Chapter XIII: The Troopers

Cemuri, the wounded scout, did his duty well. Convinced that Lieutenant Decker did the right thing in ordering him to return to Fort Reno, to have his hurt looked after, he was as eager as ever to befriend the gallant young officer and his companions, thus deprived of his services.

The White Mountain Apache waited but a short time after the disappearance of Maroz and Ceballos, when he climbed into the saddle and headed his pony for the fort. His suffering was great, but his iron will mastered the weakness of his body, for which he showed his contempt by striking his animal into a gallop, which served to increase his pain.

A mile away he came directly upon six cavalrymen who were out on a scout. Among them were Armon Peyser, Budge Colgate and Jack Redfield, who had campaigned for years in New Mexico and Arizona and knew all there was to know of the cunning and ferocity of Geronimo, Natchez and their fierce followers.

Cemuri quickly told his story. He was able to locate the raiders and direct the party to the spot where the three scouts were doing all they could to hold them in check. Despite the pluck of the friendly Apache, he could not hide his suffering, and Peyser, in his sympathy, offered to send one of his men with him to the post.

This proposition, made with the best of intentions, was almost an insult to Cemuri. He refused it point-blank, and, to prevent its repetition, galloped away without so much as a farewell. None knew better than he that he could not receive aid too soon, but he would accept no guidance or assistance from these friends.

“That’s good news of his,” said Peyser, as he and his companions sat grouped together in the moonlight, “for it means a fight.”

“But Geronimo has some twenty of his bucks with him,” reminded Budge Colgate, “and to put matters in a good shape, we ought to have more of the boys with us.”

“We’ll do it if we can, but, if they can’t be found in time, we won’t be cheated out of our fun.”

“I don’t think Jennings and the rest are far off,” suggested Jack Redfield, who now made the signal used by Lieutenant Decker, who was too far off to hear the reports.

To their delight, the hail was instantly answered from a point so near at hand that the three instinctively turned their eyes to the south whence it came.

A few minutes later, a ringing “Halloo!” sounded through the stillness and a round dozen horsemen loomed to view, coming at a swinging pace. In a twinkling, as may be said, eighteen well-mounted and armed United States troopers gathered in the middle of the sandy plain. Armon Peyser, as the oldest campaigner and by virtue of his office as sergeant, was leader, though when a junction should be effected with Freeman and Decker, the lieutenant of course would assume command.

A hurried consultation followed. It was nearly five miles to the bend of the stream, where Cemuri had left his friends, and Peyser began describing the place, as well as he could, when Budge Colgate interrupted him.

“I know the spot! We can ride there in a bee line; lead on sergeant.”

And away they went, hardly drawing rein until within a fourth of a mile of the stream. Knowing they were near it, the party slackened their pace and were cautiously advancing, with Colgate at the head, when the signal of Lieutenant Decker reached them.

“Good!” exclaimed the scout; “I knew it wasn’t far off.”

As has been shown, the hail was promptly answered and a second junction took place, with the result that a round twenty horsemen were brought together, all eager for a brush with the hostiles. Mendez had not yet returned from his reconnaissance upon which he ventured some time before. He was not so far off, however, that he did not know of the arrival of the reinforcements, and he was but a few minutes behind them in reaching the spot.

Being ready for the serious business now in hand, the all-important requisite was to know the situation of the foe whom they meant to strike. Mendez had no information to give on that point, for when he left his two friends he went only a short way. His purpose was not so much to spy out the hostiles as to prevent their spying out the two whites and stealing a march upon them.

Lieutenant Decker was as indisposed as any of his companions to remain idle until the rising of the sun. Accordingly the three best scouts, including Mendez, were sent out to locate the raiders, if possible, with a view of attacking them at the earliest moment. In their absence, the troopers dismounted and lolled about in the sand, some snatching a little sleep, others smoking and talking in low tones, while the sentinels, as a matter of course, were placed at the proper points to guard against surprise.

