Fort Wingate was reached in two more marches—six in all from the Rio Grande—and we went into camp for two days for rest and some needed repairs to wagons before undertaking the second and longer section of our military journey—a section upon which at that time no white man had set up a home.
Recalling my promise to the priest who had interviewed me in behalf of Señora Perea, I made inquiries of the Port Wingate officers concerning her son. None of them had heard more than she already knew, but a scout claimed he had recently seen a Mexican boy herding ponies for the Navajo chief Elarnagan, thirty miles north of Zuñi.
The evening before resuming our march Captain Bayard informed me that there was an emigrant family camped half a mile to the west ofFort Wingate, which had been awaiting our arrival in order to travel to Arizona under our protection. He told me to assign the family a place in the train.
I went to their camp, and found it located in a grove of cottonwoods a short distance out, on the Arizona trail. Mr. Arnold, the head of the family, never ceased his occupation while I was talking to him. He was constructing a camp-table and benches of some packing-boxes he had procured from the post trader. He was a tall, well-proportioned man, of dark complexion and regular features, with black, unkempt hair and restless brown eyes. He was clothed in a faded and stained butternut suit of flannel, consisting of a loose frock and baggy trousers, the legs of the trousers being tucked into the tops of road-worn boots. His hat was a battered and frayed broad-brimmed felt. Mrs. Arnold sat on a stool superintending the work, bowed forward, her elbows on her knees, 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, which curled slowly above her thin upper lip and thin, aquiline nose. She was a tall, angular, high-shouldered, and flat-chested woman, dark from exposure to wind, sun, and rain, her hair brown in the neck, but many shades lighter on the crown of her head. Her eyes were of an expressionless gray. A brown calico of scant pattern clung in lank folds 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 was stockingless and shoeless. Mother and daughters were dull, slow of speech, and ignorant.
After staying long enough to give the necessary instructions and exchange civilities with each member of the family in sight, I was riding slowly back to the roadway, intending to take a brisk canter to the fort, when Corporal Henry's voice called from a clump of cedars at the 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 friend approaching, 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 all their 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. You must not go without seeing her."
I went back with Henry and saw a girl of about fourteen standing by Chiquita, holding her by the bridle-rein and smoothing her neck, while Vic nestled at her feet. She seemed very attractive at my first casual glance, impressing me favorably. A blonde, possessed of abundant flaxen tresses held in a band of blue ribbon, having a complexion which her recent journey had tanned and sprinkled with abundant freckles, but giving promise of rare beauty with added years and less exposure to sun and wind. Her clothing was fashionably made and well fitted, and her delicate feet were encased in neat boots and stockings.
"Miss Arnold," said Henry, "permit me to introduce our quartermaster, Lieutenant Duncan—and Mr. Duncan," continued the boy, "it gives me pleasure to present to you Miss Brenda Arnold."
The quality, modulation, and refinement of the voice in which the girl assured me of her pleasure in meeting me, confirmed my first impression.
"But how did you make the acquaintance of Corporal Henry Burton, Miss Arnold?" I asked.
"I was riding back from the fort, sir, where I had been to mail some letters, and my pony, Gypsy, lost a shoe and came near falling. The stumble caused me to drop a package, and Mr. Burton chanced to come up and restore it to me, and he also picked up Gypsy's shoe. He accompanied me to camp, and since we arrived has been giving me the history of Vic, Sancho, and Chiquita."
"And that, of course, included something of the history of their devoted attendants?"
"Yes, I have learned something of the gallant deeds of Corporals Frank and Henry Burton and Lieutenant Duncan at Los Valles Grandes and on the march here. When I meet Corporal Frank I shall know you all."
"He will present himself to-morrow, no doubt," I observed. "But about that 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'll lead Gypsy to the forge for you, and Private Sattler shall shoe her as he does Chiquita, and polish the shoes, too."
The Arnold family history, gathered incidentally on the march, and at a period later in my story, was briefly this: Brenda was the only daughter of Mr. Arnold's only brother, and had been reared in a large inland city of New York. Her father and mother had recently perished in a yachting accident, and the young girl had been sent to her paternal uncle in Colorado. There were relatives on the mother's side, but they were scattered, two brothers being in Europe at the time of the accident. Brenda had reached her Western uncle just as he was starting on one of his periodical moves—this time to Arizona.
The different social status of the families of the two brothers was unusual, but not impossible in our country. One of the brothers was ambitious, of steady habits, and possessed of a receptive mind; the other was idle, impatient of restraint, with a disinclination to protracted effort of any kind.
The distance to the first camp beyond Fort Wingate where we were sure to find water was twenty-two miles; and it being impossible for us to leave the post before three o'clock in the afternoon, we determined to make a dry camp five and a half miles out.
