Part 3

Every evening he spent in the library with Lord Fairfax, reading. Sometimes it was a book of his own choice, and sometimes he read aloud to the Earl, whose eyes were beginning to fail. Many of the books thus read were classical authors and scientific treatises, neither of which George had any natural fancy for. But he had the capacity to learn something from everything, and the most valuable lesson he got from his varied reading was the vast number of things of which he was ignorant compared with the small number of things he knew. This made him perfectly modest at all times.

As for Lord Fairfax, he felt himself daily growing more passionately fond, in his quiet and restrained way, of the boy. He began to look forward with apprehension to the time when he must again be alone--a feeling he had never had before. He would gladly have kept George with him always, and provided for his future; but he knew well enough that Madam Washington would never give up this noble son of hers to anybody in the world. And so the two lived together, drawing closer and closer to each other, each of a silent, strong nature--the man of the world wearied of courts and camps, and the boy in his white-souled youth knowing nothing but the joy of living and the desire of living rightly, and both were happy in their daily and hourly companionship.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

CROSSING THE XUACAXÉLLA.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U. S. A.

III.

Frank dropped flat upon the earth, and began to work his way to the cabin, taking every advantage of the inequality of the ground to screen himself from observation. The opposite bank of the stream being lower than ours, there was little danger of his being seen by the Indians, unless some of them were in the branches of the cotton-woods. I saw him arrive safely, and received a signal from Mr. Hopkins through a back window. An instant later Mr. Baldwin looked out of the back door and raised his hat. I was glad to see that his college career was still a possibility.

Retracing my steps to the ambulance and escort, I caused the animals to be grouped in charge of the driver and two soldiers, and with the rest of the detail moved in the direction of the ranch buildings.

It had become so dark that we might possibly have passed over the open space without being seen, but, for fear of accidents, we covered it on all-fours. The first persons I met were Baldwin and Frank, who took me to Mr. Hopkins. The ranchman greeted me with the assurance that the arrival of my party was a Godsend, and had probably saved their scalps.

I learned that the men at Date Creek, including Baldwin, numbered seven; that three were in the stable and four in the house. These buildings stood the same distance from the stream, and forty feet apart. The bank of the creek was perpendicular for nearly a mile either way, standing fully twelve feet above the surface of the water; but there was a notch with a sloping descent, midway between the buildings, down which the live-stock was driven to water. This slope afforded the only practicable point of attack, unless the Indians chose to move by one of the flanks over a long level.

Mr. Hopkins said he had crept out to a shrub on the edge of the precipitous river-bank to the left of the slope, just before my arrival, and had seen on the opposite shore a small party of men moving through the willow bushes to our left. He believed it was a flanking party intending to make a feint from that direction, and enable the main body to charge through the notch in the bank. Believing the repelling force to number but seven, the Indians could but count upon the certain success of such a movement. Their flanking party must be met, and to meet it would reduce the defenders of the slope to a number not worth considering.

I was convinced that Mr. Hopkins's inferences were correct; but in order that no mistake should be made, I sent two veterans in frontier service, Privates Clary and Hoey, to reconnoitre both flanks. They were gone half an hour, and returned with the information that no demonstration was being made towards our right, but that a dozen or more men had gathered on the opposite shore at a point where they could cross and turn our left flank.

Preparations to meet this movement were begun at once. Sergeant Frank was sent to the ambulance with orders for the men left in charge to bring in the animals, two at a time, and fasten them in rear of the stable and stack. This was easily accomplished in the darkness. The ambulance was left in charge of Vic.

While this was going on and I was overlooking the construction of rifle-shelters on the flanks, Sergeant Henry approached and asked if he could not be of some use. Something in the tone of the boy's voice showed me he felt he had been neglected, while his brother had been kept busy.

"What would you like to do?" I asked.

"Does a soldier choose his duty, sir?" was the reply, uttered with some dignity.

"Not usually, Sergeant, it is true. I have a very important thing for you to do--something for which I was just intending to look you up. Go and find Clary, and tell him to help you carry several armfuls of hay from the stack to the right of the slope. Make a heap, so that when it is lighted it will illuminate the approach from the creek. Ask Mr. Hopkins if he has any kerosene or other inflammable stuff to sprinkle on the hay and make it flash up quickly. Then throw up a shelter in which you can lie and be ready to light the hay when signalled.

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I'll attend to everything."

Not more than ten minutes had elapsed when the boy sergeant returned and reported that the bundle of hay was placed and a shelter constructed.

"Mr. Hopkins has one gallon of axle grease," said he, "two quarts of spirits of turpentine, and a pint of alcohol."

"Excellent. Mix the alcohol and turpentine, and sprinkle the liquid and grease on the hay. Then place yourself in the shelter, and when you see a light flash from the west window of the house light your bonfire."

