"Look there, sergeant laddies! look there!" raising and pointing with both sticks and the rashers of bacon towards the reed-grass behind us.

There in its very edge sat Mistress Vic, winking her eyes and twitching her ears deprecatingly, plainly in doubt as to her reception.

"Stop, boys! keep quiet!" I said, to prevent a movement in her direction. "Vic, you bad girl, how dared you follow me?"

No reply, only a slow closing and opening of the eyes and an accompanying forward and backward movement of the ears.

"Go home! Go!"

The setter rose, dropped her head, and, turning dejectedly, disappeared with drooping tail into the tall grass. Both boys exclaimed at once:

"Don't drive her off, sir! Poor little Vic!"

"Well, go and see if you can coax her back. If she returns with you she may go to La Paz."

The boys ran eagerly into the grass, and soon I heard them soothing and pitying the dog, telling her that it was all right, and that she could go. But it was evident she doubted their authority to speak for me, for Henry presently came running towards me.

"She won't come, sir. Keeps moving slowly back in the direction of the fort. She looks so sorry and so tired. Only think how badly she feels, and it is a long distance to Whipple! Can't she stay with us until morning?"

"Then she will not come with you?"

"No. She is your dog, and knows it. She never disobeys you."

"But she followed me here; that looks very much like disobedience."

"But you did not tell her not to come."

"I believe you are right. I forgot to tell her to stay."

"And she did not hear you tell the corporal to tie her, sir. You told him in your room, and she was outside."

"Then you think she is not to blame for following us?"

"Of course not. She's a military dog, and always obeys orders."

"But how guilty she looked."

"It was not guilt made her look so, sir; it was disappointment."

"Yes, I think you are right, Henry. I'll let her go with us. Let us try an experiment, and see if she understands ordinary conversation. You know some people think dogs do."

"Yes, sir; I know Vic does."

"I'll speak to her without altering my tone of voice. Now watch. 'Here, Vicky, little girl, it's all right; you may go with us.'"

Out of the reeds, bounding in an ecstasy of delight, came Vic. She sprang about me, then about the boys, the soldiers, and animals, and then approaching the fire, sat down and looked wistfully at the rashers of bacon Clary was still broiling. It was settled in her dog mind that she was now a recognized member of our party.

We resumed our journey with the first break of dawn and rode to Skull Valley. The first section of the road passed through a rough, mountainous, and wooded country; but at the end of thirteen miles it entered a level valley, which gradually broadened into a wide plain that had been taken up by settlers for farms and cattle ranges. Being well acquainted, I made several calls at the log-cabins which skirted the road. At the Arnold house we were made very welcome, and after a generous dinner were escorted through the house and stables by the entire family. I had visited the valley many times when on scouting or escort duty, and had seen the Arnold cabins gradually substituted for their tents, and their acres slowly redeemed from grazing ground to cultivated fields; but since my last visit Mr. Arnold had adopted an ingenious means of defence in case of an Indian attack.

The house and stables from the first had been provided with heavy shutters for windows and doorways, and loop-holes for fire-arms had been made at regular four-foot intervals. These the proprietor had not considered ample, and had constructed, twenty yards from the house, an ingenious earthwork which could be entered by means of a subterranean passage from the cellar. This miniature fort was in the form of a circular pit, sunk four feet and a half in the ground, and covered by a nearly flat roof, the edges or eaves of which were but a foot and a half above the surface of the earth. In the space between the surface and the eaves were loop-holes. The roof was of heavy pine timber, closely joined, sloping upward slightly from circumference to centre, and covered with two feet of tamped earth. To obtain water, a second covered way led from the earthwork to a spring fifty yards distant, the outer entrance being concealed in a rocky nook screened in a thick clump of willows.

As we were climbing into our ambulance, preparatory to resuming our journey, Brenda said:

"If you had reached here three hours earlier you might have had the company of two gentlemen who are riding to La Paz."

"Sorry I did not meet them. Who were they?"

"Mr. Sage and Mr. Bell from Prescott. They are going to purchase goods for their stores; and that reminds me that not one of you has mentioned the object of this journey of yours."

"That is really so," I replied. "You have made every minute of our call so interesting in showing us your improvements and the fort, and in doing the hospitable, that we have not thought of ourselves. Frank, tell her about the ponies."

Sergeant Frank, aided by Sergeant Henry, told in full of the loss of their animals, and said we intended to try to capture Texas Dick and Juan Brincos and recover Sancho and Chiquita.

At the end of the boys' story, Brenda asked: "The thieves were a Mexican and an American?"

"Yes."

"The American had a scar on the bridge of his nose, and the Mexican had lost his front teeth?"

"Exactly. What do you know about them, Brenda?"

"They were here, but I did not see their ponies nearer than the stable; they were black and cream color. The Mexican traded saddles with uncle. You'll find the one he left in the lean-to, on a peg beside the door."

Both boys leaped to the ground and ran round the house to the lean-to, and presently returned with Henry's neat McClellan saddle. It had been stripped of its pouches and small straps, but was otherwise unharmed.

"Well, when I come back with Chiquita, Mr. Arnold, I'd like to trade saddles."

"All right, youngkett, I'll trade, or you can take it now, and welcome," replied the ranchman.

"No; I'll leave it until I return."

The saddle was taken back to the lean-to, and after a few more words of leave-taking we started up the valley. A few miles of rapid travelling brought us to a steep ascent into a mountainous range to the right. We had proceeded but a short distance through a narrow and rugged roadway when we were overtaken by the military expressman whom we had left at Fort Whipple. He had come from Prescott to Skull Valley by a short cut.

"I have a letter for you, lieutenant," said he, approaching the ambulance.

Unfastening the mail-pouch, he turned its contents upon the back seat. A heap of loose letters and three well-worn books strewed themselves over the cushion. Frank picked up the books and examined their titles.

"Xenophon's Memorabilia, Euripides' Alcestis and Medea, and a Greek grammar!" exclaimed the astonished youngster. "What are you doing with these college text-books on the La Paz trail?"

"Making up conditions," replied the courier, a blush deepening the brown of his face.

"What are conditions?" asked Henry.

"Oh, blissful ignorance! Why was I not spared the task of enlightening it?" answered the courier. "Conditions are stumbling-blocks placed in the way of successful trackmen, football players, and rowing men by non-appreciative and envious professors."

"'Joseph Gould Hudson, University of Yalvard,'" read Frank from the fly-leaf of the Memorabilia. "Is that your name, Mr. Hudson?"

"I'm so borne on the Yalvard catalogue."

"Please explain, Mr. Hudson," I said, "how a college boy happens to be in Arizona running the gantlet of this mail-route and making up conditions in Greek?"

"I was stroke in the crew that won the championship for Yalvard at New London one year ago, and got behind in these. I was conditioned, and being ashamed to face an angry father, struck out for myself on the Pacific coast. I drifted about from mining-camp to cattle-range until I was dead broke; this place offered, and I took it because I could find nothing else. I've had lots of opportunities for reflection on the Xuacaxella. I'm the repentant prodigal going home to his father."

"Oh, you are no prodigal, Mr. Hudson," observed Henry. "We've heard all about you; you are too brave."

"Thank you, Sergeant Henry. No, I've not wasted my substance in riotous living, nor have I eaten husks, but I've been prodigal in wasting opportunities."

"Lost a whole college year, haven't you?" I asked.

"I hope not. There is a German university man at La Paz who has been coaching me. He thinks if I keep at work until after Christmas I can go on with my old class. This is my last trip, and if I escape the Apaches once more I'm going to lay off and work hard for a few months, and then return to New Havbridge for examination. There's something in that letter that concerns me."

Opening the letter, I learned that Captain Bayard knew Mr. Hudson's story. He said this was to be the last trip of the courier, but that after his return to La Paz he would come out to meet me at Tyson's Wells and report whether the horse-thieves were in town. He also suggested that in establishing a transshipment storehouse at the steamboat-landing I place Hudson in charge. The pay would be of use to him while "making up."

The courier wished us a pleasant journey, and rode away at a scrambling canter up the pass. He had been gone but a few moments when I heard a shout, and, looking up, saw him standing on a pinnacle by the way-side, on the summit of the ascent. He was looking in the opposite direction, and I saw him fire three shots from his carbine in rapid succession. Dismounting the men, I made rapid preparations to meet an attack, and proceeded to work our way slowly up the height, and when we reached the narrow level at the top we found Hudson and the two soldiers that formed our advance occupying a shelter among the rocks to the left, and gazing down the opposite slope.

"What is it, Hudson?" I asked.

"A party of Indians attempted to jump me here. There they go now—across that opening in the sage-brush!"

A dozen Indians dashed across an open space south of the road, but too far away for effective shooting, and then two more passed over, supporting a third between them.

"You must have hit one of them."

"I tried to. I think another was hurt more seriously, by the way he acknowledged my shot."

"Are you hurt?"

"A slight scratch on the arm near the shoulder, and my horse is hurt."

An examination of Hudson's arm proved that the scratch was not serious, but I thought it best to exchange his horse for one belonging to a soldier. We then went on, Frank and I walking in advance of the ambulance mules.

"There's something down there in the road by Ferrier's grave, sir," said Corporal Duffey. "Looks like a dead man."

"Is that where Ferrier was killed?" I asked.

