Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  That meant new trouble--trouble for Major Brown commanding the littletwo-company station--the "tuppenny post," his subaltern, Blake,derisively termed it--trouble for Blake, who was officer of the day,and was held on tenterhooks for many a day thereafter--trouble forSergeant Collins, who was directly in command of the guard--"Collins_ne_ Oolahan," as Freeman wrote him down, it having been discoveredthat this versatile Celt had served a previous enlistment in the "Lostand Strayed," when four of its companies were pioneering shortly afterthe war, where even the paymaster couldn't find them. Such of them ascould be found in course of years were gathered up and sent to SanFrancisco for further exploration in other desert lands, but Oolahanand four of his fellows of Company "A," not having returned from wagonescort duty, were finally dropped as dead or deserted (those were dayswherein nobody much cared which), whereas they were merely drunk atCerbat. Under other names, as orthodox as the originals, they were nowdoing valorous and valuable service in other commands, Collins inparticular proving a capital fighter and trooper, to the end that thebest interests of the service were subserved by keeping a keen eye onhis present and a "Nelson blind" on his past. Of the three soldiersthus involved at McDowell, Collins was the one who took it most toheart, for Collins had come to think ill of 'Tonio, whom at first hehad championed. Collins despised 'Patchie Sanchez, whom he had knownfive years, and described as a "durrty cross betune a skunk and aspitbox," a greaser Indian who would knife his best friend. As for'Tonio, whom he had known ever since he came to Arizona in '65, andonce held to be "the wan good Indian in it," 'Tonio had made himbelieve he too held Sanchez in contempt. Yet, to all appearance, thetwo, who up to this night had been confined entirely apart, had gonetogether. One of the counts in the unwritten indictments againstMcDowell was that its officers and men had lionized the dangerousIndian they were bidden to hold under careful guard, had held himwithout bond or shackle in a vacant room of the hospital, until thatvery day, when, stung by an inspector's comment, Brown ordered him atlast into confinement with Sanchez, who was shackled to a post in theprison room. Yet all that was left of either was the "greaser's"chains. _Could_ there have been collusion?

  It meant more trouble for 'Tonio. Instead of facing investigation, asHarris declared he would, he had fled. It even meant more trouble forHarris, who, having stood his friend through thick and thin, proclaimedhis innocence in spite of accumulation of evidence, now found himselfutterly alone in his views and all Almy beginning to veer over toWillett. Willett, now able at last to recognize those about him, wassitting up a little to be nursed and petted and read to, a recovery inwhich the ice, for which Harris had sent his Indian followers fortymiles, had played no unimportant part. Willett was now the object ofdevoted care and unspeakable interest, for all Almy hoped to hear thestory of the assault with intent to kill. But Almy was doomed todisappointment. Beyond the expression of an unalterable conviction thathe had been shot down from ambush by 'Tonio, hammered senseless, andleft for dead, Willett declared he knew no more about it than they did.He seemed, in fact, to know as little of them as he knew of Stella,when at last the doctor gave him, without a word, the little packetheld in trust by Mrs. Stannard. "He is muddle-headed yet," saidBentley, in explanation. "He'll know more after awhile, which is morethan we may," was the mental addition, as he looked into Mrs.Stannard's doubtful eyes.

  But meanwhile further tidings had come from the San Carlos and beyond."Big Chief Jake" had been doing some famous rounding up among the laterecalcitrants. The General-in-Chief had given a feast to the incomingIndians, had shaken hands with their leaders, ordered rations for thefamilies until the agency could again take them under its wing, haddetailed escorts to conduct them by easy stages to the reservation setapart for them, but, as punctilious to the keeping of one part of apromise as to another, he sent forth his scouting parties to look upthose Indians who had not come in, with strict orders to stick to ituntil the fate of the Bennett boys was definitely settled, and thescattered renegades were captured or destroyed. And this was why Mrs.Stannard was destined to wait still awhile longer for the home-comingof her beloved captain. This was why, within the week that followedtheir mission in quest of ice, three Indian scouts that were still"casuals" at Almy, set forth eastward, full panoplied for the field,with little Harris at their head.

  "Wouldn't you like to see Harold before you go?" Mrs. Archer had askedhim when he called to say good-by. Her heart had warmed to him, as hadLilian's, in grateful appreciation of that gift of ice ("though ofcourse Mr. Harris should know that now, under the circumstances, hereally--well, it wasn't at all a matter to be spoken about, but dearMrs. Stannard could see for herself that--it were quite as well thatMr. Harris got back to his duties"). Both mother and daughter, knowingwell what it must have cost in time and labor, had thanked Harris veryprettily, and fully meant all they said, which kept them from sayingtoo much. It was but natural that his classmates should do anything forHarold.

  "Would he care to see me?" asked Harris, very quietly.

