"Well, what is it?" was his brief, almost sullen question. And then came his classmate's answer—one that Bucketts long remembered.
"You are going up the valley, I take it, and there is an alarm of some kind. Now, Willett, remember this: no matter what you have seen or suspect, the Apache-Mohaves had no part in the devil's work at Bennett's. I have 'Tonio's word for it, and will bring proofs."
"Damn 'Tonio's word! He's a renegade and a deserter himself! He's playing a deep, double game, and you yourself suspected it three days ago. Now he's proved it. I've no time to talk." And impatiently he turned away and sprang for his horse. A moment more and he was in saddle, had set spurs to his excited mount, and then, full gallop, went tearing to the edge of the mesa, lifted his hat in salutation to the general, and dove down the slope, across the lower bench, away through an upper ford of the sluggish winter stream, and out upon the sandy flats beyond.
"Rides well," said the general, looking after him.
"Rides very well," said the surgeon, looking after Strong. "Can you see anything yet, sir?"
"Could see two horses ten minutes ago, with some running figures far up the valley. Can't make 'em out at all. Strong'll fetch 'em—Strong and Willett. Good stock there, doctor!"
"Tiptop, where Strong is concerned," said the doctor grimly. The events of the earlier afternoon had tended to add to his disapprobation of the other. "There's something up at the store, sir, I think," he added, with a swift change of subject. "I saw men running that way just now. Here comes Bucketts!"
And Bucketts came, hobbling sturdily. "It's two ranchmen, I think, and there was a shot down toward the south-east ten minutes ago."
The general looked back. Down in front of the log barracks Bonner's company, in fatigue dress, had formed ranks, and the sergeants were distributing ammunition. Across the parade, the verandas of the Mess and office buildings were deserted, but one or two men stood staring toward the invisible plant of the trader. Close at hand, near the hospital and again lining the edge of the mesa, a score of yards farther to the left, a number of soldiers of the other company were eagerly watching developments. Even with the naked eye, two miles or more up the valley, Strong's little detachment, black dots of skirmishers, could occasionally be sighted pushing on northward, while, at heavy gallop, heading for the front, Willett was still in plain view; but, at the moment, nothing could be seen of the objects that were the original cause of the excitement.
From the Picacho, it seems, both Strong and Bonner had made out through their glasses two tiny black dots in the direction of Bennett's ruined ranch, coming slowly toward the post, but still five or six miles away. From the platform, forty minutes later, two horsemen had distinctly been seen moving swiftly about, close to the willows that lined, in places, the rocky stream bed. More than this, the general was sure he had caught sight of three or four figures afoot, skipping actively about when moving at all. What he and his advisers believed was that Sergeant Woodrow and his comrades were, for some reason, trying to make their way back to Almy and had found Apaches barring the way. Therefore had Strong and his little party been sent forth to meet, to aid, to bring them in. Therefore had Willett, of his own motion this time, and without the delegated authority he bore when following Harris, set forth at speed to overtake them, forgetful, in the eagerness of the moment and the possible over-excitement of his faculties, that he had promised Archer to be back just as soon as he'd got his Colt—that calibre 44 Colt now belted at his hip, with every chamber loaded.
And now as the eager watchers at the platform trained their glasses on the distant field, Bucketts, taking up the handsome binocular left by the aide-de-camp, had time to notice its fine silver mounting and the engraved "H. Willett, U.S.A.," in exactly the same script as that which adorned the revolver. Then, as he adjusted it to his eyes, it occurred to him to tell the doctor of Harris's coming to the side door, and of his most earnest language and manner, whereat the general turned sharply:
"What's that? Harris said no Apache-Mohaves?"
"No Apache-Mohaves in the affair at Bennett's Ranch, sir, on 'Tonio's authority, and Willett scoffed at both statement and 'Tonio."
"By heaven," said Archer, "'Tonio was right in saying we were cut off, isolated here, and if he hadn't slipped away in that mysterious fashion I'd rather take his word than—than Willett's impressions. Where has Willett been—all morning—anyhow? He never came near me!"
Everybody within earshot knew, and nobody answered. Archer looked queerly about him. Bonner and Briggs gazed fixedly through their glasses. Bucketts was absorbed in the adjustment of his. The doctor said he must go over and give Harris a rebuke for getting up, and started forthwith, and Archer, without further question, turned again to his survey. He was of the old army—and knew the signs.
