CHAPTER XII
FIRE!
"It was not so much his wounds as his weakness," Dr. Graham wassaying, later still that autumn night, "that led to my declaringBlakely unfit to take the field. He would have gone in spite of me,but for the general's order. He has gone now in spite of me, and noone knows where."
It was then nearly twelve o'clock, and "the Bugologist" was stillabroad. Dinner, as usual since his mishap, had been sent over to himfrom the officers' mess soon after sunset. His horse, or rather thetroop horse designated for his use, had been fed and groomed in thelate afternoon, and then saddled at seven o'clock and brought over tothe rear of the quarters by a stable orderly.
There had been some demur at longer sending Blakely's meals from mess,now reduced to an actual membership of two. Sandy was a "much married"post in the latter half of the 70's, the bachelors of the commissionedlist being only three, all told,--Blakely, and Duane of the Horse, andDoty of the Foot. With these was Heartburn, the contract doctor, andnow Duane and the doctor were out in the mountains and Blakely on sickreport, yet able to be about. Doty thought him able to come to mess.Blakely, thinking he looked much worse than he felt, thanks to hisplastered jowl, stood on his rights in the matter and would not go.There had been some demur on part of the stable sergeant of Wren'stroop as to sending over the horse. Few officers brought eastern-bredhorses to Arizona in those days. The bronco was best suited to thework. An officer on duty could take out the troop horse assigned tohis use any hour before taps and no questions asked; but the sergeanttold Mr. Blakely's messenger that the lieutenant wasn't for duty, andit might make trouble. It did. Captain Cutler sent for old Murray, theveteran sergeant, and asked him did he not know his orders. He hadallowed a horse to be sent to a sick man--an officer not on duty--andone the doctor had warned against exercise for quite a time, at least.And now the officer was gone, so was the horse, and Cutler, beingsorely torn up by the revelations of the evening and dread of illbefalling Blakely, was so injudicious as to hint to a soldier who hadworn chevrons much longer than he, Cutler, had worn shoulder-straps,that the next thing to go would probably be his sergeant's bars,whereat Murray went red to the roots of his hair--which "continued themarch" of the color,--and said, with a snap of his jaws, that he gotthose chevrons, as he did his orders, from his troop commander. Acourt might order them stricken off, but a captain couldn't, otherthan his own. For which piece of impudence the veteran wentstraightway to Sudsville in close arrest. Corporal Bolt was ordered totake over his keys and the charge of the stables until the return ofCaptain Wren, also this order--that no government horse should be sentto Lieutenant Blakely hereafter until the lieutenant was declared bythe post surgeon fit for duty.
There were left at the post, of each of the two cavalry troops, abouta dozen men to care for the stables, the barracks, and property. Sevenof these had gone with the convoy to Prescott, and, when Cutlerordered half a dozen horsemen out at midnight to follow Blakely'strail and try to find him, they had to draw on both troop stables, andone of the designated men was the wretch Downs,--and Downs was not inhis bunk,--not anywhere about the quarters or corrals. It was nearlyone by the time the party started down the sandy road to the south,Hart and his buckboard and a sturdy brace of mules joining them asthey passed the store. "We may need to bring him back in this," saidhe, to Corporal Quirk.
"An' what did ye fetch to bring him _to_ wid?" asked the corporal.Hart touched lightly the breast of his coat, then clucked to his team."Faith, there's more than wan way of tappin' it then," said Quirk, butthe cavalcade moved on.
The crescent moon had long since sunk behind the westward range, andtrailing was something far too slow and tedious. They spurred,therefore, for the nearest ranch, five miles down stream, making theirfirst inquiry there. The inmates were slow to arise, but quick toanswer. Blakely had neither been seen nor heard of. Downs they didn'twish to know at all. Indians hadn't been near the lower valley sincethe "break" at the post the previous week. One of the inmates declaredhe had ridden alone from Camp McDowell within three days, and therewasn't a 'Patchie west of the Matitzal. Hart did all the questioning.He was a business man and a brother. Soldiers, the ranchmen didn'tlike--soldiers set too much value on government property.
