witnessed Mr. Wentworth's cunning manoeuvre, for he knew what it meant. Giving a pull at his left rein, at the same time touching his horse lightly with the spurs, the animal wheeled like a flash on his hind feet, and, dashing through the line behind Bob Owens (some of the troopers afterward declared that he jumped clear over Bob's horse), brought his rider to the right side of the Indian just in time to intercept the deadly aim. In another second George had seized the rifle with both hands, and a terrific struggle began between him and Mr. Wentworth for the possession of the weapon. In less time than it takes to tell it the man, having no stirrups to support him, was jerked off his horse, and before he could recover himself and plant his feet firmly on the ground the rifle was twisted out of his grasp, and the bullet contained in the chamber was sent whistling harmlessly off over the sandhills.
"No more of that!" exclaimed Bob, who rode up just half a minute too late to be of any assistance. "Keep quiet now, or you'll go back to camp with a guard over you."
"Mr. Wentworth," said George, bending down from his saddle and laying his hand upon the angry man's shoulder, "your good sense must tell you that the corporal can't stand peaceably by and see his prisoner shot. What are you thinking of?"
"Give me that gun," panted Mr. Wentworth, who was white to the lips and trembling in every limb. "I'll—I'll—"
"You'll do nothing but behave yourself," interrupted Bob. "You can't have that rifle again until Captain Clinton says so, for you don't know how to act when you have it in your hands; you point it around too loose and reckless. Haven't you something besides revenge to think of now? Can't you see that we have brought your boys back to you safe and sound?"
The man's face softened at once. Tears came to his eyes, and darting quickly around Bob's horse he ran up to his children, and, pulling them both to the ground at once, folded them in his arms. But we will not say any more about that meeting, will we? The joy of a family reunited under circumstances like these is something too sacred to be intruded upon even by a sympathizing pen, isn't it? Even the troopers, some of whom had witnessed many an affecting scene, could not stand it, but turned away their heads and drew their hands hastily across their eyes, as if to brush away something that seemed to be obscuring their vision. One of them caught Mr. Wentworth's horse, and after the latter had mounted and taken his boys up with him, one in front and the other behind, the squad continued its march toward the camp.
When Bob came to look in front of him, he found that the appearance of things had changed somewhat. The comrades who had started out to meet him were no longer advancing in a compact body. They had halted and drawn themselves up in two parallel lines, facing each other, and leaving room enough between them for Bob and his squad to pass through.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the delighted corporal. "The boys have got up a reception for us, and we must meet it in good shape.—Attention, squad! Draw sabres!—Loring, ride on ahead with Mr. Wentworth.—George, come up on my right."
When these orders were issued the men promptly fell into line, conversation ceased on the instant, tobacco was knocked out of pipes that had but just been filled, carbines were adjusted in soldier-fashion, caps that had been worn with the peak behind were turned right side in front, and twelve bright blades leaped from their scabbards. In this order the successful troopers rode by their comrades, who cheered them loudly, and then fell in behind and followed them into camp, marching in column of fours. Bob at once rode up to Captain Clinton's fire, and dismounted to make his report, which he did in this way:
"I have the honor, sir, to report that we surprised five Indians in camp last night, captured one, killed three and released Mr. Wentworth's boys."
"Good for you, corporal!" exclaimed the captain, his astonishment getting the better of him for the moment. "Anybody hurt on your side?"
"One wounded, sir. Private Carey received a knife-thrust in the right arm while assisting Private Loring to capture the Indian."
"Very good," said the captain, resuming his official tones and dignity at the same time. "Stake out your horses, and then come back here. I want to hear all the particulars. What was the cause of that disturbance out there on the plain?"
"I was the cause of it, cap, you bet," exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, whose face did not look much as it did when he galloped out to meet Bob and his squad. Then it was disturbed with passion; now it was beaming with joy. "I'd ha' sent that Injin to the happy land o' Canaan in a little less than the shake of a buck's tail if Ackerman hadn't stopped me, you bet."
