Chapter XXV: A Reminiscence

Reaching the rock, the two men made another reconnaissance before sitting down to await the return of the White Mountain Apache. Nothing was discovered to cause misgiving, and they were almost convinced that they would remain undisturbed until the coming of the scout upon whom all their hopes were now placed.

The moon had passed further over in the heavens, and its face was frequently screened by drifting masses of clouds which rendered its light treacherous and uncertain. They talked in low tones, not forgetting to keep constant watch for the approach of their enemies, some of whom it was certain were at no great distance.

“That affair of mine with the rattlesnake,” said the lieutenant, “recalled the singular adventure of two scouts under Major Forsythe, in the autumn of 1868. The peace commissioners concluded treaties the previous year with the Arapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas, Comanches and Apaches. Other treaties were formed, the object being to secure the removal of the different tribes to the reservations selected for them. There was delay and bad faith on the part of our agents, and, in the face of the treaties, many outrages were committed by the Indians in Kansas and Colorado. Troops were kept on watch along the lines of travel across the State of Kansas into Colorado, and a company of scouts under Major Forsythe, numbering fifty picked men, left Fort Hayes, Kansas, in September. A week was spent in scouting, when they reached Fort Wallace, where Forsythe proceeded to refit his command. Then news came that the Indians had attacked a train near Sheridan, a small railway town, eighty miles away. Forsythe set out with his force to punish the marauders.

“The Indians were pressed so hard that they resorted to their old trick of breaking up into smaller parties, thus confusing their trail and rendering effective pursuit impossible. Forsythe pushed on to the Republican River, where he struck another trail which grew broader and more distinct, until it was clear that a large number of horses and cattle had been recently driven over it.

“At the close of day, the command went into camp on the Arickaree Fork of the Republican, at a point were the river divides so as to inclose a low sandy island about a hundred yards long. The soldiers had but one day’s provisions, but their intention was to push on and strike the Indians, who were known to be not far off. At daylight, while the men were saddling up, they were attacked by fully a thousand Brulés, Sioux, Cheyennes and ‘Dog Soldiers.’ Forsythe retreated to the island, and the position was made as strong as possible. In the first attack, Forsythe was badly wounded and two of his men killed. A few minutes later a second shot shattered the major’s left leg between the knee and ankle. Almost at the same moment, the surgeon was killed. Every horse was shot. That fight and siege formed one of the most fearful episodes in the history of our Indian wars. At the end of the first day not a horse was alive, the provisions were gone, the surgeon was dead, there were no medical stores, four men were killed, four mortally and four badly wounded, ten others being slightly hurt, so that almost one-half of the command had been struck.

“On the other hand, the Indians had been decisively repulsed, the soldiers had plenty of ammunition, water could be obtained by digging in the sand, and the bodies of the horses and mules would ward off starvation. But the men needed help in the worst way. The nearest post from which this could be obtained was Fort Wallace, one hundred and ten miles distant. Two of the best scouts, Trudeau and Jack Stillwell, volunteered to run the gauntlet.

“As soon as it was dark, they stole from the island. There was little hope that they would succeed, but both men were brave and cool-headed, and, if the thing were possible, they were the ones to accomplish it. The defenders waited long and listened, and hearing nothing, believed they had been captured. At dusk on the second day, during which there was continuous fighting, two more scouts were sent out, but they were discovered and barely succeeded in getting back to the island. This convinced all that Stillwell and Trudeau had failed, but such was not the fact.

“Those two scouts, in leaving the island, moved down stream, keeping as near the middle as they could. The water was so shallow that neither could swim, and they crawled on their hands and knees for most of the distance. Lucky for the men, the night was clouded, and the moon had set before they left the island. They kept in the river for three miles when they waded ashore, and, hiding their trail as best they could, made for the nearest timber. When day dawned, they were ten miles from the river and their danger was greater than ever. The Indians were patrolling the stream, on the watch for just such attempts and the prairie grass was so short that it was impossible for the scouts to advance without exposing themselves. The only way to escape capture was to conceal themselves and wait for night.

