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

by Charles King

  CHAPTER IX.

  The night was still young. The conference at the surgeon's house wasbrief, for Bentley, fearing for his patient, hustled all but 'Tonio outinto the open air just as soon as the Indian signalled "I have spoken,"which meant he would tell no more. Brief as it was, the interview hadsent the wounded officer's pulse uphill by twenty beats, and Bentleyknew what that meant. Still it had to be. 'Tonio brought tidings ofominous import, and the public safety demanded that his warning shouldbe made known, and who was there to translate but Harris? "If it wereonly Chinook, now," said Willett, "I could have tackled it, but, excepta few signs, Apache is beyond me."

  So while the doctor was giving sedatives to his patient, and thedoctor's servant giving food to 'Tonio, Archer gathered his fewremaining officers about him in the moonlight and discussed thesituation. From 'Tonio's description, the affray that had aroused theApaches far and wide had occurred three days earlier, just at dawn,among the rocky fastnesses of the Mogollon, perhaps "two sleeps" to thenorth-east, the very direction in which Stannard was scouting. But itwasn't Stannard's command. 'Tonio said the soldiers were from up theVerde, and the scouts were Hualpais, and then Archer understood.Between the Hualpais, finest and northernmost of the Arizona tribesmen,and the Tonto Apache there had long been feud. It was evident from'Tonio's description that a _rancheria_ of the latter had beensurprised--"jumped" in the vernacular--just about dawn; that theHualpais, rushing in, rejoicing in abundant breechloaders andcartridges, had shot right and left, scattering the fugitives andslaying the stay-behinds, who, crippled by wounds or cumbered by squawsand pappooses, could not get away. The soldiers, though only a hundredyards or so behind, were slow climbers as compared with the scouts, andthough the few officers and men did what they could to stop thewretched killing, a few women and children were found among the dead,and the word was going the length of the Sierra, far to the south-east,and would never stop till it reached Sonora and Chihuahua, that thewhite chief had ordered his soldiers to kill, so they might as well diefighting.

  "If they were to concentrate now, first on Stannard, and then onTurner," said Archer--"ambuscade them in a canon, say--I'm afraid we'dsee few of their fellows again."

  "Or if they only knew their strength," spoke up the only captain leftat the post, "and were to concentrate, say, five hundred fighting menupon us here, it's little the rest of the world would ever see of_us_."

  Archer turned half-angrily upon the speaker. "You never yet, CaptainBonner, have heard of Apaches attacking a garrisoned post, even thoughthe garrison was smaller than ours, and I believe you never will. Thequestion _I_ have to settle is how to send warning to our two fieldcolumns."

  For a moment there was none to offer suggestion. There were presentonly seven officers, all told, Bentley being still with his youngpatient. Anxious eyes were watching the little group, their white coatsgleaming in the moonlight. Over at the barracks a score of soldiers,slipping from their bunks, clustered at the wide-open doors andwindows. Over at the hospital two or three convalescents, with thesteward and the nurse, sat gazing from the shaded piazza. Over at thecommander's quarters Mrs. Archer, Mrs. Stannard and Lilian, sittingcloser for comfort, murmured occasional words, but their eyes seldomquit their anxious scrutiny. To Mrs. Stannard it was no novelexperience. To Mrs. Archer and her daughter, despite their longer yearsin the army, it was thrillingly new. In the utter silence on the lineand throughout the garrison the rhythmic tramp of feet, muffled bydistance, could not fail to catch their straining ears, and far overacross the parade, behind the barracks, betrayed by the glint of themoonlight on sloping steel, a shadowy little detachment went stridingaway toward the nearest sentry post.

  "They are doubling the guard," said Mrs. Stannard. Then the group atthe flagstaff broke up. Three officers went with the commander towardthe office, others toward the company quarters. One came swiftly,purposely, toward the waiting trio. Lilian knew it was Willett evenbefore they could recognize his walk and carriage. Mrs. Archer rose tomeet him. All they yet knew was that 'Tonio was in with tidings of somekind--Doyle had told them that.

  "Tell us what you can," was all she said.

  "The time-honored tale of Indian uprising," said Willett airily."Something I've heard every six weeks, I should say, since they gave mea sword."

  "But they've doubled the guard."

  "Only changed it, I fancy. The general wants some few cavalrymen for ascout in the Mazatzal."

  Mrs. Stannard knew better, but held her peace. The object at least waslaudable, if not the lie. All three had risen now and were standing atthe edge of the veranda, Mrs. Archer's gentle, anxious eyes followingthe soldierly form just vanishing within the shadows at the office,Lilian's gaze fixed upon the handsome features of the young soldierbefore her.

  "'Tonio brought news, did he not?" asked Mrs. Stannard.

  "'Tonio had to tell _some_thing, you know, to cover his mysteriousmovements. 'Tonio's story may be cock and bull for all we know. It isjust such a yarn as I have heard told many a time and oft in theColumbia basin. Most Indians are born liars, and 'Tonio has everythingto gain and nothing to lose in telling a believable whopper now. 'Toniosays his people are persecuted saints, and all others perjured sinners."

  And just then, through the silence of the night, there rose upon theair, distant yet distinct, the prolonged, anguished, heart-broken wailof a woman in dire distress--a Rachel mourning for her children, andrefusing to be comforted. There was instant scraping of chairs on thehospital porch, and one or two shadows vanished within the dimlylighted doorway. "Oh, poor Mrs. Bennett!" cried Mrs. Archer. "I'm goingover a little while. Come, Lilian."

