Chapter 17

CONCLUSION.

The men about the cabin were so engrossed in their work of destruction, and the horse-guards were so intent on watching them, that Bob's advance was not discovered until he and his followers were within less than two hundred yards of the cabin. So entirely unexpected was their appearance that for a moment the cattle-thieves were struck motionless with astonishment; then they recovered their power of action, and those who were on foot made a rush for their horses. Some succeeded in reaching them, but others did not. Two or three of them fell before the carbines of the troopers, who opened a hot fire as soon as they saw that they were discovered, and the horse-guards, believing that the attacking party was backed up by a large force of soldiers which was close at hand, instantly put spurs to their nags and galloped off, taking the loose horses with them and leaving their companions to look out for themselves.

"Throw down and throw up, Greasers!" commanded Corporal Owens as he dashed up to the cabin swinging his sabre over his head; and the order, which meant, "Throw down your weapons and throw up your hands," was obeyed by five sullen fellows, who muttered Spanish oaths between their teeth and looked mad enough to do almost anything.

There was no fight at all. If there had been a shot fired at the troopers, they didn't know it. The party that had gone off with the horses outnumbered Bob's, and could, beyond a doubt, have driven them off the field if they had only thought so; but their surprise was complete, and, more than that, they were demoralized. The presence of the troopers they regarded as part of a pre-concerted plan to cut them off from the river, and that frightened them more than Bob's sudden onslaught.

"Still another feather for your cap, Corporal Owens," said George, after he and Loring and a few others had taken a shot or two apiece at the retreating cattle-thieves, "and nobody hurt on our side, either. Now I--What are you doing here? Is this the way you keep your promise?"

These questions were addressed to one of the prisoners, who took off his sombrero and scratched his head as if he were trying to stir up his ideas so that he could make some reply to these peremptory interrogations.

"Springer," continued George, slowly, "what are you doing here? Where's the squatter?"

"In there," replied the cattle-thief, jerking his head toward the cabin, which was now fairly ablaze and sending out so much heat that the troopers were obliged to draw away from it. "He never would have touched him, Fletcher wouldn't, if he had kept in the house an' left us alone; but he plumped one of us over when we fust came up; an' this here is the consequence," added Springer, nodding his head toward the cabin again.

George knew why it was that the cattle-thieves had stopped to destroy the squatter's house. He had killed one of their number, and they, in turn, had killed him after a hard fight, and it was now too late to recover his body or to save a single thing the cabin contained.

"So this is the fellow who twice befriended you, is it?" said Bob, who was surprised to hear George call one of the prisoners by name. "Don't you think it would be a good plan to chuck him into the fire too?"

"_I_ do," said Loring fiercely.

Springer drew a little nearer to George for protection.

"I didn't have any hand in it," said he earnestly--"honor bright, I didn't. I can explain everything, so that you can see that I am not to blame for being here."

"Carey," exclaimed Bob, "go back to Mr. Wentworth and give him his choice between taking care of himself and going to the fort with us. Hurry up, now.--If I only had a spade or two, I would make these prisoners bury their dead comrades."

"Springer," said George, "can these friends of yours understand English?"

The cattle-thief replied that they could not; they were all Mexicans.

"I am glad to hear it, for I want to ask you a few questions before you explain how you came to be here. Did Fletcher have his whole band with him to-night?"

"Not half of 'em," was the reply; "he had only about thirty men."

"How many has he in all?"

"Two hundred or so."

"Does he still make his head-quarters at the Don's ranche?"

"Yes; but look here, Mr. George," said Springer earnestly; "if you are goin' over there after him, be mighty careful. You know what sort of a looking place that ranche is--all stone, you know--an' them fellows is all old soldiers, an' they'll fight awful."

George nodded his head as if to say that he knew all about that, and spent some minutes in questioning the prisoner in regard to the road that led to the ranche, while Bob sat by on his horse and listened. By the time George had heard all he wanted to know, and Springer had told how he had been arrested by the officer at Eagle Pass and rescued by Fletcher, Carey came back.

"Mr. Wentworth will take care of himself," reported the trooper. "He says that if he went to the fort he would have to come back to Holmes's ranche, anyway--he is going to make his home there for a while, for he and Holmes were boys together--and so he might just as well go there in the first place, and save time and travelling. He sent his best wishes to everybody, and hopes we will catch all the scoundrels who wiped out the squatter."

"I wish we could," said Bob, facing about in his saddle and gazing in the direction in which the thieves had retreated; "but we have five prisoners to take care of, and so our hands are tied."

