Chapter XXIII: What Befell Maurice Freeman

It will not be denied that a most memorable experience befell Lieutenant James Decker, and yet what shall be said of that which came to Maurice Freeman, whom he left beside the spring, while he went forward to reconnoiter?

After taking his second deep draught of water, he walked aside, as will be remembered, being impelled thereto by the same distrust that led the young officer some time later to hide himself while the three Apaches came forward to quench their thirst.

“I understand his action,” reflected the father; “he distrusts my judgment; he believes I am so upset by my affliction that I would run blindly into danger; but he is mistaken. Heaven knows that I have suffered and am still tortured by anxiety for my little boy, but I know better than to make his peril greater by any recklessness on my part.

“I would be offended if it were any one except Lieutenant Decker, but who can be offended with him?” asked the captain, with a glow of admiring gratitude; “he has risked his life for the sake of little Fulton and will continue to risk it so long as a shadow of hope remains. He is one of the most chivalrous, noble-hearted young men I ever knew, and if he lives will earn his star.”

When fifteen minutes passed without bringing the expected signal from the lieutenant, Freeman wondered whether anything was amiss. Had he thought any danger threatened the young officer, he would have hastened to his aid, without hearing his call; but decided to await something more definite.

With the same suddenness as his young friend, he became aware that he was not alone. Some one was near him and that some one must be an enemy.

The disturbance which brought this knowledge was so exceedingly faint that at first the captain could not decide what point it came from. He did not dare move, therefore, through fear of a misstep; but, grasping his Winchester, he looked and listened with all the acuteness he possessed. The Apache must have been the first to detect the presence of another, for, with all of Freeman’s caution, he was outwitted by the warrior, who appeared so suddenly that he seemed to rise out of the very earth and to be standing erect in front of the astonished captain before he knew where to look for him.

But Freeman was a veteran soldier and was not the man to surrender, so long as he was able to strike a blow for himself. He recoiled a step, so as to secure elbow room, and was in the act of raising his rifle to his shoulder, when the Apache spoke:

“No fire—me friend.”

“Heaven! Mendez, where did you come from?” asked the astounded white man, recognizing the Apache, upon whom it may be said all their hopes rested.

The warrior was standing in the edge of the moonlight where his hard features were in so plain view that Freeman wondered why he failed to identify him the instant he presented himself.

“’Pache here—soon come,” explained Mendez; “we go ’way, where don’t come.”

This precaution was so sensible that Freeman willingly followed him a few steps further, to a spot where they were not likely to be seen by any one approaching the spring. When they halted it was beside one of those boulders, so numerous in that section that it may be said they were never out of sight. The Apache kept his feet, as did his companion.

The heart of Maurice Freeman was throbbing painfully, for instinctively he felt that this singular visit had something to do with his child. He and Lieutenant Decker supposed the friendly Apache was at a considerable distance, intent on his task of rescuing the little one, and now, much sooner than was anticipated, he had come back, almost to his starting point, and the boy was not with him.

“But he brings news—he brings news and my heart tells me it is bad news,” thought the stricken parent, striving manfully to quell all signs of his great sorrow.

What intensified his anguish was the evident fact that something was the matter with Mendez. While walking in front of the captain, he made several missteps. Once he stumbled, lurching far to one side, and violently recovering himself. Then he straightened up and moved with a firm step, as if he had regained his self-control.

“He has managed in some way to get hold of his favorite drink,” was the despairing thought of Freeman; “he is a fine one to attempt to get my boy out of the hands of a band of his countrymen!”

If anything was needed to confirm this belief it was the manner of Mendez. It has been shown that he was morose by nature, but now his tongue was loosened in a way that Freeman had never known before. He did not stop his walk until he had gone more than a hundred yards from the spring. Then he stopped abruptly, wheeled about and said:

“Cap’n Freem’n brave man—heap big warrior!”

“No, Mendez, I am no braver than you, nor as good a warrior in fighting your people, for I know less of them than you; but tell me, do you bring any news of my boy, who was stolen by some of your people?”

Instead of replying, the Apache devoted a minute or two to regaining mastery of himself. He managed to fix his black eyes on the white man, with something of his old defiant expression, when meeting the gaze of an enemy. By the exercise of his iron will, he succeeded in keeping his poise, but he could not drive out the fumes of the horrible tiswin from his brain. They loosened his tongue and gave an odd twist to his ideas.

“’Pache got boy,” said he; “Mendez see ’im.”

“I know that as well as you, for I too saw him in their hands. Is that all the news you bring me?”

“Mendez can’t git ’im.”

“Why not? Have they put him to death?”

The Apache shook his head, without speaking.

“I thought Mendez was a great warrior,” said Freeman, hoping to taunt him into an effort that he seemed reluctant or unable to make; “they told me he could do anything; that he could get my child for me; that he would earn the reward I will give him——”

“Mendez want no reward—he take no money!” interrupted the Apache, fiercely thumping his breast.

“Then has he become a squaw? Is he no longer the great warrior that he used to be? Has he become old and weak?”

“Mendez not old—Mendez not weak! He great warrior!”