When Frank and Henry learned that the start was not to be an early one they rode out to the Arnold camp with the information, and the former was duly presented to Miss Brenda. Gypsy was brought into the fort and shod, and returned to her mistress in season for the march.
The evening was well advanced when we pitched our tents at the dry camp. Horses and mules were turned out to graze for the first time without water, and although in this mountain region the grass was abundant, they did not cease to whinny and bray their discontent throughout the night.
The sun dropped behind the mountain spurs, and we drew nearer and nearer the fires, adding a thicker garment as the twilight deepened intonight. Frank expressed the trend of thought by asking, "We now march 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 any carelessness 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 to look him up."
There was a suspicious choke in the voice of the little corporal when he said: "It is awful to think we are going so near the dear old boy and can do nothing for him. Only think of his poor mother!"
"I was told at the fort that she has offered five thousand dollars to the man who will bring Manuel to her," said Frank. "I wish I could bring him in for nothing."
"Brenda says she believes we shall find him somehow," Henry said. "I hope she is right,for I saw his mother at Algodones and promised her to rescue him or become a prisoner with him."
"So she wrote me at Los Pinos," I replied. "Well, something may turn up to enable us to serve his mother. Let us go to bed."
Next morning we were again on the road by starlight. A march of sixteen miles brought us to Agua Fria—cold water. Less than a hundred yards west of the spring was a ridge which did not rise fifty feet above it, and that was the "backbone" of the continent. The water of Agua Fria flowed into the Atlantic; the springs on the other side of the ridge flowed into the Pacific.
The wagons of the Arnold family travelled between the rear-guard and the government wagons. They consisted of two large "prairie schooners," drawn by three pairs of oxen each, a lighter wagon, drawn by four horses, beside which four cows, two ponies, and four dogs were usually grouped. The father and eldest daughter drove the ox-teams, the mother the horse-team, and two daughters rode the ponies. Brenda's pony, Gypsy, was her own property,purchased soon after she joined her uncle in Colorado. As my station and Frank's were with the rear-guard, or along the flanks of the train, Miss Brenda commonly rode with us after daylight. Henry, after leaving Fort Wingate, rode with the advance.
After supper at Agua Fria, Corporal Frank ordered all water-kegs to be filled, for the water at El Morro, or Inscription Rock, our next camping-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 Zuñi, an Indian community described by the Spanish priest, Father Marco de Niga, in 1559.
After leaving Zuñi, a march of thirty-two miles brought us late in the evening to a spring variously called by Mexicans, Indians, and Americans, Ojo Rodondo, Wah-nuk-ai-tin-ai-z, and Jacob's Well. It is a funnel-shaped hole in a level plain, six hundred feet in diameter at the top, and one hundred and sixty feet deep.
At the bottom of the hole is a pool of brackish,green water, reached by a spiral track around the wall. Our cooks first procured a supply of water, and then the animals were driven down in detachments. They waded, swam, and rolled in the water until it was defiled for human use.
"CORPORAL HENRY ASKED CAPTAIN BAYARD TO INQUIRE FOR MANUEL PEREA"
"CORPORAL HENRY ASKED CAPTAIN BAYARD TO INQUIRE FOR MANUEL PEREA"
An hour after our arrival four Navajos appeared and were admitted to an interview with Captain Bayard, of whom they asked information concerning the terms offered their bands as an inducement to surrender and go upon the reservation. In reply to our questions they told us we would find plenty of water at Navajo Springs, seven miles from Jacob's Well, and that there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. As the Indians were preparing to leave, Corporal Henry came forward and asked Captain Bayard to inquire for Manuel Perea. The captain thanked the boy for the suggestion, and did so; and we learned that a Mexican boy, answering the description given, was assisting in herding the ponies of Elarnagan, north of the Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo Creek.
"Carizo Creek," said Frank, reflectively, turning over his schedule of distances, "that is 19.05 miles from here."
"Yes, and there are the Twin Buttes," said Henry, pointing to two prominent peaks to the northwest. "Can't we go there, sir? It cannot be more than thirty miles."
"I would not be justified in leaving the road except upon an extraordinary emergency," replied Captain Bayard.
"Don't you suppose, sir, that Elarnagan would give Manuel up for the large reward his mother offers?" asked Brenda Arnold, who stood by the side of the boy corporals, an interested listener to all that had been said.
The captain asked her question of the Indians, and one of them replied that the chief had refused large offers heretofore, and would doubtless continue to do so.
"Cannot you scare him by a threat?" asked Henry.
"I will try it, corporal," answered the captain. Then, turning to the Navajos, he continued: "Tell the chief, Elarnagan, that it is not the part of a brave warrior to cause grief and sorrow to women and children; tell him that the great chief at Santa Fé is fast bringing this war to a close, and that two-thirds of his peopleare already on the reservation at Bosque Rodondo; tell him that when he surrenders—which will not be long from now—if the boy Manuel is not brought 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 recent fatiguing marches and the lack of good water, we would go no farther than Navajo Springs the following day, and that we would not break camp before eight o'clock.