The trail ran but a few hundred yards east of the stream, and close tothe adobe walls of the ranch. Strom, the proprietor, got out hislantern and searched below the point where the little troop had turnedoff. No recent hoof-track, southbound, was visible. "He couldn't havecome this far," said he. "Better put back!" Put back they did, and bythe aid of Hart's lantern found the fresh trail of a government-shodhorse, turning to the east nearly two miles toward home. Quirk said abad word or two; borrowed the lantern and thoughtfully included theflask; bade his men follow in file and plunged through the underbrushin dogged pursuit. Hart and his team now could not follow. They waitedover half an hour without sign or sound from the trailers, then droveswiftly back to the post. There was a light in the telegraph office,and thither Hart went in a hurry. Lieutenant Doty, combining theduties of adjutant and officer of the day, was up and making therounds. The sentries had just called off three o'clock.
"Had your trouble for nothing, Hart," hailed the youngster cheerily."Where're the men?"
"Followed his trail--turned to the east three miles below here,"answered the trader.
"Three miles _below_! Why, man, he wasn't below. He met them up BeaverCreek, an' brought 'em in."
"Brought who in?" asked Hart, dropping his whip. "I don't understand."
"Why, the scouts, or runners! Wren sent 'em in. He's had a sharp fightup the mountains beyond Snow Lake. Three men wounded. You couldn'thave gone a mile before Blakely led 'em across No. 4's post. Ahorahand another chap--'Patchie-Mohaves. We clicked the news up to Prescottover an hour ago."
The tin reflector at the office window threw the light of theglass-framed candle straight upon Hart's rubicund face, and that facewas a study. He faltered a bit before he asked:
"Did Blakely seem all right?--not used up, I mean?"
"Seemed weak and tired, but the man is mad to go and join his troopnow--wants to go right out with Ahorah in the morning, and CaptainCutler says no. Oh, they had quite a row!"
They had had rather more than quite a row, if truth were told. Dotyhad heard only a bit of it. Cutler had been taken by surprise when theBugologist appeared, two strange, wiry Apaches at his heels, and atfirst had contented himself with reading Wren's dispatch, repeating itover the wires to Prescott. Then he turned on Blakely, silently,wearily waiting, seated at Doty's desk, and on the two Apaches,silently, stolidly waiting, squatted on the floor. Cutler wished toknow how Blakely knew these couriers were coming, and how he came toleave the post without permission. For a moment the lieutenant simplygazed at him, unanswering, but when the senior somewhat sharplyrepeated the question, in part, Blakely almost as sharply answered: "Idid not know they were coming nor that there was wrong in my going.Major Plume required nothing of the kind when we were merely going outfor a ride."
"BLAKELY LED 'EM ACROSS NO. 4'S POST"]
This nettled Cutler. He had always said that Plume was lax, and herewas proof of it. "I might have wanted you--I _did_ want you, hoursago, Mr. Blakely, and even Major Plume would not countenance hisofficers spending the greater part of the night away from the post,especially on a government horse," and there had Cutler the whip handof the scientist, and Blakely had sense enough to see it, yet notsense enough to accept. He was nervous and irritable, as well astired. Graham had told him he was too weak to ride, yet he had gone,not thinking, of course, to be gone so long, but gone deliberately,and without asking the consent of the post commander. "My finding therunners was an accident," he said, with some little asperity of toneand manner. "In fact, I didn't find them. They found me. I had knownthem both at the reservation. Have I your permission, sir"--this withmarked emphasis--"to take them for something to eat. They are veryhungry,--have come far, and wish to start early and rejoin CaptainWren,--as I do, too."
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bsp; "They will start when _I_ am ready, Mr. Blakely," said Cutler, "andyou certainly will not start before. In point of fact, sir, you maynot be allowed to start at all."
It was now Blakely's turn to redden to the brows. "You surely will notprevent my going to join my troop, now that it is in contact with theenemy," said he. "All I need is a few hours' sleep. I can start atseven."
"You cannot, with my consent, Mr. Blakely," said the captain dryly."There are reasons, in fact, why you can't leave here for any purposeunless the general himself give contrary orders. Matters have come upthat--you'll probably have to explain."
And here Doty entered, hearing only the captain's last. At sight ofhis adjutant the captain stopped short in his reprimand. "See to itthat these runners have a good supper, Mr. Doty," said Cutler. "Stirup my company cook, if need be, but take them with you now." Then,turning again on Blakely, "The doctor wishes you to go to bed at once,Mr. Blakely, and I will see you in the morning, but no more ridingaway without permission," he concluded, and thereby closed theinterview. He had, indeed, other things to say to, and inquire of,Blakely, but not until he had further consulted Graham. He confidentlyexpected the coming day would bring instructions from headquarters tohold both Blakely and Trooper Downs at the post, as a result of hisdispatches, based on the revelation of poor Pat Mullins. But Downs,forewarned, perhaps, had slipped into hiding somewhere--an old trickof his, when punishment was imminent. It might be two or three daysbefore Downs turned up again, if indeed he turned up at all, butBlakely was here and could be held. Hence the "horse order" of theearlier evening.