  "Well, he is sleeping just now, and he needs that so much. Liliansoothes him to sleep when no medicine can. He can't bear to have herout of his sight."

  "Then I think I should not disturb them," said Harris. "He'll behimself again before we are a week away, and you can say good-by forme, also to Miss Lilian, will you not?"

  It was thus he would have gone, but, as he turned away, compassionseized the mother's gentle heart, still bleeding--bleeding for her ownbeloved boy. After all, how could any young fellow help loving herLilian? How could Harris help it? Why should she wish to seek to holdhim aloof? "Come back one minute," she cried, half choking, thendisappeared within.

  And so he turned again. He could not well refuse, and presently Shecame and smiled upon him and put her long, slim hand, cool from contactwith iced towelling, into his hot, dry palm, and slipped the fingersslowly forth again, and spoke almost in whisper, lest the sleeper mighthear her voice and know she had ventured forth and was conversing withsome other man--all in that exaggerated precaution of word and mannerthat, whenever so much in love with one man, a girl so often observestoward others even ever so little in love with her.

  "You have been so good to--us, Mr. Harris, and I know how--he willthank you when he is able. Till then you must let me. _Good_-by!" Poorcomfort at best, yet what one of us would not have sought it ratherthan nothing? And then she was gone lest he should awake andremember--or Harris should awake and--and forget. She was but a child,after all, and her fond and beloved mother little less so.

  And of such was Harris's leave taking, cool as his contribution to thathappy rival's comfort, he thought, as he rode drearily away to theford, with but a wave of the hand in response to the shout of Craneyand Watts at the shack, while "Barkeep" and a few hangers-on stoodgazing from under the canvas shade at the store, and Case, the silentbookkeeper, bent over his desk by the east window--the desk whereinstill reposed that big calibre 44, with every chamber loaded and thehandle more coated with dust.

  Half-way to the ford Harris's broncho stumbled and kicked up a muddysplash in the shallow pool. His rider reined him up sharply and spurredon; the three pack mules, following in file a scrawny Mexican on thebell horse, shied clear of the water cloud and emerged with drippingbellies from a deeper pool just to the left. The Indians, skippingdry-shod over the bowlders, a dozen yards below, turned their heads atsound of the stumble, and their keen eyes exchanged glances. Presentlyone of them shed his moccasins and waded in toward the mud cloud on theface of the rippling waters, and, while his companions stood at thebank, began searching in the knee-deep puddle. Presently again heswooped, thrust down a bare, brown arm almost to the shoulder, and drewforth a dripping object a foot long, covered with rust and mud. "Huh!"was all he said, as he splashed back to shore, exhibiting his prize tohis fellows. Then together the three went a jog trot after Harris andheld it up for his inspection. He took it curiously--an old-fashioned,war-time, percussion-capped Navy Colt--the pistol officers carriedthrough
the four years of battling in preference to the so-called ArmyColt issued to the cavalry. "Some relic of the old volunteer days atAlmy," said Harris to himself, and bade the Indian keep it. Nor did hethink again of that pistol until many days later.

  That night they bivouacked among the tanks under Diamond Butte. Nextday, toward sunset, as the smoke from the little cook fire went sailingaloft from the bank of a mountain stream that came tumbling from theBlack Mesa, another little column of smoke answered from among thepines far up the heights. An Indian touched the young soldier's sleeveand pointed. Another moment and he was up, blanket in hand andsignalling. That night the escaped prisoner, whom all commanders ofposts or detachments were ordered to arrest wherever found, stood erectin the firelight, clasping hands with his young leader--'Tonio, theApache-Mohave, and 'Tonio had a stirring tale to tell.

  Barely five days later still, Archer and his wife sat hand in hand inthe cool veranda, taking the air. The sun was just down and the flaghad just fluttered to its rest. From the open casement came the murmurof happy voices, one so very happy it thrilled their hearts. Across thebarren parade the men were just breaking ranks after retreatinspection, and the officers were coming homeward, unbelting sword orsabre as they neared their doors, in the impatient fashion of the day.Strong, the adjutant, still precise and buckled, stalked up to hiscommander's steps, halted, saluted, and said: "All present, sir, andcouriers coming up the valley."

  Archer rose to his feet and reached for his binocular. Forgetful ofsupper, many men began to gather at the edge of the bluff over by theoffice. A brace of sergeants had clambered to the lookout, and Mrs.Stannard, eager ever for news from her husband, came hurrying to joinher friends. Twilight faded with almost tropical suddenness, but notbefore the coming riders could be recognized as troopers, and Mrs.Stannard's heart was praying they might be her Luce's men.

  "If you had your wish," said Archer, as he lowered the glass and turnedto where the two friends stood, their arms entwining, "what would youask for, Mrs. Stannard?"

  "My husband, I suppose," was the answer, "and yet--I've been sittinghours by poor Mrs. Bennett this day," and the blue eyes began to fill.

