_ CHAPTER XIII
That was a stirring night at Almy. The general, contrary to habit, was very grave and quiet, saying little, drinking nothing, even the customary toddy being declined. The doctor, also contrary to habit, was drinking a little and thinking a lot, but saying nothing. An abstemious man, as a rule, and a temperate man at all times, he seemed inclined to sample his Monongahela more than once before midnight, when, having gotten his patients to sleep, he tried to do likewise. "They are on an even keel again," said Bonner, referring to the two casuals, "and I am not sorry to see it." Evidently there had been comparison of notes between Strong and Bonner, and an agreement of some kind, for both held that Willett had exceeded his authority, as well as his discretion, in conducting a single-handed charge on an outnumbering enemy, secretly hidden behind rocks and ridges. Strong's men said that Lieutenant Willett, spurring hard, had called across the stream for them to follow him, and three of those nearest the bank plunged through the shallows and were barely three hundred yards behind him when, from their right front among the rocks at the foot of a bluff, the shot was fired that wounded the lieutenant's horse, which veered at once and ran away down among the willows. No, they hadn't charged. They turned, too. For all they knew, there might have been a thousand Apaches in hiding there, and when the lieutenant turned they turned. It was not until Lieutenant Strong and the rest of the men came up with them that they pushed ahead and found the officer and his horse lying among the rocks by the stream. Willett had been hurled out of saddle when the frenzied beast went suddenly down, and there he lay, stunned and bleeding, while the poor brute was quivering in the agonies of death.
"Did you see anything of 'Tonio?" Strong was asked, as a matter of course.
"Not so much as a shred of his breechclout," said Strong, "nor of any other Indian nearer than a mile away, and they were running for the rocks. It was too dark to do any trailing." But for the shot that killed Willett's horse, and the tremendous tales of the courier scouts, Strong would have been inclined to say there were not a dozen Indians in the north valley. "If there were more," said he, "and if they were really hostile, even though afoot as they were, was it likely that two couriers on worn-out horses could have escaped them? No," said Strong. "There is something about it we don't understand, neither does Willett, for all he's so positive."
But Strong admitted that two things puzzled him. The horse was certainly shot, and Willett's Colt, the handsome revolver that he set such store by, was certainly gone. Willett, when he came to, had asked for it. He swore that he had drawn it from the holster, and was riding at "raise pistol" when the shot was fired--that he clutched it as his maddened horse tore blindly down the slope, and then, among the rocks, stumbled, staggered and fell. Now revolver, holster, "thimble belt" of cartridges--all were gone.
The couriers were made to tell their tale while the doctor and his assistants were getting Willett to bed, and Willett, from several conditions, was not easy to soothe and quiet. He had not been sparing of the
spiritus frumenti that went with other medical supplies in the ambulance. Archer and the surgeon saw it, and said nothing. That was natural, possibly, under the circumstances, and could be controlled later. Archer cross-questioned the couriers at some length. They had not followed the Verde Valley southward. They had "lit out" along the Mesa road, toward Baker's Butte, until they found the trail by way of Hardscrabble and Granite Creek. They had succeeded in evading Apaches until the third day out, and after leaving the East Fork they saw smokes that made them wary, and once down in the Wild Rye Valley, and in sight of the old Picacho, they came upon recent Indian signs in the sand--moccasin tracks going down stream bed toward the post. Then they "chassayed," as they said, out into the open, midway to the foothills, so as to keep out of rifle range of both, and then Indians came a-running at them from the foothills, trying to head them off and take them alive, they supposed, and they had dismounted and fought and driven them back, and, oh, they must have killed three or four of 'em! and in fact had had to fight for their lives most of the afternoon. Archer listened, incredulous, puzzled. Frontiersmen's and fishermen's tales have much in common. These were men who had been employed three years, they said, by the agent at the upper reservation and had been detailed for courier duty with Colonel Pelham, commanding the district of the Verde. One was American, the other Mexican. Their story might be straight, but, with all the valor to which they laid claim, it seemed strange to Archer and his officers that two men could break their way through an encircling horde of hostiles such as they described, and hold a hundred fierce Apaches four long hours at bay.
