Chapter XXVI: A Surprise Indeed

Mendez, the White Mountain Apache and friend of the whites, possessed mental gifts above most of his race. More than once he had displayed a grasp of details and a comprehension of plans rarely shown by his people, and which were so unexpected to the officers on the reservation that they were filled with admiration. They trusted more to his skill and perception than they did to any other of the dusky scouts.

He had little to say, immediately after the outbreak of Maroz and Ceballos, but those who knew him were sure his active brain was at work, and that, sooner or later, he would surprise them by some exploit that proved an almost intuitive knowledge of the schemes of the hostiles.

The part he acted during the day of the revolt of Maroz and Ceballos has been told. Lieutenant Decker, who was his constant companion, afterward stated that from the moment he rode out from Fort Reno with him and the three cavalrymen, he did not utter twenty words, and those that fell from his lips were mostly in answer to inquiries, while the majority remained unanswered.

It is to be presumed that Mendez was satisfied with the steps taken to head off Maroz and his confederates, for, had it been otherwise, he would have protested. But the effort failed, and then the fellow found use for his tongue. He was freely consulted by the colonel, and the steps that were taken to subdue the outbreak were materially modified to meet the views of the sagacious Mendez.

No member of the hostiles knew more about the fastnesses of the Apache range than did he. He read in the display of the signal smoke and the actions of the band that had slain the family of Captain Murray an attempt to mislead the whites as to their true purpose. Instead of rendezvousing at the advanced point, where from their actions it would be supposed they had arranged to come together, they fixed upon a wild, precipitous gorge nearly two miles further in the mountains.

Locating there and keeping vigilant watch against surprise the leaders would send out their runners and bring in all the disaffected warriors that could be persuaded to take the risk of another revolt against the authorities. When they were fully assembled they would burst from the mountains like a cyclone and spread woe and death among the ranches and settlements over an area of hundreds of square miles.

To crush this rebellion in the bud was the work of the soldiers, and enough has been told to show that it was a task most difficult of accomplishment. How could the brave boys in blue hope to surprise the camp of the hostiles, when they were prepared for such an attempt and were certain to take every possible precaution against it?

Evidently there was but one way and even that offered scant probability of success. By taking the direct trail of the raiders and following it into the mountains every rod of advance would become known to the Apaches. They would form their ambush, empty many a saddle and scatter the survivors in dismay. It was for just such a campaign that the hostiles planned and which they believed was to be attempted against them.

It is not insisted that, but for Mendez, this course would have been adopted. The intelligent officers and soldiers of the Southwest learned fast, and speedily became adepts in the subtlety of Apache warfare. They learned how to ambuscade their dusky foes as well as to avoid the traps set for them, and the fight was often that of cunning against cunning, rather than bravery against bravery.

The colonel, however, willingly based his course of action on the belief of Mendez that the rendezvous of the hostiles had been fixed at a certain point among the foothills, which he described and located so clearly that the other White Mountain scouts recognized the spot, and were able to guide the troops unerringly to it, by a route which would allow them to use their horses for most of the distance.

Fort Reno, standing on the western bank of the Tonto, is fully twenty miles north of the Salt River, a principal tributary of the Gila. Instead of riding eastward toward the Sierra Ancha, which would have been the most direct route, the cavalry swept down the valley of the smaller stream, crossed the larger, and then headed eastward toward the Apache range, passing to the south of Grape Vine Spring, and fording Pinal Creek, which flows directly northward into the Salt River.

Under the guidance of the Indian scouts, this was carried out with perfect success, the cavalry entering the foothills from an unexpected point, and stealing their way toward the Apache camp without detection from the enemy.

But the ride was a tremendous one, covering as it did a distance of more than fifty miles. It was not begun until the afternoon was well along, and when daylight dawned much was still before them. They were forced to halt to rest their exhausted animals and to prepare for the more delicate and dangerous work before them.

Meantime Mendez and Lieutenant Decker were doing their part well. Accompanied by a squad of half a dozen cavalry, they crossed Salt River at a point where they were certain of being seen by the hostiles, riding here and there, apparently in a blind search for the trail. They were ordered to keep this up until night, and then recross at different points, come together on the northern bank and return to the fort.

It will be understood that the object of this diversion was to deceive the hostiles as to the real plan of campaign. It was sought to make them believe the pursuit and attack would come from the front, whereas, the cavalry were at that very time making all haste to reach the rear of their camp.

The members of the smaller party found their way in due time to the fort, with the exception of a couple—Mendez and Lieutenant Decker. They stayed behind and pushed matters on their own account.