"It was a good thing for you that he did stop you," said the captain quietly. "You would have brought yourself into serious trouble by such a proceeding."
"I know that," said Mr. Wentworth, "but who cares for trouble when his dander's up? Say, cap, may I have my rifle? Ackerman took it away from me."
"You may have it on condition that you will make no more attempts on the life of this prisoner," replied the captain. "There is a law to deal with such fellows as he is."
"Where in the world is it, I'd like to know?" exclaimed Mr. Wentworth fiercely. "It hasn't got out here to Texas yet. If I had shot him, as I meant to do, you would have had a guard over me in no time; but he came with a band of his friends and set fire to my house, and carried off my little boys, and killed my herdsmen, and drove off my stock; and you, knowing it all, stand here, with your hundred and twenty blue-coats, and tell me that I must not touch him. Your colonel will give him up when his agent makes a demand for him, and he'll go back to his reservation, and the government will feed him on good food and give him good clothes, and some rascally trader will sell him more powder and balls to kill white folks with; but if I—Dog-gone my buttons!—Ackerman, give me that rifle."
It was plain that Mr. Wentworth's "dander" was still "up"—'way up. The listening troopers exchanged glances of approval with one another, and would have cheered him if they had dared. Being a civilian, the man was at liberty to talk pretty much as he pleased; but if one of their own number had made such an exhibition of temper in the presence of an officer, he would have been punished for it.
"We will not discuss that matter," said the captain calmly. "I know my business and attend to it strictly, leaving the agents to look out for their own affairs. They are not responsible to me, or to you either, for the manner in which they do the work entrusted to them."
"All right, cap," said Mr. Wentworth, picking up one of his boys and then lowering him carefully to the ground. "Mum is the word, if you say so. But I haven't heard you tell Ackerman to give me that rifle yet."
"Neither have I heard you make that promise," was the reply.
"Well, I'll make it, but I tell you I hate to, mightily."
The captain smiled, and nodded to George, who rode up and handed over the Winchester.
"She's a good one, cap, and when she speaks she means business—she does," said Mr. Wentworth, holding the recovered weapon off at arm's length and gazing at it with admiring eyes. "She is sure death on Kiowas, for she knows I have got something ag'inst them. She rubbed out ten of 'em during the last fight she was in, and she'll spoil the good looks of many more of them before I hand her over to my oldest boy for good.—Put her on your shoulder, Sheldon, and come on."
Lifting his youngest child in his arms, Mr. Wentworth walked away, Sheldon marching proudly by his side with the rifle on his shoulder, and the horse following quietly at his heels. Then Bob and George rode away with the squad, the troopers gradually dispersed, and the captain and his officers went back to the blankets on which they had been dozing away the time while waiting for Corporal Owens.
If it had not been for the fact that he had nearly a thousand head of recaptured stock on his hands, the captain would have set out for the fort at once; but it is almost impossible to drive Texas cattle during the night, for they are about half wild, anyway, and as easily stampeded as a herd of buffaloes. Under favorable circumstances two men who understand their business can take care of a herd of five hundred of them; but this stock which the captain had just recovered from the Indians had grown so unmanageable during the short time they had been in the possession of the raiders, who had pushed them ahead night and day at their greatest speed, that it took thirty well-mounted troopers to keep them within bounds. If they became quieted down during the night, the captain intended to set out for the fort with the main body of his men early the next morning, leaving a few of his troopers to assist Mr. Wentworth to drive the cattle in.
"I say, corporal," exclaimed Carey as Bob led his squad away, "where does Wentworth hang out? What mess does he grub with?"
"I don't know," answered Bob. "I saw him going toward the other end of the camp."
"Now, such work as that won't do," continued Carey. "He'll go up there among those high-toned Grays or Blacks, and they will honey around those boys of his and make much of them, and cut us Brindles completely out of their good graces. They belong to us, and they ought to stay with us; don't you say so?"