Harris was awake, and in highly nervous condition, and begging that he might be allowed to see and question these couriers, but both doctors, regular and contract, said no, not this night. And so, toward midnight, the couriers were permitted to go to bed. The doubled sentries were cautioned to observe the utmost vigilance. The lights were extinguished at the store, by way of telling everybody that neither game nor glass was to be had before the morrow. The general was urged by his devoted adherents, Bonner, Bucketts and Strong, to get such sleep as was possible, and the post was committed to the charge of Lieutenant Briggs, officer of the day. The lights were still burning low at the hospital and in the doctor's quarters and Strong's, as, with a look about the moonlit valley and a word to his sergeant, Bonner rejoined his comrades at the quartermaster's veranda.
"Odd," said he, with a tilt of his head toward the quarters next beyond, "of all our little fighting force, so far the only casualties are with our two casuals."
That was at one o'clock in the morning. At three, by which time all but the guard were presumably in bed, Mrs. Archer, lying anxious and wakeful, listening for the sound of sigh or sob from Lilian's little room and praying that sorrow might be averted from that beloved child, felt sure at last that she heard a footstep, and, stealing softly across the narrow hallway, found Lilian kneeling at the curtained window and gazing out upon the brilliant night. There was no reproach in the mother's murmured words. Well she knew what it portended that her daughter should be at this hour sleepless and striving, perhaps, to see the light from the window where her young hero lay prostrate and suffering. Not one word had they yet exchanged about him, but many a woman, even with mother love brimming over in her heart, would have upbraided, and many another would have "nagged." What other word have we for that feminine method, the resort of so very many, the remedy of so very few? But Mrs. Archer simply circled a loving arm about the slender form. "We're all on guard to-night, aren't we, daughter?" she murmured, fondly kissing the tear-wet cheek. "It was so long before your father dropped to sleep. Have you--heard anything?"
Burying her face in the dear refuge of years, with her arms thrown instantly about her mother's neck, Lilian's sole answer was a shake of the bonny head. It was as much as saying, "You know that isn't the matter; yet, thank you for trying to think so--thank you for not asking me what is."
"Well,
I did," murmured Mrs. Archer, slowly rising to her feet, and drawing Lilian with her. "I'm sure I heard low voices down there on the flat toward the ford. The sentries are more than usually watchful and taking note of everything. You know it was right out there Number Five heard the crying in the willows only last night." And all the time she was quietly leading her child back to the little white bed.
Then suddenly Lilian stopped and lifted her head. "I hear now," said she. "It's coming!" Across the hall stealthily they sped, and together were presently peering from the southward window in Mrs. Archer's room. Two dim figures could be seen crossing the flat from the direction of the ford, coming straight for the low point of the mesa whereon stood the quarters of the commanding officer. Then they began breasting the slope, but exchanging no word. As they reached the top Mrs. Archer caught Lilian's hand. "It's an Indian--a runner, I believe. See, that's the corporal of the guard with him! It's a despatch of some kind!"
And so it proved. Five minutes later, Briggs, officer of the day, was heard coming down the line; his sword clicked at the steps; his foot was on the veranda, but before he could knock, Mrs. Archer met him at the door.
"We saw them coming," said she. "Is it a despatch--for the general?"
"From Captain Turner," said he gravely. "I read it, hoping not to have to disturb the general, but--there's been a fight and some are wounded. Turner needs instructions."
The army-bred woman needed no further word. She knew at once what had to be done. "Wake father, Lilian, dear," she gently called from the foot of the stairs. "Will you come in, Mr. Briggs? I can light up in a moment."
"There's light in abundance out here, thank you, Mrs. Archer. Besides, I have our runner." And, turning back, he pointed to the steps where, still watched by Corporal Hicks, the dusky messenger squatted wearily. All Apaches looked alike to Hicks. His attitude was plainly indicative of a conviction that treachery of some kind was afoot, and this particular envoy had designs on his commander or that commander's wife. They could hear the veteran bustling about upstairs, hurriedly donning his uniform. Then came Strong, with his quick, bounding step, for Briggs had called him before disturbing the "Old Man." A moment later, by the clear light of the unclouded moon, Archer was hurriedly reading Turner's brief despatch.
BIVOUAC ON TORONTO CREEK, NOVEMBER 24TH, 187--.
POST ADJUTANT,
CAMP ALMY.
