Chapter 2

I broke the company to the rear through the intervals between the cabins. The men had only the marching allowance of ten rounds of ammunition, so I had a couple of boxes broken open with an axe, and cartridges were distributed to them. The two Mexicans joined us, and steadily and rapidly we advanced up the slope to unite with the guard.

Scarcely two hundred yards distant we saw a compact body of over three hundred Indians. They were charging down upon us, and with a general and frightful war-whoop they began firing.

We deployed as skirmishers. The men fired by volleys, sheltering themselves behind bowlders, logs, and ridges.

Instantly, at the head of the mounted column, there was an emptying of saddles. The onset was suddenly checked, and the Indians broke into two divisions. Part of the force swept along the outer side of the horseshoe ridge to the south, and the other part wheeled round to the north.

I met the attack by dividing my men into two divisions. The men moved along the interior slopes, firing as they ran, and kept pace with the ponies running to the extremities.

The Navajos had lost twenty men. A chief, who had been in the front of the fight throughout, had the utmost difficulty in holding them in close column.

"That is the great chief, El Ebano," cried the elder Cordova, as he put his gun to his shoulder. Taking careful aim at the gray-haired leader, he fired, and one of the most famous chieftains of the Navajos rolled from his saddle. The beautiful black horse he had been riding ran on towards us. With El Ebano dead, the Indians were dismayed. A moment later they were in full retreat, and joined their comrades who had stolen our cattle.

* * * * *

Our casualties were few. Sergeant Cunningham's scalp had been grazed along the left side, Private Tom Clary had the lobe of an ear cut, Privates Hoey and Evans were wounded along the ribs, and Corporal Frank Burton had a bullet wound in the right shoulder.

The Indians had gathered in a compact body about three miles to the southward, evidently holding a council of war. Reflecting that they would not be likely to repeat their attack immediately, I walked out with the first sergeant and a few of the men to note what casualties had befallen the enemy, and learn if there were any wounded men in need of assistance.

As I neared the place where the charge had been checked, I met Corporal Frank Burton leading a black pony, gently stroking his nose and talking soothingly to him, while the animal seemed half divided between fear and newly awakened confidence.

"Oh, isn't he a beauty, sir!" exclaimed the boy--"isn't he just a perfect beauty!"

"He certainly is a very handsome horse," I answered, after walking around him and taking in all his graces and points. "Take him to the stable and we will see to what use we can put him."

"Do you think it would be possible for me to own him, sir?" inquired the boy, in an anxious voice.

"As spoil of war, corporal?"

"I suppose so, sir. I was first to capture him, you know."

Before I could reply to this we were startled by a loud whinny, a little to the north, which was promptly answered by the black, and, looking in that direction, we saw a cream-colored pony, with high-erected head, looking anxiously in the direction of our captive.

"That seems to be a friend of your pony's," I said.

"Another beauty, too, sir! Can't we catch it for Henry?"

"Perhaps we can. It seems inclined to stay by this one. I see all the other loose ponies have joined the Indians. But wait now until we look over the field."

We now turned our attention to the prostrate bodies of the fallen enemy. All were dead.

The body of El Ebano, clad in black buck-skin, ornamented with a profusion of silver buttons, chains, and bracelets, lay face upward, his resolute, handsome countenance still in the embrace of death. I told the men we would give him and his comrades a warrior's burial on the morrow, and returned to camp to make it defensible against a possible night attack.

The advantage of numbers was decidedly on the side of the Indians, and I felt if they could show the firmness and dash of white men our chances of repelling a resolute attack were small. Counting the Mexicans and the boys, we numbered but forty-eight, to their three hundred or more.

We were in the centre of a large valley, with no knowledge of our surroundings nor with any way out except the road by which we had entered. Should we leave the protection of our ridge and cabins and take to the open valley we should be at the mercy of our foes.

Even supposing we could pass out of the valley unmolested, there were the forests and defiles, filled with natural ambuscades. We could not hope to pass them and reach the Rio Grande alive.