"You just ought to have seen him, corporal," continued Carey. "He had thrown his three horses in a sort of triangle by tying their feet together and tripping them up in some way, and there he lay with his boys behind his living breastworks, all ready for a fight. Grit to the last, wasn't he? When I asked him why he hadn't mounted and dug out as soon as we left, he said that that wouldn't have been safe, for he might have run right in among the Greasers before he knew it."

"Well, boys," said Bob, gazing sorrowfully at the glowing bed of coals that covered the site of the squatter's cabin, "there is nothing more we can do here, and so we will make a break for the fort."

"Look here, corporal," said one of the troopers: "if you are going to make us carry double with those dirty Greasers, I am going to kick."

"Don't you worry," answered Bob. "I shouldn't do it myself, and of course I sha'n't ask you to do it. They'll have to walk.--Springer, draw these Mexican gentlemen up in line."

Springer gave the necessary order in Spanish, and it was sullenly obeyed.

"Just remind them, Springer, that if they don't step faster than that somebody may hasten their movements with a prod from the point of a sabre," said Bob angrily. "We are in no humor to stand a great deal of nonsense from them. Now, right-face them; that's better.--Fall in around them, squad, four on each flank and four in the rear. Forward, march!--Now, George, which way is the fort from here?"

"Off there," replied George, "but I am going to take you to the river-trail."

"What for?"

"So that you can get something to eat."

If they had been a little farther down the river, say about twenty-five miles, George would have taken them to his own house. It would have given him no little pleasure to entertain these companions of a long, toilsome and dangerous scout under his own roof; but of course he could not think of leading them out of their way in order to do it. They found plenty to eat after they reached the river-trail, but the ranchemen at whose houses they halted could give them no information concerning the raiders. They had been on that side of the river, and had gone back empty-handed, and that was all the ranchemen knew about the matter. This made it plain that Bob's gallant dash had not been without its effect. It had frightened the thieves so thoroughly that they dared not stop to pick up any of the cattle they found in their way.

Bob and his troopers camped that night near a farm-house whose owner was so delighted to see the five prisoners they had brought with them, and to learn of the success that had attended them ever since Captain Clinton sent them off by themselves, that he insisted on giving them a seat at his table. The next morning he gave them a breakfast; but the first squad who went in--which included Bob and George--had scarcely taken possession of their chairs when one of the sentries was heard calling lustily for the corporal of the guard. Bob excused himself and ran out, only to return again almost immediately and startle everybody with the order, "Boots and saddles!" George jumped up from the table, wondering what was the matter. When he reached the porch he found out. About a mile up the trail was a long column of blue-coats coming down at a sweeping trot.

"They are our boys, and they are after the Greasers," exclaimed Bob, as George came down the steps. "It's lucky we are here, for you are the very man they want if they are going across the river.--Catch up, boys, and fall in just as we do when we are on the march, only face to the left, so as to front the column when it comes up."

If we have a reader who is familiar with cavalry tactics, he will have discovered, long before this time, that Corporal Owens was not at all particular as to the orders he gave, provided he could make his men act to suit him. When in the presence of his superiors he always gave the proper commands, in order to save himself from the reproof that would have promptly followed the slightest departure from the tactics; but when he was in command of a scouting-party he was decidedly free and easy. Even an old trooper might have been puzzled over this last order, but the men who had marched with him so many miles were quick to catch his meaning and prompt to carry out his wishes; so that when the whole available cavalry force of Fort Lamoine, numbering two hundred men, came sweeping by the farm-house a few minutes later, with Captain Clinton riding at the head, they were astonished to see Bob's little squad drawn up in a hollow square, with their prisoners in the centre. Of late there had been a good many anxious inquiries made concerning these very men, and here they were, safe and sound, and, wonderful to tell, with more prisoners to show what good soldiers they were.

"Three cheers for the 'Brindles,' the old reliables!" shouted the sergeant-major; and the yells that arose from two hundred pairs of strong lungs could have been heard a long distance away.

George lifted his cap in response to a nod of recognition from Captain Clinton, and in obedience to a sign from him rode over to his side; but Bob and his men sat in their saddles as stiff as so many posts, looking straight to the front. When the next call for cheers came, however, it almost knocked Bob over.

"Three cheers for Sergeant Owens!" shouted a "Brindle;" and then came three more yells, followed by a "tiger" as loud and piercing as an Indian war-whoop. During his absence Bob had been promoted in general orders for gallantry, his pay as sergeant to begin on the day he rescued Mr. Wentworth's boys from the hands of the Kiowas.