"Yes, sir; I was in command of the detail that came here to look him up. He had built a little stone fort on that knoll up yonder, and kept the redskins off three days. He kept a diary, you remember, which we found. He killed six of them, and might as many more, but he couldn't live without sleep or food, and the rascals got him. They scattered the mail in shreds for miles about here."

"Who was Ferrier?" Frank asked.

"He was a discharged California volunteer, who rode the express before Mr. Hudson."

"Do you think Mr. Hudson knew his predecessor had been killed?"

"Yes; the incident was much talked of at the time."

We were nearing the object in the road. Suddenly the mules caught sight of it, backed, and crushed the ten-gallon keg under the axle against a bowlder—a serious mishap, as our after experience will show. Walking on, we came to the mutilated bodies of two men, several yards apart, whom we had no difficulty in recognizing to be the tradesmen Bell and Sage. With axe, bayonets, and tin cups we dug a shallow grave beside Ferrier's. We placed the bodies side by side, and heaped a pyramid of stones above them.

The courier again bade us good-bye, and we went on. The rest of the ride through the mountain-pass was accomplished without adventure, and evening found us encamped at Willow Springs. The boys shot a few quail here, of the variety known as the California quail, distinguished by an elegant plume of six feathers on the top of its head. Clary broiled them for breakfast.

The road on the following day was so rough that for much of the way we were unable to move faster than a walk—the slow walk of draught animals. When near a place called Soldiers' Holes, on account of some rifle-pits sunk there, the corporal called my attention to a pool of blood in the road.

A close examination led us to believe that two men had fallen, that one had been wounded, and that a second party had come and taken the wounded man away. The locality was well adapted for a surprise. On the left was a growth of dense shrubbery extending from the road to the foot of the mountain-range. On the opposite side was an open plain.

We were moving on again, when Frank remarked:

"There seems to have been a big gathering of Apaches along this road."

"Yes; a war-party bent on mischief. They have struck at two points, and I fear a third—Date Creek—may have been attacked by this time. That is where we are to pass the night." Then turning to Corporal Duffey, I continued: "The road from here to the creek is soft and loamy, and we are not likely to make much noise; caution the men to be quiet and not show themselves outside the track. If the Indians are at the ranch it will be best for us to appear there unexpectedly."

"Do Indians never stand up like white men, and fight?" asked the younger boy.

"Frequently, but their system is different from ours; however, our latest military tactics appear to be modelled on theirs."

Although this section of our journey was but twenty-five miles long, our rate of progress had been so slow that the day was nearly closed when we came in sight of the lines of cottonwoods that bordered Date Creek. We turned at last sharply to the left, and began a descent through a narrow ravine towards the creek. We were nearing its widening mouth when a half-dozen sharp reports of fire-arms broke upon our ears. A halt was ordered and the men directed to prevent the animals from betraying our presence by whinnying or braying. Telling Sergeant Henry to remain behind and keep Vic with him, I went in advance with Sergeant Frank.

"What do you think is going on?" asked my companion, as several more reports rang out.

"What I feared; the Apaches are attacking the men who went out to bring in the dead and wounded men at Soldiers' Holes."

"And if Mr. Hudson was not the wounded man there, I suppose he is sure to be in this scrape. Why not rush in with the escort and frighten them away?"

"They may be too many for us," I answered, "and it will be prudent to learn the situation at the ranch before we go nearer. I want to join the white men without the Indians' knowledge, if possible."

"If Mr. Hudson is not dead, he must know we are here."

"He may be there, and the men may know we are on the road, but it certainly does not look like it."

"Can't Vic be sent with a message?"

"No; she will not take a message to a stranger."

We had now reached a point from which we could see a log cabin, a stable, and an open shed or tool-house. On the side of the buildings towards us, as if screening themselves from an enemy in the opposite direction, were a few men.

"If you would like me to, sir, I can crawl to the house without being seen," said Frank. "That cart, wagon, oven, and stack will screen me."

"Yes, you can do it easily. Tell Mr. Hopkins that we are here—seventeen, counting you two boys—and to make no demonstration when we close up. I will explain a plan to him which, I think, will enable us to teach the Apaches a lesson. If you find Mr. Hudson there, tell him to show himself at a window or door."



XIII

THE BOY SERGEANTS DO GOOD SERVICE

Frank dropped flat upon the earth and worked his way to the cabin without being seen. Instantly I received a signal from Mr. Hopkins through a back window, and a moment later Mr. Hudson looked out of a back door and raised his hat. I was glad to see that his college career was still a possibility.

Hurrying back to the ambulance, I caused the animals to be grouped in charge of the driver and two soldiers, and with the rest of the detail moved in the direction of the ranch buildings.

It had become so dark that we might possibly have passed over the open space without being seen, but, for fear of accidents, we covered it, as Frank had done, on all fours. The first persons I met when I rose to a vertical position were Hudson and Frank, who took me to Mr. Hopkins. The ranchman greeted me with the assurance that the arrival of my party was a godsend, and had probably saved their scalps.

I learned that the men at Date Creek, including the mail-carrier, numbered seven; that three were in the stable and four in the house. These buildings were the same distance from the stream, and fifty feet apart. The bank of the creek was perpendicular for a mile either way, standing fully twelve feet above the surface of the water; but there was a notch with a sloping descent, midway between the buildings, down which the live-stock was driven to water. This slope offered the only practicable point of attack, unless the Indians chose to move by one of our flanks over a long level.

Mr. Hopkins said he had crept out to the shrubbery on the edge of the precipitous river-bank, to the left of the slope, just before my arrival, and had seen on the opposite shore a small party of men moving through the willow branches towards our left. He believed it was a flanking-party, intending to make a feint from that direction and enable the main body to charge through the notch in the bank. Believing the repelling force to be but seven, the Indians were quite sure of success.

I was convinced that Mr. Hopkins's inferences were correct; but in order that no mistake should be made, I sent two veterans in frontier service, Privates Clary and Hoey, to reconnoitre both flanks. They were gone half an hour, and returned with the information that no demonstration was being made towards our right, but that a dozen or more men had gathered on the opposite shore, at a point where they could cross and turn our left flank.

Preparations to meet this movement were begun at once. Sergeant Frank was sent to the ambulance with orders for the men in charge to bring in the animals, two at a time, and fasten them in the rear of the stable and stack. This was easily accomplished in the darkness. The ambulance was left in charge of Vic.

While this was going on, and I was overlooking the construction of rifle-shelters on the flanks, Sergeant Henry approached and asked if he could not be of some use. Something in the tone of the boy's voice showed me he felt he had been neglected, while his brother had been kept busy.

"What would you like to do?" I asked.

"Does a soldier choose his duty, sir?" was the reply, uttered with some dignity.

"Not usually, sergeant, it is true. I have a very important thing for you to do—something for which I was intending to look you up. Go and find Private Clary, and tell him to help you carry several armfuls of hay from the stack to the right of the slope. Make a heap, so that when it is lighted it will illuminate the approach from the creek. Ask Mr. Hopkins if he has any kerosene or other inflammable stuff to sprinkle on the hay and make it flash up quickly and burn brilliantly. Then throw up a shelter in which you can lie and be ready to light the hay when signalled."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll attend to everything."

Not more than fifteen minutes had elapsed when the boy sergeant returned and informed me that the bundle of hay was prepared and a shelter constructed.

"Mr. Hopkins has two gallons of axle-grease and two quarts of spirits of turpentine."

"Excellent. Mix them together and sprinkle the hay thoroughly. Then place yourself in the shelter, and when you see a light flash from the west window of the house light your bonfire."

"I'll do so, sir," and the boy ran away in the darkness.

An hour had passed when loud whoops gave us warning of the enemy's approach. It was the war-cry of the terrible Apaches. Not a sound came from the creek. I strained my eyes in that direction, but nothing was visible in the black darkness beneath the pendulous branches of the willows.

At last I saw the fixed reflections of the stars in the surface of the pool diffuse themselves into myriads of sparkling atoms. A considerable body of Indians must be in the water, but none appeared in sight. Yes, they were crossing in two columns, to the right and left of the notch, concealed by the high shore, and would shortly unite and charge up the slope. Baldwin ran to the stable to tell the men there that the Apaches were coming, and to be on the alert.

The whoops of the flanking party redoubled, and were accompanied by a desultory firing, which the four men opposing them answered in the same way. Then I saw the sparkling water of the pool cut off from my sight, and knew that a body of men stood on the slope between us and the creek.

"Frank, show the light! Men, ready!"

The lantern flashed from the window, quickly answered by a flash on the bank, and a mass of red flame threw its luminous tresses skyward, bathing the whole scene in light. In the notch, half-way up the slope, stood a momentarily paralyzed group of nearly a hundred painted warriors. Every rifle in the hands of the white men in the two buildings spoke, and instantly the notch emptied itself pell-mell of its living throng. Only a few prostrate bodies showed the Apaches had been there.

With the discharge of fire-arms a silence immediately fell upon the scene, in marked contrast to the shrieking and yelling of a moment before. The bonfire burned low, and went out. Once more we were in darkness.

We believed the Indians would make no further demonstration, and an hour later a scouting party ascertained that they had gathered their dead and departed. Sentinels were posted, the ambulance run in by hand, the stock fed, and a midnight meal cooked.