Any reflection upon the courage or skill of the friendly Apache roused his resentment, which was the reason why Freeman pressed him.

“Where is your greatness? You come and tell me that you cannot get my boy away from your people, and yet it is not long ago that you set out to do so. You did not say then you could not take him from them, for you were the brave Mendez that the white people praise and that is not afraid of any one, whether he be white man or red man. Now you are _afraid_.”

“Mendez not ’fraid! white man lie!” the warrior thundered as he laid his hand on his knife.

“I am not afraid of you, Mendez, but you have been too good a friend of the white people for any of them to wish to harm you. But I repeat your own words. Shall I tell you what is the matter with you?”

“No matter wi’ Mendez! He brave—he strong—he fight.”

“There is much the matter with you; you have been drinking tiswin; you are not yourself; but for the tiswin you would be the true, brave, noble Mendez.”

This charge being true, intensified the anger of the Apache. He again placed his hand on his knife and drew it partly forth. His scowling face, never attractive at its best, was working with rage. He seemed to be gathering himself to leap upon the man who dared to speak these words to him. Believing he was about to do so, Freeman quietly braced himself for the struggle. He disliked to come to violence with one that had done so much for the settlers and the army, but the exasperation of the captain can be understood. At the moment when his hopes were at the highest, and when he was certain that the scout was putting forth his best efforts, he came staggering back to his friends maudlin, helpless, worthless, good for nothing.

The belief was strong with the parent that if this opportunity was allowed to pass, it would not come again. More than one peculiar circumstance favored the cunning and ability of the scout, the combination being of that nature that a repetition was not in the natural order of things.

The weakness of Mendez for the vicious drink was well known, and no person could be better aware of its palsying effects than Mendez himself. It was to be expected that he would indulge in it when not on duty and the chance offered, but when engaged on an enterprise in which his highest skill was needed, there was no palliation for his dissipation. He must have drunk deliberately, and the father, distressed by fears for his child, could find no excuse for him. His anger was natural.

But, if the Apache meditated an attack on the white man, he changed his mind for the moment. He drew his hand from his knife.

“Say Mendez weak?—say he squaw?” he mumbled.

Freeman saw an appeal in these questions. It was as if the fellow had become sensible of his condition and craved indulgence rather than censure.

“The real Mendez is a brave warrior, but, if he is afraid of the Apaches, he is not Mendez; if he wishes to show to his white brother that he is still brave let him go the Apaches and bring back the boy they hold a prisoner; then Mendez will be cunning, he will be brave, he will be a great warrior.”

The fellow straightened up with a majestic dignity that could not fail to command respect. He had thrown off the spell of the horrible stuff, as a Roman warrior might fling off his cloak to give his limbs freer play.

“Mendez is brave: he is a great warrior; he is greater than Geronimo or Cochise; he is not afraid of them; he will bring back the child to his white brother; let his white brother wait here and soon his heart shall be made glad; he shall sing with joy like the birds in the trees. Mendez will soon return; let my brother have patience.”

Maurice Freeman was amazed. He had never heard the surly fellow speak the English tongue with such fluency and eloquence. It was a revelation. He appeared to be another person. He towered in height and was the picture of the great Tecumseh himself, addressing an array of chieftains and urging them to battle.

Before the white man could frame a suitable reply, Mendez turned and strode off, his step that of a conqueror. Captain Freeman gazed in silent wonderment at the figure until it vanished in the gloom and he was left alone.

The only explanation that Freeman could find for this extraordinary occurrence was that when Mendez came to him, though he was so under the influence of tiswin, he was conscious of his unfitness for the task he had undertaken. Prompted by a strange self-accusation, proving that conscience burns in the breast of every being, he had come to make confession. Then he was so stung by the reproofs of the white man that he was roused out of his sodden condition. He had really thrown off the effects of the poison. In other words he was sober, and the Mendez of old.

With his self-restoration came his natural courage and confidence in his own prowess. He felt able to do what he had planned, and set out to do it. He would show Captain Freeman, not by words but by acts, that he was the invincible Mendez, as the white man had described him to the Apache himself.

All this was well, but it could not remove the shuddering dread from the heart of the father that the fatal blunder had already been made. The Apache’s relapse had allowed the golden chance to slip beyond repairing or recovery.

Freeman felt the need of Lieutenant Decker’s presence and counsel, but he could not go to him, for the signal agreed upon had not been sounded, and besides, the instructions of Mendez were that the father should wait where he was until his dusky friend returned. He was obliged, therefore, to content himself as best he might.

How long would he be gone? Would it be one hour, two hours, until daylight, or, if he gave way to his weakness again, would he ever return?

Had not the hostiles learned what he was trying to do? Had they not plied him with the atrocious stuff on purpose that he should make an exhibition of himself?

These and similar questionings were rioting in the brain of Maurice Freeman, when he perceived that Mendez was with him again. He appeared with the same strange suddenness as before, but alas! he was alone.

“Where is my boy?” asked the agonized father.

“The heart of Mendez is heavy, for he brings evil tidings; the pappoose of his white brother is—dead.”