CHAPTER V.
Bennett's "dago," when halted by Number Four, was as limp a specimen ofhumanity as that drowsy young trooper had seen in all his soldier days.Bennett's dago was no stranger to the post, having occasionally comethither on errands for his employer, and semi-occasionally appearedwithout such semblance of authority, but, whether his mission was formaster or man, it had never hitherto failed to lead to the store andmonte. Small as was the garrison, and few as were the neighboringranches, there was generally business enough to support two card rooms,one for officers and the "_gente fino_"--the trader, his partner, thechief packer, forage master, and an occasional rancher or prospector;the other, a big one, and often a riotous, for the soldiery, scouts,packers and riffraff of the frontier, and for this establishmentBennett's dago had an indescribable fascination. Here he had met anddiffered with Munoz, the two coming to a knife duel, promptlysuppressed by the gun butts of the guard. None the less was Munozcalled into requisition as interpreter, for between peril, exhaustionand defective English the "dago" could only splutter an unintelligiblejargon that might have been Sicilian, Maltese, or Calabrian, but couldnot be Spanish. Bennett, it seems, had picked him up for dead on theVerde road, early in the spring of the year, and Mrs. Bennett hadnursed the poor devil back to life. Then it turned out that he knew howto cook. Later it transpired that he had been with a Mexican "outfit,"prospecting for gold; had taken mountain fever, become a burden tothem, and was left to look out for himself at a tank in Dead Man'sCanon. He paid for his keep in cooking and chores, said Bennett, andpicked up enough English to enable him to get along about the ranch. Hepresently showed desire to care for the horses and mules and to ridethem, and one day he disappeared with Bennett's best saddle mule andwas gone forty-eight hours, and on his return gravely tendered Bennetta five-dollar gold piece in payment for his time and mule while away.He said he won it at monte, and it was proved that he had found his wayto the card room, as a mule does to water, and, without knowledge ofEnglish, displayed consummate skill in the game; had played only twohours, had won twenty dollars and departed at dusk. But his winningswere in greenbacks and silver. Whence had come the gold? The trader'speople said he stabled his mule; introduced himself as "Bennett's_mozo_--me," and "sat into" the game then in progress as though longaccustomed; showing silver, mainly Mexican, the only credentials theplayers required. At sunset he quit, easy winner, and went withouttaking so much as a "snifter." Once having found the way, and themeans, the dago came again and yet again, neither giving nor havingtrouble until he ran foul of Munoz, the Mexican, whom he seemed to hateat sight. Whatever his lingo, or that employed by the polyglot Mexican,they understood each other, and the misunderstanding that followed waspurely personal.
Now, in spite of his craze for gambling the dago had points thatappealed to Bennett. He found him valuable in many a way. He was almostdoglike in his devotion to Bennett's wife and children. He was a"bang-up" cook, barring a heavy hand at first with _chile_ and onions.He patched up an old guitar of Mrs. Bennett's and strummed delightfullyall manner of strange Mexican and Mediterranean melodies, and,encouraged by her, had even been betrayed into song. He was kind to thestock, and the mules took to him from the very start, which the twohorses did not do. The dogs tolerated at first and then "tied" to him.So, too, the cat adored him. He got along smoothly with the one negroand two Maricopa Indian boys Bennett had brought with him from theGila. He did not drink even when at the post, and in the course of sixmonths had come to be a feature, almost a fixture of the ranch, yet"Dago" was the only name by which he was known, even among hisbenefactors. Bennett said he believed he had forgotten he ever hadanother.
That very morning, showing all his white teeth, he had whipped off abattered old hat of Mexican straw at sight of the general and his fairdaughter, had taken the basket while the orderly led the horses to thecorral, had followed them about the little garden patch while Mrs.Bennett delightedly showed her lettuce and spinach and the gorgeous bedof poppies. Then he had brewed delicious chocolate, though condensedmilk was poor substitute for whipped cream, and had prepared such anappetizing little luncheon, and had made himself so useful, that thegeneral was moved to say to Bennett that any time the dago tired of hisjob he could find one at the fort. "I wonder he stays," said Bennett."I only give him five dollars a month, even now, and he could gettwenty, and unlimited monte, at the store; besides, he is mortal 'fraidof these 'Patchie Mohaves; hell knows why, and hides when he sees 'emcoming."
"Do they never bother you stealing or--some way?" asked the general,with an anxious glance at the two sturdy little ranchers, five andthree-year-old Bennetts, rolling and wrestling in the sand, showing offfor the benefit of the visitors.