This announcement was received with pleasure; for since leaving Agua Fria little water had been drunk, it being either muddy, stagnant, or alkaline. The water at Navajo Springs was said to be pure.
Ten o'clock next morning found us at the springs. They were fifteen in number, clustered in an area of less than an acre. Each was of the dimensions of a barrel set upon end in the ground, with a mere thread of water flowing from it—a thread which the fierce sun evaporated before it had flowed a rod from its source. It soon became plain to every one that we could not long remain there.
The Indians had said there had been a heavy rainfall at the west. Five and one-twentieth miles over a rough, red, and verdureless country brought us to the Rio Puerco of the West. There was not a drop of water in it.
The commanding officer ordered me to take ten cavalrymen, with shovels, 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 allowed to go with me.
The distance to Carizo was seven miles, over a high, intervening ridge, and the creek, when we reached it, was in no respect different from the one we had just left. We opened a line of holes six feet deep, but found very little water.
Sending Corporal Henry back with a message to Captain Bayard, we pushed on to Lithodendron Creek, a distance of thirteen miles, and found about an acre of water, four inches deep, in the bed of the stream, under the shadow of a sandstone cliff. It was miserable stuff—thick, murky, and warm—but it was better than nothing; I sent a soldier back to the command,and sat down with Frank under the cliff to wait.
The march had lengthened into thirty-two miles, over an exceedingly rough country, and it had been continuous, with no noonday rest, and under a broiling sun.
Frank and I sat a little apart from the soldiers, watching for the arrival 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 train was over the divide and that the unfailing scent of the mules had recognized the vicinity of water.
An hour more passed before Sergeant Cunningham and half a dozen privates of the infantry company marched down to the roily pool and stooped for a drink. The rest of the men were straggling the length of the train, which arrived in sections, heralded by the vigorous and continued braying of the mules.
No one felt inclined to pitch a tent, partly on account of extreme fatigue, but chiefly because the ground was rough and stony and cacti in endless variety strewed the surface, branchingand clustering about the petrified trunks of giant trees which gave the creek its name.
There was no grass in the vicinity, and no grain on the train. The animals when turned loose went to the pool and drank, and then wandered about the wagons calling for forage. Lowing of cattle, bleating of sheep, braying of mules, and whinnying of horses never ceased as the suffering animals wandered in search of food. There was no fuel for fires in the midst of this petrified forest of prostrate trees, so hard bread and raw bacon made our supper.
After a time I began to wonder why Vic had not come to greet me. She had accompanied Henry when he went back with my message, and I knew that if he had returned she would have looked me up immediately. I was about to search for her, when Frank appeared, and asked, "Have you seen my brother?"
"No," I replied, "nor have I seen Vic. They must be with the rear guard."
"No, sir; they are not there. I have just seen the sergeant of the guard."
"Have you visited the Arnolds?"
"Yes, sir; and Miss Brenda says they have not seen him since he came back from you."
"Is not Corporal Henry here?" asked Captain Bayard, who had approached and overheard a part of our conversation.
"No, sir," I answered. "I sent him to you at Carizo to say we had found no water."
"He reported to me," the captain replied, "and I sent him back at once with 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 to do."
"Henry not here!" and the captain and all of us began moving towards the train. "Cause an immediate search to be made for him. Examine every wagon. He may have got into a wagon and fallen asleep."
It is needless to say, perhaps, that this search was participated in by nearly every individual in the command not too tired to stir. Henry was known to all, and had in many gentlemanly and kindly ways acquired the respect and affection of soldiers and civilian employés.
Every wagon was examined, although fromthe first there was a general presentiment that it would be useless. In the wagon assigned to the use of the boy corporals and myself, Henry's carbine and revolver were found, 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 the lad might be wandering on the road we had just traversed; but an examination of the sergeant of the guard showed that to be impossible.
But one conclusion could be arrived at, and that was that Henry had been picked up by the Navajos when returning from the command to my detachment on the Carizo.
At the conclusion of the search the officers gathered near their wagons for a consultation. Frank remained apart, silent and miserable.
Captain Bayard said: "It is impossible for us to make an immediate pursuit with horses in such a condition as ours. To attempt a pursuit over the barren region about us would be to invite failure and disaster. If we had Mexican ponies, or Indian ponies like those of the boys,we might start at once. The boy is probably a prisoner, and a delay of one or two days can make little difference to him."
"But can we go with any better prospect of success to-morrow or next day?" I asked.
