Lieutenant Decker pressed his ear against the side of the rock and listened, hoping that his enemy would betray himself by coming in contact with the solid substance, but he was too cunning. He knew better than to act in that amateurish fashion.
It was the result of guesswork, rather than of reason, that the young man came to the belief that the warrior would steal around three-fourths of the boulder and come upon him from the rear. Accordingly he faced that way, revolver in hand, and ready for the emergency when it presented itself.
Reaching the corner, Decker paused, but with the uncomfortable feeling that, after all, he had committed a blunder and the Apache, divining his reasoning, would make his next essay from the front; but, since the whole business, for a time at least, must be conducted upon conjecture, he grimly held his ground.
During these critical moments, he did not forget the peril from above. He continually held his ear against the rock, believing that if the buck attempted to steal upon him from that direction, he must inevitably betray himself by sound, which passes readily through a solid substance, and, hearing nothing of the kind, he concluded the essay was not yet made.
Now, nothing was clearer than that so long as matters remained thus, the peril was not only unchanged but impended as before. Who was to make the first advance, as may be said, into the enemy’s territory?
The lieutenant might have been more patient, but for several contingencies which threatened to complicate the situation. Freeman was still at the spring; and although the understanding was that he was to remain there until signaled to come, it was probable that he would accept the long silence of his companion as proof that everything was right, and seek to rejoin him. Could he but know how matters stood, he would give the very help needed, but, not knowing it, was likely to run into a peril which would prove fatal to himself before his young friend could warn him or interfere in his behalf.
The other contingency was that the Apache might have one companion or more in the vicinity who would come to his assistance. Such a reinforcement would decide the singular contest at once and against the young man. The lesson of all this was that matters must be forced to an issue with the least possible delay.
The natural course of action for one in the officer’s situation was to peer gradually round the edge of the rock to ascertain where his enemy was, but no man, after second thought, would attempt anything of that nature, for, it will be seen, that it was only taking the place of the hat on the end of the gun barrel. The watchful Apache was certain to detect the insidious advance, and, before the eyes came into view, would send a bullet through the brain of the daring white man.
Accordingly Lieutenant Decker adopted the opposite course. He darted his head forward, gaining one glance along the end of the rock, and withdrawing again, before the most alert enemy could fire. It was the right course under the circumstances and proved effectual.
The moonlight struck that portion of the boulder with full effect, there being not even a ribbon of shadow, and, in full view was the Apache, advancing on hands and knees, his hideous face half-hidden by the strands of black hair which dangled about his shoulders and in front of his chest and features.
Could Decker have known this a moment before, he would have discharged his revolver at the instant of catching his glance, but to have known it was to possess a knowledge that was impossible.
The puzzling question with him was whether the warrior had seen him. He must be depending more on his sense of hearing than on sight, and it would seem that there was reason to believe he had not caught that shadowy thrusting forward and withdrawal of the head. If such were not the fact, he must be unaware of the exact location of the white man, who had only to repeat the maneuver, accompanying it by an instant discharge of his revolver.
But, suppose he had observed the shadowy movement—ay, there was the rub.
If he had failed to see it, he would continue his advance, and continuing it, must disclose some part of himself at the corner of the boulder. Accordingly, the lieutenant partly straightened up, sitting on his heels, weapon grasped, and eyes and ears wide open.
But the minutes passed and nothing was developed. It was impossible to decide what had been done or what should be the next step. Since, however, the former strategy had brought him knowledge and no harm, Decker now repeated it, holding his weapon, so that if the Apache were in his old position he could reach him with a bullet.
It was like a man darting his head through a trap door, and with one instant, all-embracing sweep of his vision, dropping out of sight before any observer could do more than recognize him.
The result was disappointing. The side of the rock was bare. The buck had discovered his peril and withdrawn. Where was he?
The lieutenant glanced behind him with a nervous start, half expecting to see the miscreant in the act of firing, but for the moment he was invisible, though somewhere close at hand.
Since the Apache was too cautious to be caught off his guard by this system of maneuvering, Lieutenant Decker asked himself what other method could be adopted. There must be a change in the order of proceedings, or he himself would be discomfited.
“I’ll do it!” he muttered, compressing his lips.
No part of the rock was more than five feet in height, so that if a man stood upright beside it, his hat would show from any point. The stone was so rough that it was as easy to climb as a flight of stairs. The lieutenant’s decision was to adopt the system of attack which he had held in so much dread from the first.
Sensible of the necessity of instant action and the great peril attending the recourse, he kept his revolver in his right hand, as he grasped the upper edge of the boulder, placed one foot upon an obstruction, and silently raised his head above the crest of the rock, intending to draw himself upon it.
His head and shoulders had just moved upward, when with a grasp he let go and dropped out of sight.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed, “was there ever anything like it?”
Never did two enemies seem to follow so closely the same line of thought. It looked as if the Apache and the white man’s brains were working in unison. Thus it came about that at the very moment Lieutenant Decker raised himself over one side of the rock to the top, the Apache did the same thing at a point opposite. Both were climbing to the coign of advantage at the same moment. Either could have let fly with his pistol (for the Apache had one), but instead of doing so he made all haste to drop down, so as to interpose the boulder as an armor in front. Thus was another remarkable example given of a unity of thought.
Everything thus far done by one was duplicated by the other, and the two were once more crouching behind the rock, each debating with himself how best to end a situation, which, to say the least, was extraordinary in more than one respect.
Lieutenant Decker now resorted to a daring proceeding that was characteristic of the man. It has been said that boulders were all around him. Less than a rod to his right was another, perhaps half the size of the one he had been about to climb. Hesitating hardly a moment, he took several rapid steps, crouching low, and whisked behind the new shelter. Had the Apache suspected anything of the kind, he would have possessed a fatal advantage, for what better target can a man ask than a fleeing foe only a few yards away? But he could not know it, unless he happened to be peering around the rock at the critical moment, and he was not doing anything of that nature.
A creepy feeling came over the officer, during the moment he was gliding across the open space, such as a man feels who expects to hear the report of a weapon and feel the sting of a bullet. He flung himself behind the new shield with a feeling of inexpressible relief.
“By George!” he exclaimed, as he looked cautiously out; “I forgot my rifle!”