Bob replied that he did say so.
"Can't we bring them into our mess?" asked Carey.
"You can try. I'll take care of your horse if you want to make the attempt."
Carey at once dismounted, and started back toward the upper end of the camp, and Bob rode on to find the place where his troop had staked out their horses. While he is looking for it we will explain what the words "Grays," "Blacks" and "Brindles," as used by Private Carey, meant.
One of the first things to be done in a new regiment of cavalry, or in an old one that has just been remounted, is to "color the horses." We mean by this that the animals are divided into lots according to their color, the blacks being placed in one lot, the grays in another, the whites in another, and so on. After these divisions are made there are always some "off" horses, such as roans and browns, which are put into a lot by themselves and called the "brindles." The ranking captain then makes his choice of the colors. For the sake of illustration, we will suppose that he prefers to have his company mounted on black horses. He first takes the finest animal in the lot for his own use, his first lieutenant comes next, the second lieutenant next, the first sergeant next, and so on down through all the sergeants and corporals, each one selecting according to his rank. Then those of the privates who have proved themselves to be the best soldiers are called up one by one, and after they have made their selections the shirks and grumblers, like Bristow and Gus Robbins, have to take those that are left.
The captain who is second in command makes the next choice of colors, and his horses are distributed in the same way. The whites are generally chosen next to the last, not because they are not as good or as handsome as the others, but for the reason that it is harder work for the men to keep them clean, and in action they present conspicuous marks for the rifles of the enemy. "The brindles," the horses of all colors and of no color at all to speak of, are the only ones left, and the lowest company commander must take them because he has no choice. He does not like them, and neither do his men, because the troop that is doomed to ride them cannot make so fine appearance on dress-parade as the others do, and for the reason that the Brindles are the butt of all the jokes that old soldiers can play upon one another. When we have said that we have said a good deal, for if there is any mischief that a lot of veterans will not think of when they have a leisure hour on their hands, we don't know what it is.
When the horses were "colored" at Fort Lamoine the brindles fell to the lot of Lieutenant Earle, as he was the lowest company commander, all the others being captains. This was the troop to which Bob Owens belonged, and, in common with its other members, he had suffered from the practical jokes that had been played upon him by the more fortunate troopers. But of late these jokes were not as frequent as they had formerly been, for the "Brindles" had proved themselves to be the best of soldiers. When their achievements were taken into consideration they led every troop in the garrison. They had gallantly borne their part in every duty they were called on to perform, their non-commissioned officers had invariably been successful when sent out in pursuit of deserters, and now one of them had done something for which the members of his regiment were glad to honor him in the way we have described. During the rest of Bob's life at Fort Lamoine but little was said about the despised Brindles; but if any trooper did forget himself and make disparaging remarks concerning them or their "ringed, streaked and striped" horses, some listening Brindle would promptly interrupt him with—
"Look here, Bub, we didn't enlist to show ourselves off on dress-parade. When you Blacks" (or Grays or Chestnuts, as the case might be, the offending trooper being designated by the color of the horses on which his company was mounted) "have followed an Indian trail across the Staked Plains, and been burned up by an August sun, and had your mouths and throats filled so full of sand that you couldn't tell the truth for a whole month, and have surprised a party of hostiles in their camp, and rescued two prisoners alive and unharmed,—when you have done all that, you can talk; until then hold your yawp. That feat has never been accomplished but once in the Department of Texas, and then it was accomplished by our boys, the Brindles of the ——th Cavalry."
Bob and his men were proud of that exploit, and, what was more, they did not mean to be robbed of any of the honor they had won. That was one reason why they wanted to bring Mr. Wentworth and his boys into their mess. They supposed they were going back to the fort with Captain Clinton's command, and they wanted to carry those boys through the gate themselves. But, as it happened, the captain had decided upon something else, and by that decision had unconsciously given Bob's lucky squad of Brindles an opportunity to add to their laurels. We shall see what use they made of it.