Presently the bugle sounded, and the column came to a halt. The officers at once fell out and crowded around George, who, in as few words as possible, told Captain Clinton what Bob's squad had been doing since the captain left them back there on the borders of the Staked Plains. The officers were all very much pleased, especially Lieutenant Earle, who for a moment threw off his dignity and rode up to thank the members of the squad which had brought so much credit upon the troop he commanded.

"Sergeant," said he, extending his hand--which Bob accepted after running his own hand through his sword-knot and dropping his sabre by his side--"I congratulate you and all your men. You have done well."

Bob managed to stammer out something about being glad to have pleased the lieutenant, and the latter, after ordering them to sheathe their sabres, went on to tell how he had followed the Indians in his front until his men and horses were nearly exhausted and almost dead for want of water, and how he had finally returned to the fort a day behind the column, utterly disgusted with his want of success, to find that some of his own troop had carried off the honors of the scout. He was proud to command such men.

Meanwhile, Captain Clinton and George were engaged in an earnest consultation. The former told the young scout that he been sent out to punish the raiders who had just recrossed the river, and that he was going to do it, too. He was going to drive them out of their stronghold, and George must show him the way to it. His men had already had their coffee, but as George and the rest of Bob's squad had had none, they might stay there at the farm-house until they had eaten the breakfast that had been prepared for them, and then ride on rapidly and overtake the column, which would move down the trail at a trot. This having been decided upon, a squad was made up of details from the different companies to take charge of the prisoners, and the command given to a corporal, who was instructed to take them to the fort. Then the column rode on, the corporal marched off with his captives, and Bob and his troopers went back to the farm-house to eat their breakfast.

During the meal George Ackerman, who had thus far been one of the gayest of the party, was very silent and thoughtful. It was almost impossible for any one to get a word out of him. His face was as white as a sheet, but although everybody noticed it, Bob Owens was the only one who could account for it. When they had satisfied their appetites they went out to hold the horses, so that the rest of the squad could come in, and George and the new sergeant, who was not a little elated over his unexpected promotion, led their nags off on one side, so that they could converse without being overheard.

"I know just how it is," said Bob, "for I have felt so ever since Captain Clinton ordered me to follow up that trail. When you know that a good many lives besides your own depend upon a decision you may have to make in an instant of time, I tell you it is rather trying to a fellow's nerves. I used to envy the colonel and all the other high officers in the garrison, but I wouldn't give up my little sergeant's berth for double the money they make. There's too much responsibility connected with the positions they hold."

George told himself that that was just the objection to his own position. He began to see that being a scout meant something. There were two hundred men in Captain Clinton's command, and what if they should all be sacrificed by some blunder on his part?

As soon as the rest of the troopers had eaten breakfast, and Bob had thanked the farmer for his hospitality, the troopers sprang into their saddles and galloped after the column. When they overtook it George rode up beside the captain, and the Brindles, without creating the least confusion, fell into their usual places--all except Bob Owens, who did not belong in the ranks any longer. Being second sergeant, his place was in the rear of his company, "opposite the left file of the rear four;" and that was the position he fell into as soon as he had reported the arrival of his squad to the lieutenant.

"Well, Ackerman," said Captain Clinton as the boy galloped up beside him, "we are in your hands. We want to go to the nearest ford, and we don't want to get there before dark."

"Very good, sir. If you will move the column in that direction," said George, indicating a 'right oblique,' "you will cut off twenty miles, and besides, you can walk all the way, and save your horses for a rapid eighteen-mile ride that must come as soon as we cross the river."

We need not dwell upon the incidents of that day's march, or enlarge upon the feeling of suspense that George Ackerman experienced during that "rapid eighteen-mile ride" to which he had referred. It will be enough to say that they crossed the ford just after dark in safety; that George, without the least difficulty, found the narrow road that led from the river to Don Miguel's ranche; that at his suggestion the column marched "right by twos," which changed the troopers from four to two abreast, Captain Clinton and George riding at the head; that they moved as silently as possible, so as not to alarm any of the people living along the route, and rapidly, in order to reach the ranche before the cattle-thieves could receive notice of their approach; and that at the end of two hours they galloped into the valley and saw Fletcher's stronghold in plain view before them. A single glance at it showed them that they had arrived just in the nick of time. The courtyard was lighted up with lanterns, excited men were moving to and fro, loud voices were heard shouting out words of command, and the whole interior of the building presented a scene of the wildest commotion. Some watchful friend had got ahead of the column and warned the thieves, and they were gathering up their plunder preparatory to beating a hasty retreat. They were on the watch too, for the column had scarcely made its appearance when a sentry called out, "Who is it?" (equivalent to "Who goes there?"), following up his challenge with the cry of "The Americans! the Americans!"

