XVI
APACHES IN SKULL VALLEY
It was near midnight, four days after my return from La Paz, that Isat by my open fire, absorbed in a recently published popular novel. Iwas suddenly aroused by a distant and rapid clatter of horse's feet.The sound came distinctly through the loop-holes in the outer wall ofthe room--loop-holes made for rifles and left open for ventilation.Dropping my book upon the table, I listened intently to thehoof-beats. Some one was riding from the direction of Prescott,evidently in great haste; and Arizona being a country of alarms, Isurmised that the rider was coming to the fort. The horseman stoppedat the great gates.
"Halt! Who comes there?" rang out the voice of Private Tom Clary, whowas sentinel No. 1, stationed at the post entrance. "Sargint Hinery,is it you, laddie?" the voice continued, in a lower and gentler tone.
"Yes, Tom; and, oh, tell Mr. Duncan, quick, that--"
"Whist! Take care, laddie! Howld on a bit!" and a rifle fellclattering to the ground and two solid feet sprang forward with arush.
Hearing this, I started for the secret postern, and as I opened mydoor, heard the honest old soldier shout:
"Corpril uv th' guard, No. 1!" and, in a lower and appealing tone:"Liftinint, if ye hear me, come quick to the little sargint. I fearth' dear b'y is dyin'."
In an instant I was through the narrow gate-way, standing beside agroup of the guard that surrounded Clary, who, kneeling beside apanting and reeking pony, held the inanimate form of Henry Burton inhis arms.
"Corpril Duffey, will ye let one uv the b'ys walk me bate a minatetill I can take the laddie in?" asked Tom.
"Yes, Clary, go ahead, and stay as long as you're needed," was thekindly answer.
"Is it to your room I'll be takin' him, sor?" asked Clary, rising andholding his burden across his breast.
"Of course, and place him on my bed. Corporal Duffey, send a man forthe surgeon and hospital steward, and send another with the pony tothe stable."
It was too dark to take in details, but I noticed Chiquita was utterlyexhausted, and that she was covered with foam. Following Clary to myroom, I saw, when the light fell upon Henry's face, that his rightcheek and neck were bleeding, and that his left arm hung unnaturallylimp by the bearer's side.
We placed him upon the bed, and Surgeon Coues, who had now arrived andpronounced the boy to be simply in a faint from loss of blood andover-exertion, applied restoratives and brought him back toconsciousness. As Henry's eyelids raised, and he recognized me, hesaid, weakly:
"Oh, Mr. Duncan, tell Captain Bayard the Indians have attacked Mr.Arnold's ranch, and that Mrs. Arnold is dead!"
"Indians attacked the ranch! When?"
"About four o'clock."
"How many?"
"Don't know. Seemed as if there were over a hundred. And don't stop toworry over me. Don't stop an instant--these scratches are nothing--butsend the soldiers, quick, or Brenda and all will be killed!"
"How did you get away from the ranch? But you are right, this is notime for talk."
I aroused the other officers instantly, and sent Frank to his brother.All assembled in my quarters, and, while the surgeon dressed thewounds in cheek and neck and set a fractured radius, orders for anexpedition to Skull Valley were issued, and Henry told his story.
At the time this incident occurred the Californians had been musteredout of service and returned to their distant homes, and the garrisonat Fort Whipple consisted of infantry only. But there were many"dough-boys" who were good riders, and a number of excellent horseswere kept by the quartermaster for emergencies which required speedand short service.
Captain Bayard gave orders for a sergeant, three corporals, andtwenty-two privates to be got in readiness for mounted service, withrations for five days. The command was given to me, and Private TomClary immediately applied to be relieved from guard in order toaccompany me. His request was granted.
Sergeant Frank concluded to remain with his brother.
"I know it is rough on you, Frankie," said Henry, "not to have achance to win a few scars, too; but I should be dreadfully worried ifyou were to go, and I'm worried enough about Brenda now. You must staywith me."
And so it was settled, and Frank remained behind, lending his ponySancho to Private Clary.
During all this preparation, dressing of wounds, and setting offractures, Henry had managed to give us an account of what hadhappened at Skull Valley before he left. I will, however, repeat it alittle more connectedly, with additions obtained later from otherparties.
After I left Sergeant Henry in the valley, as I passed through therefrom the Xuacaxella, he had for three days devoted himself to theamusement of his young hostess, Brenda, and her cousins.
There were many reasons why the Arnolds were not fearing an attack atthe time, the principal one being that the Indians had recently beendefeated at Date Creek. With that affair they seemed to havewithdrawn, and no signs of them had been seen since.
Near the close of the afternoon of the fourth day of Henry's visit aparty of forty-one Apaches had suddenly appeared, and had spent anhour or more reconnoitring the valley and its approaches. Apparentlybecoming satisfied that they would not be interrupted in their attackby outside parties, they began active operations by collecting theArnold cattle and horses, and placing them in charge of two of theirnumber near the spring.
Next they fired one of the out-buildings, and under cover of the smokegained entrance to a second, which stood less than a hundred feet fromthe north side of the house. Knocking the mud and chips from betweenthe logs here and there, they were enabled to open fire upon thesettlers at short range.