"Yes, a march of sixteen miles and a half will bring us to the Colorado Chiquito—a stream flowing at all times with pure water; there, also, we shall find abundance of grass and a recently established cavalry camp. I received a letter from the department commander before I left Wingate, stating that Lieutenant Hubbell and forty New Mexican cavalry had been ordered there three weeks ago. We shall find an abundance of grain at the camp, and can put our animals in good condition for an expedition into Elarnagan's country in a few days. Now, gentlemen, let us get such rest as we can, and start at an early hour in the morning."
At the close of the consultation I rejoined Corporal Frank, and we went back to our former seat under the cliff. The boy was exceedingly depressed, and I did my best to persuade him that all would end well and his brother would be rescued.
"But he may be dead, or dying," he answered to my arguments.
"No; that is improbable. Had he been killed, the Indians would have taken particular pains to mutilate and place his body where the passing column would have seen it. That in itself is good evidence that he is living. The worst that is likely to happen is that he may be held for ransom or exchange."
"But howcanI wait?" exclaimed Frank. "I feel as though I ought to start now."
"That would do no good," I replied. "You cannot find your brother's trail, nor could you follow it in the night."
"I cannot help thinking, sir, that Henry will send Vicky with a message, and I fear that she cannot follow us so far. She must be fearfully hungry and thirsty. I feel as if I ought to go and meet her."
"You may be right about the message. As Vic was without her collar, she may not have been killed."
The hours crept slowly on. The uneasy animals never ceased their walk backward and forward between the water and the wagons, uttering their discontent. Towards midnight, overcome by the fatigues of the day, I fell into a doze, and did not wake until called at three.
A breakfast similar to our supper was served, and we were ready for the road. The mules were harnessed while vigorously braying their protests against such ill usage, and, once under way, slowly drew the wagons to the summit of the divide between the Lithodendron and the Little Colorado, a distance of twelve miles.
I did not see Frank while overlooking the drawing out of the train, but gave myself noanxiety on his account, thinking he had accompanied the advance. We had proceeded about a mile when a corporal of the guard ran after me, and reported that the Arnolds were not hitching up. Halting the train, I rode back and found Brenda sitting by the road-side in tears.
"What is the matter, Miss Arnold?" I asked.
"Oh, it is something this time," she sobbed, "that even you cannot remedy."
"Then you think I can generally remedy things? Thank you."
"You have always helped us, but I do not see how you can now."
"What is the trouble, please?"
"Our poor oxen have worn their hoofs through to the quick. They were obliged to travel very fast yesterday, and over a flinty road, and their hoofs are worn and bleeding. Uncle says we must remain behind."
"Perhaps things are not as bad as you think," I said. "Let us go back and see."
Rising dejectedly, and by no means inspired by hope, Brenda led the way to the Arnold wagons, where I found the father and mother on their knees beside an ox, engaged in bindingrawhide "boots" to the animal's feet. These boots were squares cut from a fresh hide procured from the last ox slaughtered by the soldier-butcher. The foot of the ox being set in the centre, the square was gathered about the ankle and fastened with a thong of buck-skin.
"Are all of your cattle in this condition, Mr. Arnold?" I asked.
"Only one other's 's bad's this, but all uv 'em's bad."
"That certainly is a very bad-looking foot. I don't see how you kept up, with cattle in that condition."
"Had to, or git left."
"That's where you make a mistake. We could not leave you behind."
"I didn't think 'twould be uv any use t' say anythin'," said Mr. Arnold. "You seem t' have all you can haul now."
"We have over three hundred head of oxen in our commissary herd that we purchased of a freighter. We can exchange with you. A beef is a beef. Turn your cattle into our herd, and catch up a new lot. When we get to Prescott you can have your old teams if you want them."
"Thank you agin, sir. I shall want 'em. They know my ways an' I know theirs."
From the top of the divide the road, smooth and hard, descended to the river, ten miles away. At nine o'clock the head of the column had reached the banks, and a few moments later men and horses had partaken of the clear, cool water.
As the infantry and cavalry moved away from the shore the wagons came down the decline, the mules braying with excitement at the sight of the water gleaming through the green foliage of the cottonwoods and the verdant acres of rich grass that stretched along the river-side. Brakes were put on and wheels double-locked, until the harness could be stripped off and the half-frantic animals set free to take a turn in the river.
Sheep and oxen plunged down the banks and stood leg-deep in the current while they drank the grateful water. A few moments later all the refreshed animals were cropping the generous grass. As I was going to Captain Bayard I observed Brenda Arnold taking the odometer from its wheel and making an entry in a note-book.Approaching her, I asked: "Why are you doing that, Miss Brenda?"
"I promised Mr. Frank I would do it until he and Mr. Henry return," was her answer.
"Promised Frank? Where has he gone?"
"Gone to find his brother."