“Sweeping the surrounding prairie, they observed a spot where the grass was about a foot higher than the rest. With the utmost care they crept to it and found it just the place they wanted. The dead body of some animal had acted as a fertilizer, causing the grass to grow with more vigor and density than elsewhere. The bones were those of a buffalo whose flesh had disappeared long before.

“Lying down in this hiding place, the scouts munched the slight meal they had brought with them, and then peeped out at their surroundings, which were anything but reassuring. Indian horsemen seemed to be moving on all sides, and the sound of firing from up the river showed that fighting had been renewed. Neither of the scouts dared rise from a prone position, and were in constant danger of discovery. If some of the sharp-eyed redskins detected the trail leading from the river, they were certain to follow it to the clump of grass.

“Trudeau and Stillwell agreed to take turns in sleeping and watching for every three hours. Trudeau was the first to act as sentinel. He lay upon his side, took a big chew of his army plug tobacco, and peeped between the blades of grass, while his companion slept. Before long Trudeau saw a sight which was so alarming that he awoke his companion. Twenty Indian horsemen were approaching and were sure to pass very close to the clump of grass, even if they did not ride through it.

“Stillwell peeped out and said:

“‘We’ve got to hug the ground close, but if they see us, they’ll find out we come high.’ ‘You bet,’ replied Trudeau and the two grimly waited events.

“The Indians seemed to have no special business, and rode so slowly that it was a long time before they reached the point only a hundred yards away. It was at this critical moment that a feeling of impending danger caused Stillwell to turn his head. As he did so, he saw an immense rattlesnake gliding through the bones of the dead buffalo and coming straight toward them. It looked as if the scouts had invaded the reptile’s home, for he did that which my pet did not do—he advanced upon them with the intention of attack.

“The first thought of the men was to shoot or to club him to death with the stocks of their rifles, but any such act would have revealed their presence to the Indians now close at hand. The next thought was to stare the snake out of countenance as the rattler himself sometimes does with his victims. Stillwell made the attempt, but without any success. The snake meant business.

“The rattler came straight forward until within four feet of Trudeau, when he began coiling to strike. Not a moment was to be lost, and Stillwell made up his mind to shoot the reptile. He preferred death at the hands of the redskins to that from the bite of the rattler.

“For a minute or two, however, the jaws of Trudeau had been vigorously working on the tobacco in his mouth. He had accumulated a volume of spittle, surcharged with nicotine. He was nearer to the snake than his companion, and he now shot out a thick yellow stream, as if from the nozzle of a hose. It landed directly in the eyes and mouth of the rattler, as he was almost in the act of striking.

“Well,” said Lieutenant Decker, with a smile, “that particular serpent had never learned to chew, and the pungent stuff in his eyes and mouth must have disgusted him to fury. He had never been attacked with that sort of ammunition and it threw him into a panic. He flung himself out of his coil a good deal quicker than he entered it, and, turning tail, glided through the grass and out of sight with such celerity that the scouts, despite their dangerous situation, shook with silent laughter.

“Their mirth did not last long, for the Indians were so near that discovery seemed inevitable. Lying as flat as they could, and wishing they had the power to stamp themselves into the earth, the scouts knew that a minute or two would decide their fate. Capture by the Indians meant death by torture, and they held their rifles tightly grasped, resolved that if the worst came they would prove the truth of Stillwell’s boast that they ‘came high.’

“The redskins, however, were not making for the clump of grass. They rode past, the horses on a walk and so close that their hoofbeats and the mumble of their voices were plainly heard, but they did not stop and that particular danger was over.

“Trudeau and Stillwell alternately watched and slept until night came again. The rattler was too sick of his reception to bother them further, and not once did the Indians approach so near as in the early forenoon. When the coast was clear, the two stole out from their hiding place and resumed their journey to Fort Wallace, walking rapidly and often breaking into a trot. They were tough fellows who could keep this up for hours, and, knowing the extremity of their friends on the island, they did not spare themselves. They reached Fort Wallace and quickly made known the need of sending instant help to Major Forsythe.

“Such an appeal is never made in vain, and Major Bankhead was soon on the way with four troops of cavalry. The Indians tried to jump his camp twenty miles from the Arickaree, but failed, and, without waiting to give battle, the whole band retreated. Major Forsythe and what was left of his command were saved.”[1]

“And it was your experience with the rattler a little while ago that called this incident to mind?” was the inquiring comment of Captain Freeman.

“Yes; I had not thought of it for a long time, but when I leveled my revolver and was about to pull trigger, the whole thing flashed upon me. I saw the similarity of my situation with that of Stillwell and Trudeau, though I was not in quite so bad a fix, for the rattler did not mean to attack me, if I let him alone, and there was but the single Indian that was looking for me. But to fire my pistol would undo what I had accomplished by my change of base.”

“You had other charges in the weapon, to say nothing of your Winchester, which was within reach.”

“It was not that, but the dusky dog would have known where I was and gained the advantage that was mine.”

“It did you no good.”

“On the contrary, it convinced him that I was up to his tricks and caused him to withdraw without any more attempts against me.”

During these minutes, the two maintained their watchfulness. The words were spoken in low tones, and, while the lieutenant was relating his reminiscence, he continually glanced from side to side. The fact that all remained tranquil confirmed the two in their growing belief that nothing was to be feared from the Apaches.

“It must be growing late,” finally remarked Freeman, “and Mendez, it seems to me, is overdue.”

The lieutenant drew out his watch, but the moonlight was not strong enough for him to discern the figures.

“I’m bound to know the time,” he said, removing his cap, so as to shade the light of the match which he drew from the small rubber safe he always carried and scraped it across the face of the rock.

“That’s risky business,” whispered his companion.

“That’s the reason I’m doing it,” replied the officer, speaking more truthfully than he suspected. “But it shan’t give much help to any of the fellows lurking near.”

Before the twist of flame could assume shape a puff of the breath extinguished it.

“It’s later than I suspected,” he remarked.

“I suppose it is near ten o’clock?”

“It’s a quarter to eleven.”

“It must be time to look for Mendez.”

“I think so, but there’s no certainty about it; he may be here in five minutes and not for five hours. I suspect he will delay his return for a considerable while.”

“For what cause?”

“You know there isn’t much chance of doing anything against Maroz and Ceballos for a long time yet, and there is no need, therefore, of his coming here and waiting for hours. He would have to lose sight of them for a good while, so that the conditions are likely to change very materially when he ventures on a move against them, whereas, by keeping the two under his eye until it was time to move, he could do so intelligently.”

“Furthermore, so long as he keeps beyond our reach we can’t urge him to a haste that is against his judgment.”

“Doubtless that has something to do with it, but—_st_!”

Both heard the same signal that had alarmed Freeman during the afternoon, when he believed he was inextricably caught. They listened for its repetition, but the next few minutes were marked by perfect stillness. Then, when they whispered their speculations about its import, they disagreed as to the point whence it came.

Freeman thought it was from the direction of the rivulet, where they had quenched their thirst, but the lieutenant was positive that it issued from a spot at right angles to that course.

“We’ll find out when we hear it again, as we shall do in a few minutes.”

“Do you think it is Mendez?”

“Yes, but it won’t do to bank on it until we get further data; it’s the favorite signal of his to announce his coming, but no doubt others of his people use a similar call. If it is he he will come right to this spot—ah, you are right!”

So it proved. The gentle whistle sounded again and this time there could be no mistaking its source; it was about half way between the rock and the rivulet or spring.

“Don’t forget that it may be some one else; if so, leave him to me,” said the officer, stealthily drawing his revolver; “I’ve been disappointed so many times to-day that I am entitled to this chance—there he is!”

The outlines of an Apache warrior silently assumed shape in the dim moonlight, and another “disappointment” fell to the lot of Lieutenant Decker, who returned his weapon to its place as he recognized Mendez, when he uttered a single word of greeting.

It takes a great deal to rouse the emotions of an American Indian, but if ever there was an amazed warrior it was this White Mountain Apache. He had visited the camp of Maroz and Ceballos and the discovery he made was one that fairly carried him off his feet, and which, when related to Maurice Freeman and Lieutenant Decker, held them dumfounded with astonishment.

[1] This incident is a fact.