With the first appearance of the Indians, Mr. Arnold, assisted by twotravellers who had arrived that afternoon from Date Creek on their wayto Prescott, closed the windows and doorways with heavy puncheonshutters, removed the stops from the loop-holes, directed the girls tocarry provisions and property into the earthwork, got the arms andammunition ready, and awaited further demonstrations.
The available defensive force consisted of every member of the family,including Sergeant Henry Burton and the two strangers. The mother anddaughters had been taught the use of fire-arms by the husband andfather, and Brenda had been taught by the boy sergeants. In anemergency like the one being narrated, where death and mutilation weresure to follow capture, the girls were nerved to do all that couldhave been expected of boys at their ages.
Until the Apaches gained possession of the second out-building, fewshots had been exchanged, and the besieged closely watched theirmovements through the loop-holes. It was while doing this that abullet pierced the brain of Mrs. Arnold, and she fell dead in themidst of her family.
The body of Mrs. Arnold was borne to the cellar by the sorrowinghusband, accompanied by the weeping children. The firing becamedesultory and without apparent effect. Ball and arrow could not piercethe thick walls of the log-house; only through the loop-holes could amissile enter, and by rare good-fortune none of the defenders, afterthe first casualty, chanced to be in line when one did.
The family again assembled in defence of their home and lives, thegrave necessity of keeping off the impending danger banishing, in ameasure, the thoughts of their bereavement. An ominous silence on thepart of the Indians was broken at last by the swish of a blazing arrowto the roof. Mr. Arnold rushed to the garret, and with the butt of hisrifle broke a hole in the covering and flung the little torch to theground.
But another and another burning arrow followed, and in spite ofdesperate and vigilant action the pine shingles burst into flames inseveral places. At this juncture Henry, whose station was on the southside of the house, approached Mr. Arnold and said:
"Sir, I see Chiquita grazing near the spring, close to the edge of thewillows, and the two Indians there with the herd keep well this way,watching the fight. If you think best, I will creep through thepassage, mount, and ride to the fort for the soldiers."
Mr. Arnold did not at once reply. He took a long look through aloop-hole towards the spring, and Henr
y, misinterpreting his silence,said:
"Don't think I want to desert you, sir, and skip the ranch. I'll stayhere and do my best with the others, but I thought, perhaps, if Icould do it, I might save you all."
"God bless ye, my boy; nobody can doubt yer fightin' 'bility; yer wasborn a soldier. I was only thinkin' yer chance uv gittin' by them tworedskins at the spring's mighty small."
"Then you think it a good plan?"
"Yes; I'd like to have ye do it, if ye can."
"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."
Then the lad passed around the rooms, taking the hand of each defenderin farewell until he reached Brenda. As he took her hand in his rightand fondly lay his left upon it, the young girl broke intouncontrollable sobbing, and, throwing her disengaged arm over hisshoulder, said:
"Oh, Henry! what a dear, brave boy you are! You never think ofyourself, but always of your friends!"
"I will bring the soldiers, Brenda, and you shall all be saved. Keepup a good heart."
"But it is such a long ride, and even if you do get away, you may findus dead or captives when you return."
"You must be brave, Brenda--no, not brave, for you are that already;but be patient. We are sure to be here before those fellows can takethe little fort. That can be defended as long as the ammunition holdsout."
Then the boy kissed the pretty Brenda and her cousins, and droppedinto the cellar. Passing into the earthwork, he selected his saddleand bridle from a heap of others, buckled on his spurs, dropped withbowed head upon his knees a moment, and crept into the passage leadingto the spring. Groping his way between the narrow walls, he presentlyemerged through a natural crevice in a mass of bowlders near thespring. Standing in the screen of willows, he parted the branchescautiously in the direction of the two Indians, and saw them less thana hundred yards distant, standing with their backs towards himwatching the Arnold house, the roof of which was now a roaring,leaping mass of flame.
Closing the boughs again, Henry opened them in an opposite directionand crept softly up to Chiquita, holding out his hand to her. Thedocile pony raised her head, and, coming forward, placed her nose inhis palm, submitting to be saddled and bridled without objection ornoise.
Leaping into the saddle, the boy drove his spurs into the animal'sflanks, and was off at a furious run in the direction of Whipple.Startled by the hoof-beats, the Apaches looked back, and began runningdiagonally across the field to try to intercept the boy before heturned into the direct trail. Arrow after arrow flew after him, onewounding him in the neck and another in the cheek, and when thedistance began to increase between him and his pursuers and they sawthe boy was likely to get away, one raised his rifle and sent a bulletafter him, which fractured the radius of his left arm.
"Well, Chiquita," said Henry, as he turned fairly into the Prescotttrail and had realized the exact nature of his injuries, "you haven'tgot a scratch, and are good for this run if I can hold out."
It was dusk when Henry began his ride, and it rapidly grew darker ashe hurried along the trail. Neither he nor the pony had been over itbefore. Twice he got off the trail, and long and miserable stretchesof time elapsed in regaining it; but the fort was reached at last andthe alarm given.