Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War

by Charles King

  CHAPTER VII.

  The dawn was breaking in sickly pallor over the jagged scarp of theMesa, bounding the chaotic labyrinth of bowlders, crag and canonbeneath. Far up the rugged valley, jutting from the faded fringe ofpine, juniper and scrub oak that bearded the Mogollon, a solitary buttestood like sentry against the cloudless sky, its lofty crown of rockjust faintly signalling the still distant coming of the heralds of thegod of day. Here in the gloomy depths of the basin, and at the banks ofthe murmuring stream, all was still silence and despond. Thesmouldering ruins of Bennett's cosey home lay a mass of dull red coal,with smoke wreaths sailing idly aloft from charred beam or roof-tree.The mangled body of the stout frontiersman had been gathered into atrooper's blanket and lay there near the pathetic ruin of the house hehad so hopefully builded, so bravely defended, for the wife and littleones. Half a dozen Indian scouts, silent and dejected, were squattinginert about the little garden, irrigated from the main _acequia_,where the heavy-headed poppies, many of them, were still nodding ontheir stalks, while others lay crushed and trampled. A little distanceaway down the stream a little troop of cavalry, in most business-likeuniform, had dismounted and was watering some fifty thirsty horses,while its stocky commander, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of hisriding breeches, his slouch hat pulled down to his brows, his bootedfoot kicking viciously at a clump of cactus, was listening impatientlyto the words of the young aide-de-camp, who seemed far less at easethan when he trod the boards of the general's quarters some six hoursearlier in the night.

  "Do I understand you then," and Stannard spoke with a certain asperity,"that Mr. Harris, with just two or three scouts, has gone out huntingon his own hook?--that even 'Tonio isn't with him?"

  "He claimed the right to go, and I told him to take half a dozen--halfa score of the scouts, if need be, and leave the other half with me,only I drew the line at 'Tonio. I needed him here. He is the onlyIndian in the lot who understands enough English to catch my meaningand to translate. I could let Harris go, or 'Tonio, separately, but notboth together. That left me powerless. Oh, yes, he objected. He said'Tonio had always been his right bower--always had worked with him andfor him. But 'Tonio, not Harris, is the chief of scouts, the man theylook to and obey. Now he and most of his followers are here to do yourbidding. If Harris had been allowed his way, I'd have been probablyalone."

  Stannard sniffed. "Which way'd he go?" he bluntly asked.

  "I'm not sure. We were going to trail the moment it was light enough tosee. One thing is certain, they did not start in the direction of thesignals, though they may have veered off that way. 'Tonio is the onlyone who claims to know anything. 'Tonio says 'Apache Tonto' was themurderer, not Apache-Mohave, and 'Tonio's in the sulks. Look at him!"

  Stannard glanced an instant toward the gaunt figure of the Apache,standing dejectedly apart from all others and gazing fixedly toward thedawn. The light was stronger now. The red was in the orient sky. Thedistant butte was all aglow with the radiance of the rising yetinvisible sun. Stannard seemed more concerned in the whereabouts of Mr.Harris than in the worries of Mr. Willett. Again he returned to hisquestions.

  "Well, did Harris give any inkling of his purpose--whether he meant tofollow the trail till he found captives and captors, or only till hefound where it probably led to? I've got to act, and lose no time.Sergeant, tell the men to hurry with their coffee," he called, to thebrown-eyed, dark-featured soldier who was coming forward at the moment.A salute was the only answer, as the sergeant turned about in histracks and signalled to the boy trumpeter, holding his own and thecaptain's horse. Another moment and Stannard was in saddle.

  "Harris didn't say," was the guarded answer. "You know, I suppose, thathe left the post without consulting the general, and he took it muchamiss that, in compliance with the general's orders, I exercisedcertain authority after reaching him. Now you are here to take entirecharge, I turn over the whole business to you. There's what's left ofthe scouts; there's what's left of the ranch; and there," with a glanceat the blanket-shrouded form, "is what's left of the Bennetts. I'll jogback to the post by and by."

  "Oh, then you're not going on with us?" said Stannard, relieved inmind, he hardly knew why.

  "No, sir, I only rode out here to investigate and report. We, ofcourse, hoped to save _some_thing."

  "Pity you hadn't spared yourself and not spoiled the pie," thoughtStannard as he looked about him over the scene of desolation. The menwere snapping their tin mugs and the refilled canteens to the saddlerings. The captain rode over to 'Tonio, a kindly light in his blue-grayeyes. He whipped off the right gauntlet and held forth his hand.

  "No Apache-Mohave!" said he stoutly. "Apache Tonto. Si! Now catch 'emTeniente Harris." Poor lingo that "pidgin" Indian of the desert and thelong ago, but it served its purpose. 'Tonio grasped the proffered hand,a grateful gleam in his black eyes; warned with the other hand thecaptain's charger from certain tracks he had been jealously guarding;then pointed eagerly, here, there, in half a dozen places, wherefootprints were still unmarred in the powdery dust. "Si--si--ApacheTonto!" and the long, skinny finger darted, close to the ground, fromone print to the other. "No Apache-Mohave! No!"

