Chapter X: The Eavesdropper

It would be hard to explain the course of the Apache horseman. It looked at first as if he had been aware of the presence of the scout for some, and was trifling with him, as a cat sometimes toys with a mouse before crunching it in her jaws, but the peculiar circumstances forbids this explanation.

Instead of riding directly over the prostrate figure, the buck once more checked his animal, while several rods distant. Mendez, who was watching him intently, then perceived that instead of looking in front of his pony, he was gazing toward the further shore of the stream, as if interested there. Possibly he had seen or heard something which he did not understand.

The few seconds’ grace thus granted were improved by the imperiled scout. Gently swaying his body, limbs and hands, he groveled and burrowed silently into the sand, until, with the exception of his head, he was covered. The fine particles reached even to his shoulders. Stretched thus, perfectly motionless, an enemy might have passed within arm’s length without observing him.

The dread of Mendez was not that the rider would see him, nor indeed that the horse would observe him, but that the keen scent of the animal would bring the revelation. There are many situations—and this was one of them—in which the nose of a horse is more to be feared than the sagacity of his rider.

Whatever the Apache was studying did not engage his attention long. He spoke to his pony, which turned to one side and walked toward the waiting group.

In doing this he approached still closer to the figure almost wholly hidden in the sand. It is not probable that he saw it, but his keen sense of smell apprised him that some man or animal was near. He swerved suddenly to one side with a snort, and skillful as was his rider, the movement was so abrupt that he came within a hair of being unseated. He spoke angrily to his animal, striking his heels so sharply against his ribs that he galloped the few remaining steps to the main company.

No narrower escape than that of Mendez can be conceived. With all his acumen he hardly understood why the buck failed to make an investigation. Had he done so, discovery was absolutely certain. It must have been that he reasoned that no such cause as the real one could exist, so close to the other horseman, and such belief on his part was one of the most reasonable things in the world.

But be all this as it may, it was high time that the scout effected a change of base. Wonderful as was the good fortune that had attended him thus far, it could not continue indefinitely: disaster impended.

It was not far to the stream which he was so anxious to reach, and yet, despite the peril involved in remaining where he was, he decided it was not so dangerous as to try to leave the spot while Geronimo and his men were so near. He was now effectually hidden in the sand, for he drew more of the particles about his head until little more than his hair and eyes was visible.

The keen vision of the hostiles was likely to be drawn to the spot if he resumed his backward movement toward the water. It will be remembered, too, that the banks of the stream were so low and flat that they could give no concealment, and the agitation that must follow his entrance into the shallow creek was certain to catch the notice of his enemies.

And so, on the whole, he did the best thing possible, risky as it must be, by staying where he was.

It seemed as if the whole gamut of fear was to be run by Mendez, who found himself in such peculiar danger. The horsemen made a shift of position which brought them several yards nearer the prostrate figure, who would have been glad to sink himself several feet under the ground had it been possible.

But this supreme trial of his nerves brought its consolation, for he was now able to hear and understand nearly everything said by his enemies—an achievement which otherwise would have been among the impossibilities.

A significant fact, immediately preceding this eavesdropper episode, was the arrival of Maroz and Ceballos, who, as will be remembered, had been sent away by Lieutenant Decker. From his curious hiding-place Mendez recognized both, as they rode up in the bright moonlight and joined the group as if they were friends who expected their coming.

It will be more intelligible if we give a liberal interpretation of the conversation between Geronimo and the two arrivals.

“I am glad to look upon the face of my brothers,” said the leader, by way of greeting; “I knew you would hasten to join us.”

“We came as soon as we could; but the soldiers watch us closely; they distrust us, though we have done all we could to make them think us friends.”

To this remark by Maroz, Ceballos added:

“We are eager to give the great Geronimo all the help we can.”

“Where are the soldiers?” was the pertinent query of the chief.

“We are not sure; they were a few miles to the east, near the Sutra Valley.”

“Do they know of our coming?”

“They cannot, but others do.”

“Who are the others?”

“Lieutenant Decker, the man Freeman with him, and Mendez and Cemuri, the traitors.”

“Who are they?”

“The white men are on the other side of the stream; they killed one of your warriors, as I have learned; Mendez and Cemuri have left them to watch the movements of yourself and warriors.”

“I know the renegades are with the two white men; I would give much could I lay hands on them, but we fear them not; it is the horsemen whom we need to look for, for they are more numerous than we.”

“If we move quickly we may strike and get away before the soldiers know where we are,” was the wise suggestion of Maroz.

“That we would do if we could learn where the soldiers are; we must first know that.”

In this remark, the Apache leader revealed the key of the whole situation. He was among the most cunning of his people, and, while at times, he assumed risks that were of the most reckless character, it was not his rule to do so when they could well be avoided. He knew that the alarm of his approach had spread, through some means, despite his swiftness of movement. The American cavalry were scouting through the country for him, and he had had too many brushes with those daring troopers to seek another conflict, even if he did not always run away from a fight.

The remark quoted raised the interesting question in the mind of the eavesdropper hidden in the sand, whether, if Geronimo became convinced that the course to the ranches to the eastward was well guarded, he would not turn back and postpone his raid to a more propitious season.

This was the occasion when Maroz and Ceballos, had they been the friends of the whites that they pretended to be, might have done inestimable service by making the dreaded scourge believe that such danger threatened him. Instead of taking this course, however, the miscreants urged him to hasten the blow he was meditating.

“If you stay here too long,” continued Maroz, “the soldiers will know of a certainty that you are coming.”

“But they will not know where we mean to go.”

“Mendez and Cemuri will warn them,” suggested Maroz, who, it will be remembered, knew nothing of the wounding of Cemuri.

“They shall not live to see the sun rise!” exclaimed Geronimo, with his old-time fierceness; “we shall slay them both; the white men with them shall be killed; then we will turn to the southward, strike our blow and be gone before the soldiers can learn where we are.”

It will be conceded that Mendez was acquiring a good deal of interesting information. The question was whether he would be able to turn it to account since his own position was more perilous than that of any one else.

“Let Maroz and Ceballos go back to the white men; let them be vigilant, and when the chance comes kill them both!”

“That is what we meant to do,” was the prompt avowal of Ceballos, “but they sent us away before we had the chance; they told us to go to you, and to fight against you; if we go back they will believe we are your friends and they will slay us.”

There was sense in this statement of the situation, and the great Apache leader could not fail to see it. If the two should return to Lieutenant Decker, after being sent away, it could not fail to throw them under suspicion, and more than likely their lives would pay the forfeit.

But it was necessary that some one should get nearer the two than any of the Apaches had succeeded in doing, or else no further attention was to be given to the little party, who kept so persistently in the path of the raiders, or Geronimo must postpone his raid, as has been stated, to a more convenient season.

The chieftain decided upon the first expedient. He spoke to one of his most trusted scouts and directed him to cross the stream, and by some means slay the obstructing white men. This was an elastic order, permitting, as it did, the widest latitude as to the means employed; but it was all Geronimo could do, for nothing would have been more idle than for him to give minute instructions, when he could have no possible knowledge of the complications that would arise.

He might have called on any member of his band and the response would have been as prompt as in the case of the veteran scout who now essayed a task as dangerous as it was difficult.