VIII
OVER THE DIVIDE--A CORPORAL MISSING
Fort Wingate was reached in two more marches--six in all from the RioGrande--and we went into camp for two days for rest and some neededrepairs to wagons before undertaking the second and longer section ofour military journey--a section upon which at that time no white manhad set up a home.
Recalling my promise to the priest who had interviewed me in behalf ofSenora Perea, I made inquiries of the Port Wingate officers concerningher son. None of them had heard more than she already knew, but ascout claimed he had recently seen a Mexican boy herding ponies forthe Navajo chief Elarnagan, thirty miles north of Zuni.
The evening before resuming our march Captain Bayard informed me thatthere was an emigrant family camped half a mile to the west of FortWingate, which had been awaiting our arrival in order to travel toArizona under our protection. He told me to assign the family a placein the train.
I went to their camp, and found it located in a grove of cottonwoods ashort distance out, on the Arizona trail. Mr. Arnold, the head of thefamily, never ceased his occupation while I was talking to him. He wasconstructing a camp-table and benches of some packing-boxes he hadprocured from the post trader. He was a tall, well-proportioned man,of dark complexion and regular features, with black, unkempt hair andrestless brown eyes. He was clothed in a faded and stained butternutsuit of flannel, consisting of a loose frock and baggy trousers, thelegs of the trousers being tucked into the tops of road-worn boots.His hat was a battered and frayed broad-brimmed felt. Mrs. Arnold saton a stool superintending the work, bowed forward, her elbows on herknees, holding a long-stemmed cob-pipe to her lips with her left hand,removing it at the end of each inspiration to emit the smoke, whichcurled slowly above her thin upper lip and thin, aquiline nose. Shewas a tall, angular, high-shouldered, and flat-chested woman, darkfrom exposure to wind, sun, and rain, her hair brown in the neck, butmany shades lighter on the crown of her head. Her eyes were of anexpressionless gray. A brown calico of scant pattern clung in lankfolds to her thin and bony figure.
The three daughters were younger and less faded types of their mother.Each was clad in a narrow-skirted calico dress, and each wasstockingless and shoeless. Mother and daughters were dull, slow ofspeech, and ignorant.
After staying long enough to give the necessary instructions andexchange civilities with each member of the family in sight, I wasriding slowly back to the roadway, intending to take a brisk canter tothe fort, when Corporal Henry's voice called from a clump of cedars atthe back of the Arnold family's wagons.
"Oh, Mr. Duncan, may I speak to you a moment?"
Turning my horse in the direction of the voice, I saw my young friendapproaching, switching a handsome riding-whip in his hand.
"You haven't seen all the family, sir," he said.
"I have seen Mr. and Mrs. Arnold and those the mother said were alltheir children--the three barefooted girls."
"But there is one more girl, sir, a very pretty one, too--a niece.She's back of the wagons making friends with Vic and Chiquita. Youmust not go without seeing her."
I went back with Henry and saw a girl of about fourteen standing byChiquita, holding her by the bridle-rein and smoothing her neck, whileVic nestled at her feet. She seemed very attractive at my first casualglance, impressing me favorably. A blonde, possessed of abundantflaxen tresses held in a band of blue ribbon, having a complexionwhich her recent journey had tanned and sprinkled with abundantfreckles, but giving promise of rare beauty with added years and lessexposure to sun and wind. Her clothing was fashionably made and wellfitted, and her delicate feet were encased in neat boots andstockings.
"Miss Arnold," said Henry, "permit me to introduce our quartermaster,Lieutenant Duncan--and Mr. Duncan," continued the boy, "it gives mepleasure to present to you Miss Brenda Arnold."
The quality, modulation, and refinement of the voice in which the girlassured me of her pleasure in meeting me, confirmed my firstimpression.
"But how did you make the acquaintance of Corporal Henry Burton, MissArnold?" I asked.
"I was riding back from the fort, sir, where I had been to mail someletters, and my pony, Gypsy, lost a shoe and came near falling. Thestumble caused me to drop a package, and Mr. Burton chanced to come upand restore it to me, and he also picked up Gypsy's shoe. Heaccompanied me to camp, and since we arrived has been giving me thehistory of Vic, Sancho, and Chiquita."
"And that, of course, included something of the history of theirdevoted attendants?"