Sure enough, there it stood in plain sight, leaning against the big boulder, within easy reach of his enemy, should he attempt to seize it.
“But he can’t do it without giving me a chance to wing him,” muttered the officer, fully resolved to avert the catastrophe.
The one comforting fact about the situation was that the white man had improved matters and gained an unquestionable advantage. The Apache could not know of the change, and any attempt to locate his foe, without knowing he had left the immediate vicinity of the larger boulder, would expose the warrior to the shot that was awaiting him.
The new position of Decker gave him a view not only of the side where he had been crouching, but of the upper end, just as a person can see two sides of an oblong box from a certain point of view—a fact which it was not to be supposed was known to the warrior, who was, therefore, in danger of exposing himself to a shot from an unexpected quarter. Better still, he could not climb the rock without also showing himself and offering the fairest kind of a target.
All this tended to make the lieutenant much more comfortable, though the feeling would have been more marked could he have laid hand on the rifle.
“I wouldn’t be uneasy if sure he’s the only buck near, but if a second appears, and my gun is left there, they will have me foul—I’ll do it!”
All depended upon quickness and silence. In the same crouching posture, he darted across the intervening space, and was back again in a twinkling, with his gun in hand. The success of his reckless act thrilled him with pleasure.
“I haven’t been in this Apache country long,” he reflected, “but I think I have learned something. If that fellow gets the better of me, he’s smarter than I believe.”
But it was unwisdom to count on safety when peril impended. He was confronted by one of the most fearful of enemies, a member of a tribe whose exploits in cunning approach the marvelous. The most fatal thing the officer could do was to underestimate his enemy.
A dismal, disquieting question forced itself upon him: if he had effected so radical a change of base what was to prevent the Apache doing the same thing? What warrant had the white man for believing a scheme of that nature would present itself to him and not to the dusky marauder? What was to hinder his adopting the artifice?
The thought was like a wet blanket to Decker, who instead of keeping “eyes to the front,” began glancing to the right and left and behind him in quest of an insidious approach from that direction.
Nothing was seen, but the element lacking to make his situation intolerable came the next moment with the unmistakable noise—faint, but loud enough to him in his tense, nervous state to be heard plainly—made by a body gliding over the ground. Hardly had the conviction formed that it was his old enemy stealing a march upon him, when he saw his mistake. An immense rattlesnake, in its nocturnal wanderings, had been disturbed by his intrusion, and retreating a few feet, as if to gain a better point of view, threw itself into coil, reared its head and gave its warning rattle.
It was nigh enough to reach the startled man with its venomous fangs, but before it could deliver its blow, he leaped beyond reach and leveled his revolver. There was sufficient moonlight and the distance was so slight that he could have shattered its head at the first fire, but, when about to press the trigger, he restrained himself.
The shot would betray his presence to the Apache, and not only put him on his guard, but give him the chance to serve the white man as the serpent had been treated.
“This is a lovely situation,” muttered the lieutenant; “I like one about as well as the other, but I don’t intend to let you have your own sweet way.”
The latter was addressed to the rattler, a bite from which was fatal, but it could inflict no harm except by a closer approach. If it attempted to come nearer for the purpose of striking, the officer would blow its head off. He kept his eye on it. But the crotalus species is cowardly, and the serpent, finding itself not likely to be attacked, came out of its coil and glided off among the boulders and was seen no more.
“Now,” said Lieutenant Decker, as the horrible serpent glided from sight in the gloom, “if you’ll pass round the end of that big rock over yonder and give that Apache your attention, I’ll forgive you for the way you scared me.”
As nearly as he could judge, the rattler was heading in the direction named, and the officer listened, hoping to hear favorable results, but the silence was unbroken, and, if the reptile passed near the warrior, there was no collision between them.
One of the uncomfortable facts connected with these fearsome pests is that when you come upon one in the desert or wilderness, you are likely to meet another or perhaps several of them. The species attain enormous size in New Mexico and Arizona, and a sting from one of them, though slower in its results than the bite of the cobra, is about as fatal. No man can contemplate the probability of coming upon a rattler unawares in the night without a shudder. While it was not likely that the reptile, seeing the crouching man, would attack him, yet such things have occurred and the lieutenant never allowed himself to forget the fact.
His chief concern, however, was with the “two-legged rattler” who, as matters stood, was tenfold more dangerous than the creeping one. Neither of the men had gained a shot at the other, but both were hopeful of doing so.
“It must be that in some way he has learned of my change of base. I can’t understand how he got the knowledge, but if he thought I was still sneaking along the side of that boulder he would not content himself by waiting for me to come into range——”
Fortunate was it for Lieutenant Decker that he had made the change described, for, with the same unity of thought that was marvelous, the Apache had resorted to a similar artifice. Instead of confining himself to the big boulder, he had stolen back among the smaller ones, and wormed his way forward and around until he secured a position some twenty feet distant, which allowed him to scan the two sides of the boulder that had been under the eye of the white man for the last fifteen or twenty minutes.
What prevented the perfect success of the Apache, however, was the fact that he did not suspect his stratagem had been anticipated. He expected to find his enemy crouching along one of the sides of the boulder, waiting for the buck to reveal himself through some unguarded movement.
Failing to discover him at the first scrutiny, the Apache silently rose to a half-standing posture, and, with his head thrust forward, peered here and there in search of the man whom he was eager to shoot on sight.
In this position his side was toward the officer, who laid down his revolver and brought his Winchester to the front, carefully sighting at the miscreant, who was not only hungry for his life, but had doubtless dyed his hands in the blood of many an innocent person. No one could have been more cautious than Lieutenant Decker, and yet, when he came to adjust his aim, he made the exasperating discovery that no Apache was in sight. He had vanished like the shadow of a passing cloud. It was hard to say what had caused his disappearance. It may have been due to the slight noise made by the white man in preparing to shoot, or his failure to discern him where he thought he was, may have told the startling truth with that lightning-like quickness which marks the trained warrior, and caused him to drop out of view and withdraw from the post of danger with the same celerity that had brought him to it.
Be that as it may, he was gone, and the problem seemed to revert to its status at the beginning. The two enemies were still maneuvering against each other, with no apparent advantage to either. The lieutenant, however, fancied he had a trifle the better of it, for the Apache did not know where to look for him, while he had a general knowledge of the other’s location.