It was nearly two when Blakely reached his quarters, rebuffed andstung. He was so nervous, however, that, in spite of serious fatigue,he found it for over an hour impossible to sleep. He turned out hislight and lay in the dark, and the atmosphere of the room seemedheavily charged with rank tobacco. His new "striker" had sat up, itseems, keeping faithful vigil against his master's return, but, as thehours wore on, had solaced himself with pipe after pipe, and wanderingabout to keep awake. Most of the time, he declared, he had spent in abig rocking chair on the porch at the side door, but the scent of theweed and of that veteran pipe permeated the entire premises, and theBugologist hated dead tobacco. He got up and tore down the blanketscreen at the side windows and opened all the doors wide and tried hiscouch again, and still he wooed the drowsy god in vain. "Nor poppy normandragora" had he to soothe him. Instead there were new and anxiousthoughts to vex, and so another half hour he tossed and tumbled, andwhen at last he seemed dropping to the borderland, perhaps, of dreams,he thought he must be ailing again and in need of new bandages orcooling drink or something, for the muffled footfalls, betrayed bycreaking pine rather than by other sound, told him drowsily that theattendant or somebody, cautioned not to disturb him, was movingslowly across the room. He might have been out on the side porch toget cool water from the _olla_, but he needn't be so confoundedly slowand cautious, though he couldn't help the creaking. Then, what couldthe attendant want in the front room, where were still so many of theprecious glass cases unharmed, and the Bugologist's favorite books andhis big desk, littered with papers, etc.? Blakely thought to hail andwarn him against moving about among those brittle glass things, butreflected that he, the new man, had done the reshifting under his,Blakely's, supervision, and knew just where each item was placed andhow to find the passage way between them. It really was a trifleintricate. How could he have gone into the spare room at CaptainWren's, and there made his home as--she--Mrs. Plume had firstsuggested? There would not have been room for half his plunder, to saynothing of himself. "What on earth can Nixon want?" he sleepily askedhimself, "fumbling about there among those cases? Was that a crack ora snap?" It sounded like both, a splitting of glass, a wrenching oflock spring or something. "Be careful there!" he managed to call. Noanswer. Perhaps it was some one of the big hounds, then, wanderingrestlessly about at night. They often did, and--why, yes, that wouldaccount for it. Doors and windows were all wide open here, what was toprevent? Still, Blakely wished he hadn't extinguished his lamp. Hemight then have explored. The sound ceased entirely for a moment, and,now that he was quite awake, he remembered that the hospital attendantwas no longer with him. Then the sounds must have been made by thestriker or the hounds. Blakely had no dogs of his own. Indeed theywere common property at the post, most of them handed down with therest of the public goods and chattels by their predecessors of the ----th.At all events, he felt far too languid, inert, weak, indifferent orsomething. If the striker, he had doubtless come down for cool water. Ifthe hounds, they were in search of something to eat, and in either casewhy bother about it? The incident had so far distracted his thoughtsfrom the worries of the night that now, at last and in good earnest, hewas dropping to sleep.
But in less than twenty minutes he was broad awake again, with suddenstart--gasping, suffocating, listening in amaze to a volley ofsnapping and cracking, half-smothered, from the adjoining room. Hesprang from his bed with a cry of alarm and flung himself through athick, hot veil of eddying, yet invisible, smoke, straight for thecommunicating doorway, and was brought up standing by banging his headagainst the resounding pine, tight shut instead of open as he had leftit, and refusing to yield to furious battering. It was locked, bolted,or barred from the other side. Blindly he turned and rushed for theside porch and the open air, stumbling against the striker as thelatter came clattering headlong down from aloft. Then together theyrushed to the parlor window, now cracking and splitting from thefurious heat within. A volume of black fume came belching forth,driven and lashed by ruddy tongues of flame within, and their shoutsfor aid went up on the wings of the dawn, and the infantry sentry onthe eastward post came running to see; caught one glimpse of the glareat that southward window; bang went his rifle with a ring that cameechoing back from the opposite cliffs, as all Camp Sandy sprang fromits bed in answer to the stentorian shout "Fire! No. 5!"