"And you knew what you are telling me when we were exchanging oxen this morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"Mr. Frank said I must not before we arrived here."
"Have you no idea of the fearful danger in which he has placed himself?"
"I know he has gone to find Henry, and that he said he should find him," and the pretty girl betrayed her lack of confidence in the boy's project by sitting down in the grass and bursting into tears.
"When did Corporal Frank start?" I asked.
"Last night. He gave Sancho about a dozen pounds of hard bread, filled his canteen with water which Aunt Martha had filtered through sand, and asked me to attend to the odometer,and rode off in the darkness. Don't you really believe the boys will return, sir?"
"God grant they may," I answered; "but it is very doubtful."
Here was fresh trouble—trouble the whole command shared, but which rested heaviest upon Captain Bayard and myself. We were answerable to Colonel Burton for the manner in which we executed his trust.
"Ride down the valley," said the captain to me after I had concluded my account of what Brenda had said, "and look for Lieutenant Hubbell's camp. It cannot be far from here. Tell him to send me three days' grain for forty animals. While you are gone I will select a camp farther down stream, and within easy communication with him, park the train, and establish order. We will remain here until we know what has become of the boys."
I found the New Mexican cavalry camp three miles down the river, and obtained the desired forage. When I returned our new camp was established, fires burning, and cooking well under way.
Captain Bayard informed me that the detachmentof Mexican cavalry which had accompanied us thus far would leave at this point and not rejoin us. "I have ordered Baldwin to grain his horses and be ready to start in search of our boys at daybreak," continued the captain. "You will accompany him. We shall be in no danger, with Hubbell so near. You can take thirty pounds of grain on your saddles, and you will find plenty of water on the Carizo where it breaks from the hills."
"How many days are we to stay out?"
"You are to take five days' rations. If the boys are not found in that time I fear they will never be found."
I went to bed early, and soon fell into a fitful slumber, which lasted until an hour before midnight. I arose, dressed, and sat down by the smouldering camp-fire, a prey to unpleasant reflections.
Suddenly the sound of a cantering horse approaching from the north fell upon my ears. What could it mean? I listened intently. The horse slowed down to a walk. He entered the camp. The voice of Private Tom Clary, who was posted as sentinel No. 1, challenged: "Halt!—who comes there?"
"A friend—Corporal Frank Burton," was the answer.
"Blest be the saints! Corpril Frank, laddie, is it you—and aloive?" said the sentinel, forgetting in his joy to continue the usual formality of the challenge or to call the corporal of the guard.
Springing from my seat I walked towards the sentinel, and there, by the light of the moon, I saw Frank, mounted upon Sancho, with Vic in his arms. I reached up to take my dog, but the boy quickly exclaimed:
"Be careful, sir, be careful! She's badly hurt. Here's the letter she brought. Henry is alive."
To attempt to relate all that now occurred would be impossible. In some mysterious manner the news of Frank's arrival crept through the camp, and half-dressed figures of officers and soldiers gathered about the camp-fire, curious to listen to an account of the boy's adventure. One little, blanketed figure ran out of the darkness, caught Vic's face between her two palms, nestled her cheek against it, and with a cheerful "good-night," disappeared as suddenly as she had come.
I took Vic in my lap as I sat on the ground, and by the light of a blazing pine-knot proceeded to examine her condition. I found the mouth and feet of the poor animal full of the spines of thechollacactus, a growth which is simply a mass of fine thorns. This cactus grows in patches, and when the dead clusters fall to the ground the spines stick to everything touching them. The dog had stepped into a bed of these bunched needles, and filled her feet, and in trying to remove them with her teeth had thrust them through cheeks, lips, and tongue, literally closing her jaws. Her paws bristled with them like pin-cushions.
As to Frank's adventures: After leaving the Arnolds, as already described by Brenda, he retraced the route to Carizo Creek and to the Rio Puerco without seeing any sign of his brother. Returning to the west he dismounted at the crossing of the Carizo. He felt sure that if Henry had been captured by the Navajos he must have been taken in the dry bed of that creek.
A long and patient search resulted in the discovery of tracks made by several poniesrunning along the eastern side of the Carizo to the north and the hills. One of the set showed the print of iron shoes. Frank mounted again and followed this trail up the valley for some hours. He was thinking about returning, when he saw a white object moving on a hill-side, far in advance. It seemed to tumble, rise, and go in a circle, then tumble, rise, and circle again. Frank's curiosity was aroused, and he rode on to examine the object. A few hundred yards more revealed the fact that he had come upon the missing Vic, and that something was seriously the matter with her. At first Frank thought she was mad or in a fit, but as he came nearer she sat up and made demonstrations of joy at his approach. He dismounted, and found her in the condition already described. On the ground was a chip, neatly cut and shaven, which she was in vain attempting to take between her sealed jaws. Frank understood the matter at once. Whenever Victoriana was sent on a message she was given a stick to deliver. It was plain that some one had sent her to either Frank or me. Of course, it could have been noone but Henry. She had come thus far, and had stepped into a bed ofcholla. In trying to remove the needles from her feet she had absolutely sealed her mouth; in the attempt to recover the chip she had made the movements that had attracted the boy's attention.