  "Heaven send us news of those little fellows soon," said Archerpiously. "If not, I'm afraid her heart will break. Bentley says thefaint hope is all that holds her. Listen to that!" he suddenly cried."Listen!"

  Far down beyond the store somebody had set up a shout. Then, as theystood with beating hearts and straining ears, from the store itselfwent up another--three, four voices in unison--a shout that set everyman along the edge of the mesa to swinging his hat. But a veteransergeant, Bonner's level-headed right bower, sprang among them, withuplifted hand and voice. "Quiet, men! Don't yell! Wait!" Then he camehurrying across the parade, straight to his post commander. "What isit, sergeant?" was the anxious query, and at the very moment the riderscame wearily jogging over the brow of the hill.

  "Couriers from General Crook, sir. They say the boys are found--safe."

  Bentley was there almost as the foremost horseman sprang from saddle."Not a word of it to her--yet!" said he. "Wait until we know exactly.Go you, sergeant, and tell the steward on no account to let any onedisturb her." And by this time Archer had torn open the letter handedhim, and Doyle had come running out with a lamp. The expressions thatchased each other over the general's features as he hurriedly readwould have baffled an actor: first rejoicing, then amaze, thenperplexity, if not trouble. "Can you tell us, dear?" was the gentlequery that recalled him.

  "Read it--aloud," he said, and though her voice was tremulous, the tonewas clear and the hush breathless. Even Lilian and her lover could hearevery word.

  CAMP ON TONTO CREEK, December --, 5:30 A.M.

  DEAR GENERAL:

  Almy scores again. General Crook sends his best congratulations. Thelittle Bennetts should be safely with you to-night. We see them as faras El Caporal. The general takes short cut for McDowell and thencehome. Old Stannard never slept from the moment he got the word until hegot the boys. Harris and 'Tonio located the rancheria and ledunerringly. We are all happy.

  Yours in haste,

  BRIGHT.

  Even in her womanly joy over the rescue, there was wifely sympathy andinstant understanding of her husband's swift-changing mood. Thechildren were safe--that meant rejoicing for all. Stannard and histroop were the rescuers--that meant credit and triumph for Archer'spost, and the general awarded it. But Harris and 'Tonio were thediscoverers and leaders. 'Tonio, probably, was the man without whoseaid nothing could have been accomplished. 'Tonio was the hero,therefore, in the eyes of the commanding general--'Tonio, the man whomArcher would have condemned and shot. This meant perplexity, if notworry, as she quickly saw, and went and nestled to his side. Did eversoldier have such contrary luck as did hers?

  But all were crowding about the couriers for particulars. "Yes," saidthe sturdy corporal, who was spokesman for the two, "the little fellowshad been brought in a mule litter from way over toward Chevlon's Fork,straight to Crook's camp." Captain Stannard with most of his peoplewould scout the country far as the Chiquito before returning.Lieutenant Harris and 'Tonio stayed with him, and the general's escortfrom "G" troop brought in the boys.

  And by ten o'clock another rider came loping in. The party with thelitter were just behind, the tiny occupants worn out and sound asleep."Take them straight to the hospital," said Dr. Bentley. "Mrs. Archer,Mrs. Stannard, will you come with me?"

  All Almy sat up late that night. Probably not a soldier eye was closeduntil long after eleven, and half the garrison clustered about thehospital, treading on tiptoe and speaking in whispers, as the littlefellows were tenderly lifted from the litter, the weary mules were ledaway, and, in the arms of Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard, the sleepingboys were borne, without word or sound, to the darkened room where, inthe broad white bed that had been the hospital matron's, lay in theslumber of exhaustion their unconscious mother. Bentley closed the doorbehind them, noiselessly as possible. The steward and his wife, bothwith tear-brimming eyes, stood by to aid. Deft hands disrobed thesleeping little forms (Mrs. Archer nearly sobbing aloud at sight oftheir thinned and wasted limbs), and invested them in borrowed"nighties" from buxom Mrs. Kelly's store. Then, cautiously,noiselessly, the light coverlet was partly raised, the weary littlecurly heads were pillowed close beside the mother's, and then, leavingthe night light turned low, stealthily they drew away and waited. "Shenever sleeps more'n an hour or two at a time," whispered the steward."She'll be sure to wake before long," and so they lingered near thedoorway, and Camp Almy, much of it, clustered in the moonlight without.Ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still there was no sound from thedarkened room, and then, over at the guardhouse, the sentry on NumberOne started the call of eleven o'clock. Number Two, at the storehouse,took it up in his turn and trolled off his "All's well," and then itwas Number Three's turn, out just under the edge of the bench, andThree muffled his voice and strove to turn it into a lullaby as hebegan, and, as the first words of the soldier watch cry camefloating in through the partly open window, Mrs. Archer's handstole forth and clasped that of Mrs. Stannard's, for the motherhad begun to stir. Then, finger on lips, in tremulous excitement,those loving-hearted friends bent forward, and the watchers, five,listened and gazed, the women quivering with sympathy and emotion,for Mrs. Bennett's dark head was slowly lifting from the pillow,and then, all on a sudden went up a piercing cry--in a very agony ofjoy--incredulous, intolerable--"_Danny!_ DANNY! Oh, my God! Don't sayI'm dreaming! And JIMMY!"