Now followed fifteen or twenty minutes of the most trying nature. During the interval, the lieutenant neither saw nor heard anything that could give him the slightest clue to the other’s whereabouts or his line of procedure. When the ignorance had continued that long, he began to suspect the warrior had left the place. He might have become convinced that it was too risky to attempt to outwit the white man, or he may have suspected he had a companion in the neighborhood, who was likely to appear at any moment and turn the scales against him.
This was a comforting theory, but the officer was too wise to trust his safety to it. It would have been in accord with the subtlety of the Apache to contribute to the delusion. The strained situation, however, could not last forever. Mendez was expected to arrive ere long, and he would be certain to bring a change. If the warrior was as shrewd as he appeared to be, he would find that instead of one man to contend against, he had two and possibly more.
This reasoning became so convincing at the end of fifteen minutes more that the lieutenant acted upon it. Withdrawing still further from the big boulder, he picked his way among the smaller ones until near the spot where he had seen the Apache rise to view and then drop out of sight again. He certainly was gone, but might be not far off. The lieutenant resumed his cautious circling of the huge boulder until he had passed entirely around it and come back to his starting point. This took considerable time and was accomplished with the utmost skill and care, but he neither saw nor heard anything of his enemy.
“He has vamosed the ranch, of a certainty,” was the gratifying conclusion of Decker, who felt a greater degree of security than had been his since the discovery of his peril. “At any rate, I’ll signal to Freeman.”
And he emitted the low, vibratory whistle, like the call of a nightbird. It could be heard but a short distance away, though capable of being made much louder and more penetrating.
“Freeman will be certain to hear it. He must be wondering at my delay and won’t tarry in coming to me. It may be that the Apache is listening for something of the kind and will read its meaning. If he does he is welcome.”
The officer compressed his lips and held himself ready for any demonstration from the dusky miscreant, who never would have given up his attempt on his life unless compelled to do so by a fear of his own safety. Glancing here, there and everywhere, the officer was prepared to fire the instant the opportunity presented, and was a trifle disappointed that it did not appear.
He had gone through too many perils, brief as was his service in the Southwest, to throw away any opportunity by impatience or carelessness. He repeated the signals several times, at intervals of a few minutes, and watched and listened for the reply from an enemy instead of his friend, but none came.
“The fellow has left, beyond a doubt,” was the decision reached; “he has gone to join his companions and nothing further is to be feared from him. There’s no saying, however, what some of the others may be doing.”
The distance to the spring was short. The lieutenant showed the effects of the heat by lying down on his face and taking another deep draught of the tepid water, after which he donned his hat and looked around in the gloom.
“Since the Apaches must know of this supply, I shouldn’t be surprised, if some of them came here to quench their thirst, which being so, I’ll locate a few paces from it. What the mischief can be the matter with Freeman?” he asked himself, with a feeling of vague uneasiness; “I thought he would be quick to respond to my call, but he hasn’t even answered it.”
It was well that Decker took the precaution of withdrawing from the spring and ensconcing himself among the surrounding boulders, where he could peep forth, and, by the exercise of a little precaution, see without being seen.
He had hardly taken this position when he caught the sound of footsteps and the murmur of voices. In the stillness he plainly heard the words spoken. Their surly, guttural tones, the very few sentences uttered, and the fact that he could not understand a syllable, were proof that the new arrivals were his old enemies, the Apaches. The carelessness displayed by them was proof also that they had no suspicion of the presence of any whites near. When anything of the kind is apprehended, the cunning and caution of those red men cannot be surpassed. It is almost impossible to approach them undetected, and they never indulge in the carelessness shown in this instance.
Just before reaching the spring, they passed over a spot where the moonlight struck them. There were three, dressed and accoutered like the members of the band that had wrought such sad havoc during the past day or two.
They took turns in kneeling down and quaffing from the spring, after which they rose to their feet, and stood grouped together in plain sight of the officer, who was stealthily watching them. One of them appeared to hold his peace, while the others exchanged views upon some matter that interested all.
“The next thing I must do,” thought the listener, “is to take lessons in the beautiful Apache language. I may persuade Geronimo to give me instruction, but, before he did that, he himself ought to have a few lessons in other matters.”
Nothing would have been easier than to shoot one, and perhaps all, from where the lieutenant was hiding. The distance was short, and the wretches deserved no mercy. Had Freeman been with him, it is more than probable that the two would have opened fire upon them with destructive results.
“If they’ll only be obliging enough to stand in a row,” mused the officer, struggling against the temptation, “I would let them have a broadside, but the instant I dropped one the others would be off.”
Prudence demanded that he should leave them undisturbed. The sole purpose of this remarkable expedition was to recover the lost child. To make an attack on the group, without the certainty of annihilating the whole three, would apprise the Apaches of what was on foot and inevitably defeat it. Besides, there was no telling what had become of Freeman. He, too, was likely to become involved, with disastrous consequences to himself. The occasion was unquestionably one for the exercise of self-control.
And Lieutenant Decker exercised it. He held himself motionless, with his trusty Winchester in his ready grasp, and with a strong yearning to try his skill upon the miscreants who knew no such quality as mercy.
The three warriors stood in plain view for fully ten minutes. Then they walked deliberately away, taking the opposite course from that leading to the rock where the two white men had arranged to await the return of Mendez with word of the stolen child of Freeman.
The officer kept his position for several minutes after the disappearance of the trio. There was no probability of their coming back, after quenching their thirst, but he meant to make sure they were beyond hearing before he moved.
He was uneasy over the silence of Freeman, and what he had just witnessed increased his misgivings. If these warriors made this visit, it was not unlikely that others had done the same before them. Coming upon the white man suddenly, nothing was more certain than a fatal collision, and yet it would seem that if anything of the kind had occurred, there must have been a shot, an outcry or some kind of noise which assuredly would have been heard by the lieutenant a short distance away.
But it might have been otherwise. They may have been more guarded than the last, and, stealing up to the spring, discovered the presence of the white man. In that case, they could have crept forward unawares and despatched him without any disturbance that could have been heard twenty feet away.
“I hope this suspense will soon be over. It doesn’t seem to me that there’s much chance of Freeman getting his little fellow back, even with the aid of the matchless Mendez, and now it begins to look as if it had gone ill with him. What a blow to the wife and mother, and yet how many similar ones have been struck in the Southwest!”