"Yes, I have learned something of the gallant deeds of Corporals Frankand Henry Burton and Lieutenant Duncan at Los Valles Grandes and onthe march here. When I meet Corporal Frank I shall know you all."
"He will present himself to-morrow, no doubt," I observed. "But aboutthat pony's shoe; do you want it reset?"
"Yes, but who can do it?"
"At our next camp, to-morrow, our soldier-blacksmith shall set it."
"But I do not belong to government, sir."
"But part of this government belongs to you," replied Henry. "I'lllead Gypsy to the forge for you, and Private Sattler shall shoe her ashe does Chiquita, and polish the shoes, too."
The Arnold family history, gathered incidentally on the march, and ata period later in my story, was briefly this: Brenda was the onlydaughter of Mr. Arnold's only brother, and had been reared in a largeinland city of New York. Her father and mother had recently perishedin a yachting accident, and the young girl had been sent to herpaternal uncle in Colorado. There were relatives on the mother's side,but they were scattered, two brothers being in Europe at the time ofthe accident. Brenda had reached her Western uncle just as he wasstarting on one of his periodical moves--this time to Arizona.
The different social status of the families of the two brothers wasunusual, but not impossible in our country. One of the brothers wasambitious, of steady habits, and possessed of a receptive mind; theother was idle, impatient of restraint, with a disinclination toprotracted effort of any kind.
The distance to the first camp beyond Fort Wingate where we were sureto find water was twenty-two miles; and it being impossible for us toleave the post before three o'clock in the afternoon, we determined tomake a dry camp five and a half miles out.
When Frank and Henry learned that the start was not to be an early onethey rode out to the Arnold camp with the information, and the formerwas duly presented to Miss Brenda. Gypsy was brought into the fort andshod, and returned to her mistress in season for the march.
The evening was well advanced when we pitched our tents at the drycamp. Horses and mules were turned out to graze for the first timewithout water, and although in this mountain region the grass wasabundant, they did not cease to whinny and bray their discontentthroughout the night.
The sun dropped behind the mountain spurs, and we drew nearer andnearer the fires, adding a thicker garment as the twilight deepenedinto night. Frank expressed the trend of thought by asking, "We nowmarch into the heart of the Navajo country, do we not, sir?"
"Not precisely through the heart, but along its southern border."
"They'll try to make it lively for us, I suppose?"
"They will certainly watch us closely, and will take advantage of anycarelessness on our part."
"Do you think there is any chance of our finding Manuel Perea?"
"Hardly; he is too far off our route. We cannot leave the train tolook him up."
There was a suspicious choke in the voice of the little corporal whenhe said: "It is awful to think we are going so near the dear old boyand can do nothing for him. Only think of his poor mother!"
"I was told at the fort that she has offered five thousand dollars tothe man who will bring Manuel to her," said Frank. "I wish I couldbring him in for nothing."
"Brenda says she believes we shall find him somehow," Henry said. "Ihope she is right, for I saw his mother at Algodones and promised herto rescue him or become a prisoner with him."
"So she wrote me at Los Pinos," I replied.
"Well, something may turnup to enable us to serve his mother. Let us go to bed."
Next morning we were again on the road by starlight. A march ofsixteen miles brought us to Agua Fria--cold water. Less than a hundredyards west of the spring was a ridge which did not rise fifty feetabove it, and that was the "backbone" of the continent. The water ofAgua Fria flowed into the Atlantic; the springs on the other side ofthe ridge flowed into the Pacific.
The wagons of the Arnold family travelled between the rear-guard andthe government wagons. They consisted of two large "prairieschooners," drawn by three pairs of oxen each, a lighter wagon, drawnby four horses, beside which four cows, two ponies, and four dogs wereusually grouped. The father and eldest daughter drove the ox-teams,the mother the horse-team, and two daughters rode the ponies. Brenda'spony, Gypsy, was her own property, purchased soon after she joinedher uncle in Colorado. As my station and Frank's were with therear-guard, or along the flanks of the train, Miss Brenda commonlyrode with us after daylight. Henry, after leaving Fort Wingate, rodewith the advance.