For a moment every living object up the valley seemed to be shut from view. Bonner, by way of changing the subject, had so far "white-lied" as to exclaim "There they are again!—er—no," but the ruse was unnecessary; Archer understood. Almost at the moment, however, came a sound from the open windows of the matron's room, adjoining the hospital, against which all present would willingly have closed their ears—the prolonged, heart-breaking, moaning cry of a woman robbed of all she held dearest—poor Mrs. Bennett waking once more to her direful sorrows, and filling the air with her hopeless wail. For a moment it dominated all other sound. "For heaven's sake, doctor," cried Archer to the assistant, "can't you and Bentley devise something to still that poor creature? Has she lost her mind, too?"
"Sounds like it, sir. There's only one thing that will bring it back—that's those babies."
"If anybody can get 'em it will be Stannard," answered the general prayerfully. "This, whatever it is, up the valley may be news from him and of them! God grant it!"
"Look!" cried Bonner at the instant. "I see Willett! See him?—galloping up that—— Why, hell and blazes—I beg your pardon, general—he's 'way out beyond Strong's people! See 'em—down there by the willows? Where in—— Gad! d'ye see that? Why, his horse jumped and shied as if he'd—— Look! He's running away! He's gone!"
Gone he had. Not once again, before the going down of the sun, now just tangent to the western heights, did they catch sight of Willett or Willett's horse. One after another the watchers again found Strong within the field of vision and followed him down to and across the stream, and others of the mounted party were seen, some wearily following their officer, others moving about a point among the willows where last had been seen the two strangers whose odd movements led to the going forth of the searching party. But it was half an hour later, and light was growing dim in the valley, while the eastward crests of the Mogollon were all ablaze, when a single rider was made out coming homeward at speed. It was dusk at Almy when his panting horse struggled painfully up the slope and, dismounting, a weary rider saluted the post commander and handed him a note. By this time Mrs. Archer, Mrs. Stannard and Lilian, too, were on the platform, and the mother's arm stole instinctively about the daughter's slender waist, while every eye was on the general as he quickly opened, then slowly read aloud the pencilled words:
"We have the couriers safe. They are from up the Verde, badly scared and worn out. Say they have been chased by Indians ever since three o'clock, were almost out of ammunition. Lieutenant Willett, venturing too far on the east side, while we were to the west of the stream, must have encountered some of them. We heard firing, and followed. Found his horse dead among the rocks and Willett lying near, stunned, but certainly not shot. Could see nothing of his assailants. Ambulance needed. Respectfully,
"Strong."
Mrs. Archer's arm wound still closer about her daughter's trembling form. Lilian said no word, but her face was white, her soft lips were quivering. Mrs. Stannard sympathetically closed in on the other side, as the general gave brief directions, and presently, between the two, the girl walked slowly away, only the general following with his eyes. Bentley went back once again to quietly tell the news to Harris, but was r
eady when the ambulance stopped at his door. Lilian had been persuaded to go and lie down, said Mrs. Archer, when her grave-faced husband came home at dark. "That is best," was all he said, but he turned and took his fond wife's face between his hands and kissed it thrice, then went forth again to meet the coming couriers. It seems their orders were to deliver their despatch in person to the commander of Camp Almy, and, sending them on for refreshments, he read by the light of a lantern the message from the commander of the District of the Verde. Young warriors by the hundred were out, said the agent at the reservation, even the Apache-Mohaves. Mail messengers, ranch people and others had been murdered close to Camp Sandy. Friendly Indians report soldiers killed in Dead Man's Cañon in revenge for death of Comes Flying, accidentally shot. Captain Tanner and Lieutenant Ray are out from Camps Sandy and Cameron, with strong commands, and will try to communicate with Almy. "Nothing has been heard of Lieutenant Harris and his scouts," said the despatch, "but rumors are rife as to Indian depredations near you. It is feared that in your advanced position you may be surrounded, and communication cut off, but no fears are entertained as to your ability to take care of yourself. If you still have cavalry scouting in the Tonto basin, warn them of conditions and report when possible."
"So much for so much," said the general. "Now for Willett," and a mile farther out he met the ambulance coming in, Willett and the doctor aboard, the former with a broken collar-bone and a bad headache. Moreover, Willett was in vicious mood.
"General Archer," said he, "the shot that killed my horse was meant for me, and the Indian who fired the shot was Harris's paragon, 'Tonio."
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.
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