While sitting by the camp-fire, listening to the sizzling of the bacon and sniffing the aroma of the coffee, Mr. Hopkins introduced me to his men and guests, and I heard an explanation of the tracks and blood at Soldiers' Holes.

Early that morning three gentlemen, who had passed the night at the ranch, started for Prescott. They were a Mr. Gray, a Scotch merchant at La Paz; Mr. Hamilton, a lawyer of the same place; and a Mr. Rosenberg, a freighter. When near the Holes, Mr. Hamilton, who was riding in advance, was shot by Indians concealed in the sage-brush. Mr. Rosenberg's mule was wounded, and plunged so that his rider fell to the ground. Mr. Gray, seeing the plight of the freighter, rode to his side, seized him by the collar, and aided him to leap to a seat behind him.

It is probable that this act of generous daring might have ended in the death of both men but for a diversion caused by the sudden and unexpected appearance of the military expressman. He came up a slope from a lower level, and, taking in the situation at a glance, let fly three shots from his breech-loading carbine that caused the Indians to lie low. The three men rode to the ranch, and Mr. Hopkins and his three workmen accompanied them to bring in the body of Mr. Hamilton. The Indians did not begin to concentrate at the creek until after the burial.

Supper being over, the boys and I were getting into our blankets for the rest of the night, when Mr. Hudson, who had been preparing to depart, came to bid us good-bye.

"I seem to take frequent leave of you, these times, lieutenant," he said.

"Yes; and your farewell ride with the Whipple mail so far seems to have been anything but monotonous. I think the Anabasis would be a more suitable subject of study on this route than the Memorabilia."

"'Hence they proceeded one day's journey, a distance of five parasangs, and fell in with the barbarians,' might well be said of this trip, for a fact."

"Hadn't you better travel with me the rest of the way?"

"I think we have seen the last of the Apaches. They do not range south and west of here. Good-bye, sir."

"Good-bye, until we meet at Tyson's Wells."

The next morning, when the boys, Vic, and I were taking our places in the ambulance, Mr. Hopkins and his men, Mr. Gray and Mr. Rosenberg, approached us mounted. They informed me that they were going to La Paz.

"The Ingins are gettin' a little too thick here," observed the ranchman. "I find it diffikilt to git proper rest after a hard day's work. Think I'll stay away until Uncle Sam's boys thin 'em out a little more."

"Can I obtain a five or ten gallon keg of you, Mr. Hopkins?" I asked. "Ours was accidentally smashed on the road."

"Haven't a keg to my name, lieutenant. One way 'n' ernuther all's been smashed, give away, or lent."

The ride from the ranch to the edge of the desert plain was twelve miles, a portion of it over a rugged ridge. To the point where we were to ford the creek was two miles, and there the hired men, pack-mules, and ranch cattle turned off on the Bill Williams Fork route to the Rio Colorado.

Once on the level of the Xuacaxella our team broke into a brisk trot, and we rolled along with a fair prospect of soon crossing the one hundred miles between Date Creek and La Paz. Messrs. Gray, Rosenberg, and Hopkins shortly turned into a bridle-path which led into a mine. Before taking leave of us Mr. Gray told me that my camping-place for the night would be at the point of the third mountain-spur which jutted into the plain from the western range.

We had not travelled long before we realized our misfortune in having smashed our water-keg. Each individual in our party possessed a three-pint army canteen, which had been filled when we forded the creek in the early dawn. These were to last us until evening, through an exceedingly sultry day. Frank, Henry, and I did our best to overcome our desire for water, but the younger boy could not refuse the appeals of Vic, when she looked up with lolling tongue and beseeching eyes to the canteens.

The men were the greatest sufferers, unless I except their horses. Long before mid-day their canteens were empty and their mouths so dry that articulation was difficult and they rarely spoke.

At five we arrived opposite the third spur, where we found a wand sticking in the ground and holding in its cleft end a slip of paper. It proved to be a note from Mr. Hudson, saying that this was the place to camp, and the Black Tanks were on the southern side of the spur, three miles distant.

In a few minutes, with the horses and mules divested of saddles, bridles, and harnesses, leaving two men behind to guard the property and collect fuel for a fire, we were on the way to water.

Hurrying along, we saw before us a long, irregular range, apparently three thousand feet in height, which had been cleft from summit to base as if by a wedge. In this rent we found water—water deposited in a natural reservoir by the periodical rainfalls in millions of gallons, a reservoir never known to be dry.

Climbing over the dike which enclosed the main deposit, we descended to the cistern, filled our cups, and swallowed the contents without taking a breath. When we dipped up a second, Tom Clary looked into the depths of his cup with knitted brows.

"Whist, now, sergeant laddies!" he exclaimed. "Look into the wather! It's aloive with wigglers of ivery variety. They're 's plinty as pays in a soup."

"Ugh! And we are full of them, too, Tom," said Henry, looking into his cup with narrow-eyed anxiety.

Pausing in the act of taking a second drink, I looked into my cup, and saw that it contained myriads of animalcula and larvae, which zigzagged from side to side in the liveliest manner.

"Will they hurt us, Tom?" questioned Henry.

"I rickon they've got the worst of it, sergeant laddie; but I think I'd fale a bit aisier if I was blindfolded or takin' a drink in the dark. I prefer me liquid refrishment with a little less mate, not to minshin its bein' less frisky."

We had come to the Cisternas Negras with towels, intending to wash off the dust of travel. We now used one of them to strain the water, and were astonished to see that each gallon left behind it a plump spoonful of animalcula. The water was sweet, but, after discovering the abundant life in it, we deferred drinking more of it until it had been boiled.

As we pursued the narrow path to camp in single file, we noticed Vic a considerable distance to the right, scouting and nosing about in an earnest manner. Evidently she thought she had made an important discovery, for she several times paused and looked in our direction and barked. But we were too hungry to investigate, and soon she disappeared from our view.

When we reached the ambulance the boys put a few cakes of hard bread in their pockets, and, taking their shot-guns, went out to look for some "cottontails" while supper was being prepared. Believing we were well out of the range of hostile Indians, I did not object to their going alone. They passed a considerable distance beyond the growth of Cereus giganteus, over a level stretch covered with knee-high bunch-grass and desert weeds, without seeing a hare. Pausing on the brink of a shoal, dry ravine, they stood side by side, and rested the butts of their guns upon the ground. Just then a shout of "Supper! supper!" came from the group at the camp-fire.

"Hate to go back without anything," said Frank, so I afterwards heard. "Strange we can't see a rabbit now, when we saw dozens on the way to the Tanks."

"That's because we didn't have a gun," said Henry.

"You don't believe the rabbits knew we weren't armed then and know we are now?"

"Hunters tell bigger stories than that about 'Brer Rabbit.' Not one has bobbed up since we got our guns."

Suddenly from the flat surface of the plain, not twenty yards from where the boys stood, where nothing but bunch-grass and low shrubbery grew, sixteen Indians sprang up to full height, like so many Jacks-in-a-box.



XIV

ON THE DESERT WITHOUT WATER

The boys were frightened. Their hearts leaped into their throats, and it was difficult for them to restrain an impulse to turn and run; but a soldierly instinct brought them to a "ready," with eyes fixed upon the probable enemy.

"Quick, Henry! shoot!" exclaimed Frank, intending to reserve his own fire.

The younger sergeant raised his double-barrelled shot-gun to his shoulder and pulled both triggers. Down went the sixteen Indians as if the bird-shot had been fatal to all. The plain became in an instant as objectless as it was a moment before.

"Load, Henry, and, backward, march!" said Frank, ready to fire whenever a head showed above the grass, and at the same time moving as rapidly as possible towards the camp-fire.

"How! how! how!" was chorused from the direction of the Indians, and several naked brown arms were stretched upward, holding rifles horizontally in the air.

"That means peace," said Henry. "They aren't going to fire. Let's answer. How! how! how!"

"How! how! how!" Frank joined in, and at once the sixteen redmen sprang to their feet, apparently none the worse for Henry's double charge of bird-shot at short range. They held their weapons above their heads, and continuing to utter their friendly "How!" rapidly advanced towards the boys.

"They aren't playing us a trick, are they, Frank?" asked Henry, in an anxious tone.

"No," replied the elder boy, after snatching a glance to the rear. "The lieutenant and soldiers are saddling. The Indians dare not harm us on an open plain in sight of a mounted force."

The boys stopped, and the redmen came up and began shaking hands in a most friendly manner, over and over again, repeating "How!" many times. They were clad in loose and sleeveless cotton shirts, all ragged and dirty, with no other clothing. The one who appeared to be chief was distinguished by the possession of three shirts, worn one above the other. Each man possessed several hares and field-rats, held against his waist by tucking the heads under his belt.

The boy sergeants and their strange guests reached the camp-fire, and the hand-shaking and exchange of amicable civilities went on for some time. The chief approached me and, placing a finger on one of my shoulder-straps, asked, in mongrel Spanish:

"Usted capitan?" (Are you the captain?)

I replied in the affirmative.

"Yo capitan, tambien; mucho grande heap capitan." (I'm a captain, too; a very great heap captain.)

He then asked where we were from and where we were going, and informed us that they were Yavapais on a hunting expedition. We exchanged hard bread with them for a few cottontails, and set Clary to making a rabbit-stew, the boys and I deferring our supper until it should be ready.

"Oh, Mr. Duncan," shouted Henry from the direction of the Indians, a few moments later, "come and see what these creatures are doing!"