After supper at Agua Fria, Corporal Frank ordered all water-kegs to befilled, for the water at El Morro, or Inscription Rock, our nextcamping-place, was poor. The distance was seventeen and a half miles.The next march was to the junction of the Rio Pescado and Otter Creek,twenty-two miles, and the following to Arch Spring, nineteen miles.This way took us through the ancient town of Zuni, an Indian communitydescribed by the Spanish priest, Father Marco de Niga, in 1559.
After leaving Zuni, a march of thirty-two miles brought us late in theevening to a spring variously called by Mexicans, Indians, andAmericans, Ojo Rodondo, Wah-nuk-ai-tin-ai-z, and Jacob's Well. It is afunnel-shaped hole in a level plain, six hundred feet in diameter atthe top, and one hundred and sixty feet deep.
At the bottom of the hole is a pool of brackish, green water, reachedby a spiral track around the wall. Our cooks first procured a supplyof water, and then the animals were driven down in detachments. Theywaded, swam, and rolled in the water until it was defiled for humanuse.
An hour after our arrival four Navajos appeared and were admitted toan interview with Captain Bayard, of whom they asked informationconcerning the terms offered their bands as an inducement to surrenderand go upon the reservation. In reply to our questions they told us wewould find plenty of water at Navajo Springs, seven miles from Jacob'sWell, and that there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. As theIndians were preparing to leave, Corporal Henry came forward and askedCaptain Bayard to inquire for Manuel Perea. The captain thanked theboy for the suggestion, and did so; and we learned that a Mexican boy,answering the description given, was assisting in herding the poniesof Elarnagan, north of the Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo Creek.
"Carizo Creek," said Frank, reflectively, turning over his schedule ofdistances, "that is 19.05 miles from here."
"CORPORAL HENRY ASKED CAPTAIN BAYARD TO INQUIRE FORMANUEL PEREA"]
"Yes, and there are the Twin Buttes," said Henry, pointing to twoprominent peaks to the northwest. "Can't we go there, sir? It cannotbe more than thirty miles."
"I would not be justified in leaving the road except upon anextraordinary emergency," replied Captain Bayard.
"Don't you suppose, sir, that Elarnagan would give Manuel up for thelarge reward his mother offers?" asked Brenda Arnold, who stood by theside of the boy corporals, an interested listener to all that had beensaid.
The captain asked her question of the Indians, and one of them repliedthat the chief had refused large offers heretofore, and woulddoubtless continue to do so.
"Cannot you scare him by a threat?" asked Henry.
"I will try it, corporal," answered the captain. Then, turning to theNavajos, he continued: "Tell the chief, Elarnagan, that it is not thepart of a brave warrior to cause grief and sorrow to women andchildren; tell him that the great chief at Santa Fe is fast bringingthis war to a close, and that two-thirds of his people are already onthe reservation at Bosque Rodondo; tell him that when hesurrenders--which will not be long from now--if the boy Manuel is notbrought in safe he will be severely punished."
"Thank you," said Henry.
The Indians left in a northerly direction.
At guard-mounting Captain Bayard announced that, owing to the recentfatiguing marches and the lack of good water, we would go no fartherthan Navajo Springs the following day, and that we would not breakcamp before eight o'clock.
This announcement was received with pleasure; for since leaving AguaFria little water had been drunk, it being either muddy, stagnant, oralkaline. The water at Navajo Springs was said to be pure.
Ten o'clock next morning found us at the springs. They were fifteen innumber, clustered in an area of less than an acre. Each was of thedimensions of a barrel set upon end in the ground, with a mere threadof water flowing from it--a thread which the fierce sun evaporatedbefore it had flowed a rod from its source. It soon became plain toevery one that we could not long remain there.
The Indians had said there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. Fiveand one-twentieth miles over a rough, red, and verdureless countrybrought us to the Rio Puerco of the West. There was not a drop ofwater in it.
The commanding officer ordered me to take ten cavalrymen, withshovels, and go on to Carizo Creek, and, if I found no running water,to sink holes in a line across its bed. The boy corporals were allowedto go with me.
The distance to Carizo was seven miles, over a high, interveningridge, and the creek, when we reached it, was in no respect differentfrom the one we had just left. We opened a line of holes six feetdeep, but found very little water.
Sending Corporal Henry back with a message to Captain Bayard, wepushed on to Lithodendron Creek, a distance of thirteen miles, andfound about an acre of water, four inches deep, in the bed of thestream, under the shadow of a sandstone cliff. It was miserablestuff--thick, murky, and warm--but it was better than nothing; I senta soldier back to the command, and sat down with Frank under thecliff to wait.