"I'll do so, sir," and the boy ran away in the darkness.

Eight men were placed in each building, three on the threatened flank and two on the other. An hour had passed after completing our preparations, when we became aware of a considerable force approaching from the left. In fact, the enemy took pains to have us know of this movement by breaking into whoops, which we recognized to be those of the terrible Apaches. Not a sound came from the creek. I strained my eyes in that direction, eager to catch sight of any movement through the water toward the slope. The pool before the notch in the bank was calm, and the reflection of the starlit sky could be seen in its surface. On the shore beyond nothing was visible in the black darkness beneath the pendulous branches of the willows. At last I saw the fixed reflections of the stars in the surface of the pool diffuse themselves into myriads of sparkling atoms. A considerable body of Indians must be in the water, but none were in sight. Yes; they were crossing in two columns, to the right and left of the notch, concealed by the high shore, and would shortly unite and charge up the slope. I sent Baldwin to the stable to tell the men there that the Apaches were coming, and to be on the alert.

The whoops of the flanking party redoubled, and were accompanied by a desultory firing, which the three men opposing them answered in the same way. Then I saw the sparkling water of the pool cut off from my sight, and knew that a body of men stood on the slope between us and the creek.

"Frank, show the light. Men, ready!"

The lantern flashed from the window, quickly answered by a flash on the bank, and a mass of red flame threw its luminous tresses skyward, bathing the whole scene in light. In the notch, half-way up the slope, stood a momentarily paralyzed group of nearly a hundred painted warriors. Every rifle in the hands of the white men in the two buildings spoke, and instantly the notch emptied itself pell-mell of its living throng. Only a few prostrate bodies showed the Apaches had been there.

With the discharge of firearms a silence immediately fell upon the scene in marked contrast to the shrieking and yelling of a moment before. The bonfire burned low, and went out. Once more we were in darkness.

We believed the Indians would make no further demonstration; for the manner of their late reception had shown them that the ranch had been re-enforced. We waited nearly an hour, and then placing two-thirds of our force on the crest of the river-bank, where they could command the opposite side, I took the remaining third and forded the stream. We scouted the bosque to some depth, and right and left for a considerable distance. The Indians had gathered their dead and departed. Returning to the ranch, sentinels were posted, the ambulance run in by hand, the stock fed, and a midnight meal cooked.

While sitting by the camp-fire, listening to the sizzling of the bacon and sniffing the aroma of the coffee, Mr. Hopkins introduced me to his men and guests, and I heard an explanation of the tracks and blood at Soldiers Holes.

Early that morning three gentlemen who had passed the night at the ranch started for Prescott. They were a Mr. Gray, a Scotch merchant of La Paz; Mr. Hamilton, a lawyer of the same place; and Mr. Rosenberg, a freighter. When near the Holes, Mr. Hamilton, who was riding in advance, was shot by Indians concealed in the sage-brush. Mr. Rosenberg's mule was wounded, and plunged so that his rider fell to the ground. Mr. Gray, seeing the plight of the freighter, rode to his side, seized him by the collar, and aided him to leap to a seat behind him.

It is probable that this act of generous daring might have ended in the death of both men, but for a diversion caused by the sudden appearance of the military express-man. He came up a slope from a lower level, and taking in the situation at a glance, let fly three shots from his breech-loading carbine that caused the Indians to lie low. The three men rode to the ranch, and Mr. Hopkins and his three men accompanied them to bring in the body of Mr. Hamilton. The Indians did not begin to concentrate at the creek until after the burial.

Supper being over, the boys and I were getting into our blankets for the rest of the night, when Mr. Baldwin, who had been getting ready to depart, came near to bid us good-by.

"I seem to take frequent leave of you these times, Lieutenant," said he.

"Yes; and your farewell ride with the Whipple mail seems to be anything but monotonous. I think the Anabasis would be a more suitable subject for study on this route than the Memorabilia."

"'Hence they proceeded one day's journey, a distance of five parasangs, and fell in with the barbarians,' might well be said daily of this trip."

"Hadn't you better travel with me the rest of the way?"

"I think this is the last we shall see of the Apaches; they do not range south and west of here. Good-by, sir."

"Good-by, until we meet at Tysons Wells."

The next morning, when the boys, Vic and I, were taking our seats in the ambulance, Mr. Hopkins and his men, Mr. Gray and Mr. Rosenberg, approached us mounted. They informed me that all were going to La Paz.

"The Injins are gettin' a little too thick here for sleepin' well arter a hard day's work," said the ranchman. "Think I'll stay away till Uncle Sam thins 'em out a leetle more."

"Can I obtain a five or ten gallon keg of you, Mr. Hopkins?" I asked. "Ours was accidentally smashed on the road."

"Haven't a keg to my name, Lieutenant. One way 'n' ernuther all been smashed, gin way, or lent."