The lieutenant now resorted to signaling again, listening with a painful throbbing of the heart for the reply which came not.
“Something is wrong,” was his conclusion; “the poor fellow may have grown impatient with waiting and started off on a hunt of his own. If he has attempted anything of that kind, it is the end of the business so far as he is concerned. I should not have left him alone—Sh!”
At that instant he was thrilled by a peculiar sound. It was not a signal or spoken word, but the low, moaning outcry made by a person in the depth of distress or great suffering.
“It’s Freeman,” whispered the lieutenant; “and some grievous ill has befallen him! He is not far off; what can it mean?”
It will not be denied that a most memorable experience befell Lieutenant James Decker, and yet what shall be said of that which came to Maurice Freeman, whom he left beside the spring, while he went forward to reconnoiter?
After taking his second deep draught of water, he walked aside, as will be remembered, being impelled thereto by the same distrust that led the young officer some time later to hide himself while the three Apaches came forward to quench their thirst.
“I understand his action,” reflected the father; “he distrusts my judgment; he believes I am so upset by my affliction that I would run blindly into danger; but he is mistaken. Heaven knows that I have suffered and am still tortured by anxiety for my little boy, but I know better than to make his peril greater by any recklessness on my part.
“I would be offended if it were any one except Lieutenant Decker, but who can be offended with him?” asked the captain, with a glow of admiring gratitude; “he has risked his life for the sake of little Fulton and will continue to risk it so long as a shadow of hope remains. He is one of the most chivalrous, noble-hearted young men I ever knew, and if he lives will earn his star.”
When fifteen minutes passed without bringing the expected signal from the lieutenant, Freeman wondered whether anything was amiss. Had he thought any danger threatened the young officer, he would have hastened to his aid, without hearing his call; but decided to await something more definite.
With the same suddenness as his young friend, he became aware that he was not alone. Some one was near him and that some one must be an enemy.
The disturbance which brought this knowledge was so exceedingly faint that at first the captain could not decide what point it came from. He did not dare move, therefore, through fear of a misstep; but, grasping his Winchester, he looked and listened with all the acuteness he possessed. The Apache must have been the first to detect the presence of another, for, with all of Freeman’s caution, he was outwitted by the warrior, who appeared so suddenly that he seemed to rise out of the very earth and to be standing erect in front of the astonished captain before he knew where to look for him.
But Freeman was a veteran soldier and was not the man to surrender, so long as he was able to strike a blow for himself. He recoiled a step, so as to secure elbow room, and was in the act of raising his rifle to his shoulder, when the Apache spoke:
“No fire—me friend.”
“Heaven! Mendez, where did you come from?” asked the astounded white man, recognizing the Apache, upon whom it may be said all their hopes rested.
The warrior was standing in the edge of the moonlight where his hard features were in so plain view that Freeman wondered why he failed to identify him the instant he presented himself.
“’Pache here—soon come,” explained Mendez; “we go ’way, where don’t come.”
This precaution was so sensible that Freeman willingly followed him a few steps further, to a spot where they were not likely to be seen by any one approaching the spring. When they halted it was beside one of those boulders, so numerous in that section that it may be said they were never out of sight. The Apache kept his feet, as did his companion.
The heart of Maurice Freeman was throbbing painfully, for instinctively he felt that this singular visit had something to do with his child. He and Lieutenant Decker supposed the friendly Apache was at a considerable distance, intent on his task of rescuing the little one, and now, much sooner than was anticipated, he had come back, almost to his starting point, and the boy was not with him.
“But he brings news—he brings news and my heart tells me it is bad news,” thought the stricken parent, striving manfully to quell all signs of his great sorrow.
What intensified his anguish was the evident fact that something was the matter with Mendez. While walking in front of the captain, he made several missteps. Once he stumbled, lurching far to one side, and violently recovering himself. Then he straightened up and moved with a firm step, as if he had regained his self-control.
“He has managed in some way to get hold of his favorite drink,” was the despairing thought of Freeman; “he is a fine one to attempt to get my boy out of the hands of a band of his countrymen!”
If anything was needed to confirm this belief it was the manner of Mendez. It has been shown that he was morose by nature, but now his tongue was loosened in a way that Freeman had never known before. He did not stop his walk until he had gone more than a hundred yards from the spring. Then he stopped abruptly, wheeled about and said:
“Cap’n Freem’n brave man—heap big warrior!”
“No, Mendez, I am no braver than you, nor as good a warrior in fighting your people, for I know less of them than you; but tell me, do you bring any news of my boy, who was stolen by some of your people?”
Instead of replying, the Apache devoted a minute or two to regaining mastery of himself. He managed to fix his black eyes on the white man, with something of his old defiant expression, when meeting the gaze of an enemy. By the exercise of his iron will, he succeeded in keeping his poise, but he could not drive out the fumes of the horrible tiswin from his brain. They loosened his tongue and gave an odd twist to his ideas.
“’Pache got boy,” said he; “Mendez see ’im.”
“I know that as well as you, for I too saw him in their hands. Is that all the news you bring me?”
“Mendez can’t git ’im.”
“Why not? Have they put him to death?”
The Apache shook his head, without speaking.
“I thought Mendez was a great warrior,” said Freeman, hoping to taunt him into an effort that he seemed reluctant or unable to make; “they told me he could do anything; that he could get my child for me; that he would earn the reward I will give him——”
“Mendez want no reward—he take no money!” interrupted the Apache, fiercely thumping his breast.
“Then has he become a squaw? Is he no longer the great warrior that he used to be? Has he become old and weak?”
“Mendez not old—Mendez not weak! He great warrior!”
Any reflection upon the courage or skill of the friendly Apache roused his resentment, which was the reason why Freeman pressed him.
“Where is your greatness? You come and tell me that you cannot get my boy away from your people, and yet it is not long ago that you set out to do so. You did not say then you could not take him from them, for you were the brave Mendez that the white people praise and that is not afraid of any one, whether he be white man or red man. Now you are afraid.”
“Mendez not ’fraid! white man lie!” the warrior thundered as he laid his hand on his knife.
“I am not afraid of you, Mendez, but you have been too good a friend of the white people for any of them to wish to harm you. But I repeat your own words. Shall I tell you what is the matter with you?”
