CHAPTER II.

The following day we were delayed so that we did not begin our journey until three o'clock. When we drove away, as long as we were in sight of the post, Frank and Henry looked back at Vic, who was straining at a cord which held her to a hinge of the great gates, uttering dismal canine lamentations at being left. The pleasure of their excursion seemed to be marred at the outset by the absence of their constant companion and pet.

At the time of which I write there were but two wagon roads out of Prescott--one through Fort Whipple to the northeast, and one to the north. We took the latter, pursuing it along the east side of Granite Range for eight miles, when we passed through a rugged notch in the range to Mint Creek, where the road made an acute angle, and followed a generally southerly direction to La Paz.

We halted for the night at the creek, fifteen miles from the fort. Our ambulance was provided with four seats--one in front for the driver, fixed front and rear seats in the interior, with a movable middle seat, the back of which could be let down so that it fitted the interval between the others, and afforded a comfortable bed. On the rack behind were carried the bedding, provisions, ammunition, and cooking utensils, and beneath the hind axle swung a ten-gallon keg.

While supper was being prepared the boys wandered about the camping-place in search of the mint which gave the creek its name, and in a fruitless hunt for some ducks they had seen settle in the reeds. Clary called them to supper, and they joined me around a blanket where our soldier meal was spread. While we were sugaring and stirring our coffee the cook stood by the fire holding two long rods in his hands, upon the ends of which were slices of bacon broiling before the glowing coals. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"Look there, b'ys!--look there!" raising and pointing with both sticks and the rashers of bacon toward the cane grass behind us.

There in its very edge sat Vic, winking her eyes and twitching her ears deprecatingly, plainly in doubt as to her reception.

"Stop, boys! Keep quiet!" I said, to prevent a movement in her direction. "Vic, you bad girl, how dared you follow me?"

No reply; only a slow closing and opening of the eyes, and an accompanying forward and backward movement of the ears.

"Go home! Go!"

The setter rose, dropped her head, and, turning dejectedly, disappeared with drooping tail in the tall grass. Both boys exclaimed at once:

"Don't drive her off, sir! Poor little Vic."

"Well, go and see if you can coax her back. If she returns with you she may go."

The boys ran eagerly into the grass, and soon I heard them soothing and pitying the dog, telling her it was all right and she could go. But it was evident she doubted their authority to give her permission to join us, for Henry presently came running towards me.

"She won't come, sir. She keeps moving slowly back in the direction of the fort. She looks so sorry and so tired. Only think how badly she feels, and it is a long distance to Whipple. Can't she stay with us until morning?"

"Then she will not come in with you?"

"No. She has always followed me unless you told her not to. She never disobeys you."

"But she followed me here; that looks very much like disobedience."

"Did you tell her not to come?"

"No; I forgot to."

"Did she hear you tell Hoey to tie her to the gate?"

"No. He was in my room at the time, and the dog was with you at the corral."

"Then she's not to blame, sir. She's a military dog, and never disobeys orders."

"But how guilty she looked!"

"I do not think it is guilt that made her look so. If you had given her a positive order not to come she would have staid without being tied. She had expected to go, and she is terribly sorry at being left. She thinks there has been a mistake, and came out to see about it."

"Perhaps you are right, Henry. She's certainly obeying orders now and going back."

"Yes, sir, and in spite of our coaxing her to stay."

"I'll let her go with us. Let us try an experiment. You know some people believe dogs understand what people say."

"Yes, sir; I know Vic does."

"I'll speak to her without altering my tone of voice. Now watch. Here, Vicky, little girl, you may go with us."

Out of the reeds, bounding in an ecstasy of delight, came Vic. She sprang about me, then about the boys, the soldiers, and animals, and then approached the fire and looked for her share of the supper. It was settled in her dog mind that she was going with us.

We resumed our journey the next morning with the first crack of dawn, and rode to Skull Valley. The first section of the road ran through a rough, mountainous, and wooded country. At the end of twenty miles it entered a level valley, which gradually broadened into a wide plain which had been occupied by settlers for farms and cattle ranges. I was well acquainted with the people, and called at the log house of a Mr. Sage to make inquiries about the horse-thieves, and to purchase some eggs for our next camp.

As the ambulance rattled up to the door two young women appeared, whom I recognized as Mrs. Sage and Mrs. Bell. To my inquiry for her husband Mrs. Sage replied that he and Mr. Bell had left for La Paz eight days before, and were expected home that day.

"Sorry he is not here," I said; "I wanted to inquire about two horse-thieves who probably passed through the valley two weeks ago."

"A Mexican and a white man?" asked Mrs. Sage, making a distinction in complexion rather than in race.

"Yes; the first rode a cream-colored pony, and the last a black--the property of these boys."

"They were here to breakfast; arrived before we were up. The Greaser wanted to swap his saddle for a Mexican saddle, but husband wouldn't swap, so he bought it."

"Did he leave the one he brought, Mrs. Sage?" asked Henry.

"Yes; it's hanging on a peg beside the door in the linter."