  "Then come! Mount!" called Stannard. "Leave a corporal and four menhere as guard until the ambulance gets out from the post," he added, tothe first sergeant. "Mount the troop, soon's you're ready. I'm goingahead with 'Tonio and the scouts. _Ugashi_, 'Tonio! Good-by, Mr.Willett. Take one of the men, if you need an orderly," he shouted back,over a flannel-shirted shoulder, innocent of badge or strap of anykind. In point of dress or equipment there was absolutely no differencebetween the captain of cavalry and his fifty men.

  A moment later, spreading out over the low ground like so many houndsthrowing off for a scent, 'Tonio and his scouts were trotting awaytoward a dip in the rugged heights to the north-east, for thither, themoment it was light enough even faintly to see, the keen eyes of theApaches had trailed the fugitives, and now with bounding feet theyfollowed the sign, Tonio foremost, his mount discarded. Afoot, like hisfellows, and bending low, pointing every now and then to half turnedpebble, to broken twig or bruised weed, he drove ever eagerly forward,the stolid bearing of the Indian giving way with each successive minuteto unusual, though repressed excitement. Thrice he signalled toStannard and pointed to the crushed and beaten sand--to toe or heel orsole marks to which the Caucasian would have attached but faintimportance had not the aborigine proclaimed rejoicefully"Apache-Mohave!" whereat Stannard shook his head and set his teeth andfelt his choler rising.

  "Thought you swore Apache _Tonto_ awhile ago," said Stannard wrathfully."Now you're saying Apache _Mohave_!"

  "Si! Si! Apache Tonto--kill--shoot. Apache-Mohave good Indian. Look,see, _carry_," and with hands and arms in eager gesture he strove toillustrate.

  Could he mean that they who killed Bennett were hostile Tontos, andthat these who bore the poor widowed creature were of the Mohave blood?If so, why should 'Tonio seem really to rejoice? Had he not strenuouslydenied that his people took any part in the outrage? Was he not nowinsisting that they were active in bearing her away--probably tocaptivity and a fate too horrible? Stannard, riding close at his heels,his men still following in loose skirmish order until they should reachthe ravine, studied him with varying emotion. Harris had certainlybetrayed a fear that 'Tonio was but half-hearted in the matter ofscouting after Apache-Mohaves. Now the suspected scout was trailing forall he was worth, with the pertinacity of the bloodhound.

  Broad daylight again, and the sun peering down from the crest of thegreat Mesa, and the morning growing hot, and some new hands alreadypulling eagerly at the canteens, despite their older comrades' warning.And still the advance went relentlessly on. They were climbing arugged, stony ravine now, with bare shoulders of bluff overhanging inplaces, and presently, from a projecting ledge, Stannard was able tolook back over the rude landscape of the lowlands. There to the west,stretching north and south, was the long, pine-crested bulwark of theMazatzal, the deep, ragged rift of Dead Man's Canon
toward the upperend. Winding away southward, in the midst of the broad valley, thestream shone like burnished silver in the shallow reaches, or sparkledover rocky beds. Far to the south-west, the dull, dun-colored roofs andwalls of the post could barely be discerned, even with the powerfulbinocular, against the brown barren of the low "bench" whereon it lay.Only the white lance of the flagstaff, and the glint of tin about thechimneys, betrayed its position. From north to far south-east ran thepalisade-like crest of the Black Mesa, while the Sierra Ancha bound thebasin firmly at the southward side. Deep in the ravines of thefoothills, where little torrents frothed and tumbled in the springtide, scant, thread-like rivulets came trickling now to join the gentleflood of the lower Tonto and the East Fork of the Verde, and, at one ortwo points along the Mesa, signal smokes were still puffing into thebreathless air. Below them, possibly six miles away, yet looking almostwithin long rifle-shot, the square outline of the abandoned corral, theblackened ruin of the ranch, with the adjacent patches, irrigated,tilled, carefully tended--all Bennett's hard and hopeful toil gone fornothing--told their incontrovertible tale of savage hate and treachery.It was a sorry ending this, a wretched reward for the years of saving,self-denial and steadfast labor of him who had lived so long at amityamong these children of the mountain and desert, giving them often ofhis food and raiment, asking only the right to build up a little lodgein this waste land of the world, where he need owe no man anything, yethave home and comfort and competence for those he loved, and a welcomefor the wayfarer who should seek shelter at his door. It was the old,old story of many a pioneer and settler, worn so threadbare at thecampfires of the cavalry that rough troopers wondered why it was thatwhite men dared so much to win so little. Yet, through just suchhardships, loneliness and peril our West was won, and they who own itnow have little thought for those who gave it them.