I left the ambulance and joined the group of soldiers who stood in a circle about an inner circle of seated Indians. Each Yavapai had selected a rat from the collection in his belt, and had laid it on the coals without dressing it or in any way disturbing its anatomy. He rolled the rat over once or twice, and took it up and brushed and blew off the singed hair. He placed it again on the coals for a moment, and, taking it up, pinched off the charred fore legs close to the body and the hind legs at the ham-joint. Replacing it on the fire, he turned it over a few more times. Picking it up for the third time, he held it daintily in the palm of his left hand, and with the fingers of his right plucked off the flesh and put it in his mouth.

When we were making our beds ready for the night, Vic, whom we had forgotten in the exciting events of the evening, trotted into camp and laid a horseshoe in Henry's lap. The lad took it up, and exclaimed:

"One of Chiquita's shoes!—a left hind shoe!"

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Private Sattler always shaped the heel of the left shoe like this, to correct a fault in her gait."

"May I look at the shoe, sergeant?" asked Corporal Duffey, approaching from the group of men near the guard's fire. "Shoes are like hand-writing—no two blacksmiths make them alike. I am a blacksmith by trade, and know all the shoes made by the smiths of our regiment. This," examining it, "is one of Sattler's. He put a side-weight on it, and here is the bevel-mark of his hammer."

"Then our ponies have certainly passed here, and Vic was on their trail when we saw her coming from the Tanks," remarked Frank; "but there could have been no scent after so long a time."

"Oh, she knows Sancho's and Chiquita's tracks," asseverated Henry; "she knows their halters, bridles, and will bring them when told to, without mistake."

The sentinel awakened us next morning at four o'clock, and informed us that the Indians had left two hours before. The animals were again driven to the Tanks, the vessels and canteens filled, and at six o'clock we were on the road. Nearly all our water was used in the preparation of breakfast, except that in the canteens. It would have been better if we had made a third trip to the cisterns and refilled our coffee-pot and camp-kettles; but the delay necessary to do it, and the assurance that there was water at Hole-in-the-Plain, determined me to go on at once. The weather was a repetition of that of the previous day—hot and windless.

The road proved generally smooth, but there were occasional long stretches over which it was impossible to drive faster than a walk. About four in the afternoon we reached Hole-in-the-Plain, and found nothing but a few hundred square yards of thin mud. The fierce rays of the sun had nearly evaporated every vestige of the recent rainfall, and in twenty-four hours more the mud would be baked earth.

Vic, consumed with thirst and suffering in the extreme heat, waded into the mud and rolled in it until she was the color of a fresh adobe, and was, in consequence, made to ride thereafter in disgrace on the driver's foot-board.

We had intended to pass the night at the Hole, but want of water compelled us to move on. Very gloomy and doubtful of the outcome, we left the Hole-in-the-Plain. We were toiling slowly up a slope, nearly a dozen miles on this third stage of the desert route, when a horseman overtook us, who proved to be Mr. Gray. He slowed up, listened to my account of our perplexities, and after saying many hopeful and cheering things, telling us that Tyson's Wells were now not far ahead, he galloped swiftly away in the darkness.

At midnight the road ascended to a considerably higher level and became suddenly hard and smooth. The driver urged the team into a series of brief and spasmodic trots, which lasted a couple of hours, when we again descended to a lower level, where the wearily slow gait was resumed. With the slower pace our spirits fell and our thirst increased. As Private Tom Clary expressed it to the driver:

"In a place like this a gallon of Black Tanks water would be acciptible without a strainer, and no reflictions passed upon the wigglers."

"That's so, Tom," called Henry, from the depths of his blankets; "I could drink two quarts of it—half and half."

"Half and half—what do you mean?" I asked.

"Half water and half wigglers," was the answer.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Can't sleep, sir; I'm too thirsty. Did drop off once for two or three minutes, and dreamed of rivers, waterfalls, springs, and wells that I could not reach."

"I've not slept at all," said Frank; "just been thinking whether I ever rode over a mile in Vermont without crossing a brook or passing a watering-trough."

"It's beginning to grow light in the east," observed the driver. "By the time we reach the top of the next roll we can see whether we are near the Wells."

"You may stop the team, Marr," said I; "we will wait for the escort to close up."

We got out to stretch our legs, while the straggling soldiers slowly overtook us. The man on the wounded bronco did not arrive until the edge of the sun peeped above the horizon, and I ordered him to remove the saddle and bridle, hitch the animal behind the ambulance, and take a seat beside the driver.

Just when we were about to start again, Frank asked permission to run ahead with the field-glass to the rising ground and look for Tyson's Wells. I consented, and told him to signal us if he saw them, and that if he did not we would halt, turn out, and send the least worn of the escort ahead for relief.

Frank started, and presently disappeared behind some brush at a turn in the road. An instant later he shouted and screamed at the top of his voice. Whether he was shouting with joy or terror, or had gone out of his senses, we were unable to guess. It sounded like "Who-o-o-op! water! water! water!"

Had the boy seen a mirage and gone mad? We could see nothing but the broad hollow about us, barren and dry as ever. But still the boy continued to shout, "Water! water!" and presently he appeared round the bend, running and holding up what appeared to be a letter. It was a letter. When Frank reached the ambulance tears were in his eyes as he handed me a yellow envelope.

"Found it on the head of a barrel over there, with a stone on it to prevent it from blowing away."

Breaking open the envelope with trembling fingers, I read:

"TYSON'S WELLS.

"DEAR LIEUTENANT.—Please accept four barrels of water and four bushels of corn, with my compliments.

"GRAY."

Need I confess the emotions with which we realized the service this brave Arizona merchant had done us? or need I mention that Mr. Gray—God bless him, wherever he may be!—is always remembered with gratitude by me? for this is no idle incident invented to amuse a reader, but an actual occurrence.

Water!—four barrels!—one hundred and sixty gallons! That meant two gallons for every man and boy, and eight gallons for each animal. It meant rest, speed, safety.

We moved across the ravine and found the four barrels by the road-side. The animals were secured to the ambulance and the acacia bushes, the heads of the barrels removed, and after each person had satisfied his thirst the camp kettles were used, until horses and mules had drunk the contents of one each. The stock was then turned out to graze.

When coffee was poured, Private Tom Clary arose, and, holding up his tin cup, said to his comrades:

"Here's a toast to be drunk standin', b'ys, and for many raysons, which I think nade not be explained to this assimbly, I'm glad to drink it in a decoction whose principal ingraydiant is wather. Here's to Mr. Gray, whose conduct at Soldiers' Holes, at Date Creek, and on the Walkerhelyer has won our admiration. May he niver lack for the liquid he has so ginerously dispinsed, nor a soft hand to smooth his last pillow, and plinty of masses for the repose of his sowl!"

Frank and Henry sprang towards the circle of soldiers, raised their cups as Clary finished his sentiment, and joined in the hearty response when he closed.

At one o'clock the animals were caught up, given the remainder of the water and their portion of the corn, and got ready for the road. Once up the slope Marr cracked his whip, the mules started into a trot, the horses of the escort broke into a canter, and amid the cheerful clatter of hoofs and the rattle of wheels we sped on our way as fresh as if we were just leaving Fort Whipple. A ride of twenty miles brought us to Tyson's Wells. These were two in number, sunk at an intersection of several roads leading to settlements and mines, an accommodation to trains, flocks, and herds, and a profit to the owner.

I learned from Colonel Tyson that immediately upon his arrival Mr. Gray had hired a wagon to take water and corn to us. He had bargained for the driver to go until he met us, but the man being prepaid may account for his not fulfilling his agreement to the letter.

The rest of the day and night was spent at the Wells, the boys and I taking our supper at the Desert Hotel, kept by the colonel. At the table, Henry, in a tone of evident anxiety, asked if we should return the way we came.

"Yes, if we can find a few kegs in La Paz that will hold water," I answered.

"But we cannot haul kegs enough in the ambulance to supply the animals."

"It will not be difficult. We will follow the army custom in such cases, and I will promise you that there will be no suffering from thirst when we cross the desert again."

Just as we were preparing for bed Mr. Hudson arrived from La Paz. He informed me that Texas Dick and Jumping Jack were there and in possession of the ponies; that there was to be a horse-race the day after to-morrow, and the ponies had been entered. At this news the boy sergeants became much excited, and proposed a dozen impracticable ways of going on at once and seizing their property.

Hudson said he had talked the matter over with Mr. Gray, and the merchant had advised that we give out a report in La Paz that we were there on the transportation and storehouse business only, and make no immediate attempt to capture the ponies. He said the town was full of the friends of the horse-thieves, and that our movements would be closely watched and reported to them. If they became alarmed they would probably run across the Mexican boundary at once.

"But why cannot we attend the race with the escort, as spectators, and seize them?" asked Frank.

"That is a move they will be sure to be looking for. If any of you go to the race, I believe neither of those men nor the ponies will be there."

I told Hudson to return to La Paz before daylight and circulate the report that I was coming for the purpose he had mentioned. I also requested him to watch Jack and Dick, and if he saw them making preparations for flight to come and meet me. We were met on the outskirts of the town by Mr. Gray, who told us we were to be his guests during our stay, and that his corral and store-rooms were at the service of my men and stock.