Only a few hours of daylight remained. Whatever was to be done in preparation for defence must be done at once.

In the wood-yard there were tiers of dry pine-logs, many of them four feet in diameter, and all about twenty feet long. With drag ropes and by rolling we conveyed them to the points of the ridge and to each end of the guard-house, and erected effective barricades.

While this work was going on the two boys were busy in an attempt to capture the cream-colored pony. Frank led the black towards it, while Henry rattled the contents of a measure of corn and coaxed the cream-color in a tongue foreign to that with which the animals were familiar to approach and partake of it. Tired at last of what seemed a vain attempt, the young corporal set the box before the black, which at once began to munch the crackling corn, and the other pony, attracted by the sound, trotted up and placed her nose beside her friend's. Instantly its bridle-rein was seized, and the lads uttered a shout of triumph and led the prizes to the stable.

From the top of the ridge I looked occasionally through my field-glass at the enemy. They still continued well to the south on the western side of the brook. They had dismounted and appeared to be carrying on an animated consultation.

After a considerable interval of time, four of their number mounted, and, collecting the ten beeves, mule, and burro, which had been grazing near by, drove them up and down in front of the camp, beyond rifle range. They made gestures for us to come and take them--an invitation which, for obvious reasons, I declined to accept. I quite agreed with Private Tom Clary, who, as he placed his brawny shoulder to a big log to roll it up the slope, remarked to his "bunky," Private George Hoey, "That's an invitation, begorra, I don't fale loike acciptin'."

"Ye'd niver make yer t'ilet for anither assimbly if ye did, Tom. I don't think the lutinint will risk the comp'ny's hair in that way," replied Hoey.

To have attempted to recover our stock would have necessitated a division of our force, and the main body of the Navajos stood ready to dash in and cut off a party making such a reckless move.

This was what they had originally attempted to accomplish, as I heard years afterwards from a chief who took part in the raid.

Failing to draw us out in pursuit of our lost stock, the Navajos moved slowly away in the deepening dusk to a point close against the forest on the eastern side of the valley and nearly opposite our camp. There they built a row of five fires, which soon became, in the darkness, the only evidence of their presence.

I caused the sentinels to be increased, and, after dressing the wounds of the men and removing a bullet from Frank's shoulder, went to bed without undressing. After some half-hour of silence, Henry said:

"Mr. Duncan."

"Yes; what is it?"

"I'm going to name my pony Chiquita."

"And I'm going to name mine Sancho," added Frank.

"What are you going to do with the animals you brought here?" I asked.

"Turn them in in place of the two we captured," answered Henry.

"All right; for general utility. Good-night."

"Good-night. Thank you, sir."

Half an hour before midnight the sergeant of the guard aroused me to report that strange noises could be heard from the rear of the camp.

I went to the top of the ridge and listened. A sound like the dragging of branches over the ground, with occasional pauses, fell upon my ears. I sent for the elder Cordova, and he listened long, with an ear close to the ground. His opinion was that the Indians were creeping up for another attack.

Orders were sent to Sergeant Cunningham to wake the men without noise and assemble them at the barricades.

A little after midnight the moon rose over the mountains and bathed the valley in a beautiful light.

As the moon cleared herself from the summits of the range and her rays fell upon the line of paling camp-fires of the Indians, my field-glass revealed the fact that the raiders had departed. Ponies and riders were gone. In the whole length and breadth of the Great Valley not a living being was in sight outside the limit of our encampment.

An inspection to the rear, to the scene of the late conflict, revealed the fact that the body of El Ebano and the group of dead warriors which lay about him at nightfall had been taken away. Their removal had caused the rushing and creeping sounds we had heard.

Mounting my horse, and accompanied by four men upon the four ponies, I crossed the valley to the Indian fires, but found nothing there except the horns, hoofs, and entrails of our captured cattle. The flesh had probably been packed upon the Cordovas' mule and burro to ration a raiding party into the valley of the Rio Grande.