Nothing was written on the stick. Around the dog's neck was tied a cravat of dirty buck-skin. Untying and opening it, Frank found the inner surface covered with writing, evidently traced in berry-juice with a quill or a stick. It read as follows:
"Captured by the Navajos. Am herding ponies north of Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo. Come to butte with cavalry, and wave handkerchief from left peak about noon. If I do not come, look for me in plain north of butte. Don't worry; I'm all right."Henry."
"Captured by the Navajos. Am herding ponies north of Twin Buttes, at the head of Carizo. Come to butte with cavalry, and wave handkerchief from left peak about noon. If I do not come, look for me in plain north of butte. Don't worry; I'm all right.
"Henry."
I remained at the fire long after every one had returned to their beds or duty, busy in extracting thechollaspines from Vic's mouth and feet. The dog seemed to understand the necessity of the treatment she was receiving, and bore the pain submissively, with only occasional moans and cries, until the operation ended. She thenreceived a drink of water, and went to bed with Frank.
At daybreak the rescue detachment left camp, retraced our route to the Carizo, where Corporal Frank put us upon the trail of the Indians. We climbed to the highest point reached by the path, and saw it descend on the opposite side to a brook, deep in the valley. Here we halted, took the horses a short distance down the slope we had just ascended, picketed them in a grassy nook, and Frank and I started to ascend the left peak.
"Mr. Baldwin," I said, as I moved away, "when you see us start to return, saddle and bridle as rapidly as possible, so as to be ready for emergencies."
"I'll do so. You can depend upon us to be ready when wanted," was the reply.
We scrambled through a scattering growth of piñon and junipers for several yards, and at last came to a perpendicular shaft of sandstone twenty feet high, with a flat top. The diameter of the shaft was about fifty feet.
"Henry could not have come up here, or he never would have set us to attempt an impossibility," said Frank, as his eyes ran up and down the rock.
"Perhaps it may not be so impossible as it appears," I replied. "Let us walk round the butte."
We passed to the right, and, having found a practicable place for attempting the ascent, accomplished the feat in a few moments.
On the flat summit we found the remains of former fires that had undoubtedly been lighted as signals. The view was grand and extensive. Directly to the north lay many verdant valleys—grazing-grounds of the nomadic Navajos. One of these valleys lay at the foot of the mountain upon which we stood, with a bright stream of water crossing its hither border. Well out in the valley were several flocks of sheep and goats, and close to the opposite side of the brook was a herd of ponies.
After Frank had looked long and anxiously towards the flocks and herds, he said: "Those specks near the ponies must be men, I suppose. I wonder if Henry is among them? Shall I make the signal?"
"Not yet. It is not yet noon. Let us liedown among these rocks, where we shall be less conspicuous, and use the field-glass."
"Tell me what you see, sir, if you please."
"There are five large flocks of sheep in the charge of a lot of women, some mounted and some on foot. The pony herd, which must number several hundred, is in charge of three naked Indians—boys, I think. There are no other persons in sight. Take a look for yourself."
Frank accepted the glass and surveyed the valley. "I can see nothing that looks like Henry," he said. "He certainly cannot be there. Why are those boys so ghostly white?"
"They are covered with yeso to protect them from sunburn."
"Oh yes—whitewash."
"Gypsum. The Mexicans use it for whitewash, and to preserve the complexion."
"Well, those boys must have plastered it on thick; they look like living statues. Not a rag on them except 'breech-clouts.' Hello, there comes a troop around that mound to the right. Must be two hundred men."
Taking the glass, I looked again. Coming into sight from the opposite side of an elevationon the farther side of the valley was a party of two hundred and fifteen Navajo warriors. They rode to each flock of sheep in succession, stopped near the women a few moments, and then came down to the pony herd. They approached the boys, and one large Indian, who appeared to be the chief, lifted the smaller boy out of his saddle, and, swinging him to his shoulder, dashed around the herd at full speed, and then set him back in his own saddle, and patted him approvingly on the back.
The party next proceeded to exchange the ponies they were riding for fresh ones from the herd, and then disappeared behind the trees which bordered the brook to the west.
"The pony that small boy rides looks like Chiquita," remarked Frank; "but the saddle and bridle are different. Señora Perea said that Manuel was herding ponies for the Navajos, and that he was naked."