George afterward said that he never had a very clear idea of what happened during the next few minutes. He remembered that he heard the bugle sound a charge; that he dashed through the arched stone gateway at headlong speed side by side with Captain Clinton; and that the rapid discharge of firearms rang in his ears, accompanied by the cries of the cattle-thieves, who fled in every direction, and such cheers and yells from the troopers as he had never heard before. When he came to himself, his horse, which seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the matter, was dancing about in front of a pile of forage that filled one end of the courtyard. When George saw it he threw himself from his saddle and caught up a lantern.

"I have seen the inside of this hole for the last time," said he to himself. "If Fletcher lives to make a prisoner of me, he shall not bring me to this ranche, and neither shall he harbor here to raid on my stock."

As these thoughts passed through the boy's mind he smashed the glass globe of the lantern with one savage kick, and picking up the lamp applied the flame to the pile of forage. He set it on fire in half a dozen different places, and then turned and threw the lamp into one of the nearest rooms, which seemed to be well filled with something. When he had done that he was frightened. What if it was powder in there? But, fortunately, it wasn't. It was some combustible matter that blazed up fiercely, sending huge volumes of flames out of the door and lighting up the courtyard, which was now occupied only by American troopers. The cattle-thieves had behaved just as they did when Bob Owens so gallantly attacked a portion of their number at the squatter's cabin. They fled in hot haste, making their escape by the roof, by doors whose existence George never dreamed of, and by squeezing themselves through the narrow openings that served the ranche in the place of windows. And, strange to tell, there was no one injured on either side. Having satisfied himself on this point by searching all the rooms to make sure that there were no dead or wounded men in them, the captain ordered his troopers into the saddle and departed as rapidly and silently as he had come. George looked over his shoulder now and then, and when he saw the thick clouds of smoke that arose in the air growing thicker and blacker, he told himself that he had made sure work of the old ranche, and that it would never serve the cattle-thieves for a harboring-place again.

Of course there was an "investigation" made by the Mexican government, but if it ever amounted to anything, George never heard of it. The expedition certainly had a moral effect, and no doubt that was just what the department commander wanted. A body of Mexican troops was ordered to the river almost immediately, and after that the raiders were by no means as bold as they had formerly been. They crossed the Rio Grande now and then lower down, toward Eagle Pass, but the troopers there were on the alert, and after they had thrashed the thieves a few times on their own ground, and some of their leaders had been arrested by the Mexican authorities, the Texans began to feel comparatively safe.

George Ackerman was kept actively employed at the fort much longer than he thought he would be when he first went there. By order of Colonel Brown he crossed the river on several occasions disguised in his Mexican suit, and he always brought back some information concerning the raiders; and once he came so near being captured by his old enemy, Fletcher, that it was a wonder how he escaped. But long before this happened Gus Robbins had received his discharge as a minor, and gone back to Foxboro', a wiser if not a happier boy; Bristow had found his way into the military prison at Fort Leavenworth; and the cattle-thieves whom Bob Owens had captured at the squatter's cabin had been turned over to the civil authorities. George did all he could to secure Springer's release, but his efforts were unavailing, and with his companions he was sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years. Mr. Wentworth had come out all right. With the aid of his friend, Mr. Holmes, he had gathered up all his cattle that had been stampeded by the Mexican raiders, and rebuilt his ranche in a more substantial manner, and he and his boys made it a point to visit the post very frequently to see the men who had rendered them such signal service.

The months wore on, the raids in Colonel Brown's district grew less and less frequent until they ceased altogether, and then the colonel told George that he might go home if he so desired. He did desire it, for he was growing tired of life among the soldiers, and besides, he knew it would be a waste of time for him to remain at the fort when he could no longer be of any use there. So, after taking leave of the officers and of the men who had accompanied him on his expeditions, he mounted his horse, took his pack-mule by the halter and set out. The troopers, who had assembled at the gate to see him go, cheered him lustily as he rode through their ranks, and George carried away with him the assurance that their feelings toward him were very unlike those with which they had regarded him when he first made his appearance at the fort.

