Chapter XXIX: Conclusion

It must not be supposed, from what has been related about Mendez, the White Mountain scout, that he was superior to the weaknesses peculiar to his race. That he was brave, loyal to the whites, cunning, full of resources and a consummate master of woodcraft, was conceded by his bitterest enemies; but while he possessed these admirable traits, it must be stated that he shared the unfortunate fondness of his people for intoxicants. At times he indulged in this love for the frightful decoction, “tiswin,” which, as has been made known elsewhere, is the product of fermented corn, and is one of the most villainous forms of “fire-water” conceivable.

Had Mendez related the particulars of the outbreak of Maroz and Ceballos, he would have stated that he, Cemuri and they were indulging their weakness and that, humiliating as the confession must have been, he fell more under its influence than any one of them. In fact, he was so far gone that his recollection of the affray was always exceedingly misty. He recalled that, like the explosion of a bombshell, the party suddenly became engaged in a fierce conflict, in which he was the principal offender, and in some way he was slightly wounded and then left alone. The facts that afterward came to light were of an interesting character.

It is a physiological fact that intoxicants remove the sense of moral restraint in a person, or, as it has been expressed, a man, when under their influence, will do that which he would do when sober if he dared; in other words, while in that condition he acts out his natural self.

This was the case with Maroz and Ceballos, who, though less helpless than Mendez, became so reckless that they threw off the mask they had been wearing so long, and showed themselves the ferocious miscreants they had always been. They cast aside all restraint, and, being more sober than Mendez, would have slain him but for the interference of Cemuri, who had more self-command than even they. He was able to refrain when he had barely tasted the fiery stuff, and with a subtlety like that of Mendez, when he was his own master, he convinced Maroz and his companion that he was with them in sentiment and would eagerly join in the outbreak.

He professed to have a grievance against the colonel at the fort, and was only awaiting the chance to repay it. He would have preferred to wait still longer, but since the couple were determined upon taking the warpath without delay, he was ready to risk everything.

That he succeeded in convincing the two of his earnestness was proof that he was as sagacious in some respects as his comrade for many years. He would not permit the latter, however, to receive any serious injury, and thus it was that the courageous fellow, who was literally helpless, was allowed to wander off in the darkness, with little more than a scratch, received from Maroz himself, who had meant to destroy him without mercy. Cemuri joined the rebels, displaying an ardor that surpassed, if possible, their own, and so well counterfeited that they were wholly deceived.

Mendez spent the night in sodden slumber, but became himself on the morrow. Brushing the cobwebs from his brain, and recalling the grotesque incidents of the night before, he found himself mystified to understand how it was he was alive and substantially unharmed.

It was a part of Cemuri’s far-reaching scheme to make it seem he was dead. By this means his opportunities for befriending the whites were increased. When, therefore, Mendez heard from others that his former companion had been slain and his body flung into the bush he doubted the truth of the statement no more than he doubted that Maroz and Ceballos were leading the formidable revolt. He leaped upon his pony and dashed to Fort Reno in all haste with the tidings. He was considerably mixed as to details, but his story was accepted with little questioning; and the measures were set on foot that have been made clear elsewhere.

Although Maroz and Ceballos had burned their bridges behind them, they were not sufficiently recovered from the effects of their debauch to undertake offensive movements before the morrow.

Enough has been told to give an idea of the emotions of the scout, when he recognized Cemuri in the camp of the hostiles, and saw him in friendly converse with them. Even his stolid nature was too startled to permit him to form a satisfactory explanation, until he had listened awhile to their conversation, and had managed to recall a little more clearly the events of the preceding evening. But it was not long ere he grasped the whole plot of his friend, whose peculiar mental qualities were better known to him than to any one else.

The first natural question was as to why Cemuri, if aiming to give the whites his individual aid, had deferred action until this late hour. There must have been many opportunities for striking an effective blow before this. It may have been, however, that he contemplated a grand _coup d’etat_ when matters should approach a crisis.

These and similar thoughts passed through the brain of Mendez, while standing too far back in the gloom to be detected, watching the party and listening to their conversation.

The words were disappointing to Mendez, for they gave him no knowledge not possessed before. They referred to the expected pursuit by the soldiers and the plan for ambuscading them, whenever they should penetrate far enough into the mountains to render the success of the Apaches beyond question. He heard nothing about the stolen child, and was, therefore, in as much ignorance of his fate or whereabouts as before.

The one indispensable step remained for Mendez to establish communication with his friend; that accomplished, and the prospects would become the brightest. But as matters stood, the task was beyond the skill of the wonderful scout. The most guarded signal that he could make was certain to be heard by the hostiles, at the same instant it reached Cemuri; and, instead of proving a help, must overthrow everything.

His only possible hope was that the party would break up by and by and leave Cemuri to himself. If that should take place, the object could be readily attained. The belief that something of the kind would occur held Mendez like a statue, during nearly all the long period he was absent from Lieutenant Decker and Mr. Freeman. He showed the patience of the Esquimau waiting by the air hole, in the ice for the appearance of the nose of the seal.

The experience of the scout was another illustration of the truth that everything comes to him who waits. After awhile Maroz stole away in the gloom, leaving the couple alone. By and by he returned and Ceballos took a hand. They reported that the soldiers were not yet near, and were likely to push their pursuit until the night was further along. All this time not the first reference, so far as Mendez could learn, was made to the little captive.

Then, when the scout was looking for Cemuri to start off on his reconnaissance, a fourth Apache suddenly appeared in camp. He was from the main body, further back in the mountains, and he remained a half hour, discussing business with the others, and making sure that no possible miscarriage could occur in the plan laid for the overthrow of their pursuers.