A well-defined trail went back through the forest, which Cordova afterwards assured me led to the town of Pina Blanca.

Returning to camp, I wrote a letter to the commanding general, giving an account of the attack and its repulse, and despatched it by the Mexicans, who, taking cut-offs with which they were acquainted, and borrowing horses in relays at ranches on the way, delivered it next evening at Santa Fé.

The general sent a hundred troopers to Los Valles Grandes, where they came galloping into camp two evenings afterwards. As Captain Wardwell sprang from his saddle and wrung my hand, he exclaimed:

"God bless you, Duncan! I came out expecting to bury the bones of you and your men."

I was glad to see the California cavalry officers, and, during the three days of their stay in the valley for rest after a forced march, did the honors to the best of my ability. On the day of their departure the wagons returned loaded with supplies. Instructions were received to send back all but one wagon and six mules.

With the departure of cavalry and wagons, life in the valley settled down to quiet routine. I spent some time in instructing my companions, according to an agreement I had made with their father. Not being a West-Pointer, but a college graduate with a fair knowledge of Greek and Latin, and some other acquirements not considered of military utility, I was able to carry out a desire of the colonel and assist the boys in preparing themselves for college.

We rarely received visits from the outside world. The nearest hamlet was an Indian pueblo, twenty-six miles away, in the Rio Jemez Valley, and representatives of the army seldom had occasion to visit our outposts. The mail arrived from Santa Fé every Saturday afternoon, and left every Monday morning in the saddle-bags of two cavalry express-men.

To the soldiers life in the valleys was very pleasant. Duty was light, and there were no temptations to dissipation or to be out of quarters at night, and there were no confinements to the guard-house for disorder. Evenings were spent over books and papers and quiet games, and the days in drill, repairing buildings, providing the fuel for winter, hunting, and scouting.

As previously referred to, we were in a region of abundant game. The boy corporals accompanied the hunting-parties, and became skilled in bringing down whatever they sighted. Henry, as well as Frank, shot his bear, and soon our floor was covered with the skins of wolves, coyotes, bears, and catamounts, skilfully dressed and tanned by the Cordovas.

And now I must introduce a principal character of my story, a valued friend who took a conspicuous part in our scouting and hunting, and who, later on, did valuable service to myself and my youthful comrades.

Just as I was about to leave Santa Fé for Los Valles Grandes, the regimental adjutant--since a distinguished brigadier-general in the war in the Philippines--gave me a beautiful young setter named Victoriana, and called Vic for convenience. She was of canine aristocracy, possessing a fine pedigree, white and liver-colored, with mottled nose and paws, and a tail like the plume of Henry of Navarre.

The boys, soon after our arrival in the valleys, carrying out a conceit suggested by the letters "U.S." which are always branded upon the left shoulder of all government horses and mules, marked with a weak solution of nitrate of silver upon Vic's white shoulder the same characters, and as long as she continued to live they were never allowed to grow dim.

Vic came to me with no education, but plenty of capacity, and the corporals and I spent much time during the long evenings and on the days when we did not accompany the scouting and hunting parties, in training her.

She learned to close the door if we simulated a shiver, to bring me my slippers when she saw me begin to remove my boots, to carry messages to the first sergeant or the cook, to return to the camp from long distances and bring articles I sent for.

Vic was an unerring setter and a fine retriever. She was taught not to bark when a sound might bring an enemy upon us, and she would follow patiently at my heels or those of either of the boys when told to do so and never make a break to the right or left.

Our repeated scoutings soon made us acquainted with every trail in and out of the valley. I obtained permission from department head-quarters to employ the elder Cordova as spy and guide, and he was of invaluable use to us. He was able to show me a mountain-trail into the valley of San Antonio besides the one through La Puerta, which I kept in reserve for any desperate emergency which might make it necessary to use another. We frequently went trout-fishing with an armed party, and could pack a mule with fish in a few hours.

One morning, near the close of October, Cordova left the camp before reveille on a solitary hunting-trip in order to reach Los Vallecitos, four miles to the south of our valley, before sunrise.