Martin, one of the white scouts, went up the stream, Potter, another, took the opposite course, while Mendez rode his pony to the other side. The other two were also mounted, for it will be understood that their duty differed from that of the Apache scout, when he first went out. It was then an object with him to steal as close as he could to the raiders, with a view of learning their purposes, and it has been shown how well he did his duty.

In the present instance, however, it was only necessary to find out where the main body of hostiles were. The instant that became known, the one making the discovery would hasten back with the information. If well mounted, he could do this much more successfully than if on foot.

It was not to be supposed that the hostiles would be on the alert against such an enterprise, and the scouts undertaking it were hopeful of making their discovery and getting back within an hour from the time of their going forth.

The most dangerous proceeding, as it seemed, was that of Mendez in crossing the stream, for the presumption was that the enemies were on the other side. If he should be seen, as was quite likely, when he located the raiders he would have to make a desperate ride for life. It would not do to dash into the stream, for his progress would be so checked that he would become the best of targets for his enemies.

Recalling where he had last seen Geronimo and his bucks, Mendez rode in that direction. He knew he would not find them there, for his last glimpse showed them leaving the spot, but he made his way thither without detecting the first sign of them.

In the strong moonlight, the scout could readily see the footprints of the horses, without leaning over from the back of his own steed. The trail led up the stream, keeping quite near it, and then, to the surprise of the scout, it circled to the left and away from the water.

He could not fathom the meaning of this, nor indeed did he try to do so, for the special necessity did not exist, but he kept to it, his horse advancing slowly, while the rider peered into the gloom on every hand. The situation became more critical every moment.

The trail showed that the raiders were keeping well together and their animals were walking. Here and there diverging hoofprints indicated that one or more of the horsemen had drawn off from the main body, or else two separate trails crossed each other.

The circle swept inward upon the plain, and by and by turned backward, that is to the west. To the astonishment of Mendez, it began approaching the stream, as if the hostiles meant to recross it. If this were the fact, Potter, who had gone down the bank of the creek would probably be the first to discover the Apaches.

The probability of this issue caused the dusky scout uneasiness, for the raiders being on the same side with the troopers were likely to locate them before being observed, thus securing a perilous advantage, to say nothing of the great danger in which Potter would be placed, despite his skill and experience.

Mendez was approaching the stream, whose smooth surface gleamed in the moonlight, when his steed quietly stopped. He made no sound, but pricked his ears.

This was enough, for his owner knew what it meant. An enemy was near. Less than a minute was sufficient to place him. He was directly ahead, and like Mendez was mounted, being probably one of the hostile scouts that had been sent to the rear to watch for just such attempts as were now making against them.

The situation assumed the interesting phase of two highly trained scouts maneuvering against each other. Wonderful as was the skill of Mendez, it did not surpass that of his enemy, whose horse was also the equal of the one ridden by the other.

The pony of the scout had shown astonishing quickness in detecting the presence of the other equine, but at precisely the same moment the latter warned his rider of the approach of the other. Both halted and for a minute or more remained motionless. Then Mendez made the curious discovery that his foe was gradually fading from sight.

There was no mystery in this vanishment, however, which was in accord with natural laws. The hostile had whirled his animal around with a quickness which could not be noted at that distance, and began walking him toward the stream, closely watching at the same time the movements of the foe thus thrown to the rear.

Instead of following, Mendez waited until the other had passed out of his field of vision. Then he turned abruptly to the left and rode to the edge of the stream. There he and his animal again became stationary.

The rider was listening and looking. The eyes told him nothing, but a faint splashing noise, several times repeated, came to him. He interpreted it as meaning that the horseman whom he had seen was crossing the creek.

This of itself was of little importance, but Mendez accepted it as evidence that the whole band had done the same thing some time before, and the horseman was now on his way to rejoin them. So convinced indeed was Mendez on this point that he guided his animal carefully into the water and forded the stream, without searching out the place where Geronimo and his hostiles had also crossed.