“No matter wi’ Mendez! He brave—he strong—he fight.”
“There is much the matter with you; you have been drinking tiswin; you are not yourself; but for the tiswin you would be the true, brave, noble Mendez.”
This charge being true, intensified the anger of the Apache. He again placed his hand on his knife and drew it partly forth. His scowling face, never attractive at its best, was working with rage. He seemed to be gathering himself to leap upon the man who dared to speak these words to him. Believing he was about to do so, Freeman quietly braced himself for the struggle. He disliked to come to violence with one that had done so much for the settlers and the army, but the exasperation of the captain can be understood. At the moment when his hopes were at the highest, and when he was certain that the scout was putting forth his best efforts, he came staggering back to his friends maudlin, helpless, worthless, good for nothing.
The belief was strong with the parent that if this opportunity was allowed to pass, it would not come again. More than one peculiar circumstance favored the cunning and ability of the scout, the combination being of that nature that a repetition was not in the natural order of things.
The weakness of Mendez for the vicious drink was well known, and no person could be better aware of its palsying effects than Mendez himself. It was to be expected that he would indulge in it when not on duty and the chance offered, but when engaged on an enterprise in which his highest skill was needed, there was no palliation for his dissipation. He must have drunk deliberately, and the father, distressed by fears for his child, could find no excuse for him. His anger was natural.
But, if the Apache meditated an attack on the white man, he changed his mind for the moment. He drew his hand from his knife.
“Say Mendez weak?—say he squaw?” he mumbled.
Freeman saw an appeal in these questions. It was as if the fellow had become sensible of his condition and craved indulgence rather than censure.
“The real Mendez is a brave warrior, but, if he is afraid of the Apaches, he is not Mendez; if he wishes to show to his white brother that he is still brave let him go the Apaches and bring back the boy they hold a prisoner; then Mendez will be cunning, he will be brave, he will be a great warrior.”
The fellow straightened up with a majestic dignity that could not fail to command respect. He had thrown off the spell of the horrible stuff, as a Roman warrior might fling off his cloak to give his limbs freer play.
“Mendez is brave: he is a great warrior; he is greater than Geronimo or Cochise; he is not afraid of them; he will bring back the child to his white brother; let his white brother wait here and soon his heart shall be made glad; he shall sing with joy like the birds in the trees. Mendez will soon return; let my brother have patience.”
Maurice Freeman was amazed. He had never heard the surly fellow speak the English tongue with such fluency and eloquence. It was a revelation. He appeared to be another person. He towered in height and was the picture of the great Tecumseh himself, addressing an array of chieftains and urging them to battle.
Before the white man could frame a suitable reply, Mendez turned and strode off, his step that of a conqueror. Captain Freeman gazed in silent wonderment at the figure until it vanished in the gloom and he was left alone.
The only explanation that Freeman could find for this extraordinary occurrence was that when Mendez came to him, though he was so under the influence of tiswin, he was conscious of his unfitness for the task he had undertaken. Prompted by a strange self-accusation, proving that conscience burns in the breast of every being, he had come to make confession. Then he was so stung by the reproofs of the white man that he was roused out of his sodden condition. He had really thrown off the effects of the poison. In other words he was sober, and the Mendez of old.
With his self-restoration came his natural courage and confidence in his own prowess. He felt able to do what he had planned, and set out to do it. He would show Captain Freeman, not by words but by acts, that he was the invincible Mendez, as the white man had described him to the Apache himself.
All this was well, but it could not remove the shuddering dread from the heart of the father that the fatal blunder had already been made. The Apache’s relapse had allowed the golden chance to slip beyond repairing or recovery.
Freeman felt the need of Lieutenant Decker’s presence and counsel, but he could not go to him, for the signal agreed upon had not been sounded, and besides, the instructions of Mendez were that the father should wait where he was until his dusky friend returned. He was obliged, therefore, to content himself as best he might.
How long would he be gone? Would it be one hour, two hours, until daylight, or, if he gave way to his weakness again, would he ever return?
Had not the hostiles learned what he was trying to do? Had they not plied him with the atrocious stuff on purpose that he should make an exhibition of himself?
These and similar questionings were rioting in the brain of Maurice Freeman, when he perceived that Mendez was with him again. He appeared with the same strange suddenness as before, but alas! he was alone.
“Where is my boy?” asked the agonized father.
“The heart of Mendez is heavy, for he brings evil tidings; the pappoose of his white brother is—dead.”
As Mendez pronounced the dreadful words, the father, overcome by his emotions, uttered a groan and sank to the earth. As if pitying his grief, and feeling that it was idle to say anything more, the Apache turned slowly about and walked away, leaving the white man alone with his grief.
And then some one touched Freeman on the shoulder, shook him and he—awoke.
It was all a dream. He had sat down with his back against the boulder to await the signal from Lieutenant Decker, and, hearing it not, had sunk into a restless sleep, and now opened his eyes under the vigorous stirring of his young friend.
“Come,” said the officer in a guarded voice, “a sentinel must not sleep on his post. I heard you moan and thought you had been hurt.”
It is impossible to throw off on the instant the effects of a vivid dream. It will linger for a time in our thoughts, even though strong sense tells us the whole thing is absurd. Captain Freeman during his days of campaigning had learned to fall asleep and to awaken quickly. He saw almost on the instant the true situation and greeted his friend cordially and cautiously.
“This was a piece of thoughtlessness on my part; but, lieutenant, I have gone through a frightful dream: it makes me shudder even now.”
“I thought something of the kind was under way, for I was guided to this spot by a moan that was like that of a dying person. It was only a little while ago that three Apaches came down to the spring or rivulet, as you may call it, to drink. They stood for some minutes talking. Had you groaned in your sleep or breathed heavily, your slumber would have turned to that which knows no waking.”
“I have been fortunate, but perhaps it is well that I slept, and yet I am sorry, for its remembrance is terrible.”
“You have no faith in dreams, captain, I am sure?”
“None the less they impress us, no matter how we ridicule them.”
“But come! that must have been a lively one; let me hear about it.”
Seated under the shadow of the huge boulder, where they knew no danger threatened, the two talked freely, though each took care that their voices did not penetrate far from the spot. Freeman gave the particulars of his dream, and it was plain that despite his rugged nature it had made a deep impression on him.