He had gone but half an hour, and I was dressing after first bugle-call for reveille, when I was startled by the rapid approach of some one running towards my door. Presently the guide tumbled into the cabin, gasping:

"Muchos Navajos, teniente, muchos Navajos!" (Many Navajos, lieutenant, many Navajos!)

"Where are they, and how many?" I asked.

"About half a league over the ridge," pointing to the south. "They chased me from the Los Vallecitos trail. They number about a hundred."

Without waiting for more definite information, I told the boys, who were hastily getting into their clothes, to stay in the cabin, and, going for Sergeant Cunningham, ordered him to parade the company under arms without delay; then, taking my glass, I went to the top of the ridge. Lying down before reaching the crest, I looked through the screening grass and saw a party of eighty-three Indians, halted and apparently in consultation. They were in full war costume, and were painted and feathered to the height of Indian skill.

III

WARLIKE PUEBLOS

The party of Indians halted for nearly ten minutes, evidently in excited dispute, accompanying their talk with much gesticulation. I had time to notice that the details of dress were not like those of the Navajos with whom we had recently had a fight; but as the old hunter Cordova had pronounced them Navajos, I gave the matter little consideration. They did not seem to be aware of the existence of an encampment of soldiers in the valleys, and after a brief delay moved on towards La Puerta.

Returning to the parade, I ordered the six mules and four ponies brought to my door, saddled and bridled, and all the men not on guard to assemble under arms with cartridge-boxes filled. Fortunately, the mail-riders had arrived the previous evening from Santa Fé, so I ordered them to form a part of the expedition, and placed the party of thirteen under command of Sergeant Cunningham, mounted upon my horse.

The sergeant was directed to take the "reserved trail" through the hills into the valley of San Antonio and bring his men into the western end of La Puerta before the Indians could pass through it. I impressed it upon him on no account to fire unless the redmen showed fight, to leave his mules and horses concealed in the timber at the entrance of the cañon, and so dispose his men as to convey the impression that thirteen was but a part of his force.

Just before the horsemen were to start I overheard Private Tom Clary, who was mounted on Frank's recent equine acquisition, Sancho, say to the boy:

"Corpril Frank, laddie, can ye give me the Naviho words for _whoa_ and _get up_? I'm afeared the little baste 'll not understand me English, and may attimpt to lave for his troibe."

"You needn't speak to him, Tom. Use your reins, curb, and spurs," replied the boy.

"True for you, corpril; a pull to stop, and a spur to go ahead. That's a language that nades no interpreter."

For myself, I proposed to follow up the Navajos with the rest of the company as soon as they were fairly within the cañon, and I expected to capture them without blood-shed.

We started, the mounted men turning to the north of the wooded point and entering the forest, and the footmen marching direct for La Puerta. I kept my men out of sight under the rolls of the valley surface, and moved at quick time. When the redmen were well within the walls of the cañon we deployed right and left, and closed up rapidly behind them.

The Indians showed perceptible astonishment when they perceived this unexpected and warlike demonstration, but they soon recovered, and then, feeling the superiority of the mounted man over the footman, they broke into derisive shouts and made gestures conveying their contempt for us. This continued for some time, when they suddenly showed confusion. They dashed at a gallop to the north side of the passage, and skirted it for a considerable distance, as if looking for a place of escape. Failing to find one they dashed wildly to the other side, where they met with no better success, and then they halted and consulted.

Presently one of their number rode out and waved a white cloth. Upon this I approached alone and made signs for them to dismount and lay down their arms. They did so, and at another sign withdrew in a body, when my men picked up everything and collected their ponies.

I was certainly surprised at such a bloodless result of my strategy, and, after shaking hands with the chief, began my return march to camp.

We had gone but a short distance when I overheard Private Clary, one of the mounted men, who was riding near me, say to Private Hoey beside him.

"D'ye moind the cut uv thim chaps' hair, Jarge?"

"Indade I do that, Tom," replied George.