Going directly to the house of the hospitable trader, we found it to consist of well-furnished bachelor quarters, with several spare rooms for guests. The boys were assigned a room by themselves, and I one adjoining them, in which we found ample evidence that our host had looked forward with pleasure to our visit and had fully understood boyish needs and desires.

Henry, after exchanging his travelling-dress for a neat uniform, appeared upon the veranda with glowing face and shining hair.

"Mr. Gray, how pleasant you have made our room for us! Have you any boys of your own?" he asked.

"Only two nephews, Sandy and Malcolm, in the 'Land of Cakes,'" was the reply.

"What a good uncle you must be to them!"

"Thank you, laddie. I hope the bairns are as fine boys as you and your brother."

"You are very kind to say so, sir. May I ask you a question?"

"A dozen, laddie. What is it?"

"When you overtook us on the desert you said it was not far to Tyson's Wells, and that we should soon be there."

"Ah! then you thought it a long way, sergeant?"

"Perhaps my terrible thirst had something to do with it, but it seemed more than twenty-five miles. I thought you had a queer notion of distances."

"Only a little deception to keep up your heart, laddie. I saw you were in sad need of water, and I made a hard ride to send it to you, but I wanted you to do your best to meet it. What do you think of the shrinking properties of water when applied to a desert road?"

"Wasn't it great, though! Those last twenty miles your four barrels shrank into nothing but a pleasant three hours' ride."

After dinner Mr. Hudson reported that he had dropped information at the hotels and business places that we were here to meet a director of the Colorado Navigation Company. We also learned from him that the steamer Cocopah had arrived that morning from up-river, and was now lying at her landing, one mile below town, awaiting the return of the director from Wickenburg. Both Mr. Gray and Hudson were of the opinion that the horse-thieves were suspicious of our presence, for their agents had been unable to locate the ponies at any stable in town. The horse-race was advertised to come off on the afternoon of the following day, half a mile below the steamboat-landing, and Texas Dick and Juan Brincos had entered horses for the stakes.

Mr. Gray thought the appearance of the ponies in the race would depend entirely upon what course we pursued. If we attended the race the ponies would not be there; if we stayed away he had no doubt they would run.

Believing the trader's convictions to be correct, I instructed the escort not to go south of the town during the day of the races, and told Frank and Henry to amuse themselves about the streets or in the vicinity of Mr. Gray's residence. I then started with our host to procure a building for a military storehouse.

For the rest of the day the boys showed little disposition to wander about; they spent most of their time lounging on their beds with a book, or asleep.



XV

THE PONIES ARE FOUND

The following day the boy sergeants rose from their beds fully refreshed, and after breakfast began to explore the town. They made some purchases in the stores, and found much amusement in watching a bevy of Mojave Indian girls buying pigments to be used in adorning their necks, arms, and faces. Following the bronze maidens to the shore of a lagoon that backed up to the town from the river, they seated themselves beneath a cottonwood and witnessed the designing of tracings in many colors, made with endless and musical chatterings, accompanied by an evident consciousness that they were objects of interest to two pale-face boys.

After completing the tinting the girls would walk about for a while and display their work to admiring friends, and then plunge into and swim about the lagoon with the ease and grace of a lot of mermaids; emerging with no trace left of their recent ornamentation, they would proceed to renew it in different designs, and take another swim.

"Quite like watering-place belles with extensive wardrobes," remarked Frank.

"And takes about as long to put on the paint as to put on a fashionable dress," said Henry, "but not so long to remove it."

Another thing that amused the boys was a balsa, or raft, made by the Mojaves, of the cane-grass which grew in the river-bottoms to the height of fifteen feet. A large bundle bound at the ends with grass ropes would sustain two men. The boys borrowed one of an Indian girl, who was sitting in the shade of some willows prinking herself artistically with an original and intricate pigmentary pattern. Stepping on board, they paddled about the lagoon for a considerable period.

Tiring at last of the sport, they separated, Frank saying that he was going for his shot-gun, and perhaps shoot for some quail, and Henry that he meant to find Tom Clary and set some lines for catfish.

The younger sergeant failing to find the soldier, selected a line, and, procuring some bait, returned alone to the lagoon. On his way he met the Indian girl walking along the sidewalk, an object of admiration and envy to the men and women of her people. Her bronze flesh was adorned with a lacelike tracery of beautiful design, in many tints.

"How exceedingly pretty!" said Henry, in Spanish, a language fairly well understood by the aborigines of the Southwest.

"I, or my paint?" asked the girl, coquettishly.

"The paint is well put on; but I think you prettiest just after a swim."

"Thank you, senor."

"May I use the balsa again, Indita?"

"Si, senor, and you may keep it, but return the paddle."

"Thank you. I will leave the paddle on the shore where you were sitting."

With this exchange of civilities Henry walked down to the pool. An idea had occurred to him. He wondered if he could not float down the river to the racing-ground and get a peep at Sancho and Chiquita, as they came in victors. He felt sure no ponies in Arizona could outrun them. But Mr. Duncan had told the escort not to go to the race. True; but what harm could there be if he kept out of sight?

Placing an empty box on the raft for a seat, he took Vic on board, and began paddling out of the lagoon. Speed could not be made with such a craft; it was simply a convenience for crossing or journeying down the river. The Mojaves, whose village was five miles above La Paz, came down on freshly made balsas every day, but walked home, carrying their paddles.

Once well out of the lagoon, and in the river-current, the boy and dog were swept along at a swift rate.

A mile down the shore he saw a crowd of men, mounted and on foot, intently watching something inland. He was approaching the race-course. He made a landing on a sand-spit that struck off from an outward curve of the bank, and dragged the balsa out of the water.

The shore rose abruptly from the bar to a height two feet above his head. He lifted and boosted Vic up, and seizing the long tufts of overhanging grass and thrusting his feet into the loops of willow roots, drew himself to the higher level and crept into a screen of low bushes.

Peering through the branches, Henry saw a straight-away course, parallel to the river, bordered for three hundred yards with the motley crowd of a mining and Indian country. At the northern end of the course was a group of ten ponies, out of which he found no difficulty in discovering two, a black and a cream-color, and recognizing in them the property of his brother and himself. In his opinion they were the handsomest animals in the group.

At the fourth signal—a pistol-shot—the ponies got away. Down the three-hundred-yard track they sped, and over the last fourth the black and cream-color led by a length, crossing the goal with Sancho half a neck in advance. Of course the little sergeant knew they would beat, and in spite of his sorrow at the loss of his ponies—intensified by this stolen sight of them—he could not refrain from clapping his hands and saying, aloud, "Bravo, Sancho! Bravita, Chiquita!"

The subdued cheer was promptly answered by a succession of barks at the foot of the tree, and Vic, interpreting the boy's clapping and speech to mean that she was free to go, dashed off at the top of her speed for the race-course, and to its southern end, where the victors were now held by their dismounted riders. Vic bounded wildly about them for a few moments, and then, standing still, Henry saw each horse in turn place its nose to the dog's nose. One of the men struck the dog sharply with the loop of his bridle-rein, and as she fled back in the direction of the tree in which the boy was, he saw the riders hold a brief consultation and then follow the dog.

Henry, perceiving he was discovered, let himself down from the tree. Texas Dick and Jumping Jack approached.

"Ven aca, muchacho" (Come here, boy), said the Mexican.

Henry did not stir, and Dick said to his companion, in Spanish: "He does not understand your lingo. I will try him in English: Come here, boy."

Henry had not disregarded Juan's summons for any particular reason, but the remark of Dick gave him an idea. By pretending ignorance of Spanish he might learn something that would be of advantage to him. Accordingly, he came forward when Dick spoke.

"From Fort Whipple, ain't yer, sonny?"

"I am."

"D' ye know these critters?"

"The black is my brother's, the light is mine."

"Lookin' on 'em up, I s'pect?"

"We shall take them, if we can."

"You see, I was right," continued Dick to his companion, in Spanish. "They came here to take these horses."

"Then we better call for the prize, collect our stakes, and leave," said Juan.

"Where shall we go?" asked Dick. "Arizona's getting uncomfortable for me, and your kin across the Mexican line don't love you."

"Valgame Dios, no! Let's cross the river and go to San Diego or Los Angeles."

"Estar bueno. Come with us, youngster," he added, in English; "and mind ye keep a quiet tongue in yer head or ye'll have no head to wag it in after ye've spoke."

Henry followed the men to the head of the race-course, where they received their prizes and winnings, and withdrew to the river-bank. There they divided the money and held a conference.

"We'd better cross the river to-night and camp at El Rincon until morning, and then strike for Dos Palmas and the coast."

"Shall we leave our monte and other stuff in town?" asked Juan.

"No; you stay here and take care of the boy, and I'll go back and sell out. Anastacio Barela will buy. Look sharp that the young soldier does not send a message by his dog. I heard lots of strange stories of her performances in that line at Prescott. I will bring down something for our supper and the road."

Dick galloped away, leaving the Mexican and Henry to await his return. As the twilight deepened into darkness the boy's thoughts grew more and more despondent. He now fully and sadly realized that his disobedience of orders had brought disgrace upon himself, and ruined every chance of recovering the ponies, for once the thieves got well away they were secure from capture.

It was night when Dick returned and told the Mexican that he had made an advantageous sale of their gambling outfit.

