Chapter VIII: Maroz and Ceballos

The faint signal had only the breadth of the stream to cross and was heard by the two men.

“It is Mendez,” repeated Decker in a whisper; “he brings important news.”

“Are you sure it is he?” was the guarded inquiry of Freeman, whose longer residence in that section of the Union and greater experience with the wily Apaches made him distrustful. The events of the preceding few hours especially warned him that it was impossible to use too much caution in dealing with their enemies.

“I am as sure as one can well be,” said the officer, who, it will be remembered, was not on his horse but standing beside him.

“If it be he why does he not come to us? The stream is not deep.”

“Perhaps he expects us to join him—sh!”

The call which had caught their attention a few minutes before was heard again.

“It will be the height of folly to attempt to reach the other bank while this uncertainty exists,” said Freeman; “I shall not do it.”

“Withdraw a short distance and wait for me.”

“Remember that those people have wonderfully keen eyes, and they may be able to distinguish us when we cannot see them. It is better for both to withdraw.”

“I will soon follow you if there’s anything suspicious.”

Freeman walked his horse a hundred feet from the stream, holding the bridle of the other animal as he did so. The lieutenant remained by the water’s edge, where, instead of keeping his standing posture, he knelt down on one knee, a position which lessened his chance of being observed by any foe on the other side.

Peering intently in the darkness, he was able to make out the shadowy figure of two and possibly three men standing motionless in the gloom, the view being so faint that at first he doubted whether he saw anything at all.

For the first time Decker made a cautious response to the signal, the same that had been employed by him and the White Mountain scout in previous instances of peril. Again it came across the water to him, and, but for the suspicious circumstances, he would have staked everything on its being emitted by the dusky lips of his friend.

“If it be an enemy,” he reflected, “I would give much to know where he got the call, but Mendez had no companions when he left us, and certainly there is more than one man standing on the other shore.”

Nature now came to the help of the lieutenant. The full moon was near the horizon, almost directly behind the opposite bank, and the slight illumination it flung into the sky revealed the forms of three persons so clearly that there could be no mistake.

“It’s a cunning trick, but it will not work this time, my good friends.”

Kneeling on one knee, the lieutenant took the best aim he could at the group and let fly with one charge from his Winchester.

This time the bullet sped true. One of the dusky forms leaped into the air with a screech and fell prostrate on his face, where he remained without rising.

“Geronimo’s band is short one member,” was the cool observation of Decker, who instantly changed his position to a prone one, in which he hugged the ground as closely as he could.

The precaution was not taken a second too soon. Quickly recovering from their shock, the other two Apaches fired at the point where they had seen the flash of the rifle, the missiles whistling so close that but for the act of the young man he must have been struck.

Decker proved his nerve by holding his position for several minutes. His hope was that his enemies in their exasperation would dash into the stream to cross to him, in which event he would have them at his mercy, but they were too wily for that. Instead of advancing, they retreated, evidently fearing another shot from the one who had outwitted them.

—_The Young Scout._]

Meanwhile Maurice Freeman was a prey to the gravest anxiety. Much as he admired his companion, he was almost certain that his rash bravery would involve both in fatal disaster. He questioned more and more the prudence of lingering in the neighborhood, when it was certain the Apaches were seeking their overthrow.

This uneasiness was intensified during the minute following the discharge of the lieutenant’s rifle by the proof that something was amiss. Both horses flung up their heads and sniffed, looking not toward the stream, but away from it.

“It’s a wonder we have escaped so long,” was the impatient thought of Freeman; “now we are going to catch it. Lieutenant,” he called, “come here at once.”

Decker heard the voice, but a moment before it reached him he had begun stealing from the stream, holding his crouching posture until beyond range of the sharpest-eyed warrior. He was within a rod or two of the horses, when called to, and vaulted instantly into the saddle.

“What is it, captain? Anything wrong?”

“The action of the animals shows that danger threatens, and in my opinion——”

“Sh?”

At the same instant the forms of two horsemen loomed to sight on the right. They came forward as silently as shadows, acting as if they saw nothing of the others, or, seeing them, counted them as naught.

“Halt!” commanded the lieutenant, “or I fire!” a proceeding which would have taken place had he not suspected the identity of the two.

“Huh! Maroz—Ceballos!” replied one of the Apaches, without checking his animal.

“They are friends,” remarked the officer; “they belong to the reservation and probably have been at the fort.”

“I know them,” remarked Freeman, “but do not include myself among their admirers.”

As Decker had remarked, Maroz and Ceballos were two Apaches who were frequently seen at Fort Reno. Two years before they were among Geronimo’s most ferocious followers, but, for most of the time since, had claimed to be, and indeed had conducted themselves like good Indians. Both were addicted to the use of “tiswin,” that decoction of fermented corn, which is amazingly quick to inflame the evil passions of an Indian to the highest degree.

Despite the professions of these two bucks, and the fact that nothing wrong was known against them, they had not the confidence of the colonel nor of most of the soldiers at the fort.

It will be understood, therefore, that neither Lieutenant Decker nor Maurice Freeman felt that degree of relief which would have been theirs had they known of a certainty that they were joined by two friends, for what can be more trying than the company of those whom we distrust amid the gravest possible peril?

Having announced themselves, Maroz and Ceballos immediately joined the two horsemen, who treated them as if certain they were friends.

“Why are you here?” asked the lieutenant.

“Geronimo somewhere,” replied Maroz, speaking for himself and his companion; “come with warrior—he burn ranch—kill white folks—white folks brothers of Maroz and Ceballos—dey help brothers.”

It was in the mind of Freeman to interpose with the question as to how these two had learned of the presence of the Apache leader, when until a few hours before it was unknown to the white scouts, but it would have been unwise at this point to let the two know they were not fully trusted.

“Where are our men?” asked Decker; “I have signaled but hear nothing of them; they ought not to be many miles away.”

“Maroz and Ceballos don’t know—dey somewhere.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if they were; nothing is more likely, but I would be glad if we could find the precise spot.”

It was evident the new arrivals were disappointed at not seeing some one else with the horsemen. It was Maroz who asked:

“Where Mendez—where Cemuri?”

Lieutenant Decker thought the situation warranted a little deception on his part.

“They are watching Geronimo and the rest; they may slay the chief before they come back to us.”

“Chief bad Injun—he kill much white folks—he dog—help kill him.”

This expression would have been comforting could the hearers have believed it honest, for it would have expressed their own sentiments.

“Yes—yes,” replied both, nodding their heads, for the moon having risen meanwhile, their faces were seen quite plainly.

“Well, all you have to do is to set about it. Some of the hostiles are on the other side of the stream and some are off yonder to the westward. Slip in among them and shoot all you can.”

It was evident this was not the part the two wished to play.

“We stay wid brother—we help him fight.”

“No, you won’t; we don’t want you; you can do no good here; we have sent Mendez and Cemuri away; you must go, too.”

The officer was so peremptory that the Apaches did not question him further. They glanced at each other, then, without speaking, set off with their ponies on a walk toward the stream now in plain sight.

To the surprise of Decker and Freeman, they drove their horses into the water and rode directly to the other side. Near the middle the animals sank to their flanks, but at no point were they forced to swim. Emerging they continued straight away until they faded from view.

“I don’t know whether it was wise to send them off in that style,” remarked the lieutenant, “but I don’t wish their company, even if they do claim to be friends.”