  Stannard sighed as he closed his signal glass and turned again to theduty in hand. "What's the trouble?" he bluntly asked his faithfulsergeant; lieutenants at the moment he had none.

  "Check, sir. All rock and half a dozen gullies. Scouts are trying threeof them. Don't seem to know which way they went from here. Even a muleshoe makes no print."

  The troop, following its leader's example, without sound or signal haddismounted, and stood in long column of files adown the ravine. 'Tonioand his fellow-scouts had disappeared somewhere in the stony labyrinthahead. Up this way, before the dawn, the dusky band must have led ordriven their captives, two of Bennett's mules having been pressed intoservice. Up this way, not an hour behind them, must have followedHarris and his handful of allies, four Indians in all. Up this way,swift and unerring thus far, 'Tonio, backed by half a dozen half-nakedyoung braves, had guided the cavalry, and never before, so said oldFarrier Haney, who had 'listed in the troop at Prescott, and had servedhere with the previous regiment in '69--never before had he known'Tonio so excited, so vehement. Beyond all question, 'Tonio's heart wasin the chase to-day.

  Scrambling down the adjacent slope every man forhimself. Page 81]

  But this delay was most vexatious. Every moment lost to the pursuit wasmore than a minute gained by the pursued. Lighter by far and trained tomountain climbing, the Apache covers ground with agility almostgoatlike. It was long after seven, said Stannard's watch, and not aglimpse had they caught of Indian other than their own. It was justhalf past the hour, and Stannard with an impatient snap of thewatch-case was about thrusting it back in his pocket, when, far to thefront, reechoing, resounding among the rocks, two shots sounded inquick succession, followed in sudden sputter by half a dozen more."Turn your horses over to Number Four, men!" shouted Stannard."Sergeant Schreiber, remain in charge. The rest of you come on."

  Scrambling up a rocky hillside, he led on to the divide before him--thecrest between two steep ravines--his men coming pell-mell and pantingafter, every now and then dislodging a stone and sending it clatteringto the depths below. Two hundred yards ahead, at a sharp, angularpoint, one of the Yuma scouts stood frantically waving his hand, andthither Stannard turned his ponderous way. No lightweight he, and thepace and climb began to tell. Eager young soldiers were at his heels,but grim old Stauffer, the first sergeant, growled his orders not tocrowd; hearing which their captain half turned with something like agrin: "Tumble ahead if you want to," was all he said, and tumble theydid, for the firing was sharp and fierce and close at hand, augmentedon a sudden as 'Tonio's little party reached the scene and swelled theclamor with their Springfields. Another moment and, springing from rockto rock, spreading out to the right and left as they came in view of alittle fastness along the face of a cliff, the troopers went scramblingdown the adjacent slope and, every man for himself, opened on whatcould be seen of the foe. Some men, possibly, never knew what they werefiring at, but the big-barrelled Sharp's carbine made a glorious chorusto the sputtering fire of the scouts. Five hundred yards away, bendingdouble, dodging from bowlder to bowlder, several swarthy Indians couldbe seen in full flight, apparently. Then old 'Tonio threw up a handfrom across the stony chasm, signalled to his friends to cease, sprangover a low barrier of rock, disappeared one moment from view, then afew yards farther signalled "Come on." And on they went and camepresently upon an excited, jabbering group at a little cleft in thehillside. A mule lay kicking in death agony down the slope. Another laydead among the bowlders. An Apache warrior, face downward in a pool ofblood, was sprawled in front of the cleft, and presently, from thecavelike entrance, came Lieutenant Harris and 'Tonio, bearing betweenthem the form of an unconscious woman, and Stannard, as he came pantingto the spot, ordering everybody to fall back and give her air, andsomebody to bring a canteen, slapped Harris a hearty whack on theshoulder, whereat that silent young officer suddenly wilted and droppedlike a log, and not until then was it seen he was shot--that his sleeveand shirt were dripping with blood.

  And just about that hour, less than thirty miles away, based onLieutenant Willett's verbal report, the commanding officer of Camp Almywas writing a despatch to go by swift courier to departmenthead-quarters--a report which closed with these words:

  "The presence at this juncture of Lieutenant Willett, aide-de-camp to the department commander, was of great value and importance, and I trust that his decision to remain may meet approval. On the other hand, it is with regret that I am constrained to express my disapproval of the action of Lieutenant Harris, commanding scouts, who left the post with his men immediately after the alarm and without conference with me; was only overtaken by Lieutenant Willett after going several miles, and, when informed of my instructions, practically refused to be guided by them. Persuading a few of the scouts to follow him, he left the detachment, in spite of Lieutenant Willett's remonstrance, and started in pursuit of the marauders. As these must largely outnumber him, it is not only impossible that he should rescue the captives, but more than probable he has paid for his rashness with his life."