"Now, kid, ye kin slope," he said, addressing the disheartened lad. "Tell the lieutenant that he kin look for us at Hermosilla, on the other side of the Mexican bound'ry. Good-bye."

Henry hurried away towards La Paz, with Vic close at his heels. There was no occasion for haste, for he felt that nothing in the town could overtake the lost Sancho and Chiquita; still he hurried and stumbled on in the darkness.

"Oh, Vicky," said the boy, in his misery, stooping to caress his companion, "I ought to be court-martialled and dishonorably discharged from the service for this. I have done very wrong. I have lost our ponies for good."

The dog licked his hand sympathetically, and then suddenly bounded away, barking, and Henry heard Frank's voice say:

"Why, Tom, here's Vic!"

"Thin Sargint Hinery must be near," said the soldier.

"Yes, I'm here, Frank—and oh, Frank, I'm in such trouble!" And in a curiously jumbled and half-incoherent manner Henry related his afternoon's experience.

At the conclusion of the recital the three held a consultation as to what was best to be done. Time was precious, and the town was nearly two miles distant.

"Sargints," said Private Tom Clary, "I belave we can do bist by oursilves. Me afthernoon's lave ixpires at tattoo, but if, as me shuparior officers, ye'll allow me to be out of camp a bit longer, I think we can sarcumvint the thaves."

"We'll do our best to get you excused by the lieutenant," said Frank.

"Thank you, sargint laddie. You say the grass-boat is near by, Sargint Hinery?"

"Not far from here, Tom. Just west of the middle of the race-course."

"And the thaves are going to camp and cook their supper on the other side?"

"So they said."

"Thin we'll attimpt to interfare with their arrangemints. I think the liftinint will commind an 'absence without lave' if we bring in the raskils and the ponies."

The soldier and boys turned, and, bidding Vic keep close to them, hurried to the bar where Henry had left the gift of the Mojave belle. As they were lifting the elastic raft into the water they heard the voices of men on the river, accompanied by the splashing of water, and knew that the horse-thieves were fording the stream.

The Colorado was shoal, having an average autumnal depth of four feet at La Paz. Clary secured two poles from the river debris lodged on the bar, one for Frank and one for himself. Henry sat on the box in the middle, holding his companions' guns across his lap with one hand, and grasping Vic's collar with the other. The well-filled game-bags lay between his feet.

The balsa moved slowly towards the opposite shore and swiftly down-stream, the stalwart Irish soldier's feet settling into the loosely bound stems as he poled. Becoming alarmed when he found the water standing above his ankles, he called, in a subdued undertone:

"Sargint Frank, I belave I shall go through the bottom of this l'aky craft before we git across."

"Take Henry's paddle, Tom; it lies on the right side of the box. Lay it across the reeds and stand on it."

"Ah, sure and that's betther. Kape yer ind a little more up-strame, sargint. We'll steer by the avening star."

In a few minutes the balsa lodged against the shore in the still water of a little cove. The boys and soldier were aware that they were landing some miles below their starting-point, for the current was strong and swift, while the horse-thieves had forded the river almost in a direct line. They climbed the bank, and ordering Vic to keep close by them, began to move as fast as possible up the shore.

They had made their way for nearly an hour over a rough and miry river-bottom when the setter showed sudden excitement and began sniffing to the right and left.

"She must have struck their path from the river to their camping-place, Tom," said Frank. "Look sharp, Vicky, look sharp!"

"But she seems to be working up-stream," said Henry. "I should think they would have gone straight inland."

"There's an excillint rayson for that, sargint laddie," returned Clary. "One of the routes t' th' coast begins exactly opposite th' town, and they must go up-strame to foind it; El Rincon the landing-place is called."

"The Corner?"

"Yis, Th' Corner. Th' shore binds out there a wee bit."

Man and boys continued to struggle along, until across a level, grassless plot they saw, near a clump of cottonwoods, a fire, where Texas Dick and Jumping Jack were plainly visible, cooking their supper. On the side of the fire opposite the river were two saddles, upon which rested their rifles and revolvers. Still farther west the two ponies were picketed and grazing.

Clary told Henry to go to the ponies and stay there with Vic, while he and Frank crept upon the thieves. Screening themselves behind tufts and swells, and lastly behind the saddles, they worked across the level, the sound of their moving being covered by the booming and rushing of the mighty river. When within twenty yards of the fire and five from the saddles, Private Tom Clary sprang to his feet, aimed his double-barrelled shot-gun at the thieves, and shouted:

"Throw up your arrums!"

At the same instant Frank made a flying leap for the saddles, and seized the rifles and revolvers. Henry ran forward and assisted his brother in keeping Dick and Juan under the muzzles of their own rifles, while Clary securely bound them. This accomplished, the boys went back for a moment to renew their acquaintance with their horses. Yes, the chase was over, and their favorites were again in their possession; and it cannot appear strange that the young soldiers went into boyish ecstasies of delight at their good-fortune, embracing, patting, and talking to Sancho and Chiquita as if they understood all that was said to them.

But at last they joined Clary at the fire, and the three, while they continued to carry on the interrupted cooking of their captives, discussed ways and means of returning to La Paz, and it was decided to send the setter with a message. A note was pencilled on a page of Frank's diary, attached to Vic's collar, and she was taken to the river-bank and given a stick, with orders to deliver it to her master. With but little hesitation she plunged into the murky current, and soon disappeared in the darkness in the direction of the other shore.

While the boy sergeants were going through these adventures I remained in La Paz. At retreat and tattoo roll-calls Corporal Duffey had reported Private Clary absent, adding the words "and unaccounted for," and at Mr. Gray's table the boys were absent from supper.

At first I gave myself no anxiety over the absentees, but at midnight, becoming alarmed, I began a search for them. I soon learned that Henry had been seen to paddle out of the lagoon on a Mojave balsa, accompanied by Vic, and that Frank and Clary had gone quail-shooting. I did not feel especially anxious about the older boy, for he was in the company of one of the most trustworthy of our veteran soldiers, and would probably soon turn up safe. But Henry—gone down the turbulent river on a frail bundle of grass—what might I not fear?

I led all the men of the detail—every one of them as anxious as myself—on a long and fruitless search beside the river, without coming upon a clew. Returning to Mr. Gray's, and dismissing the men, I sat upon the veranda alone, sadly reflecting upon the absence of my young companions and Vic.

In the midst of my sad reflections there scrambled up the steps a wet and bedraggled dog, who dropped at my feet a chip. Carrying her in my arms to my room, I lighted a lamp and examined her collar, and found a few leaves of a memorandum-book covered with Frank's hand-writing.

The news of Vic's arrival with a message spread quickly, and soon the household was gathered in my room and in possession of the news of the exploit of the boys and Tom Clary.

"Good! good!" exclaimed the director of the Navigation Company. "Come with me to the Cocopah. We'll steam across and get the whole party."

On the western shore of the Colorado, Private Tom Clary and the boy sergeants sat by the fire broiling quail, which they seasoned from the supplies of Texas Dick and Juan Brincos, and accompanied by slices of toasted bread from the same source. In the midst of their enjoyment of "quail on toast" a loud "who-o-of! who-o-of! who-o-of!" came across the river.

"Hullo!" said Henry; "the old Cocopah is starting for the Gulf mighty early. I should think the pilot would find it difficult to keep off the shores when it is so dark."

The boys could see by the boat's changing lights that her bow, which had been headed up-stream, when she lay at the bank, was swinging slowly out into the stream, and they expected shortly to see her starboard lights as she headed downward. But she seemed to pause, with her furnace fires and pilot lanterns pointing towards them.

"Who-o-of! who-o-of! who-o-of!—patter, patter, patter." The noise of the steamer grew louder and louder, until the boys rose from their seats and stared in surprise at the rapidly growing lights.

"I really believe she is coming here," said Frank.

"She is, or she nades a dale of space to turn in," observed Private Tom.

Presently two tall smoke-stacks separated themselves from the darkness and appeared high above their heads.

"Ahoy there, boys!" shouted the captain's voice from the bridge.

"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Frank.

"Get ready to come on board! Below there—stand by to lower gang-plank! Now!—lower away!"

Down came the plank, and a joyous group of friends walked down to the shore to greet the boys and the soldier.

A few moments afterwards the boy sergeants led their ponies on board, and Private Tom Clary escorted the prisoners. The Cocopah cleared away and paddled back to the La Paz side, where Texas Dick and Juan Brincos were turned over to the civil authorities, and Sancho and Chiquita to the escort in Mr. Gray's corral.

Three days later the boys and I took leave of Mr. Hudson, who was now in charge of the government storehouse, and, accompanied by Mr. Gray, started for Fort Whipple. Hanging under the hind axle of the ambulance was a ten-gallon keg, and inside was another. We left La Paz early in the morning and arrived at Tyson's Wells at nine o'clock. Remaining there until six o'clock in the evening, we watered our animals, and with freshly filled kegs started for Hole-in-the-Plain, where we stayed until the following evening, the animals passing the day on grass without water. A second night-drive brought us to Cisternas Negras, and the third to Date Creek, from which last point we resumed travelling by daylight.

At Skull Valley, at the earnest request of Miss Brenda Arnold, Henry was allowed to remain for a few days' visit. He promised to join the next incoming mail-rider, and to ride back to the fort by way of the mountain-trail.