“Lieutenant, do you suppose there is anything in it?” he asked at the conclusion of the singular story. The young man respected the sorrow of the elder too sincerely to make light of what he said, though he himself felt not the slightest faith in the warnings and visions which it is claimed sometimes come to people in slumber.
“Nothing at all; your feelings have been so wrought up with anxiety that it would be still stranger if you had not dreamed of your boy. How could it be otherwise when there is nothing else in your thoughts?”
“But it was so realistic that it clings by me.”
“As a matter of course; your brain was surcharged and overflowed with the same string of ideas, and did not cease its throbbings when the rest of the body was asleep. They say we never dream of anything which has not previously been in our thoughts, but that is an error, for I know I have had fancies in sleep which had never been in my head during waking hours.”
“I have always held the same views as you, and yet we cannot deny, lieutenant, that there have been many verifications of dreams. To dispute it would be to make out some of the best of men and women to be falsifiers.”
“In their cases, I think, a good deal was due to imagination, but you are not of that build. A physician would explain your ugly dream on the plainest of physiological principles, so literally there’s nothing in it.”
“You know how fond Mendez is of tiswin.”
“That feature alone proves the character of your vision. The fellow shares with his people the weakness for that extract of hades, but when he is engaged on business like this you could not induce him to swallow a drop, if you held it under his nose. That phase of your dream, therefore, condemns it all.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so,” remarked Freeman with a sigh; “you know more about him than I do, and could hardly mistake on that point.”
“Rather curiously it is only a few days ago that some of us were talking about that very peculiarity. One of the men who had scouted for months with him and Cemuri said that both had a certain conscientiousness or rather devotion to duty which kept them strictly sober, till their work is done. Then, too,” added the lieutenant, as if resolved to leave no foundation for Freeman’s fears, “there is no way by which Mendez could have got the vile stuff, had he been so disposed.”
“Could he not have gone among the Apaches and drunk with them?”
“He, a White Mountain Apache, whose work for us is well known, venture among the hostiles, when they are on the war path!” exclaimed Decker, turning with astonishment to his companion; “why do not you and I go among them? It would be less sensible for him, since they hate him more than both of us together.”
“Well,” said Freeman, “your words have given me comfort. I have never had any experience in the dreams which serve as warnings.”
“Besides,” added the lieutenant, as the new thought struck him, “my recollection of the old superstition is that dreams go by contraries, so that on that basis your omen is a good one. Let me see—the theory was that every dream was to be translated by the rule of contraries, unless it came to us of a Friday night. Since this is Thursday evening that lets you out.”
“Enough,” said Freeman, now able to rally from his depression; “I care nothing for the dream, and can look at it through your eyes. You have not told me whether you saw or heard anything out of the usual, though there must have been something of the sort, or you forgot to give that call for me to join you.”
“Well,” replied the lieutenant lightly, “I had a little entertainment of my own, and at one time it looked as if matters would become lively.”
Thereupon he gave the incidents which have already been told the reader, and which drove the last remnants of the dream from Freeman’s thoughts.
“It seems to me,” said the captain, “that what you tell me gives good cause for uneasiness.”
“How so?”
“You have met four of the Apaches at least, or rather you saw them. We thought none of them were near. We must be close to the main party.”
“That does not follow; the one with whom I played hide and seek was a sort of wanderer. He had drifted into this section, and, not liking the look of things, has gone.”
“But he learned that you were here—you a white man, and would not be likely to believe you were alone.”
“I do not see why he should not think so, since he himself was alone. He has known of the water here and concluded that I had come from somewhere to get a drink and was on my return, when we came near running against each other. Remember that we did not meet at the rock where we agreed to await the return of Mendez, so he can know nothing of that.”
“But, if he carries the news to camp, will not the Apaches suspect the truth, or perhaps more than the truth? They will think a party of white men are after my child and become doubly cautious.”
“While it is possible you may be right, I place less importance on the incident than you.”
“And the three whom you saw at the spring?”
“Their course proved they had not the slightest suspicion of anything of that nature. Had they believed any of us were near, they would have come and gone without detection, or they would have done worse.”
“Well, I hope it is as you say; I am in that nervous state that I cannot look at matters with the coolness you do.”
“Don’t get the idea that I consider it fair sailing before us. Mendez has a hard job in hand, and, were any one else concerned, I would have little hope; but he understands what he is doing and is following some carefully laid plan of his own. At any rate we shall know before morning.”
The consciousness that the crisis was so near added to the uneasiness of Freeman. He rose to his feet and looked anxiously around in the gloom; but they were so far removed from the little rivulet or spring of water that a dozen men might have come and gone without being seen, had they but exercised ordinary caution.
“Since there is no telling when Mendez may return,” suggested Freeman, “is it not best that we should return to the other rock?”
Lieutenant Decker saw no objection to this course, and he, too, rose to his feet. He stood a moment, debating some question with himself.
“I wonder,” he finally said, “whether any more of them can be in the neighborhood. I am inclined to take another look at the spring. If you will remain here, I will promise not to keep you waiting more than a few minutes.”
“Very well; there’s no fear of my falling asleep again, and if you are absent too long I will go forward and find out the cause.”
“Wait for the signal, or better, I will return to you.”
“It is the same distrust,” reflected Freeman, when he was once more left alone; “but in this business I suppose one man is better than two.”
Despite the reassuring words of the lieutenant, he was somewhat troubled by the new phase of the situation. Of the four Apaches whom he had seen, one received a sharp reminder of the presence of a white man in the neighborhood. If he carried the news to the camp of his people, they would see the probable meaning of it, since no white person would come thither for a drink of water, unless he left companions in the vicinity. The fact that he was near the spring would indicate that others were not far off, and that the solitary Apache held such belief was almost proved by his withdrawal in the face of danger. A warrior with his acumen and skill, who had come so near outwitting his antagonist, would not be apt to give up the game of hide and seek, unless he expected a change of conditions through the arrival of other white men. He must have felt himself the equal of a single foe, but had no wish to become involved with several. His course was simply a retreat before an enemy whom he expected to be joined by reinforcements.
On the other hand, he might be operating on his own responsibility, or, if a scout, would not rejoin the main party until he could take more definite information to them.
