Chapter IV: Geronimo

Having descended the elevation to meet his three friends, Captain Freeman, like them, was on a broad open plain, which bore some suggestion of a valley. For a mile to the westward a ridge rose to a height of several hundred feet. On the other side of this ridge and close to it, wound a tributary of the Salt River. The stream was narrow, but of uncertain depth, being shallow in many places, while in others it could be crossed only by swimming.

To the westward the sandy plain extended, slightly undulating, until it faded from view in the distant horizon. Ten miles to the northeast was Fort Reno, and at a somewhat less distance, and almost due south, in the Sutra Valley, were the ranches of Captain Freeman and his friend Captain Murray, a Union veteran of the war. The two were strongly attached to each other and their families were intimate.

The reader will note the peculiar condition of things. If Geronimo or any of his fierce Apaches made a raid into the section, they would come from the westward, that is from the direction of Prescott or Phœnix, or possibly from the south. Should they succeed in passing the scouts that were out searching for them, the country to the east would be exposed, and in that section were a number of families, besides the two already named.

The great point, therefore, was to prevent the red men from penetrating so far to the east. If they could be checked or turned back, the scattered settlers would be safe but if the subtle and merciless warriors flanked and passed in behind the soldiers and scouts, serious mischief was sure to follow.

Tidings that Geronimo had left the reservation and was on the war path was brought to Fort Reno by Mendez and Cemuri, who had caught glimpses of several of the terrible raiders. It must not be supposed that the colonel at the post contented himself with sending out Lieutenant Decker and the two scouts alone, for that would have been a piece of folly which the experienced Indian fighter could not have committed. The supposition was that twenty at least of Geronimo’s savage followers were ranging through the country, and fully that number of white men and scouts were seeking to checkmate them.

Decker and his two White Mountain guides formed only one of several parties engaged on the same business. These parties expected to keep within signalling or communicating distance and to join forces, should it become necessary.

It has been said that while Lieutenant Decker and Captain Freeman were holding their brief, spirited conversation, the two friendly Apaches, sat their horses a short distance back, taking no part in what was said, and for a time not even speaking to each other.

It would have been an interesting study, however, could any one have watched them. They continually turned their heads, as if trying to decide from what point of the compass, some slight almost indistinguishable sound came. Their fine sense of hearing was supplemented by a vision trained to the highest conceivable point, and the keen black eyes were scarcely at rest for an instant. Here, there, everywhere the penetrating glances shot, flitting from point to point so quickly that it would seem they could not grasp anything in their field of vision. All the same, however, nothing escaped them.

It should be said that each of the four men was heavily armed. Freeman and the young officer carried respectively a fine Winchester and revolver, while the scouts had a formidable knife apiece in addition to those weapons. The officer was in uniform, with his sword, and Freeman’s costume suggested that of the professional cowboy, with the broad-brimmed hat, loose, flowing shirt, cartridge belt, excellent accouterments for his horse and large spurs for himself.

—_The Young Scout._]

Mendez and Cemuri made some pretense of wearing civilized costume, though their clothing could hardly have found a purchaser at a second-hand sale. They never covered their heads, the long, coarse black hair dangling about their faces and shoulders, with occasionally a stained feather projecting from the crown. No paint disfigured the countenances, which in fact could not have been made to look uglier, but they had the cartridge belt, trousers and leggings of the cowboy, most of which they would have been glad to dispense with, but respect for the prejudices of their white brethren forbade.

Mendez was glancing toward all points of the compass, in that quick, fitful way named, when he suddenly fixed his eyes on the ridge to the westward. The fact that he did not change his gaze for fully a minute was proof that something had attracted his suspicion, and the faint exclamation which followed was proof that an additional discovery had been made or that the suspicion had become conviction.

The two white men instantly ceased talking and looked at him. He did not turn his head, but peered with the same intensity as at first.

“What do you make of it, Mendez?” asked the lieutenant.

“Huh! ’Pache ober dere,” was the reply, accompanied by a pointing of his dusky finger at the ridge.

The other three were gazing in the same direction. Whether Cemuri was equally fortunate could not be decided, for he gave no sign. Neither the lieutenant nor captain detected anything with the naked eye. The former drew out his fieldglass and directed it at the point of interest, holding it leveled for several minutes.

The ridge like the plain was of sand. Not so much as a mesquite bush was to be seen in any direction. Here and there grew a species of sand grass, which seems to thrive where there is no earth nourishment, while an occasional prickly cactus added to the desolateness of the scene. There was nothing, therefore, to interfere with the vision in any direction.

“I’m blessed if I can see anything unusual!” exclaimed the lieutenant, passing his instrument to Freeman, with the remark, “Maybe you can do better.”

But the elder was no more successful than the younger. The latter turned to Mendez, upon whose face were the faint indications of a smile, and asked:

“What was it you saw?”

“One—two—tree ’Pache crawl up ridge—look ober—see dere eyes!”

It seemed incredible that the scout should have been able to detect this fact—if it was a fact—at that distance, and yet we have the record that Tycho Brahe, hundreds of years ago, did as well in the same line and his visual powers could not have received finer training than those of this White Mountain Apache.

“That won’t do,” remarked the lieutenant, smilingly shaking his head; “I had the record at the Point of being able to see a professor further than any of the cadets, but I wasn’t equal to that.”

“By heavens! he’s right!” exclaimed Freeman, who was still holding the instrument pointed toward the ridge; “_he_ doesn’t need a spyglass.”

“When you are through, let me try it again.”

Freeman handed the glass to the lieutenant, who, being shown the exact point toward which to direct it, did so with much doubt and misgiving as to the result.

“Just as I supposed!” he muttered impatiently; “all imagination——”

When he first used the instrument he saw nothing besides the bare, sandy elevation, but the words were yet in his mouth, when, on the very crest of the ridge, something resembling a crow came into sight. His first thought was that one of those birds or a buzzard had hopped up from the other side, and was peering over, but a moment’s scrutiny left no doubt that it was the head of an Apache Indian, for it could belong to no other tribe and act in this manner, the circumstances being as they were.

While Decker was studying the miscreant, who took care to expose only his forehead down to his eyes, a second head appeared at its side, the movements being precisely the same. The third, however, of which Mendez had spoken, did not show itself.

The hostiles must have believed their presence unsuspected, or at least not known of a certainty to the four horsemen, for they lay on their faces and peered for a long time over the crest of the elevation.

“I apologize, Mendez,” said the lieutenant in his cheery manner; “your powers of vision surpass anything I ever met. Will you please tell me when the Apache on the right winks his eye?”

The scout, however, was too dignified to pay attention to this attempted witticism. He gazed long and steadily at the two heads faintly showing, and then Freeman, who was watching his countenance, noted that his eyes were wandering along the ridge, evidently in search of other ominous evidence.

All at once his gaze was arrested. He was looking at a point fully a hundred yards to the right of where the crowns of the enemies had been discerned and had detected something.

“What is it, Mendez?” asked the lieutenant, bringing his glass again into use.

“’Pache,” was the response; “look dere!”

The scout was right, as Decker was quick to learn. In this instance, however, the buck did not content himself with simply peering over the elevation. He seemed to be creeping forward until he reached the crest of the ridge, when he raised the upper part of his body, so that his face and shoulders were in sight. In this posture he was evidently studying the four horsemen.

“Mendez,” said the lieutenant; “you have the best pair of eyes I ever heard of, but no person has eyes which cannot be helped by a glass like this. You know that as well as I, for I’ve seen you use a fieldglass. Now, since that buck off yonder isn’t afraid to show his ugly countenance, see what you can make of him with the aid of the instrument.”

The scout complied with the request. As the officer had stated the scout knew how to use the glass and it brought a revelation. He leveled it at that hard, wrinkled, peering countenance lifted above the distant ridge, and scrutinized it with the intensity of a man seeking to read his own fate.

Only a few moments were thus occupied, when he passed the instrument back to its owner who observed the peculiar half-smiling expression on his usually stolid countenance.

“Have you ever seen that buck before?” asked the lieutenant.

“Seen him—one—two—tree—hundred times.”

“Who is he?”

“Geronimo!”