  "Let me go with you," said Mrs. Stannard, ever sympathetic with younghearts and hopes. But Lilian had been well trained and--went, the twowives and mothers walking arm in arm in front, the other two, the girlof eighteen, the youth of twenty-five, gradually dropping behind. Theelders entered the building, following the wife of the hospitalsteward; the juniors paced slowly onward to the edge of the low bluffoverlooking the moonlit valley, with the shining stream murmuring overits shallows in the middle distance. Lilian's white hand still restedon the strong arm that drew it so closely to the soldier's side, andboth were for the moment silent. He seemed strangely quiet andthoughtful, and she stood beside him now with downcast eyes andfluttering heart, for, as she would have followed her mother, he hadbent his head and, almost in whisper, said:

  "Come--one minute. It may be my last chance."

  And the girl in her had yielded, as what girl would not?

  Presently he began to speak, and now his head was bowing low; his eyes,though she saw them not, were drinking in the lily-like beauty of thesweet, downcast face. One quick look she flashed at him as he began,then the long lashes swept her cheek.

  "I could not tell your mother the whole truth, just then," he began."I've got to tell you something of it now. Until to-night I never knewwhat it was to--to shrink from news of action. Now--I know."

  She wanted to hear "why," even when her own heart was telling her. Shewanted him to say, yet coquetted with her own desire. "Is--it seriousnews?" she faltered.

  "So serious that Stannard, or Turner, or both, may be in grave danger,and there's no one to go and warn them but--me!"

  "You?" and up came the troubled, beautiful eyes.

  "Yes. Ask yourself who else there is. The scouts are gone. Sanchez hasnot returned. There's but a baker's dozen of troopers and troop horsesleft at the post. The general needs to send a little party to explorethe Mazatzal. 'Tonio can't be trusted. Harris has--practically--puthimself out of it. Don't you know me well enough to know--I've got togo?"

  She was only just eighteen. She had lived her innocent life at thatfond mother's side. She had read of knightly deeds in many an hour, andher heroes were such as Ivanhoe and William Wallace, Bayard and PhilipSidney, the Black Prince and Henry of the snow-white plume. Four daysagone her heart had first stood still, then thrilled with girlishadmiration when they told her how Harris had met his serious wo
und,and, for just that day, that soldierly young trooper was the centre ofher stage. Then Willett returned, with a different version, and otherthings to murmur to her listening ears. Then Willett had been atleisure two--three--long days, and, save that mournful tragedy at theranch, casting its spell over the entire post, sufficient in itself tostrike terror to a girlish soul, to inspire it to seek strength andprotection of the stronger arm, what else was there to occupy the heartof a young maid here at sun-baked, mud-colored, monotonous old Almy?The one thing that would transform a desert into paradise had blossomedin her fair, innocent, girlish bosom, and he who had marked thesymptoms many a time knew that the pretty bird was fluttering to hishand. The one precaution needful was--no sudden shock--no word or deedto bring rude awakening.

  But even now she stood, trembling a bit, trying _not_ to believe thathe must leave the post--must leave her, and on so dangerous a mission.She was silent because she knew not what to say, yet knew that what hehad said almost turned her cold with dread. He saw the hesitancy, andstruck again:

  "Must go--to-night."

  "Oh, Mr. Willett!" And now the little face, uplifted suddenly, waspiteous as he could wish. It fell again for shame at her self-betrayal,for sheer helplessness and dismay, for the sudden realization of whatthe long days now would be without him, for what life might be if henever came back. With all her pride and strength and maidenly reserveshe was struggling hard to fight back the sob that was rising to herthroat, the tears that came welling to her eyes, but he _would_ havethe tribute of both, and murmured again:

  "Lilian, little girl, don't you _know_ why I cannot bear to go--justyet?"

  And then, shaking from head to foot, she bowed her face upon her hands,and Willett's arms were around her in the instant, and after one littlestruggle, she nestled in a moment, sobbing, on his heart. She did noteven see the sentry coming slowly up the path, and when girl or womanis blind to all about her but just one man, her love is overwhelming.

  It was he who whispered word of warning, as his lips pressed theirkisses on her soft and wavy hair. It was he who calmly hailed theguardian of the night, asking if further sign had been seen, adding,"Runners may well be coming in to-night, just as did 'Tonio." It was hewho promptly, cordially answered Mrs. Archer, calling Lilian from theangle of the hospital, kneeling instantly as though to fasten aloosened bootlace. And then, as he presently led his silent captiveback toward the parade, talked laughingly of the sentry's brokenEnglish, imitating so well the accent of the Rhineland.

  "No word of this just yet," he murmured, ere they reached the general'sdoor, and saw that veteran hospitably awaiting them. "It is so sudden,so sweet a surprise. Come what may now, I shall not go until I haveseen _you_ again. What, general? Sangaree? I'd like it above allthings!"

  Two horsemen came trotting across the parade, threw themselves fromsaddle, and one stepped swiftly to the group, his hand at the hat brimin salute.

  "Well, sergeant, you _have_ been prompt!" the general was saying. "Youhave your letter for Captain Turner?--and Woodrow is to follow CaptainStannard? Good again! Do most of your trailing by night. The Apachesare cowards in the dark, and you can't miss the trail. God be with you,my men! Your names go to General Crook in my first report!"

  Another moment and they were away, and two more had taken theirplace--two who waited while Mrs. Stannard pencilled a few hurried wordsto her "Luce," while Lilian, with a world of rapture, thanksgiving andrejoicing in her heart, was striving to regain self-control, and avoidher mother's eye, a thing she never before had done, nor would she nowbe doing but for that splendid, knightly, heroic, self-poised,soldierly fellow, standing so commandingly, gracefully there,conferring one minute with her soldier father, and the next--helpingMrs. Archer to more small talk and sangaree.