Sergeant Owens never lost the position he held in the estimation of both officers and men. He did his duty faithfully, never squandered a cent of his pay at the sutler's store, and at last had the satisfaction of telling himself that he had refunded every cent of the _Mail Carrier's_ money, interest included. He kept up a regular correspondence with his father, who told him he was proud of the record he had won, and said everything he could to encourage him. One thing that pleased Bob was the knowledge of the fact that everybody in and about Rochdale was familiar with his history. They knew just what he had done when the steamer Sam Kendall was burned, and the particulars of his exploit on the Staked Plains had been published in the papers. He would go home a hero, instead of sneaking back like a thief in the night; and that is something that runaway boys don't often do.

George Ackerman was glad to get back to his ranche again. He thoroughly enjoyed the quiet life he led there, it was so different from the life of bustle and excitement he had led at the fort. One bright moonlight night, while he was pacing up and down the porch, thinking over old times, and wondering what Bob Owens and the rest of the boys were doing at the fort, he was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the sound of horses' hoofs on the trail. He stopped abruptly, and after listening a moment heard the clanking of sabres mingling with the sound of the horses' feet. Greatly surprised, George descended the steps, and walking out to the trail discovered a long line of horsemen approaching. There was no need that he should ask who they were or where they came from, for as soon as they saw him they greeted him vociferously. They were troopers from Fort Lamoine. They rode on past the ranche, but two men who were riding at the head of the column turned off and came up to him. One was Mr. Gilbert and the other was Captain Clinton.

"Why, captain," exclaimed George, "this is an unexpected pleasure. May I ask where you are going? You'll not march any farther to-night?"

"No, we're not going any farther," was the answer. "I was about to camp near Mr. Gilbert's ranche, but when I happened to mention your name, he told me that you lived only ten miles away; so I came on, thinking that perhaps you would like to see the boys again for the last time. We're going up to Fort Lincoln to join General Terry," continued the captain, as he dismounted and gave his horse up to one of George's herdsmen. "That's in Dakota, you know. A determined--and, I hope, successful--effort is about to be made to crush that old rascal, Sitting Bull, by throwing three strong columns upon him--one under Crook from the south, another under Gibbon from the west, and the third under Terry from the east. There's where your old friends the 'Brindles' are going. I suppose it doesn't make any difference to you where we camp?"

"Of course not," replied George. "There is plenty of grass and water close at hand. Come into the house, both of you. I want to hear all about that great expedition."

Were there not exciting times in the ranche that night? and didn't George find the greatest satisfaction in acting as host to the men with whom he had so often messed at the fort? The supper was the best the house could afford, and all the officers in the column sat down to it. When they had talked themselves out, and were about to go to camp, George asked and obtained permission for Sergeant Owens and all the members of his old squad to come in and visit him. Then there was another supper to be eaten and another long conversation to be had, and the consequence was that when reveille was sounded no one in that ranche had had a wink of sleep.

Bob Owens rode away with his command that morning, and it was a long time before George heard of him again. He left Fort Lincoln with General Terry, went off with Custer on that memorable scout, and when that officer divided his command into three detachments, Sergeant Owens was one of those who were detailed to remain behind with the packs. He heard all of that terrible fight on that bright Sunday afternoon when Reno was defeated and Custer fell with so many of his devoted followers. He took part in the closing scenes of it, for when the packs were ordered up, about six o'clock in the evening, he was under fire from that time until nine, and saw eighteen of his companions killed and forty-six wounded. He marched back to Fort Lincoln with the remnants of the expedition, which had been whipped at every point by the wily old savage it had hoped to crush, and was ordered to Fort Leavenworth, where he received his honorable discharge. Then he went home, and he is there now, living on the best of terms with everybody, especially David Evans. Although he was kept in the army long months beyond his time, he does not complain, for it gives him the opportunity to refer, when speaking of his frontier experience, to the "time when he was with Custer."

George Ackerman is living in his Texas home, managing his own affairs with the assistance of an occasional word from Mr. Gilbert, and keeping up a regular correspondence with his friend Bob Owens, whom he hopes some day to see at his ranche again. He has never heard from his uncle John or from Ned since he parted from them in Galveston. George has seen some stirring times during his life, and has learned how to enjoy himself in a quiet way. He has accumulated a large fund of stories during his travels, and takes pleasure in relating them to any attentive listener. Of all the numerous adventures in which he had borne a part, he delights most to talk about those that befell him during his LIFE AMONG THE SOLDIERS.

* * * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

"himself to be could be coward" on page 106 is left as it was in the original