IX
THE RESCUING PARTY
At the close of the consultation I rejoined Corporal Frank, and wewent back to our former seat under the cliff. The boy was exceedinglydepressed, and I did my best to persuade him that all would end welland 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 havetaken particular pains to mutilate and place his body where thepassing column would have seen it. That in itself is good evidencethat he is living. The worst that is likely to happen is that he maybe held for ransom or exchange."
"But how _can_ I wait?" exclaimed Frank. "I feel as though I ought tostart now."
"That would do no good," I replied. "You cannot find your brother'strail, nor could you follow it in the night."
"I cannot help thinking, sir, that Henry will send Vicky with amessage, and I fear that she cannot follow us so far. She must befearfully hungry and thirsty. I feel as if I ought to go and meether."
"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 walkbackward and forward between the water and the wagons, uttering theirdiscontent. Towards midnight, overcome by the fatigues of the day, Ifell into a doze, and did not wake until called at three.
A breakfast similar to our supper was served, and we were ready forthe road. The mules were harnessed while vigorously braying theirprotests against such ill usage, and, once under way, slowly drew thewagons to the summit of the divide between the Lithodendron and theLittle Colorado, a distance of twelve miles.
I did not see Frank while overlooking the drawing out of the train,but gave myself no anxiety on his account, thinking he hadaccompanied the advance. We had proceeded about a mile when a corporalof the guard ran after me, and reported that the Arnolds were nothitching up. Halting the train, I rode back and found Brenda sittingby the road-side in tears.
"What is the matter, Miss Arnold?" I asked.
"Oh, it is something this time," she sobbed, "that even you cannotremedy."
"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 wereobliged to travel very fast yesterday, and over a flinty road, andtheir 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 backand see."
Rising dejectedly, and by no means inspired by hope, Brenda led theway to the Arnold wagons, where I found the father and mother on theirknees beside an ox, engaged in binding rawhide "boots" to theanimal's feet. These boots were squares cut from a fresh hide procuredfrom the last ox slaughtered by the soldier-butcher. The foot of theox being set in the centre, the square was gathered about the ankleand 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 keptup, 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 thatwe purchased of a freighter. We can exchange with you. A beef is abeef. Turn your cattle into our herd, and catch up a new lot. When weget 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 knowtheirs."
From the top of the divide the road, smooth and hard, descended to theriver, ten miles away. At nine o'clock the head of the column hadreached the banks, and a few moments later men and horses had partakenof the clear, cool water.
As the infantry and cavalry moved away from the shore the wagons camedown the decline, the mules braying with excitement at the sight ofthe water gleaming through the green foliage of the cottonwoods andthe verdant acres of rich grass that stretched along the river-side.Brakes were put on and wheels double-locked, until the harness couldbe stripped off and the half-frantic animals set free to take a turnin the river.
Sheep and oxen plunged down the banks and stood leg-deep in thecurrent while they drank the grateful water. A few moments later allthe refreshed animals were cropping the generous grass. As I was goingto Captain Bayard I observed Brenda Arnold taking the odometer fromits wheel and making an entry in a note-book. Approaching her, Iasked: "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 oxenthis 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 placedhimself?"
"I know he has gone to find Henry, and that he said he should findhim," and the pretty girl betrayed her lack of confidence in the boy'sproject 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, filledhis 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 whichrested heaviest upon Captain Bayard and myself. We were answerable toColonel Burton for the manner in which we executed his trust.
"Ride down the valley," said the captain to me after I had concludedmy account of what Brenda had said, "and look for Lieutenant Hubbell'scamp. 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 campfarther down stream, and within easy communication with him, park thetrain, and establish order. We will remain here until we know what hasbecome of the boys."
I found the New Mexican cavalry camp three miles down the river, andobtained the desired forage. When I returned our new camp wasestablished, fires burning, and cooking well under way.
Captain Bayard informed me that the detachment of Mexican cavalrywhich had accompanied us thus far would leave at this point and notrejoin us. "I have ordered Baldwin to grain his horses and be ready tostart in search of our boys at daybreak," continued the captain. "Youwill 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 findplenty 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 thattime I fear they will never be found."
I went to bed early, and soon fell into a fitful slumber, which lasteduntil an hour before midnight. I arose, dressed, and sat down by thesmouldering camp-fire, a prey to unpleasant reflections.
Suddenly the sound of a cantering horse approaching from the northfell upon my ears. What could it mean? I listened intently. The horseslowed down to a walk. He entered the camp. The voice of Private TomClary, who was posted as sentinel No. 1, challenged: "Halt!--who comesthere?"
"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 usualformality of the challenge or to call the corporal of the guard.
Springing from my seat I walked tow
ards the sentinel, and there, bythe light of the moon, I saw Frank, mounted upon Sancho, with Vic inhis 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 shebrought. Henry is alive."
To attempt to relate all that now occurred would be impossible. Insome mysterious manner the news of Frank's arrival crept through thecamp, and half-dressed figures of officers and soldiers gathered aboutthe camp-fire, curious to listen to an account of the boy's adventure.One little, blanketed figure ran out of the darkness, caught Vic'sface between her two palms, nestled her cheek against it, and with acheerful "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 ablazing pine-knot proceeded to examine her condition. I found themouth and feet of the poor animal full of the spines of the _cholla_cactus, a growth which is simply a mass of fine thorns. This cactusgrows in patches, and when the dead clusters fall to the ground thespines stick to everything touching them. The dog had stepped into abed of these bunched needles, and filled her feet, and in trying toremove them with her teeth had thrust them through cheeks, lips, andtongue, literally closing her jaws. Her paws bristled with them likepin-cushions.