Both boys ran to the lean-to and presently returned with Henry's neat McClellan saddle. It had been stripped of its pouches and small straps, but was otherwise unharmed.

"What shall I pay you for this?" asked the boy.

"Oh, nothing! It cost us nothing, and I make no charge for storage. If it's any use to you, take it."

"I wonder why Jumping Jack took off all the trimmings, sir?" said Henry to me.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," said Mrs. Sage, "that the saddle the Greaser bought had nothing on it, so he shifted everything off of this to that."

"Well, I'll shift everything back if we catch him, and when I come back I'll call and report. Thank you for the saddle."

"You are entirely welcome to your property, I'm sure. Shall be glad to see you enjoying your pony when you return."

The saddle was placed in the ambulance, and after buying some eggs and vegetables we started, the boys expressing their satisfaction at the result of our call, and feeling sanguine that we were on the trail of the thieves. We left the valley by a steep ascent into a mountainous range, and had proceeded but a short distance through a narrow and rugged roadway when we were overtaken by the military expressman whom we had left at Fort Whipple. He had come from Prescott to Skull Valley by a short cut.

"I have a letter for you, Lieutenant," said he, approaching the ambulance.

Unfastening the mail-pouch, he turned its contents upon the back seat. A heap of loose letters and three well-worn books strewed themselves over the cushion. Frank picked up the books and examined their titles.

"Xenophon's _Memorabilia_, Euripides' _Alcestis_ and _Medea_, a Greek grammar!" exclaimed the astonished youngster. "What are you doing with these college text-books on the La Paz trail?"

"Making up conditions," replied the courier, a blush deepening the brown of his face.

"What are conditions?" asked Henry.

"Oh blissful ignorance! Why was I not spared the task of enlightening it?" answered the courier. "Conditions are stumbling-blocks placed in the way of successful rowing men and footballists by non-appreciative college professors."

"'Joseph Gould Baldwin, University of Yalvard,'" read Frank from the fly-leaf of the _Memorabilia_. "Is that your name, Mr. Baldwin?"

"I'm so borne on the catalogue."

During this conversation the letter had been handed to me, but I held it unopened in my hand while I listened.

"Please explain, Mr. Baldwin," I said, "how a college-boy happens to be in Arizona running the gauntlet of this mail route and making up conditions in Greek?"

"I was stroke in the celebrated crew that won the championship for Yalvard at New London a year ago, and got behind in these. I was conditioned, and being ashamed to go home, struck out for myself on the Pacific coast. I drifted about from mining-camp to cattle ranch until I was dead broke. This place offered, and I took it because I could find nothing else. I've had lots of opportunities for reflection on the Xuacaxélla. I'm the repentant prodigal going home to his father."

"Oh, you are no prodigal, Mr. Baldwin," observed Henry. "We've heard about you; you are too brave."

"Thank you, Henry. No; I've not wasted my substance in riotous living, nor eaten husks; but I've been prodigal in wasting opportunities."

"Lost a whole college year, haven't you?" I asked.

"I hope not. There is a German university man at La Paz who has been coaching me. He thinks I can go on with my old class. This is my last trip, and after I am paid off I am going to work hard for a few months, and then return to New Havbridge for examination. There's something in that letter which concerns me."

Opening the letter, I learned that Captain Bayard knew Mr. Baldwin's story. He said this was to be the last trip of the courier, but that after his return to La Paz he would come out to meet me at Tyson's Wells, and report whether the horse-thieves were in town. He also suggested that in establishing a transshipment store-house at the steamboat-landing I place Baldwin in charge. The pay would be of use to him while "making up."

Baldwin wished us a pleasant journey, and rode away at a scrambling canter up the pass. He had been gone but a few moments when my advance-guard shouted for me to look out. Doing so, I saw the courier standing on a pinnacle by the way-side, on the highest point of the road. He was looking in the opposite direction, and I saw him fire three shots from his carbine in rapid succession. I dismounted the men, and made the necessary preparation to meet an attack. Slowly we worked up the height, and when we reached the narrow level at the summit found Baldwin and the two soldiers that formed our advance occupying a shelter among the rocks to the left, and gazing down the opposite slope.

"What is it, Baldwin?" I asked.

"A party of Indians attempted to jump me here. I think they would have done it, too, but for the sudden appearance of Clary and Hoey. There they go now--across that opening in the sage-brush!"

A dozen Indians dashed across an open space south of the road, but too far away for effective shooting, and then two more passed over supporting a third between them.

"You must have hit one of them."

"I tried to. I think another felt the sting of a bullet, from the way he flung himself about."

"Are you hurt?"

"A slight scratch on the arm near the shoulder, and my horse is hurt."

An examination of Baldwin's arm proved that the scratch was not serious, but I thought it best to exchange his horse for one belonging to a soldier. We went on, Frank and I walking in advance of the ambulance leaders.

"There's something down there in the road by Ferrin's grave, sir," said Corporal Duffey. "Looks like a dead man."

"Is this where Ferrin was killed?" I asked.