  And then, with lusty yowl, the younger of the startled cherubs enteredhis protest against this summary awakening, and the words of ecstaticthanksgiving were for the moment drowned in the chorus of infantlamentation. Even the rapture of restoration to mother arms was dimmedby consideration of present discomfort.

  But within were glad-hearted friends, weeping joyfully with her.Without were sturdy soldiers, shaking hands and slapping backs andshoulders in clumsy delight, and somebody was moved to say he'd bet theOld Man wouldn't care
if it _was_ after taps, "and--Craney's was stillopen."

  And so by dozens they went trooping down, for, though cash was scantand the paymaster overdue, the rules were suspended and Craney bade"Barkeep" credit all comers who drank to Harris; and Case, thebookkeeper, with white and twitching face, waylaid such men as camefrom the escort with odd, insistent questioning. If 'Tonio was reallyleader in the rescue, had nothing been seen of 'Patchie Sanchez? WasSanchez heard of--nowhere?--until, with his fifth free drink to thehealth of everybody concerned, Corporal Dooley turned on Case with"What the hell's it to you, anyhow, whether 'Tonio led or Sanchez'sdead?" and Craney, listening and watching, turned to Watts and askedhad Case begun again? If so, they couldn't too speedily check him."Come up here, if you're a man," insisted Dooley, "and have wan on meto big little Harris and 'Tonio--'Tonio, bedad, even if he _did_ do upLoot'nent Willett!"

  Whereat, even in the noisy barroom there was sudden silence, save forresponsive murmurs of 'Tonio's name, for strange sympathy had comesifting in from the columns afield. But Craney had heard in theadjoining room and was up in an instant, Watts following suit. Thiswould never do. This was disloyalty to the best and gentlest and mostcourteous of post commanders, and no soldier should, no employe of his_could_, drink such a toast within Craney's doors. But he need not havefeared. Promptly a big sergeant had interposed, and caught the corporalby the wrist, with thunderous "None of that, Dooley!" Prompt cameCase's answer, though low-toned and guarded: "I'm drinking nothing,man, till after pay-day. _Then_ come at me and I'll settle it with youdrink for drink."

  But Dooley's Irish blood was up, five fingers of tanglefoot tingling ineach fist and bubbling in his brain. Struggling in the sergeant'sgrasp, he shouted his reply: "Settle be damned! How'd _you_ settle widWillett for the girl he did you out? Bluffed him on a queen high, andcalled it square! You're nothin' but a bluffer, Case, an' all Vancouverknowed it!" In the instant of awkward, amazed silence that followed noman moved. Then, his face still whiter, his lips livid, Case turned toSergeant Woodrow. "That man has no right to be heard here--much less tobe wearing chevrons," said he. "His name's Quigley, a deserter from theLost and Strayed!"

  It was then just midnight, and the sergeant of the guard, coming toclose the festivities, went back with an unlooked-for prisoner, who,every inch of the way, cursed and foamed and fought, and swore hideousvengeance on Case for a cur and a coward, so that the fury of hisdenunciation reached even the general's quarters, where peace andcongratulation were having sway, and lovers were still whispering ereparting for the night--reached even the ears of Willett himself,reclining blissfully at the open window, with Lilian's hand in his, herfair head pillowed on his shoulder. There in the open hearth lay theashes of the letters, unread, unopened, that had come to accuse him,but even the fires of hell could not burn out the memory of the wrongthat, after all, had tracked him here unerringly, for in the fewhalf-drunken, all-damning words that reached him, Harold Willett heardthe trumpeting of his own disgrace. His sin had found him out.

  And, barely an hour before, he had sworn to her that the Stella of whomhe had babbled in his dreams was indeed but a favorite hound he hadlost in the Columbia; that no Stella had penned a line to him in years,and, taking her sweet, upturned face between his palms, with the soft,tender brown eyes looking fondly down into the trustful, beautifulblue, he had said: "My darling, like other men, I have had fancies inboyish days, and even a flame or two, but never a love, _real_ love,until you came into my life. In a week now I must be with my general atPrescott, but every day, every moment of my absence, you will be theonly girl in all the world to me. I shall shrink from the mere touch ofanother hand. I shall count the hours until you become my wife."

  And she believed him, utterly, poor soul. He even believed himself.