XVI

APACHES IN SKULL VALLEY

It was near midnight, four days after my return from La Paz, that I sat by my open fire, absorbed in a recently published popular novel. I was suddenly aroused by a distant and rapid clatter of horse's feet. The sound came distinctly through the loop-holes in the outer wall of the room—loop-holes made for rifles and left open for ventilation. Dropping my book upon the table, I listened intently to the hoof-beats. Some one was riding from the direction of Prescott, evidently in great haste; and Arizona being a country of alarms, I surmised that the rider was coming to the fort. The horseman stopped at the great gates.

"Halt! Who comes there?" rang out the voice of Private Tom Clary, who was sentinel No. 1, stationed at the post entrance. "Sargint Hinery, is it you, laddie?" the voice continued, in a lower and gentler tone.

"Yes, Tom; and, oh, tell Mr. Duncan, quick, that—"

"Whist! Take care, laddie! Howld on a bit!" and a rifle fell clattering to the ground and two solid feet sprang forward with a rush.

Hearing this, I started for the secret postern, and as I opened my door, heard the honest old soldier shout:

"Corpril uv th' guard, No. 1!" and, in a lower and appealing tone: "Liftinint, if ye hear me, come quick to the little sargint. I fear th' dear b'y is dyin'."

In an instant I was through the narrow gate-way, standing beside a group of the guard that surrounded Clary, who, kneeling beside a panting and reeking pony, held the inanimate form of Henry Burton in his arms.

"Corpril Duffey, will ye let one uv the b'ys walk me bate a minate till I can take the laddie in?" asked Tom.

"Yes, Clary, go ahead, and stay as long as you're needed," was the kindly answer.

"Is it to your room I'll be takin' him, sor?" asked Clary, rising and holding his burden across his breast.

"Of course, and place him on my bed. Corporal Duffey, send a man for the surgeon and hospital steward, and send another with the pony to the stable."

It was too dark to take in details, but I noticed Chiquita was utterly exhausted, and that she was covered with foam. Following Clary to my room, I saw, when the light fell upon Henry's face, that his right cheek and neck were bleeding, and that his left arm hung unnaturally limp by the bearer's side.

We placed him upon the bed, and Surgeon Coues, who had now arrived and pronounced the boy to be simply in a faint from loss of blood and over-exertion, applied restoratives and brought him back to consciousness. As Henry's eyelids raised, and he recognized me, he said, weakly:

"Oh, Mr. Duncan, tell Captain Bayard the Indians have attacked Mr. Arnold's ranch, and that Mrs. Arnold is dead!"

"Indians attacked the ranch! When?"

"About four o'clock."

"How many?"

"Don't know. Seemed as if there were over a hundred. And don't stop to worry over me. Don't stop an instant—these scratches are nothing—but send the soldiers, quick, or Brenda and all will be killed!"

"How did you get away from the ranch? But you are right, this is no time for talk."

I aroused the other officers instantly, and sent Frank to his brother. All assembled in my quarters, and, while the surgeon dressed the wounds in cheek and neck and set a fractured radius, orders for an expedition to Skull Valley were issued, and Henry told his story.

At the time this incident occurred the Californians had been mustered out of service and returned to their distant homes, and the garrison at Fort Whipple consisted of infantry only. But there were many "dough-boys" who were good riders, and a number of excellent horses were kept by the quartermaster for emergencies which required speed and short service.

Captain Bayard gave orders for a sergeant, three corporals, and twenty-two privates to be got in readiness for mounted service, with rations for five days. The command was given to me, and Private Tom Clary immediately applied to be relieved from guard in order to accompany me. His request was granted.

Sergeant Frank concluded to remain with his brother.

"I know it is rough on you, Frankie," said Henry, "not to have a chance to win a few scars, too; but I should be dreadfully worried if you were to go, and I'm worried enough about Brenda now. You must stay with me."

And so it was settled, and Frank remained behind, lending his pony Sancho to Private Clary.

During all this preparation, dressing of wounds, and setting of fractures, Henry had managed to give us an account of what had happened at Skull Valley before he left. I will, however, repeat it a little more connectedly, with additions obtained later from other parties.

After I left Sergeant Henry in the valley, as I passed through there from the Xuacaxella, he had for three days devoted himself to the amusement of his young hostess, Brenda, and her cousins.

There were many reasons why the Arnolds were not fearing an attack at the time, the principal one being that the Indians had recently been defeated at Date Creek. With that affair they seemed to have withdrawn, and no signs of them had been seen since.

Near the close of the afternoon of the fourth day of Henry's visit a party of forty-one Apaches had suddenly appeared, and had spent an hour or more reconnoitring the valley and its approaches. Apparently becoming satisfied that they would not be interrupted in their attack by outside parties, they began active operations by collecting the Arnold cattle and horses, and placing them in charge of two of their number near the spring.

Next they fired one of the out-buildings, and under cover of the smoke gained entrance to a second, which stood less than a hundred feet from the north side of the house. Knocking the mud and chips from between the logs here and there, they were enabled to open fire upon the settlers at short range.

With the first appearance of the Indians, Mr. Arnold, assisted by two travellers who had arrived that afternoon from Date Creek on their way to Prescott, closed the windows and doorways with heavy puncheon shutters, removed the stops from the loop-holes, directed the girls to carry provisions and property into the earthwork, got the arms and ammunition ready, and awaited further demonstrations.

The available defensive force consisted of every member of the family, including Sergeant Henry Burton and the two strangers. The mother and daughters had been taught the use of fire-arms by the husband and father, and Brenda had been taught by the boy sergeants. In an emergency like the one being narrated, where death and mutilation were sure to follow capture, the girls were nerved to do all that could have been expected of boys at their ages.

Until the Apaches gained possession of the second out-building, few shots had been exchanged, and the besieged closely watched their movements through the loop-holes. It was while doing this that a bullet pierced the brain of Mrs. Arnold, and she fell dead in the midst of her family.

The body of Mrs. Arnold was borne to the cellar by the sorrowing husband, accompanied by the weeping children. The firing became desultory and without apparent effect. Ball and arrow could not pierce the thick walls of the log-house; only through the loop-holes could a missile enter, and by rare good-fortune none of the defenders, after the first casualty, chanced to be in line when one did.

The family again assembled in defence of their home and lives, the grave necessity of keeping off the impending danger banishing, in a measure, the thoughts of their bereavement. An ominous silence on the part of the Indians was broken at last by the swish of a blazing arrow to the roof. Mr. Arnold rushed to the garret, and with the butt of his rifle broke a hole in the covering and flung the little torch to the ground.

But another and another burning arrow followed, and in spite of desperate and vigilant action the pine shingles burst into flames in several places. At this juncture Henry, whose station was on the south side of the house, approached Mr. Arnold and said:

"Sir, I see Chiquita grazing near the spring, close to the edge of the willows, and the two Indians there with the herd keep well this way, watching the fight. If you think best, I will creep through the passage, mount, and ride to the fort for the soldiers."

Mr. Arnold did not at once reply. He took a long look through a loop-hole towards the spring, and Henry, misinterpreting his silence, said:

"Don't think I want to desert you, sir, and skip the ranch. I'll stay here and do my best with the others, but I thought, perhaps, if I could do it, I might save you all."

"God bless ye, my boy; nobody can doubt yer fightin' 'bility; yer was born a soldier. I was only thinkin' yer chance uv gittin' by them two redskins at the spring's mighty small."

"Then you think it a good plan?"

"Yes; I'd like to have ye do it, if ye can."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

Then the lad passed around the rooms, taking the hand of each defender in farewell until he reached Brenda. As he took her hand in his right and fondly lay his left upon it, the young girl broke into uncontrollable sobbing, and, throwing her disengaged arm over his shoulder, said:

"Oh, Henry! what a dear, brave boy you are! You never think of yourself, but always of your friends!"

"I will bring the soldiers, Brenda, and you shall all be saved. Keep up a good heart."

"But it is such a long ride, and even if you do get away, you may find us dead or captives when you return."

"You must be brave, Brenda—no, not brave, for you are that already; but be patient. We are sure to be here before those fellows can take the little fort. That can be defended as long as the ammunition holds out."

Then the boy kissed the pretty Brenda and her cousins, and dropped into the cellar. Passing into the earthwork, he selected his saddle and bridle from a heap of others, buckled on his spurs, dropped with bowed head upon his knees a moment, and crept into the passage leading to the spring. Groping his way between the narrow walls, he presently emerged through a natural crevice in a mass of bowlders near the spring. Standing in the screen of willows, he parted the branches cautiously in the direction of the two Indians, and saw them less than a hundred yards distant, standing with their backs towards him watching the Arnold house, the roof of which was now a roaring, leaping mass of flame.

Closing the boughs again, Henry opened them in an opposite direction and crept softly up to Chiquita, holding out his hand to her. The docile pony raised her head, and, coming forward, placed her nose in his palm, submitting to be saddled and bridled without objection or noise.

Leaping into the saddle, the boy drove his spurs into the animal's flanks, and was off at a furious run in the direction of Whipple. Startled by the hoof-beats, the Apaches looked back, and began running diagonally across the field to try to intercept the boy before he turned into the direct trail. Arrow after arrow flew after him, one wounding him in the neck and another in the cheek, and when the distance began to increase between him and his pursuers and they saw the boy was likely to get away, one raised his rifle and sent a bullet after him, which fractured the radius of his left arm.