"Yes, sir; I came here with a detail to look him up. He had built a little stone fort on that knoll up yonder and kept the redskins off four days. He kept a diary, you remember, which we found. He killed six of them; but they got him at last. They scattered the mail in shreds along the road for miles."

"Who was Ferrin?" Frank asked.

"He was a discharged California volunteer who rode the express before Mr. Baldwin."

"Do you think Mr. Baldwin knew his predecessor had been killed?"

"Yes; the story is well known. You boys were down at Postal's ranch when it happened."

"I can't see why Mr. Baldwin took the place. If we had not been along he would have been killed to-day."

"No doubt of it."

We were nearing the object in the road. Suddenly the mules caught sight of it, backed, and crushed the ten-gallon keg under the axle against a bowlder; a serious mishap as our after-experience will show. Walking on we came to the mutilated bodies of two men, several yards apart, whom we had no difficulty in recognizing to be the ranchmen Sage and Bell. I sent a man back to Skull Valley to report their death, and with the axe, bayonets, and tin-cups dug a shallow grave beside Ferrin's. We placed them side by side and heaped a pyramid of stones above them.

The courier again bade us good-by, and, our messenger to Skull Valley having returned, we went on. The further ride through the mountain-pass was accomplished without adventure, and evening found us encamped at Willow Springs. These springs were surrounded by immense bowlders of coarse granite which was undergoing slow disintegration; the whole region being covered with a coarse gravel, which had once been a part of the solid granite strata. In fact the springs were not only surrounded but buried beneath the gravel. We scooped it away to find the crystal water which lay beneath. The boys shot a few quail here of the variety known as the California quail, distinguished by an elegant plume of six feathers on the top of the head. Clary broiled them for breakfast.

The road the following day was so rough that for much of the way we were unable to move faster than a walk, the slow walk of draught animals. Small fragments of granite filled the track, making it impossible to trot. When near a place called Soldiers' Holes, on account of some rifle-pits sunk there, the Corporal called my attention to a pool of blood in the road. Instantly the boys and I thought the gallant young courier had met with death. Leaving the ambulance we examined the locality thoroughly. Moccasin tracks filled a clump of sage-brush on the left, and a few crossed to the pool of blood. Tracks of two horses and a mule, and shoes of white men mingled with the others.

The signs showed that two men had fallen, that one had been wounded, and that a second party had come and taken the wounded man away. The place was well adapted for a surprise. On the left was a long dense growth of low shrubbery extending from the road to the foot of a mountain-range. On the opposite side was an open plain.

We were going on again when Frank remarked,

"There seems to have been a big gathering of Apaches along this road."

"Yes; a war party must be out, bent upon serious mischief. They have struck at two points, and I fear a third--Date Creek--may have been attacked by this time. That is where we are to stay to-night." Then, turning to Corporal Duffey, I continued: "The road from here to the creek is softy and loamy, and we are not likely to make much noise; keep the men quiet. If the Indians are at the ranch, it will be best for us to appear unexpectedly."

"Do Indians never stand up like white men in a fight?" the younger boy asked.

"Frequently; but their system is different from ours--although modern tactics seem to be adopting Indian methods, and the white man fights in open lines, lies down, and creeps in a manner he formerly condemned."

Although this section of our march was but twenty-five miles long, our rate of progress had been so slow that the day was nearly closed before we came in sight of the line of cottonwoods that bordered Date Creek. We turned at last sharply to the left, and began a descent through a narrow ravine towards the creek. We were nearing its widening mouth when a half-dozen sharp reports of fire-arms broke upon our ears. A halt was ordered, and the men directed to prevent the animals from betraying our presence by whinnying or braying. Directing Sergeant Henry to remain behind and keep Vic with him, I went on in advance with Sergeant Frank.

"What do you think is going on?" asked my companion, as several more reports rang out.

"What I feared; the Apaches are attacking the men who went out to bring in the dead or wounded men at Soldiers' Holes."

"And if Mr. Baldwin was not the wounded man there, I suppose he is sure to be in this scrape. Why not rush in with the escort and frighten them away?"

"No doubt we could frighten them if they are not too many," I answered; "but we have good reason to believe that they are out in force, and it will be prudent for us to learn the situation at the ranch before we go nearer. I want to join the white men without the Indians' knowledge, if possible. Our presence seems to be unknown to both parties."

"Then Mr. Baldwin must be the man killed."

"He may be there, and the men may know we are on the road; but it certainly does not look like it."

"Can't Vic be sent with a message?"

"No; she does not know the locality, nor has she any friends at the ranch. She will not take a message to a stranger."

We had now reached a point from which we could see a log cabin, a stable, and an open shed. On the side of the buildings toward us, as if screening themselves from an enemy in the opposite direction, were a few men.

"If you would like me to, I can crawl to the house without being seen," said Frank. "That cart, wagon, and stack will screen me."

"Yes, you can do it easily. Tell Mr. Hopkins we are here, and to make no demonstration when we close up. I will explain a plan to him which, I think, will enable us to teach the Apaches a lesson. If you find Mr. Baldwin there, tell him to show himself at a window or door."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.[2]

[2] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 868.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.