"Yes, I know; but the letter Vic brought from Henry made no mention of another boy, and there are three with that herd. But let us make the signal and see what will happen."
Standing up and advancing to the edge of thebutte's top, I waved my handkerchief from side to side, keeping my eyes fixed upon the three boys. They formed in line, facing us, looked long in our direction, and then, as if started by a spring, they flew down the plain, leaped the brook, and galloped up the long ascent towards the concealed cavalrymen.
The three Indian boys were doing their utmost to excite their ponies to their greatest speed up the height. As they sped on they glanced repeatedly backward, as if fearing pursuit. Higher and higher they came up the steep until we could not doubt it was their intention to reach the command.
"What does it mean? What does it mean?" exclaimed Frank. "Why are those Navajo boys running their horses in this direction? It can't be—"
"Never mind, Frank," I interrupted. "Let us get down to the men as soon as we can. The Indian women are already riding after the war-party."
At considerable risk to life and limb we slid down the ragged angle which we had ascended,and hurried to where Baldwin and the soldiers stood beside their saddled steeds.
We had barely reached the crest from which we could see the valley when the three whitewashed boys appeared on their panting and foaming animals, the little one on the buck-skin pony in the lead.
"What in the world is this?" exclaimed Baldwin. "Three whitewashed young redskins! What do they want of us?"
"Here we are!" shouted a familiar voice, in excellent English. "Here we are—Manuel, Sapoya, and I!"
Before we could sufficiently recover from our surprise, or, rather, calm our joyful realization of a hope born of the boys' start from the valley below, they were among us, and Henry had sprung from his horse and embraced his brother, leaving a generous coating ofyesoupon the army blue. Tears of joy had ploughed two streaks through the whiting on his face, and lent a comical effect to the boyish countenance. A general handshake ensued, and Corporal Frank asked, "Where are your clothes, Henry?"
"Confiscated by the chief Elarnagan."
"Not to wear?"
"Well, no; I think they might prove baggy on his diminutive person."
"Then why did he take them?"
"He has a numerous progeny, and the young Elarnaganitos have an article apiece. My saddle and bridle went to Mrs. Elarnagan. She rides astride, you know."
"When did the chief take your clothes?"
"Just as soon as I arrived in the valley my horse and I were stripped of—But hold on, Frank; what am I thinking of?" and Henry ran to one of the other boys, a graceful youngster whose perfect limbs and handsome face theyesocould not mask, and who sat his horse as if he were a part of the animal. Saying something to him in an undertone, the boy dismounted and approached me with Henry, who said, in Spanish: "This is Manuel Augustine Perea y Luna, of Algodones. It is he who planned the escape when I told him there were soldiers near."
I took the Mexican boy's hand and assured him of the great happiness his escape afforded me, and the greater happiness it would afford his mother and relatives.
Frank approached, took Manuel's hand, and then dropped it to give him a hearty and brotherly embrace.
"Ah, Manuelito mio, I dreamed many dreams of rescuing you as we marched through this country, but I never believed they would be realized," he said.
"But the little Enrique acted, and I am here," laughed Manuel.
"And Frank acted, too," said I, "as you shall soon hear; and you will learn that it took both boys to effect your rescue."
"Pardon me," replied Manuel, "but it is not safe to remain here longer. Elarnagan, whom you saw leaving the valley with his warriors, is intending to move down the Lithodendron to attack your train somewhere on the Colorado Chiquito."
At the close of his remarks Manuel turned away, as if to mount his horse, and then, as if correcting an oversight, he said, "Wait one moment, sir." Going up to the third boy, he spoke a few words to him in an unknown tongue. The boy sprang to the ground and came forward. "This is Sapoya," continued Manuel, "a Cherokee boy,whom I found a captive when I joined Elarnagan's band. He is my brother, and will go with me and share my home."
Sapoya extended his hand and clasped mine. He was a handsome Indian boy, about the same age and height as his friend. He addressed me in Navajo, which was interpreted by Manuel: "I am glad to meet one who has helped to open the broad land again to my brother and me. But our horses stand still, while those of our enemy fly to retake us."
Evidently the Mexican and Cherokee boys had no desire to again fall into the hands of the Navajo chief. We made no further delay, but mounted and forced our animals down the mountain defiles as rapidly as possible. As soon as the route would permit, Henry and Manuel rode on each side of Frank, and I heard the former ask about Vic. Frank answered in Spanish, so that the Mexican boy might understand. Such expressions as "La perra brava!" "La fina perrita Vic!" from time to time showed they were hearing of Vic's adventures.