It will be seen that the young officer was in a maze of doubt and speculation. Like the detective trying to trace a crime, he could spin theories without limit, only perhaps to find them all wrong in the end. The situation which confronted them was that they were to wait at the rock some distance off until the coming of Mendez, and when he came, he would bring good or evil news. That was the situation in a nutshell.
Had the lieutenant discovered more Apaches near the spring, he would have seen cause for misgiving and alarm. He, therefore, reconnoitered the spot with the utmost care, listening and peering here and there with the patient caution of an Apache himself. It required but a brief while, however, to satisfy himself that none of his enemies were prowling in the neighborhood. Some of them might have come and gone, while he was holding converse with Freeman, but it was unlikely.
The lieutenant, therefore, did not hesitate to emit the guarded whistle which quickly brought his friend to his side.
“I have discovered nothing amiss,” he explained; “I don’t believe any of them have been here since the three I told you about.”
“I presume you wish to take the lead as usual?”
“It makes no difference,” replied Decker, who, however, took care to place himself in advance, with the other only two or three yards behind him. The route had become familiar to both and neither needed to warn the other to be careful. They advanced in the crouching posture to which they had become accustomed, with heads thrown forward, stepping softly, looking keenly on all sides and listening for the first indication of danger, which might come from the rear as well as from the front.
When the lieutenant found himself facing the huge boulder where he had encountered the Apache some time before, he paused, raising his hand for Freeman to do the same. It seemed as if his old enemy must still be near, and the young man did not pass the dangerous point until he had called into play all the skill of which he was master and convinced himself that nothing further was to be feared. Then the two picked their way to the rendezvous by the rock.
Reaching the rock, the two men made another reconnaissance before sitting down to await the return of the White Mountain Apache. Nothing was discovered to cause misgiving, and they were almost convinced that they would remain undisturbed until the coming of the scout upon whom all their hopes were now placed.
The moon had passed further over in the heavens, and its face was frequently screened by drifting masses of clouds which rendered its light treacherous and uncertain. They talked in low tones, not forgetting to keep constant watch for the approach of their enemies, some of whom it was certain were at no great distance.
“That affair of mine with the rattlesnake,” said the lieutenant, “recalled the singular adventure of two scouts under Major Forsythe, in the autumn of 1868. The peace commissioners concluded treaties the previous year with the Arapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas, Comanches and Apaches. Other treaties were formed, the object being to secure the removal of the different tribes to the reservations selected for them. There was delay and bad faith on the part of our agents, and, in the face of the treaties, many outrages were committed by the Indians in Kansas and Colorado. Troops were kept on watch along the lines of travel across the State of Kansas into Colorado, and a company of scouts under Major Forsythe, numbering fifty picked men, left Fort Hayes, Kansas, in September. A week was spent in scouting, when they reached Fort Wallace, where Forsythe proceeded to refit his command. Then news came that the Indians had attacked a train near Sheridan, a small railway town, eighty miles away. Forsythe set out with his force to punish the marauders.
“The Indians were pressed so hard that they resorted to their old trick of breaking up into smaller parties, thus confusing their trail and rendering effective pursuit impossible. Forsythe pushed on to the Republican River, where he struck another trail which grew broader and more distinct, until it was clear that a large number of horses and cattle had been recently driven over it.
“At the close of day, the command went into camp on the Arickaree Fork of the Republican, at a point were the river divides so as to inclose a low sandy island about a hundred yards long. The soldiers had but one day’s provisions, but their intention was to push on and strike the Indians, who were known to be not far off. At daylight, while the men were saddling up, they were attacked by fully a thousand Brulés, Sioux, Cheyennes and ‘Dog Soldiers.’ Forsythe retreated to the island, and the position was made as strong as possible. In the first attack, Forsythe was badly wounded and two of his men killed. A few minutes later a second shot shattered the major’s left leg between the knee and ankle. Almost at the same moment, the surgeon was killed. Every horse was shot. That fight and siege formed one of the most fearful episodes in the history of our Indian wars. At the end of the first day not a horse was alive, the provisions were gone, the surgeon was dead, there were no medical stores, four men were killed, four mortally and four badly wounded, ten others being slightly hurt, so that almost one-half of the command had been struck.
“On the other hand, the Indians had been decisively repulsed, the soldiers had plenty of ammunition, water could be obtained by digging in the sand, and the bodies of the horses and mules would ward off starvation. But the men needed help in the worst way. The nearest post from which this could be obtained was Fort Wallace, one hundred and ten miles distant. Two of the best scouts, Trudeau and Jack Stillwell, volunteered to run the gauntlet.
“As soon as it was dark, they stole from the island. There was little hope that they would succeed, but both men were brave and cool-headed, and, if the thing were possible, they were the ones to accomplish it. The defenders waited long and listened, and hearing nothing, believed they had been captured. At dusk on the second day, during which there was continuous fighting, two more scouts were sent out, but they were discovered and barely succeeded in getting back to the island. This convinced all that Stillwell and Trudeau had failed, but such was not the fact.
“Those two scouts, in leaving the island, moved down stream, keeping as near the middle as they could. The water was so shallow that neither could swim, and they crawled on their hands and knees for most of the distance. Lucky for the men, the night was clouded, and the moon had set before they left the island. They kept in the river for three miles when they waded ashore, and, hiding their trail as best they could, made for the nearest timber. When day dawned, they were ten miles from the river and their danger was greater than ever. The Indians were patrolling the stream, on the watch for just such attempts and the prairie grass was so short that it was impossible for the scouts to advance without exposing themselves. The only way to escape capture was to conceal themselves and wait for night.
“Sweeping the surrounding prairie, they observed a spot where the grass was about a foot higher than the rest. With the utmost care they crept to it and found it just the place they wanted. The dead body of some animal had acted as a fertilizer, causing the grass to grow with more vigor and density than elsewhere. The bones were those of a buffalo whose flesh had disappeared long before.
“Lying down in this hiding place, the scouts munched the slight meal they had brought with them, and then peeped out at their surroundings, which were anything but reassuring. Indian horsemen seemed to be moving on all sides, and the sound of firing from up the river showed that fighting had been renewed. Neither of the scouts dared rise from a prone position, and were in constant danger of discovery. If some of the sharp-eyed redskins detected the trail leading from the river, they were certain to follow it to the clump of grass.
“Trudeau and Stillwell agreed to take turns in sleeping and watching for every three hours. Trudeau was the first to act as sentinel. He lay upon his side, took a big chew of his army plug tobacco, and peeped between the blades of grass, while his companion slept. Before long Trudeau saw a sight which was so alarming that he awoke his companion. Twenty Indian horsemen were approaching and were sure to pass very close to the clump of grass, even if they did not ride through it.
“Stillwell peeped out and said:
“‘We’ve got to hug the ground close, but if they see us, they’ll find out we come high.’ ‘You bet,’ replied Trudeau and the two grimly waited events.
“The Indians seemed to have no special business, and rode so slowly that it was a long time before they reached the point only a hundred yards away. It was at this critical moment that a feeling of impending danger caused Stillwell to turn his head. As he did so, he saw an immense rattlesnake gliding through the bones of the dead buffalo and coming straight toward them. It looked as if the scouts had invaded the reptile’s home, for he did that which my pet did not do—he advanced upon them with the intention of attack.
“The first thought of the men was to shoot or to club him to death with the stocks of their rifles, but any such act would have revealed their presence to the Indians now close at hand. The next thought was to stare the snake out of countenance as the rattler himself sometimes does with his victims. Stillwell made the attempt, but without any success. The snake meant business.
“The rattler came straight forward until within four feet of Trudeau, when he began coiling to strike. Not a moment was to be lost, and Stillwell made up his mind to shoot the reptile. He preferred death at the hands of the redskins to that from the bite of the rattler.
“For a minute or two, however, the jaws of Trudeau had been vigorously working on the tobacco in his mouth. He had accumulated a volume of spittle, surcharged with nicotine. He was nearer to the snake than his companion, and he now shot out a thick yellow stream, as if from the nozzle of a hose. It landed directly in the eyes and mouth of the rattler, as he was almost in the act of striking.
“Well,” said Lieutenant Decker, with a smile, “that particular serpent had never learned to chew, and the pungent stuff in his eyes and mouth must have disgusted him to fury. He had never been attacked with that sort of ammunition and it threw him into a panic. He flung himself out of his coil a good deal quicker than he entered it, and, turning tail, glided through the grass and out of sight with such celerity that the scouts, despite their dangerous situation, shook with silent laughter.
“Their mirth did not last long, for the Indians were so near that discovery seemed inevitable. Lying as flat as they could, and wishing they had the power to stamp themselves into the earth, the scouts knew that a minute or two would decide their fate. Capture by the Indians meant death by torture, and they held their rifles tightly grasped, resolved that if the worst came they would prove the truth of Stillwell’s boast that they ‘came high.’
“The redskins, however, were not making for the clump of grass. They rode past, the horses on a walk and so close that their hoofbeats and the mumble of their voices were plainly heard, but they did not stop and that particular danger was over.
“Trudeau and Stillwell alternately watched and slept until night came again. The rattler was too sick of his reception to bother them further, and not once did the Indians approach so near as in the early forenoon. When the coast was clear, the two stole out from their hiding place and resumed their journey to Fort Wallace, walking rapidly and often breaking into a trot. They were tough fellows who could keep this up for hours, and, knowing the extremity of their friends on the island, they did not spare themselves. They reached Fort Wallace and quickly made known the need of sending instant help to Major Forsythe.
“Such an appeal is never made in vain, and Major Bankhead was soon on the way with four troops of cavalry. The Indians tried to jump his camp twenty miles from the Arickaree, but failed, and, without waiting to give battle, the whole band retreated. Major Forsythe and what was left of his command were saved.”[1]
“And it was your experience with the rattler a little while ago that called this incident to mind?” was the inquiring comment of Captain Freeman.
“Yes; I had not thought of it for a long time, but when I leveled my revolver and was about to pull trigger, the whole thing flashed upon me. I saw the similarity of my situation with that of Stillwell and Trudeau, though I was not in quite so bad a fix, for the rattler did not mean to attack me, if I let him alone, and there was but the single Indian that was looking for me. But to fire my pistol would undo what I had accomplished by my change of base.”
“You had other charges in the weapon, to say nothing of your Winchester, which was within reach.”
“It was not that, but the dusky dog would have known where I was and gained the advantage that was mine.”
“It did you no good.”
“On the contrary, it convinced him that I was up to his tricks and caused him to withdraw without any more attempts against me.”
During these minutes, the two maintained their watchfulness. The words were spoken in low tones, and, while the lieutenant was relating his reminiscence, he continually glanced from side to side. The fact that all remained tranquil confirmed the two in their growing belief that nothing was to be feared from the Apaches.
“It must be growing late,” finally remarked Freeman, “and Mendez, it seems to me, is overdue.”
The lieutenant drew out his watch, but the moonlight was not strong enough for him to discern the figures.
“I’m bound to know the time,” he said, removing his cap, so as to shade the light of the match which he drew from the small rubber safe he always carried and scraped it across the face of the rock.
“That’s risky business,” whispered his companion.
“That’s the reason I’m doing it,” replied the officer, speaking more truthfully than he suspected. “But it shan’t give much help to any of the fellows lurking near.”
Before the twist of flame could assume shape a puff of the breath extinguished it.
“It’s later than I suspected,” he remarked.
“I suppose it is near ten o’clock?”
“It’s a quarter to eleven.”
“It must be time to look for Mendez.”
“I think so, but there’s no certainty about it; he may be here in five minutes and not for five hours. I suspect he will delay his return for a considerable while.”
“For what cause?”
“You know there isn’t much chance of doing anything against Maroz and Ceballos for a long time yet, and there is no need, therefore, of his coming here and waiting for hours. He would have to lose sight of them for a good while, so that the conditions are likely to change very materially when he ventures on a move against them, whereas, by keeping the two under his eye until it was time to move, he could do so intelligently.”
“Furthermore, so long as he keeps beyond our reach we can’t urge him to a haste that is against his judgment.”
“Doubtless that has something to do with it, but—st!”
Both heard the same signal that had alarmed Freeman during the afternoon, when he believed he was inextricably caught. They listened for its repetition, but the next few minutes were marked by perfect stillness. Then, when they whispered their speculations about its import, they disagreed as to the point whence it came.
Freeman thought it was from the direction of the rivulet, where they had quenched their thirst, but the lieutenant was positive that it issued from a spot at right angles to that course.