"Well, Chiquita," said Henry, as he turned fairly into the Prescott trail and had realized the exact nature of his injuries, "you haven't got a scratch, and are good for this run if I can hold out."

It was dusk when Henry began his ride, and it rapidly grew darker as he hurried along the trail. Neither he nor the pony had been over it before. Twice he got off the trail, and long and miserable stretches of time elapsed in regaining it; but the fort was reached at last and the alarm given.



XVII

PURSUIT OF THE APACHES

With twenty-eight men, including two scouts picked up as we passed through Prescott, and the post surgeon, I left for Skull Valley. The night was moonless, but the myriad stars shone brilliantly through the rarefied atmosphere of that Western region, lighting the trail and making it fairly easy to follow. It was a narrow pathway, with but few places where two horsemen could ride abreast, so conversation was almost impossible, and few words, except those of command, were spoken; nor were the men in a mood to talk. All were more or less excited and impatient, and, wherever the road would permit, urged their horses to a run.

The trail climbed and descended rugged steeps, crossed smooth intervals, skirted the edges of precipices, wound along borders of dry creeks, and threaded forests of pine and clumps of sage-brush and greasewood. Throughout the ride the imaginations of officers and men were depicting the scenes they feared were being enacted in the valley, or which might take place should they fail to arrive in time to prevent.

It is needless to say, perhaps, that the one person about whom the thoughts of the men composing the rescuing party centred was the gentle, bright, and pretty Brenda. To think of her falling into the hands of the merciless Apaches was almost maddening.

On and on rode the column, the men giving their panting steeds no more rest than the nature of the road and the success of the expedition required. At last we reached the spur of the range behind which lay Skull Valley. We skirted it, and with anxious eyes sought through the darkness the place where the ranch buildings should be. All was silence. No report of fire-arms or whoop of savages disturbed the quiet of the valley.

Ascending a swell in the surface of the ground we saw that all the buildings had disappeared, nothing meeting our anxious gaze but beds of lurid coals, occasionally fanned into a red glow by the intermittent night breeze. But there was the impregnable earthwork; the family must be in that. I dashed swiftly forward, eagerly followed by my men. The earthwork was destroyed, nothing but a circular pit remaining, in the bottom of which glowed the embers of the fallen roof-timbers.

A search for the slain was at once begun, and continued for a long time. Every square rod of the valley for a mile was hunted over without result, and we all gathered once more about the two cellars, in which the coals still glowed.

"It was in the cellar of the house that Sergeant Henry said the body of Mrs. Arnold was laid, was it not?" asked Dr. Coues.

"Yes," I replied.

"Then if all were killed after he left—shot from time to time—would not their remains be likely to be beside hers?"

"Not beside hers, I think. The last stand must have been made in the fort."

"Then the bodies, or what is left of them, must lie under that circular bed of coals, Duncan, if they died here."

"Probably, doctor. It's an uncanny thing to do, but we must stir the coals and see."

A thorough search revealed nothing.

"Does th' liftinint moind that Sargint Hinery mintioned a covered way that led from th' cellar to th' spring?" asked Private Tom Clary, who wielded a rail beside me. "Perhaps th' pretty lassie and her frinds are in that."

"That is so, Clary; thank you for the suggestion," I answered. "Can you make out the opening?"

"Nothin' sure, sor. Behoind thim wagon-tires there sames to be a natural slope of earth."

"Tip the tires over, Clary," I ordered; and presently a number of tires, from which the fire had burned the felloes, spokes, and hubs, fell into the coals, disclosing a recently filled aperture.

"Looks as if the end of a passage had been filled, doesn't it?" asked the surgeon.

"It certainly does," I answered. "Let us go to the spring and examine."

Accompanied by the doctor and several men, I rode to the spring. When we arrived there we broke a way through the thick-set willows into an irregular mass of small bowlders. Climbing over these, we found ourselves at the mouth of a narrow passage about four feet high and two feet wide.

"This must be the entrance to the covered way," I remarked, and placing my head in the crevice, I called: "Oh, Mr. Arnold, we are here—your friends from Fort Whipple!"

"Thank Heaven!" in a man's tones, came clearly through the entrance, accompanied by a sudden outburst of sobs in girlish voices.

"We'll be there directly," spoke another man's voice—that of a stranger. "We've heard your horses' hoofs jarring the ground for some time, but we thought it safest to lay low until we were sure it wasn't redskins."

Then followed the sound of steps, accompanied by voices, sounding at the entrance, as a voice spoken in a long tube appears to be uttered at the listener's end. Some time elapsed before those who seemed so near appeared; but at last there emerged from the passage Mr. Arnold, two strange men, and three girls—but no Brenda.

"Where is Brenda, Mr. Arnold?" I asked.

"Heaven only knows, lieutenant. She gave herself up to the Apaches."

"Gave herself up to the Apaches! What do you mean?"

"That's precisely what she did, lieutenant," said one of the strangers, adding: "My name is Bartlett, from Hassayampa, and this is Mr. Gilbert, from Tucson. We were on our way from La Paz to Prescott and stopped here for a meal, and got corralled by the Indians. But about the girl Brenda: she took it into her head, after we got into the little fort, that unless some one could create a diversion to mislead the devils, we'd all lose our scalps."

"That beautiful young girl! Gave herself up to certain torture and death! Why did you allow it?"

"Allow it!" exclaimed Mr. Bartlett, indignantly. "I hope, lieutenant, you don't think so hard of me and my friend as to believe we'd have allowed it if we'd suspected what the plucky miss meant to do!"

"Tell me the circumstances, Mr. Bartlett," said I.

The party moved slowly along the path from the spring to the fires, and as they walked Mr. Arnold and the travellers gave an account of all that had happened after Sergeant Henry left for Fort Whipple.

The burning arrows sent to the pitch-pine roof became so numerous that the besieged found it impossible to prevent the flames from catching in several places. Henry was hardly out of sight before the house became untenable, and the defenders were obliged to retire to the fort. When the house was consumed, and its timbers had fallen into the cellar a mass of burning brands, the space about the earthwork was clear, and the rifles at its loop-holes kept the Indians close within the out-building they had occupied since the attack began. No one dared to show himself to the unerring marksmen, who watched every movement.

For a long time silence reigned among the Indians. The whites, however, felt sure that plans were being matured which meant disaster to them.

At last these plans were revealed in a constant and rapid flight of arrows, directed at a point between two loop-holes—a point which could not be reached by the besieged, and where, if a considerable collection of burning brands could be heaped against the logs, between the earth and the eaves, the pine walls and rafters must take fire. Walls and roof were too solid to be cut away, and water could not reach the outside.

The defenders, when they realized what the result of a fire would be, held a consultation, and decided that in the event of the fire getting control of the fort they should retire into the covered way, block up the entrance with earth, and remain there until help should arrive. It was thought the Indians would suppose all had perished in the flames.

"But they know we came here by an underground passage from the house," said Brenda; "will they not suspect we have entered another passage if we all disappear?"

"P'r'aps they may," answered Mr. Arnold; "I had not thought of that. We'll have to take our chances."

"If one of us was to appear to escape from here, and join them," continued the girl, "I think they would suppose the others had perished, and make no search."

"That may be true, but I'll take my chances here," said Mr. Gilbert.

"So will I," said his companion. "A fellow wouldn't last a minute outside this fort. I prefer smothering to the death those devils will give me."

It soon became evident to the besieged that the outer wall was on fire.

The sun had gone down and darkness was deepening in the valley when the first tongue of flame licked through a crevice in the roof and showed that the fire had gained a foothold. Soon a hole appeared, close to the eaves, which gradually enlarged towards the centre of the roof and along the surface of the earth. With blankets the fire was beaten out on the sides, but it crept insidiously along between the timber and earth covering.

In making the roof, branches of pine had been spread over the timber, and the branches in turn covered with a thick layer of straw to prevent the earth from filtering between the logs. This material was as dry as tinder, and held the fire.

The men stood at the loop-holes and compelled the savages to remain under cover of the out-building, while the four girls exerted themselves to keep the fire from showing inside. Delay until help could arrive from Whipple was what all were struggling to gain; but the increasing heat and smoke showed the defenders at last that they could no longer put off retiring to the covered way.

The word was given and all entered it, and the men with shovels began to close the entrance. When it was a little more than half closed the hole in the roof had become triangular, resembling the space between two spokes and a felloe of a wheel. On the earth, or felloe side of the triangle, there was no fire; but the other sides were burning fiercely.

Making a sudden dash, and before any one could realize her intention, Brenda leaped past the shovellers, sprang over the embankment they were throwing up, and by the aid of a bench sprang up the four-foot wall, through the flame-bordered aperture, and disappeared, her clothing apparently in a blaze. The war-whoops immediately ceased.

No attempt at pursuit or rescue was made. The Arnolds and the strangers felt that it would be useless, and only result in the death of the pursuers. The work of closing the passage was resumed and completed, and all sat down to await the slow flight of time and the possible arrival of the soldiers.

After listening to the story of the Arnolds I concluded that Brenda had fallen a victim to the cruelty of the Apaches, and that we should find her mutilated and disfigured body. A rapid and excited search was at once began. Far and wide, over plain, through ravines, and into the foot-hills rode the soldiers, leaving no part of the country for several miles around unsearched; but not a trace of the missing girl was discovered.