As to Frank's adventures: After leaving the Arnolds, as alreadydescribed by Brenda, he retraced the route to Carizo Creek and to theRio Puerco without seeing any sign of his brother. Returning to thewest he dismounted at the crossing of the Carizo. He felt sure that ifHenry had been captured by the Navajos he must have been taken in thedry bed of that creek.
A long and patient search resulted in the discovery of tracks made byseveral ponies running along the eastern side of the Carizo to thenorth and the hills. One of the set showed the print of iron shoes.Frank mounted again and followed this trail up the valley for somehours. He was thinking about returning, when he saw a white objectmoving on a hill-side, far in advance. It seemed to tumble, rise, andgo in a circle, then tumble, rise, and circle again. Frank's curiositywas aroused, and he rode on to examine the object. A few hundred yardsmore revealed the fact that he had come upon the missing Vic, and thatsomething was seriously the matter with her. At first Frank thoughtshe was mad or in a fit, but as he came nearer she sat up and madedemonstrations of joy at his approach. He dismounted, and found her inthe condition already described. On the ground was a chip, neatly cutand shaven, which she was in vain attempting to take between hersealed jaws. Frank understood the matter at once. Whenever Victorianawas sent on a message she was given a stick to deliver. It was plainthat some one had sent her to either Frank or me. Of course, it couldhave been no one but Henry. She had come thus far, and had steppedinto a bed of _cholla_. In trying to remove the needles from her feetshe had absolutely sealed her mouth; in the attempt to recover thechip she had made the movements that had attracted the boy'sattention.
Nothing was written on the stick. Around the dog's neck was tied acravat of dirty buck-skin. Untying and opening it, Frank found theinner surface covered with writing, evidently traced in berry-juicewith 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."
I remained at the fire long after every one had returned to their bedsor duty, busy in extracting the _cholla_ spines from Vic's mouth andfeet. The dog seemed to understand the necessity of the treatment shewas receiving, and bore the pain submissively, with only occasionalmoans and cries, until the operation ended. She then received a drinkof water, and went to bed with Frank.
At daybreak the rescue detachment left camp, retraced our route to theCarizo, where Corporal Frank put us upon the trail of the Indians. Weclimbed to the highest point reached by the path, and saw it descendon 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 theleft peak.
"Mr. Baldwin," I said, as I moved away, "when you see us start toreturn, saddle and bridle as rapidly as possible, so as to be readyfor emergencies."
"I'll do so. You can depend upon us to be ready when wanted," was thereply.
We scrambled through a scattering growth of pinon and junipers forseveral yards, and at last came to a perpendicular shaft of sandstonetwenty feet high, with a flat top. The diameter of the shaft was aboutfifty feet.
"Henry could not have come up here, or he never would have set us toattempt an impossibility," said Frank, as his eyes ran up and downthe rock.
"Perhaps it may not be so impossible as it appears," I replied. "Letus walk round the butte."
We passed to the right, and, having found a practicable place forattempting the ascent, accomplished the feat in a few moments.
On the flat summit we found the remains of former fires that hadundoubtedly been lighted as signals. The view was grand and extensive.Directly to the north lay many verdant valleys--grazing-grounds of thenomadic Navajos. One of these valleys lay at the foot of the mountainupon which we stood, with a bright stream of water crossing its hitherborder. 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 andherds, 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 lie down 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 numberseveral 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 nothingthat looks like Henry," he said. "He certainly cannot be there. Whyare 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 thecomplexion."
"Well, those boys must have plastered it on thick; they look likeliving statues. Not a rag on them except 'breech-clouts.' Hello, therecomes a troop around that mound to the right. Must be two hundredmen."
Taking the glass, I looked again. Coming into sight from the oppositeside of an elevation on the farther side of the valley was a party oftwo hundred and fifteen Navajo warriors. They rode to each flock ofsheep in succession, stopped near the women a few moments, and thencame down to the pony herd. They approached the boys, and one largeIndian, who appeared to be the chief, lifted the smaller boy out ofhis saddle, and, swinging him to his shoulder, dashed around the herdat full speed, and then set him back in his own saddle, and patted himapprovingly on the back.
The party next proceeded to exchange the ponies they were riding forfresh ones from the herd, and then disappeared behind the trees whichbordered the brook to the west.
"The pony that small boy rides looks like Chiquita," remarked Frank;"but the saddle and bridle are different. Senora Perea said thatManuel was herding ponies for the Navajos, and that he was naked."
"Yes, I know; but the letter Vic brought from Henry made no mention ofanother boy, and there are three with that herd. But let us make thesignal and see what will happen."
Standing up and advancing to the edge of the butte's top, I waved myhandkerchief from side to side, keeping my eyes fixed upon the threeboys. They formed in line, facing us, looked long in our direction,and then, as if started by a spring, they flew down the plain, leapedthe brook, and galloped up the long ascent towards the concealedcavalrymen.