But the messenger finally left, and then Cemuri set out to look after matters, disappearing in the wood in the shadowy manner that his predecessors had done.

The opportunity had come at last, and it need not be told how Mendez improved it. He and his former friend met within a hundred yards of the camp, and that which has been told at the beginning of this chapter was made clear to the scout, confirming the suspicions he had formed while playing the part of eavesdropper.

All the information the latter sought was speedily given to him, and, parting from his companion for a time, he made his way to his other friends and told them the amazing story.

Maurice Freeman was so overcome that he was forced to sit down until he could regain mastery of himself. Even Lieutenant Decker lost his facetiousness for the time, and stood with open mouth and staring eyes, unable at first to ask the questions that rapidly took form in his brain.

Mendez was a little foggy, as before, in describing the occurrences of the preceding night, but the officer suspected the truth, which, if fully told, would have humiliated the brave fellow. He forbore to question him on the point, for it was of little importance.

Cemuri was not present at this interview, but was only a short way off, awaiting the return of his companion. Telling his friends that the two would soon be with them, Mendez withdrew, and they were again left to themselves.

“It is the most wonderful thing I ever knew,” remarked Mr. Freeman, in an awed tone; “in all my calculations and surmises, I never deemed this among the possibilities.”

“It would have been still more remarkable had you done so,” replied the lieutenant; “it begins to look as if you will recover your little boy.”

“I hardly dare believe it,” said the parent, with a shiver of anxious hope, “and yet why not?”

“I think I understand the _motif_ of those fellows in taking the extraordinary course they did. Maroz and Ceballos, I needn’t tell you, are among the worst Apaches that ever lived, and that is a tremendous statement. They saw that if they allowed the child to pass into the hands of the principal band, they must surrender control of him. In the complications likely to follow, it is not impossible that the others would agree to give him up, in order to save their own necks. That would be wise, but at the same time it would rob Maroz and Ceballos of their pet scheme of enjoyment.”

“It seems incredible that even an Apache should be so cruel.”

“There is nothing which human ingenuity can conceive that is too cruel for an Apache to do. This being so, they did not handicap themselves by keeping your child near them. They were liable to lose him, in the event of a sudden attack, before they could remove him, after the fashion that has been popular among the aborigines, ever since the Miss MacCrea episode, more than a hundred years ago.”

“How readily they might have ended the difficulty by putting him out of the way at once!” exclaimed the parent with a shudder.

“But for their cruelty of disposition, they would have done that. Such a course, however, must have robbed them of the exquisite happiness they are now feasting upon in imagination. So they carried the sleeping fellow, as tenderly as you could have done, to the place among the rocks, within a hundred feet of their camp. There they secured him against molestation from any prowling wild beast, believing he would sleep until morning, though it mattered little whether he did or not, since there is no way by which he could help himself.”

“If I only knew the place,” added the parent, half rising to his feet in his excitement, “I would go thither at once.”

“That is the reason Mendez gave us no hint of its location. I’m afraid, Freeman, he doesn’t rank you as being among the champion scouts of the country.”

“I never laid claim to that honor,” replied the man, with an earnestness that he would not have shown under other circumstances, “but it is so hard to wait—wait, when there’s no saying what obstacles may arise.”

“You must content your soul with patience as best you can, for Mendez is running this administration, and no one can do it better.”

The suspense was briefer than the lieutenant anticipated, though it seemed ten times its real length to the distressed parent. A gentle rustling, evidently made intentionally, caused both to turn their head.

There stood Mendez and Cemuri, and the former held in his dusky palm the dimpled hand of a little boy.

“Oh papa, is that you? Why did you leave me so long?”

“God be thanked!” was the fervent ejaculation of the delighted father, as he seized his child in his arms, pressed him to his breast and kissed him over and over again.

Fulton was sleeping soundly when released from his prison among the rocks, and Mendez started to carry him, but the disturbance awoke the child, and, seeing that he was feverish and frightened, his rescuer allowed him to walk at his side as he wished, while he led him to his father.

When a few minutes later the party was about to start northward, in the direction of the river, with the intention of picking up their ponies on the way, and seeing Maurice Freeman safe home again with his loved boy, Lieutenant Decker remarked:

“It seems to me we’re forgetting that we are not yet out of the woods; are we not in danger, Mendez, of being followed by Maroz and Ceballos?”

“_No!_”

While the little party were silently threading their way northward to the desolate home which, in due time, was illuminated with perfect joy by the return of the child that had been mourned as dead, Captain Shindle and his cavalry were pressing matters from a different direction. The severe ride deferred their assault on the Apache stronghold until later than was desired, but the diversion, described elsewhere, produced the best effects. Under the guidance of the other White Mountain scouts, the hostiles were so effectually entrapped that their overthrow was complete.

In the conflict that followed, half of them were destroyed by the cavalry, who knew it was mercy to the innocent that such heroic measures should be adopted. Those who were not exterminated were captured and taken back as prisoners to the fort.

The disastrous results of the outbreak speedily became known to all the hostiles on the reservation, Maroz and Ceballos, the leaders, being among the first victims to the vengeance they had invoked. The lesson was of the most salutary nature. Others were on the point of joining the hostiles, and, had a temporary advantage come to the band in the mountains, one of the most formidable outbreaks known in the history of the southwestern frontier would have followed, carrying in its train unutterable woe and suffering.

But the prompt measures of the cavalry, and especially the actions of Mendez and Cemuri, nipped it in the bud.

THE END.