The ride from the ranch to the edge of the desert plain was twelve miles, a portion of it over a rugged ridge. To the point where we were to ford the creek was two miles, and there the hired men, pack-mules, and ranch cattle turned off on the Bill Williams Fork route to the Rio Colorado.

Once on the level of the Xuacaxélla our team broke into a brisk trot, and we rolled along with a fair prospect of soon crossing the ninety miles between the Date Creek Mountains and La Paz. Messrs. Gray, Rosenberg, and Hopkins soon turned into a bridle-path which led into a mine. Before taking leave of us Mr. Gray told me that my camping-place for the night would be at the point of the third mountain spur which jutted into the plain from the western range.

We had not travelled long before we realized our misfortune in having smashed our water-keg. Each individual in our party had a three-pint army canteen, which had been filled when we forded the creek in the early dawn. These were to last us until evening through an exceedingly sultry day. Frank, Henry, and I did our best to overcome our desire for water, but the younger boy could not refuse Vic a drink when she looked up with lolling tongue to the canteens.

The men were the greatest sufferers, unless I except their horses. Long before mid-day their canteens were empty, and their mouths so dry that articulation was difficult, and they rarely spoke.

At five o'clock we arrived opposite the third spur, where we found a wand sticking in the ground and holding a slip of paper in its cleft end. It proved to be a note from Baldwin, saying that this was the place to camp, and the Black Tanks were on the southern side of the spur, two miles distant.

We were too thirsty to spend time in examining the scenery. The boys and I were quickly out of the vehicle, the horses and mules were relieved of bridles, saddles, and harness, and all but two men, who were left to guard the property and collect fuel for a fire, were on the way to water. Closely followed by Vic, the boy sergeants and I preceded the men and stock. We passed through a leafless and almost branchless growth of the giant cactus, succeeded by a thick underbrush of mezquit, which put off our view of the height until we turned sharply to the right. Then we saw before us a long irregular range, apparently three thousand feet in height, which had been cleft from summit to base as if by a wedge. In this rent we found water--water deposited in a natural reservoir by the periodical rainfalls in millions of gallons--a reservoir never known to be dry.

Private Tom Clary, bearing a camp-kettle and coffee-pot, had outstripped the men driving the stock, and overtook us as we began the ascent into the cleft. Climbing the dike which enclosed the main deposit, we descended to the cistern, filled our cups, and swallowed the contents without taking a breath. When we dipped up a second, Tom Clary looked into the depths of his cup with knitted brows.

"Whist, now, b'ys!" he exclaimed. "Look into the wather! It's aloive with wigglers of ivery variety. They're as plinty as pays in a soup."

"Ugh! And we are full of them too, Tom," said Henry, looking into his dipper with narrow-eyed anxiety.

Pausing in the act of taking a second drink, I looked into my cup, and saw that it contained myriads of animalcula and larvæ, which shot and zigzagged from side to side in the liveliest manner.

"Will they hurt us, Tom?" questioned Henry.

"I rickon they've got the worst of it, Sergeant, laddy; but I think I'd fale a bit aisier if I was blindfolded or takin' a dhrink in the dark. I prefer me liquid refrishmint with a little less mate, not to minshin its being less frisky."

We had come to the tanks with fresh towels, intending to wash off the dust of travel. We now used one of them to strain the water, and were astonished to see that each quart left behind it a plump teaspoonful of animalcula. The water was sweet, but, after discovering the life in it, we drank sparingly.

As we pursued the narrow path to camp in single file, we noticed Vic a considerable distance to the right, scouting and nosing about in an earnest manner. Evidently she thought she had made an important discovery, for she several times looked in our direction and barked. But we were too hungry to investigate, and soon she disappeared from sight.

When we reached the ambulance the boys put a few cakes of hard bread in their pockets, and taking their shot-guns, went out to look for some "cotton-tails" while supper was being prepared. Believing we were well out of the range of hostile Indians, I did not object to their going alone. They passed a considerable distance beyond the growth of _Cereus giganteus_, over a level stretch covered with knee-high bunch-grass and desert weeds, without seeing a hare. Pausing on the brink of a shoal, dry ravine, they stood side by side, and rested the butts of their guns upon the ground. Just then a shout of "Supper! supper!" came from the group near the camp-fire.

"Hate to go back without anything," said Frank. "Strange we don't see a rabbit now, when we saw dozens on the way to the tanks."

"That was because we didn't have a gun," said Henry.

"You don't believe the rabbits knew we weren't armed then and know we are now?"

"Hunters tell bigger stories than that about 'Brer Rabbit.' Not one has bobbed up since we got a gun."

Suddenly, from the flat surface of the plain, not twenty yards beyond the ravine, where nothing but bunch-grass and low shrubbery had been seen before, sprang up sixteen Indians to full height, as startlingly as so many jacks-in-a-box.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A BATTLE ROYAL.