"'Patchie Mohaves?" asked Bennett, looking up in surprise. "Never have!You know I drove mule team to the agency two years ago, and sort ofgrew to them. Why, Minnie, now, thinks as much of them, or most, as shedoes of the boys at the post. They're a sort of police, sir. The Tontosdon't dare come down so long as the Mohaves are about here."
"I know," said the general reflectively. "Yet some few bucks driftedoff to the Tontos, and the agent's been raising a row because so manyof them roost down here instead of staying on the reservation, bringingin game. Did you know that two bands were out--women and all--withoutpermits, and that was one thing that brought Lieutenant Harris and hisscouts up here?"
"Well, that accounts for our having seen none of them for over twoweeks. They must have gone clean out to the Mesa. General," hecontinued anxiously, "they don't like their agent, or that agency.They're herded in there with Apache Yumas and sick Tontos and SierraBlancas--fellows that get better treatment because they're biggerdevils and raise merry hell. _I_ know 'em and the agent don't. I'd movein to the post if _they_ were out, but we're safe with the 'PatchieMohaves."
That was what poor Bennett was saying not twelve hours earlier, and nowthe homelike ranch had gone up in flames, and Bennett, wailed the dago,lay butchered among the ruins. So, too, the negro. The Maricopa boyshad fled only, probably, to be run down and killed, but what had becomeof the poor, helpless little wife and mother, with her bonny, blue-eyedboys, God alone knew.
By this time half the enlisted strength of the post was up and out andflocking to hear the tidings. Bentley, the surgeon, had shuffled overin his slippered feet and was giving Dago first aid to the demoralizedin the shape of _aguardiente Americano_, that made him sputter andsneeze, but speedily braced him. The adjutant hurried over to call thecommanding officer, passing Harris on the way, and Harris, already incampaign dress, was hastening to the camp of his scouts. Turner, silentand sombre, as was his wont, had elbowed his way through the throng andstood glowering at Dago and the beetled-browed Munoz, as thoughweighing them in mental balance, and finding both wanting. Mrs.Stannard, through the blinds, had hailed the adjutant as he wentbounding by to say the captain would be out in a moment. AlreadyWettstein had told them the fearful news. The adjutant stepped insidethe open hallway at the general's and banged on the swinging door ofthe little front room, answered almost instantly by the subdued andgentle voice of Mrs. Archer from the head of the stairs. The generalwas sound asleep. Was it necessary to wake him?
Strong expected as much. Not once a month did that genial veteranpermit himself an over-indulgence, but, when he did, the quicker heslept it off the better. He had taken his night-cap and turned inbetimes, so as to be up at reveille. But Strong knew what the "Old Man"would say to him later if he failed to rouse him now. "It's immediate,Mrs. Archer," said he. "We have bad news from Bennett's Ranch."
A pale, frightened, white little face had come peering over themotherly shoulder at the moment, even whiter in the flickering light ofMrs. Archer's candle, and at sound of the name there went up a low cryof distress.
"Oh, Mr. Strong, is it Mrs. Bennett--or the boys?"
"We don't--know--yet, Miss Archer. The dago's here, scared to death;galloped all the way with a story of an Indian raid. I'm hoping itisn't as bad as he thinks. God forgive me the lie," he adde
d under hisbreath.
"But they haven't hurt _her?_ They surely would not hurt _her_!" camethe piteous wail, as the girl clung to the rude balustrade, while hermother hastened to rouse the sleeping warrior. "Heaven pity her,"thought Strong, "unless they have killed her outright and _not_ carriedher away."
Then came a step in the hall behind him, and Willett was there, alertand resourceful. "Pray don't be troubled _yet_, Miss Archer," he calledreassuringly, and barely noticing Strong. "The messenger's beenstampeded before this, the men tell me. He's too badly scared to knowthe truth. It may be there's been a fire. I think there has, for thelight could be seen, and so he imagined Indians and never stopped tosee. I'm going right up there and will send back word. _Please_ don'tworry yet!"
How thoughtful he was for her, and for dear mamma! How kind! Strongknew full well that the light they had seen was the glare of no burningranch, but a beacon far up in the hills--a signal fire, of course. Theranch lay in a deep valley ten miles to the north-east, with highridges intervening. In the brilliant moonlight a glare that mightotherwise have been seen on the sky would pass unnoted. Strong knew,deep down in his heart, that whatever the fate of the family, the ranchwas a thing of the past, but Willett's words were soothing. It wasbetter to let them go unquestioned.
Then out came the general on the landing above, his towzled gray pollpoking over the rail. "What is it, Strong? I'll be down quick as I canhalf dress." Indeed, he was losing no instant of time, though it costhim some items of toilet. With his feet in "flip-flaps," his legs inloose linen trousers, and buttoning a sack coat over his nightgown, theveteran was already shuffling downstairs. "Run back to your room,dear," he said, as he passed his little girl. "You shall knoweverything presently," and then in a moment was out in the free air ofheaven, the two young officers with him.