The march had lengthened into thirty-two miles, over an exceedinglyrough country, and it had been continuous, with no noonday rest, andunder a broiling sun.
Frank and I sat a little apart from the soldiers, watching for thearrival of the approaching wagons.
Time dragged slowly on until after nine o'clock, when a faint"hee-haw" in the far distance gave us the first hint that the trainwas over the divide and that the unfailing scent of the mules hadrecognized the vicinity of water.
An hour more passed before Sergeant Cunningham and half a dozenprivates of the infantry company marched down to the roily pool andstooped for a drink. The rest of the men were straggling the length ofthe train, which arrived in sections, heralded by the vigorous andcontinued braying of the mules.
No one felt inclined to pitch a tent, partly on account of extremefatigue, but chiefly because the ground was rough and stony and cactiin endless variety strewed the surface, branching and clusteringabout the petrified trunks of giant trees which gave the creek itsname.
There was no grass in the vicinity, and no grain on the train. Theanimals when turned loose went to the pool and drank, and thenwandered about the wagons calling for forage. Lowing of cattle,bleating of sheep, braying of mules, and whinnying of horses neverceased as the suffering animals wandered in search of food. There wasno fuel for fires in the midst of this petrified forest of prostratetrees, so hard bread and raw bacon made our supper.
After a time I began to wonder why Vic had not come to greet me. Shehad accompanied Henry when he went back with my message, and I knewthat if he had returned she would have looked me up immediately. I wasabout to search for her, when Frank appeared, and asked, "Have youseen my brother?"
"No," I replied, "nor have I seen Vic. They must be with the rearguard."
"No, sir; they are not there. I have just seen the sergeant of theguard."
"Have you visited the Arnolds?"
"Yes, sir; and Miss Brenda says they have not seen him since he cameback from you."
; "Is not Corporal Henry here?" asked Captain Bayard, who had approachedand overheard a part of our conversation.
"No, sir," I answered. "I sent him to you at Carizo to say we hadfound no water."
"He reported to me," the captain replied, "and I sent him back at oncewith orders for you to proceed to Lithodendron, as you have done."
"He did not reach me. I came here because it seemed the only thing todo."
"Henry not here!" and the captain and all of us began moving towardsthe train. "Cause an immediate search to be made for him. Examineevery wagon. He may have got into a wagon and fallen asleep."
It is needless to say, perhaps, that this search was participated inby nearly every individual in the command not too tired to stir. Henrywas known to all, and had in many gentlemanly and kindly ways acquiredthe respect and affection of soldiers and civilian employes.
Every wagon was examined, although from the first there was a generalpresentiment that it would be useless. In the wagon assigned to theuse of the boy corporals and myself, Henry's carbine and revolver werefound, but Frank said his brother had not worn them during the day.
The mule and cavalry herds were examined for the cream-colored pony,but that also was missing. Then the thought suggested itself that thelad might be wandering on the road we had just traversed; but anexamination of the sergeant of the guard showed that to be impossible.
But one conclusion could be arrived at, and that was that Henry hadbeen picked up by the Navajos when returning from the command to mydetachment on the Carizo.
At the conclusion of the search the officers gathered near theirwagons for a consultation. Frank remained apart, silent and miserable.
Captain Bayard said: "It is impossible for us to make an immediatepursuit with horses in such a condition as ours. To attempt a pursuitover the barren region about us would be to invite failure anddisaster. If we had Mexican ponies, or Indian ponies like those of theboys, we might start at once. The boy is probably a prisoner, and adelay of one or two days can make little difference to him."
"But can we go with any better prospect of success to-morrow or nextday?" I asked.
"Yes, a march of sixteen miles and a half will bring us to theColorado Chiquito--a stream flowing at all times with pure water;there, also, we shall find abundance of grass and a recentlyestablished cavalry camp. I received a letter from the departmentcommander before I left Wingate, stating that Lieutenant Hubbell andforty New Mexican cavalry had been ordered there three weeks ago. Weshall find an abundance of grain at the camp, and can put our animalsin good condition for an expedition into Elarnagan's country in a fewdays. Now, gentlemen, let us get such rest as we can, and start at anearly hour in the morning."
Captured by the Navajos Page 8