You ought to have seen the terrible row we had in my room last night, The elephant plush and the calico cat and my new little pug had a fight, And though an elephant's great and strong, and a cat has powerful claws, My little pug-dog came out on top with the aid of his teeth and paws.

The trouble arose in the simplest way; the cat was asleep on a chair. And the elephant plush was standing about, and sniffing the cool night air, When Puggy rushed in, as he sometimes does, for a romp on the bed with me, And tripped on the trunk of the elephant bold, and over and over went he.

He turned two somersaults up in the air, as he tripped on the elephant's trunk, And then went bang 'gainst the pussy-cat's chair with a really horrible bunk. He bunked so hard that the chair slid back, with a bang on the side of the door, And the calico cat, with a hiss and a scat, came tumbling down to the floor.

And it happened as puss came tumbling down old Puggy lay down just below; He'd tumbled right flat on his poor little back, a picture of trouble and woe-- And the pussy kerflop came down on top of my new little live little pup, And then came a mighty old struggle in which the cat was just chewed all up.

Pug snapped and he yawled and he rolled and he kicked, but the calico cat held fast; And they slid o'er the floor in a mad embrace, until, pretty near the last, They came to the elephant made of plush, with celluloid tusks, so rare, Who silently stood, as I said before, a-sniffing the cool night air.

And of course when they rolled underneath his legs, the elephant came down too-- And oh, the row, the terrible row, I'm sure would have startled you. Those three bold friends of my nursery days now got in a terrible plight, But the small live pug, with his teeth and his paws, soon had much the best of the fight.

And now to-day I am gathering up from all parts of the nursery floor Small pieces of cotton and calico shreds and samples of plush galore. There are eyes and ears and tails and trunks from my bed to the wash-stand rug That tell of the glorious victory that was won by my brave little pug.

As for Puggy himself, he's still romping away, and he hasn't a scar to show; Nor does he remember, as far as I see, that terrible scene of woe. And the only effect of his fight at all is he seems to be twice as fat, Which may come, I cannot with certainty say, from swallowing part of the cat.

CARLYLE SMITH.

PUBLIC-SCHOOL BOY AFLOAT.

BY RICHARD BARRY.

To the passengers on the ferry-boats crossing between New York and Long Island City, through the sweeping tide of the East River, a view is given of a trim-looking craft lying just astern of the old battle-ship _New Hampshire_, moored to the Twenty-eighth-street wharf. She is very much dwarfed in appearance by the towering top sides of the three-decker, and during the winter months the deck-house that stretches above her bulwarks makes her look as if her days of freedom to plough the main were past and gone.

The vessel is the _St. Mary's_, the nautical training-ship connected with the public-school system of New York city. From the first of November to the middle of April she is indeed nothing but a floating school-house, and the long shed on her deck is divided into recitation-rooms, equipped with blackboards and chalk and benches, and presided over by uniformed teachers.

All this sounds dry enough, even if it is connected with a ship; but the scholars are very different in appearance from the lads who attend the public-schools, although they are drawn from the same sources. Every boy is togged out in the uniform of a naval apprentice, and he is very proud of his ship and of the name on the ribbon of his cap.

Life on a sailing-vessel, that depends entirely upon the wind for her motive power, is very different from the life on board a steamer or one of the steel cruisers of Uncle Sam's new navy. No boy who has ever read any of Marryat's stories, or those from the pen of Clarke Russell, but has been filled with a desire to try the sea for himself, and if he is able-bodied, and a boy with a good record and a desire to learn, he can step back, as it were, into the time when Marryat's or Russell's heroes lived and had their adventures. He can live on board the _St. Mary's_ the life of the sailor-boy of the old school, and find extant all its pleasures and excitements. Indeed, it is not all school-work and blackboard and chalk; there are long months of cruising in blue waters, and strange countries to be seen, and a chance also for a fine occupation, and good paying positions awaiting him at the end of his term of service.

To begin at the beginning, let us see how the New York boy, who has known nothing but the streets and the crowded houses, can accomplish all this, and how he goes about it, and what he learns and sees.

In the first place, it must be well understood that the _St. Mary's_ is not offered by the government as a floating reformatory for bad or unruly boys, or to help careless parents to get rid of them. It is exactly the reverse, and this is now well known.

Application for admission to the Nautical School must be made to the chairman of the executive committee of the Board of Education, or made in person to the Superintendent on board the _St. Mary's_ herself.

But to state a few of the requirements before the papers are signed and the school-boy becomes a sailor. The applicant must be between the ages of sixteen and twenty years. He must be of average size, sound constitution, and free from all physical defects. This means that a rigid examination is enforced, and the boy is measured and given tests of strength to prove that he is worthy by nature to put on the blue suit of service.