"Thim's no Navihos!"

"Not a bit uv it. I'd as soon expict to see one in currls!"

I had a wholesome respect for the opinions of these old soldiers, for they had campaigned against Indians in Texas, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico long before I had seen a more savage redman than the indolent, basket-making descendants of the Passamaquoddies and Penobscots. Accordingly, without appearing to notice their remarks, I approached the chief, and said, interrogatively:

"Apache?"

A shake of the head.

"Ute?"

Another shake.

"Navajo?"

"Si, señor!" he said, with a bow of his head, and I moved triumphantly on, satisfied that my eighty-three prisoners were Navajos.

But presently I heard Clary ask, "Jarge, did ye iver see Navihos with blankets like thim?"

"Niver!" answered Hoey, emphatically.

Evidently the two soldiers did not believe they were Navajos, and were "talking at me." But if not Navajos, Apaches, or Utes, who were these warriors?

When we were near camp we were met by Cordova, who had remained behind to recover from the fatigue of his early morning run. As soon as he came up to the Indians there seemed to be an immediate recognition. He and the chief met and embraced, and conversed for a few moments in a language that was neither English nor Spanish. Then the hunter turned to me, looking shamefaced, and said, in Spanish, "Lieutenant, these Indians are Pueblos, of Santo Domingo."

Whoever knows the character of the Pueblos will appreciate the joke I had perpetrated upon myself. Many towns in New Mexico are inhabited by these Indians--towns which stood on their present sites when Coronado entered the country in 1541. They form an excellent part of the population, being temperate, frugal, and industrious. They dress in Indian style, and when at war paint and disfigure themselves like any other of the red peoples, so that a green soldier would see no difference between them and the wilder tribes.

The Pueblos explained that they were in pursuit of a band of Navajos who had stolen some of their cattle the previous night. When they first saw Cordova they attempted to approach him to inquire if he had seen any Navajo "signs."

My appearance and warlike demonstrations they could not account for, not knowing there was a camp of soldiers in the valley. When I put the questions, Apache? Ute? Navajo? the chief thought I was asking him if he was in pursuit of a party of one of those tribes. Being in pursuit of Navajos, he answered yes to that name.

A week after my captives had returned to their homes in Santo Domingo, at the close of a long and fruitless search for their lost stock, a gentleman and his servant, mounted on broncos and leading a pack-mule, rode up to my cabin late in the afternoon. He introduced himself as a government Indian agent for the Navajos, and handed me a letter from the department commander. It stated that the bearer was on his way to the Indian pueblo of Jemez, to prevent the massacre of a number of Navajo women, children, and old men who had sought asylum there, and authorized me to furnish him with all the aid in my power.

After dismounting and entering my quarters, the agent stated that, the Navajo country being over-run by national troops, many of the principal men had sent their wives and children, with a few old men, to Jemez for safety; that the party of Dominicans which had been recently captured by us, being bitterly disappointed at their lack of success in retaking their missing cattle, had determined to go to Jemez and wreak vengeance upon the enemy.

The Santo Dominicans had informed the people of Jemez that if they interfered to prevent the slaughter of the Navajos they would be considered by the military authorities as allies of that tribe, and treated accordingly.

Convinced, from what the agent told me, that I should act without unnecessary delay, I proposed that we should start for Jemez at once, but he declared himself too much fatigued by a long journey to undertake a night ride of twenty-six miles. My instructions from the general were to conform my movements to the wishes of the agent, so I very reluctantly and much against my convictions concluded to wait until morning. He strongly insisted there was no reason for haste, as the Dominicans had not planned to leave their pueblo before noon.

We set out, therefore, at four o'clock next morning. Sergeant Cunningham asked permission to accompany the expedition, and I allowed him to do so, leaving Sergeant Mulligan in charge until our return.

We were a party of thirteen, mounted on every available animal in camp. Henry was left behind, but Frank accompanied us, mounted on the recently captured Sancho, proud of his horse and proud to be included in the detachment.