We have had two more brushes with Tonto Apaches, resulting in the breaking up of two rancheri-as and the scattering of the band, leaving several dead in each affair, also a few wounded bucks and squaws that I had to leave, as we had no means of sending them to the post or caring for them in any way. Sergeant Payne, Corporal Smith, G, and Troopers Schreiter and Wenzel, wounded, are doing as well as can be expected, but must remain at this point under a small guard while we follow the renegades. The scouts report many signs toward the Black Mesa, and we shall strike wherever we find the hostiles, but I shall have but twenty-five men with me now, and barely forty rounds per man. Instructions sent by bearer may reach me among the foothills toward Diamond Butte. Otherwise, we shall return by the way we came. Trooper Hanson, died of wounds in the affair previously reported, was buried here.
Respectfully,
TURNER, Commanding.
"Then the other runner failed to get in," said Archer gravely. "There was a fight before this. Turner's found a raft of Indians. This despatch is two days old now. Have we nobody who can talk with this Indian?"
"Nobody, I fear, sir," answered Strong, bending over the scout and examining the brass identification tag worn by each of those regularly employed and mustered. "He's a Hualpai. No. 21. Even Harris doesn't know that tongue, sir."
"If anybody here does, it's one of those two that got in from Verde last evening," said Archer reflectively. "Turner evidently had no idea the hostiles were all about us, and he thinks the previous despatch must have reached us. Corporal, go find the couriers and fetch them here. Be seated, gentlemen," he continued, in his courtly way, then turning from everybody, stepped out on the sandy level between his quarters and the office building, and began pacing slowly up and down.
What was to be done? No word had come from Stannard. Stirring, yet disquieting news they now had from Turner, whose wounded lay in need of medical attention a long day's march through stony wilds, with jealous and savage eyes watching every trail. Here at Almy he had two companies of sturdy foot, capable of covering ground almost as fast as the cavalry, but wearing out shoe leather much faster. Twenty of these fellows could fight their way through to the Tonto, but might have just as many more wounded to care for, and be unable to transport them. Moreover, with so many hostiles on every side, was he justified in stripping the post of its defenders? It was no pleasant situation. It was more than perplexing. Presently he turned and, using such signs as he thought might be comprehensible, asked the impassive runner if he knew where the first fight took place, and the Hualpai, as would almost any Indian partially gathering the drift of a question, began a rambling reply, pointing as he spoke, with shifting finger, all over the range to the south-east.
"Bella, dear, have we anything that this incomprehensible creature could eat?" asked Archer. "It may help matters." And presently the lady of the house appeared at the hall door again, with a tray in her hands. Briggs ceremoniously took it, and set huge slices of bread and jam before the gaunt mountaineer, who found his feet in an instant; received a slice on the palm of his outspread hand; lifted it cautiously, his yellow teeth showing hungrily; smelled it suspiciously, thrust forth his tongue, and slowly tasted the strange mixture on the surface; then, with confidence established, finished it in four gulps, and, like a greyhound, looked eagerly for more. Briggs laughed and pointed to the tray on the steps, but the Hualpai shook his head and drew back shyly.
"You'll have to give it piece by piece, Briggs," said Strong. "His squaw would scoop the whole trayload into her skirt or blanket, but not a Hualpai brave."
Approached in accordance with Hualpai views of table etiquette, the Indian ate greedily, and was still eating when the corporal came and, with him, the sleepy and dishevelled courier, the American. And now in the radiant moonlight the strange war council was resumed.
"Ask him, if you can, where the first fight came off, and who was sent with the despatch," demanded the general of the new-comer, upon whom the Hualpai looked in recognition, but with neither light nor welcome in his piercing eyes. Question and answer in halting, uncanny speech progressed fitfully a moment. Then came the report:
"He says there was a fight the first day out; another when they struck Tonto Creek, and two soldiers were killed."
"And as to the first runner?"
"He says 'Patchie Mohave brought it all way safe. This buck met him going back. He said he gave it to 'scout capitan' out by Picacho."
"'Out by Picacho!''Scout capitan!' Who on earth does he mean?" asked Archer, with a sudden fear at heart.
Once again, stumbling question, much gesticulation, many words in strange gutturals--and a name. Then the final report:
"He means Apache-Mohave--'Tonio!" _