Briefly, cautiously, the adjutant murmured the dago's story, adding hisfear as to its truth. Blankly Archer looked at them an instant, aghast,appalled, as well he might be, and for the moment unable or unwillingto trust himself to speak. There had been no time, he said, to sousehis head in the big basin of cool water his wife would have given him.He was still heated, flushed, suddenly roused from heavy slumber, andby no means at his best. Strong knew just how to act in the premisesand would have given him time to recover, but there was Willett, alertand insistent,--Willett who represented the commanding general, andwhose words carried weight--Willett who was quick to seize theopportunity and to say:
"This is just in line with what we thought at headquarters, sir, andthe quicker I can get to the spot the better. With your consent,general, I'll push out at once with the scouts, and we'll get back wordto you before daylight."
And even Strong, loyal soul, had to admit later that the general'sanswer was practically "Yes, yes, by all means, Willett, and I'll senda troop in support," whereupon Willett darted away to the adjutant'squarters to doff his natty uniform and don something older and moresuitable. Twenty minutes thereafter he had swung a leg over one ofStannard's troop horses and spurred away down to the north-eastwardslope, toward the upper ford of the stream, where dimly in the distanceanother horseman could be seen, with a dozen shadowy, ghost-like formsgliding along in tireless jog trot in line with him--Harris and hismountain hounds, the Apache scouts, already _en route_ for the scene ofdisaster. Bentley, Stannard and Turner, standing at the edge of thebluff, with fourscore soldiers clustered about them, while others hadgone with Dago to hear again his tale, gazed thoughtfully after thedisappearing shadows and then at each other.
"Humph!" said Stannard, in words meant for his fellows, but in tonesthat went farther. "There'll be conflict of authority now or _I'm_ aduffer!"
Ten minutes they stood and watched; then came the orderly with thegeneral's compliments, and he'd be glad to see Captain Stannard atonce.
"That means you're going, Stan," said the surgeon. "I suppose he'llsend my assistant with you."
They found the commanding officer on the porch of his quarters, verygrave and quiet now, perfectly calm and self-possessed. The dago hadsquatted at the edge of the steps, his face bowed in his hands,shivering as though from cold. Munoz slouched near by, eying him inaggressive contempt. Several sergeants, with many of the men, weregrouped at respectful distance, eager and waiting the word. Strong waswith the ladies, for Mrs. Stannard had dressed hurriedly and come over,and between them the two elders were gently striving to console orencourage Lilian, who had been quite overcome by the particulars astranslated by Munoz. The dago claimed that from his pallet, under the"linter" of the corral, he had been roused by the sudden yell at theranch, followed by swift shooting, screams and cries of Mrs. Bennettand the children, the outburst of flame, and then he saw them, theIndians, coming for him, and he sprang on the best horse and lashed himall the way to the post.
Stannard came at the moment, solid, stocky, and reliable--a man it wasa comfort to look at in moments of peril or excitement, and suchmoments were frequent in the old days of the frontier. Silently hesaluted, stood before the commander and received his brieforders--mount the troop, follow the scouts, and if it should appearthat Mrs. Bennett and the children had been carried off by the Indians,to pursue and do his best to recapture. Rations would follow by muletrain.
Stannard had just one question to ask.
"Shall I call on Mr. Harris or Mr. Willett for scouts, sir?" And eventhen it was noted that he named Harris first.
"Why--on Mr. Harris. He is in command."
"Very good, sir," said Stannard, and turned on his heel. Mrs. Stannard,hastily kissing Lilian's pale and tear-wet cheek, started to follow,but through the little knots of soldiery a strange figure came forcinga way, a lithe Apache on resentful mule--'Tonio, already back from thefront, a little folded paper in his hand. Lashing the obstinate brutehe bestrode, 'Tonio dove straight at the general, and all men waited tolearn the tidings. Hastily Archer opened the paper, glanced it over inthe moonlight, looked up, and nodded to Stannard.
"Willett says from round the point they can see two more signal firestoward the north-east, just the way to the Apache Mohaves!"
Then came a dramatic incident. Sitting his saddle mule like a chief ofthe Sioux, 'Tonio straightened to his full height, his strong facegleaming in the brilliant, silvery sheen, his bare right arm, withclinching fist uplifted, and in a voice that rang out like a clarion onthe hushed and breathless night, shouted his response for his people:
"Apache Mohave! No! _No!_ No!"