Their purpose was altogether different from that of Captain Shindle and the others, for they could not hope to accomplish anything effective against the hostiles: they were aiming to help Maurice Freeman to recover his boy.

As the lieutenant had stated, Mendez knew and told him that the father would do precisely what he did do, and that, unless he was checked, he would fall a victim to Apache ferocity, without affording the slightest aid to his child. Freeman had made the natural mistake of believing the hostiles would rendezvous at a point much further in advance than they did. Some of their scouts would be there, on the watch for the approach of the whites, and the chance of the father’s circumventing them was as one in a million.

The lieutenant and the scout, having completed all they could do in the way of diverting the suspicion of the Apaches, now gave their whole energy to the help of the stricken parent.

The whole question narrowed down to that of the whereabouts of the captive, and whether it was possible to secure possession of him unharmed. Mendez suspected that Maroz and Ceballos, with probably one or two companions, were at the advanced position referred to, but whether they retained the immediate custody of the child, or had sent him further into the mountains with the main band, or had put him to death, were questions which could be answered only by personal investigation.

The natural conclusion was that the first proceeding of the leaders in the outbreak would be to send the child away from them, not only as a surer means against his recapture, but to leave his abductors untrammeled in their movements. Such, I say, was the natural theory, but the sagacious Mendez saw a reason for hoping that the reverse was the case; in other words, that matters were just as it was desired they should be.

Maroz was irrestrainable in his ferocity when aroused. No crueler savage ever lived. He carried off little Fulton Freeman, because he saw the chance of torturing his parents’ hearts with deeper grief by doing so than by driving a bullet through his brain. He helped to shoot down the children of Captain Murray, because their father and mother fell during the opening of the scrimmage, and, therefore, they could not be distressed further; but he recognized the son of Freeman and saw his opportunity.

To turn the little fellow over to the other Apaches back in the mountains would be to relinquish, for a time at least, control of his fate. There were turbulent spirits with the main band who were likely to insist on their own views as to what should be done with him. It was not improbable that these would conflict with the purposes of Maroz and cause him keen disappointment.

It cannot be denied that this was theorizing matters down to a fine point, but it was the theory upon which Mendez acted in his attempts to help Maurice Freeman in his extremity.

The correctness of his belief in the first instance was proven by his discovery of the white man near where he expected him to be. Not intending to be hampered by the movements of the anxious parent, his first step was to pilot him to a safe point, and leave him in the company of the lieutenant until such time as their services should be needed—a contingency that, as the Apache viewed it, was so remote as to be almost out of sight.

Parting from them, as has been described elsewhere, Mendez began one of the most difficult tasks of his life: it was that of locating not only Maroz and Ceballos, but the young captive. That had to be done before the still harder work of rescuing the little one should be attempted.

It is not worth while to follow the wonderful scout, step by step, in his approach to the camp of the hostiles. It may be described as the absolute perfection of woodcraft—noiseless, unerring, and as direct as that of the bloodhound on the trail of the fugitive. As the gloom closed him in, and the black eyes lost half their function, his advance showed hardly any diminution, for he was never at a loss as to the course to take.

But there came a time when he was within a stone’s throw almost of the spot he had fixed upon as the right one that his phantom-like progress was checked. The slow, silent, gliding motion ceased and the dusky scout stood motionless.

At that moment he was among the stunted pines, where the moonlight was so faint that his keen vision could penetrate only a short distance in any direction, but the conviction was strong upon him that some person was near. He had not seen or heard anything to impart such knowledge, but that peculiar sense known by the name of intuition was as unmistakable as sight or hearing could have been.

Sure enough, while gazing to the right, he outlined the figure of an Apache warrior, standing as quiet as himself, in a spot where the dim illumination would have been secure protection against any eyes except those of Mendez. The figure remained stationary only a few seconds when it vanished among the trees in the direction of the camp of the hostiles.

As it moved off the friendly scout received a shock, caused by observing a resemblance to one whom he had known before, and who was the last person in the world he expected to see. The emotion, however, was transitory, and, waiting but a minute or two, he resumed his stealthy approach to the camp.

A few steps further and he caught the twinkle of a fire among the trees, and he had only to put forth the matchless caution he had displayed from the first to gain sight of that which he was so desirous of seeing.

There was a small fire of broken sticks kindled against the face of a boulder, and in front of it was an Apache warrior stretched on the ground in a lazy attitude, smoking his pipe and seemingly half asleep, as he gazed thoughtfully at the embers; but Mendez needed no one to tell him that every sense of the fellow was on the alert, and that the slightest misstep on the part of the scout would bring him to his feet like a flash.