Finding that Corporal Frank was not doing himself justice in his narration, I drew alongside the boys and related what I knew of Frank's midnight ride and rescue of Vic, an event which, had it not occurred, would have left Henry and his friends still in captivity. At the conclusion of my tale Manuel changed his position from the flank to one between the brothers, and, taking a hand of Frank in his left, and one of Henry's in his right, rode on a few moments in silence. Then he said: "God has given me, among many friends, two that are something more. But for your brave acts I should still be a captive. Thank you for myself, my dear mother, and Sapoya."
Having reached the wagon-road crossing of the Carizo, we turned at a canter over the divide between it and the Lithodendron. As we rose above a terrace our attention was attracted to two mounted Indians scurrying off into the broken and higher country on our right.
"Ah, look!" shouted Manuel; "they expected to stop three naked, unarmed boys, and they are surprised to meet a troop of cavalry! Viva los Estados Unidos! Run, you sheep-stealers, we are safely out of your hands!"
Upon reaching the summit of the divide the whole war-party stood revealed, far to our right,out of rifle-shot. Plainly, our presence was a great surprise to them. Although they greatly outnumbered us, the country was too open for their system of warfare, and they were poorly armed. They stood sullenly aloof, and allowed us to canter past unmolested.
"'GOD HAS GIVEN ME, AMONG MANY FRIENDS, TWO THAT ARE SOMETHING MORE'"
"'GOD HAS GIVEN ME, AMONG MANY FRIENDS, TWO THAT ARE SOMETHING MORE'"
Just as our rear was passing them we noticed a solitary warrior advance and show a white cloth.
"That is Elarnagan," said Manuel. "He wants to speak with you."
Accompanied by the Mexican boy to act as interpreter, I advanced to the chief. He took my hand with dignity, and said he accepted the loss of his pale-faced captives as the fortune of war, but he demanded the return of Sapoya. He said that in a fight with the Utes, ten years before, his people had captured a Cherokee chief, who was visiting that tribe with his wife and child. The chief and his wife had died, and he, Elarnagan, had brought up the child as his own. He asked that Sapoya be restored to him.
I called the Indian lad to me and, repeating the words of the chief, said, "You may answer for yourself."
"Sapoya says to the bravest warrior of theNavajos, that he is grateful for all the favors that he has received, and that he thinks he has returned by hard service ample payment for all. He brought parents, three horses, and ample clothing to the Navajos; he takes nothing away but the pony he rode. He has shared his blanket and food with his brother, Manuel, for these many moons, undergoing fatigue and exposure with him, until his heart beats as one with his comrade's, and he desires to go with him to his home and become one of his people."
The chief said nothing in reply, but advancing gave his hand in amity to both boys, and rode back to his people.
"He is a good chief and a brave one," said Manuel, as we rejoined the command, "but I should cherish kindlier memories of him if he had given us some clothing and an extra blanket."
Later, as we were riding slowly out of the bed of Lithodendron, Frank said, "I do not see how the Indians came to spare Vic."
"One of them did attempt to kill her, but I threw my arms about her and the chief patted her head and gave orders that she should notbe hurt. I think if her collar had not been taken off at Laguna she would have been killed in a scramble to possess it. Even Elarnagan would have considered her life worthless compared with the possession of such a beautiful trinket."
"The chief seems to have taken quite a liking to Corporal Henry," I remarked.
"Not enough to allow him to retain his clothing," said Manuel; "but he would not permit him to be deprived of his pony. Perhaps you saw him, when you were on the butte, dash round the herd with Henry on his shoulder?"
"Frank and I saw it," I answered.
"He said, when he placed Henry back upon Chiquita, 'He will make a brave chief.'"
Camp was reached a little after dark, and the boys plunged into the river to remove theyeso, and then dressed themselves in civilized garments, Henry drawing on his reserve, and the others from the quartermaster's stores.
Had not Victoriana been a modest doggie, the amount of praise and attention she received from the four boys would have turned her head;and the boys themselves had no reason to complain of the kindly congratulations they received from the infantry company.
Word was sent to Lieutenant Hubbell that Manuel Perea had been rescued, and the following morning all the New Mexicans not on duty rode into camp to congratulate the boy upon his escape. Spanish cheers and Spanish felicitations filled the air for an hour.
When the volunteers had gone and quiet was resumed, Brenda came, and her delight at seeing the boys again showed itself in ceaseless caressings of Vic and many requests for a repetition of the account of their flying ride when the signal was waved from the butte. When she at last withdrew, to repeat the story to her relatives, the corporals and I wrote a letter to Señora Perea, to be delivered by her son. In my portion I related the circumstances attending his recovery, detailing the part taken by the boy corporals, the dog, and the troop. I said no one desired to claim the generous reward she had offered, since no one in particular had rescued Manuel; many things had combined to enablehim to escape. If the lady insisted upon paying the reward, we all desired that it should be devoted to the education of Sapoya.
Frank added a few lines, and Henry closed the letter. The younger corporal wrote: