Chapter VI: Apache Cunning

Enough has been told to prove the surpassing cunning of the two White Mountain Apaches who served as scouts. Once they had been among the fiercest of the followers of the fearful scourge of the border and were fully trained in his ways.

Captain Freeman was an old campaigner and had lived sufficiently long in Arizona to learn much of the methods of the hostiles, while Lieutenant Decker had made the matter his study for weeks.

And yet, despite all this and the fact that each one of the four knew that the Apache leader and his warriors were doing their utmost to lure the horsemen to their ruin, the red men came within a hair of doing so.

Only by the merest chance or accident or providence, as it may be termed, was the ingenious scheme detected in time to thwart it.

Naturally the eyes of the three horsemen in the background were fixed upon Decker and Geronimo, with glances at the warriors beyond, who were in direct range of vision, and who were watching events with apparently the same interest.

What induced Maurice Freeman to withdraw his gaze from his young friend and their enemies he could never explain, but he did so for a single instant, looking to the left of the ridge, and somewhat toward the spot where the four had been in consultation when they first discovered the Apaches. His eyes were roving over this sandy stretch when he saw something move. At first glance it was as if some burrowing animal had stirred a hummock of sand, while the animal itself was underneath and out of sight.

Wondering what it could mean, and vaguely suspecting mischief, Freeman forgot the lieutenant and Geronimo for a minute, while he watched the strange manifestation.

To his amazement, several places in the sand were similarly agitated, the disturbance showing that whatever caused it was approaching the horsemen.

Suddenly the truth flashed upon Freeman. The curious movement was caused by several Apache warriors, who, it may be said, were burrowing their way like moles through the sand, and making so little display of what they were doing that even Mendez and Cemuri did not detect them, and only the merest accident, as has been shown, revealed the dangerous artifice to Freeman.

The Apaches had but to approach a little closer, when they would secure an aim which would empty every saddle.

“Lieutenant!” called Freeman, “we must retreat at once or we’ll be surrounded!”

Decker did not pause for an explanation, but whirled his horse and came tearing back on a dead run. Before he could rejoin his comrades, they were on the move, the scouts, now that their fears were aroused, having been quick to learn the nature of the peril.

The flight was so sudden that the Apaches, stealing up in this ingenious manner, did not suspect the meaning of the sudden flight until all four had ridden some distance. Then the miscreants, of whom there were four—just enough to carry out the scheme—still groveling in the sand, took quick aim and fired at the fleeing horsemen.

This time one of the bullets passed through the fleshy part of Cemuri’s thigh, inflicting a painful wound, though he made no reference to it, and it was not discovered by his companions until some time later.

It may be admitted that only one fact saved the four from death. Each was mounted on a horse, the equal if not the superior of any ridden by the Apaches, although, as is well known, those people are always provided with good animals when on their raids. If pursued, they have the advantage of fresh horses, continually renewed while on the run before a superior body of pursuers.

The parties had been too near each other, and without giving any time to discussion or consultation, the four devoted the next fifteen minutes or half an hour to skurrying off as fast as they could. Finally, thanks to the fleetness of their animals, they drew rein and dropped to a walk.

Before this the Apaches had discovered that it was useless to try to overtake the little party and had given up the attempt. For the present nothing was to be feared from them.

“There is reason to believe they will not push any further eastward,” said Freeman, giving expression rather to his hope than his conviction.

“Why do you think that?”

“They have learned that their presence is known in this neighborhood and that a force will be sent out from the fort, if it has not already been sent—halloo!”

The speaker, happening to glance at Cemuri, was shocked to observe the startling effects of his wound. The exclamation of Freeman caused the others to note the same, and the horses came to a halt.

“That looks bad,” remarked the lieutenant; “let me examine it.”

“Huh! no hurt—soon be well,” said Cemuri, with a look of contempt, and displeased at the expressions of sympathy.

“It may get well if it’s attended to,” was the comment of Decker, who insisted upon an inspection of the hurt.

It did not seem to be dangerous, but it was clear that it required attention. From the clothing of different ones were torn sufficient bandages to stanch the flow, and despite the indifference of the scout he must have felt extreme pain.

“I remember just such wounds in the army,” commented Freeman; “little was thought of them at first, but many a death came from their neglect.”

“His people are tough and have little faith in surgery.”

“Which may all be the case and not affect the truth of what I have stated.”

When the rude service was finished, the lieutenant said:

“Cemuri, you must go to the fort as soon as you can.”

The dusky face showed anger and the scout shook his head.

“Me no pappose—me warrior—me scout!”

“And a very good one too—so good that we want to save your services to us. I don’t believe that wound will kill you, old fellow, unless it is neglected, but it is going to lay you up for a time. You won’t be able to do yourself justice till your leg gets well, and that will take place sooner at the fort than in the saddle.”

Cemuri looked appealingly at Mendez. Why did he remain mute and not come to his relief? His opinion would have great weight.

But Mendez shook his head.

“Leg no good, for one—two—tree—many days—go to fort—do what _he_ say.”

The last prop knocked from under him, the brave fellow submitted. He was sullen, and without a word started his horse eastward toward Fort Reno.

“I meant to give him some orders,” remarked the officer with a laugh; “for the colonel ought to know the particulars, but the fellow is huffy.”

“He will give the colonel all the news, have no fear about that.”

When Cemuri had ridden some distance, and had time to rally from the irritation into which he was thrown by the command of the young officer, he must have felt that it was all for his good. He was suffering much; he had lost strength and was so weak, despite his indurated frame, that he felt dizzy and weak, with occasional spells when it was hard to keep in the saddle.

Night was drawing on, and he could not hope to reach the post until long after darkness had come. But his horse was strong and fleet, and such a thing as failure to complete his task did not enter his thoughts.

The stream which had been in sight so long now made a sharp curve northward, so that it was speedily left out of sight. The ride to the post was over the same open plain which had been traversed most of the day. The sky was clear and the moon rose early, making the ride as pleasant as if the sun were shining.

The American Indian, as all know, can bear with equanimity more suffering and grievous wounds than his white brother, but there is of necessity a limit to the toughest frame that nature ever put together, and Cemuri, the White Mountain scout, began to suspect that he had struck or was about to strike that limit.

He had ridden less than three miles at a swinging gallop when he drew his horse down to a walk; the jolting of the speedier gait was unbearable. As he made the change of pace, he first looked around to be sure no one saw him. Then he gave expression to his views in the form of an English expletive, altogether too vigorous to be recorded in these pages.

In one respect the scout was specially favored: his pony was not only well trained, but possessed unusual intelligence. He had given his master warning many a time of the approach of danger and he now did it once more.

The slow, steady walk through the soft sand was suddenly checked, the pretty head elevated, the ears thrown forward, and a slightly vigorous expiration followed through the silken nostrils, yet not loud enough to be heard a dozen yards away.

There was but one possible interpretation of this demonstration, and the rider knew on the instant what it was. Had he been himself, he would have remained in the saddle, but he was in no condition to make a fight, and he deftly dismounted, despite the stinging pain caused by moving his limb.

No sooner were his feet on the ground than his pony lay down. His purpose was to lessen his danger of discovery by an approaching enemy or stranger. Cemuri knelt beside him with rifle ready for instant use.

Hardly had these precautions been taken, when two shadowy horsemen, barely visible through the gloom, entered the field of vision and immediately passed out again. They came from the direction of the fort and were riding toward the little party of Lieutenant Decker. They were Indians, and, though Cemuri could not be absolutely certain in the gathering darkness, he was convinced that they were Maroz and Ceballos, two Apaches whom he thoroughly distrusted.