It was Ceballos who lolled in this fashion, and he was the only Indian in sight. His companion or companions were absent, doubtless on the lookout for the approach of the soldiers, who had been observed hovering on the trail during the afternoon. Mendez scanned every portion of his field of vision, but Ceballos was alone.

That he had friends near, however, was proven the next minute when a call, similar to that used by the friendly scout, sounded among the trees. Instantly the Apache came to a sitting posture, with his head turned partly sideways, in the attitude of intense attention.

Then he answered the signal in the same guarded manner, and looked to the left, whence a second figure emerged, with the noiselessness of a shadow. As the firelight fell upon his face, Mendez recognized Maroz, the fierce Apache, who had led the revolt and whose hands were already stained with crime.

He bent down by the fire, lit his pipe, coolly seated himself beside his companion, and the two began talking together.

It was all important that a part at least of their words should be overheard, since they were sure to help materially in gaining the knowledge which the White Mountain Indian was seeking. Their voices were low, but it was rather in obedience to custom than through fear of any eavesdroppers. The stillness was profound, and the listener was able to catch enough of the words to hold the drift of conversation.

The result was a remarkable confirmation of his own wisdom, for it proved that the couple had placed themselves in this position, near the trail leading into the mountains, to detect the approach of the soldiers, and to give notice to the band, that they might fully prepare to receive them. Maroz and Ceballos speculated as to whether their pursuers had formed any suspicion of the truth, and were making their advance with such care that they would not reach the spot until midnight or later. Nothing, however, that was overheard showed that they suspected the cavalry would try to steal to the rear of their camp; they looked for them over the direct route, as it may be called.

But the great question, after all, remained unanswered. Where was the boy that these vagrants stole from the destroyed home of Captain Murray? Inasmuch as he was not in sight, it was fair to presume he was with the main band, further in the mountains. Mendez suspected this was the fact, but he was not prepared fully to believe it until proof was given. It need not be said, therefore, that he listened with the closest attention to the words of the couple.

But the minutes passed without affording a hint of the information he was after. Neither Maroz nor Ceballos referred to the lad, but talked about the soldiers, whom they were expecting, and who they were anxious should come. The two took turns in moving back over the trail, so as to prevent any possible surprise, and their presence together was intended for only a short time, and came about because they were quite sure their pursuers would wait until the night was further along.

All at once Mendez caught a reference to the child, but the usually stolid fellow was roused to the point of exasperation by the action of Maroz, who, at the moment he made the remark, shifted his position so as to turn his face directly away from him. Ceballos imitated the movement in order to accommodate him, so interfering with the sounds of their voices that Mendez could not identify a word, even though all were uttered in the same tone as before.

No more trying situation can be imagined than that of the scout, who, on the threshold of information, found the door shut in his face. It was evident that the couple were uttering the very sentences he wished to hear, and it was equally evident that he could not hear them so long as the relative position of the parties remained the same.

Instead of waiting in the hope that they would make another move that would favor him, Mendez promptly took the only course that offered hope; he moved round to the other side of the camp, so as to place himself in front of his enemies.

This was a task of such extreme delicacy that he stealthily withdrew until beyond sight of the little blaze. With all his wonderful woodcraft he dared not attempt the circuit while so near to camp, nor, great as was his impatience, did he allow himself to be unduly hurried.

But he was expeditious, and striking the right point he again advanced, catching the glimmer of the fire before he had gone a dozen steps in a straight line.

It was a night of surprises, and the greatest of his life now came to him.

Maroz and Ceballos held the same position as before and were talking apparently about the captive, concerning whom the spy was anxious to secure information; but a third Indian was present. He must have come during the few minutes the scout was out of sight of camp. His coming was as skillful as that of Mendez himself, for he had heard and seen nothing of him. That singular intuition which revealed the presence of another, when invisible to the eye and inaudible to the ear, was not always with Mendez, or he would have discovered his approach.

The new arrival was standing erect, between the couple on the ground and the fire, with his back toward the latter. He was talking, and while holding his rifle in one hand gesticulated with the other. The same indefinable something in his appearance and manner told Mendez that he was the warrior whom he had seen a short time before.

But the face of the Apache was in shadow, and for several minutes he could not identify him. At the end of that time, however, he suddenly turned, so that the firelight fell upon his countenance. And then, as Mendez looked, he recognized him as Cemuri, his companion of years, whom he was certain was slain by Maroz within the preceding twenty-four hours.