Chapter IX: Mendez, the Scout

When Mendez, the White Mountain Apache, left the company of Lieutenant Decker and Maurice Freeman he fully comprehended the perilous mission he had undertaken.

He had set out to learn and if possible help check the scheme of Geronimo and his strong party, who were pushing eastward toward the more fertile and better settled Sutra Valley, with the purpose of spreading fire, destruction and death wherever the opportunity offered. What could this single scout do to affect or hinder such a purpose?

Mendez dare not enter the camp of the hostiles, under the pretense of being a friend of the raiders. Geronimo and probably all his warriors knew the one that had done them so much injury, and if Mendez really wished to cast his lot with them, his allegiance would not be accepted. His offensive work would not admit of condonation.

Lieutenant Decker spoke the truth when he said that his faithful scout would never allow himself to be taken prisoner. He always kept one chamber of his revolver filled for that emergency, which, however, would have to be desperate, before he would apply the weapon to its last use.

The theory upon which the sagacious Mendez acted was that Geronimo’s plan was to sweep from his path the little company in his immediate front before carrying out his original scheme. He believed that these four were the only ones who had divined his purpose. If, therefore, they were “wiped out,” he could complete his terrific raid before an adequate force could rally in his front or cut him off. The destruction of the little party, therefore, was the present design of the invaders.

If the scout was right in his surmise, Lieutenant Decker had but to despatch Mendez in the opposite direction, the same that the wounded Cemuri had followed, in order to bring speedy help. Such would have been the plan of the dusky scout, but he was a man of silence, and made no attempt to gainsay his commanding officer, no matter how much his plans might conflict with his own judgment.

It should be said that Lieutenant Decker had partly followed the course which Mendez preferred, in that he had sent Cemuri off, not only to the fort, but with instructions to find if possible the rest of the cavalrymen or scouts who were abroad, and acquaint them with the situation. Should he succeed nearly all that was possible would be accomplished, but the scout feared the severity of his comrade’s wound would interfere with his usefulness.

However, dismissing all this from his mind, he set to work to carry out the delicate task before him.

The first step was to locate the invaders, who were not likely to separate at this stage of the proceedings, and here Mendez followed a theory of his own.

He believed the Apaches were not far off and that they would steal forward in the hope of outwitting and overcoming the white men. Nothing was clearer than that the scout was at great disadvantage so long as he remained on his horse. He would be not only more conspicuous than on foot, but would be stopped from using the remarkable skill with which nature and long training had equipped him. He, therefore, made a wide circuit on the sandy plain to the left, until certain he was beyond sight of any foe. Then he slipped to the ground.

His well-trained animal would not wander from the spot where he was left, and his owner was certain to find him near it, always provided no one else interfered with him. He patted his neck and allowed the intelligent creature to rub his nose against his shoulder. They understood each other.

Mendez now started to return over his own tracks, bearing slightly to the eastward, until he approached the stream. Then he paused.

The moon had not yet risen, but he knew it would soon appear, when still greater caution would be necessary in his movements. Stooping low he applied his ear to the earth, but heard nothing.

Bending low and stepping slowly—an easy thing to do on the sand—he pressed on until he reached the edge of the narrow, smoothly flowing stream. There he stood motionless for several minutes, debating whether to cross the creek or to push his reconnaissance where he was.

Standing thus, he heard a noise which, though faint, was easily identified. It was the whinny of a horse and it came from some point on the opposite bank. Geronimo and his band were there and he determined to cross to them.

The peculiar noise was not directly opposite, but somewhat to the right, that is, nearer to where he had left his friends. Nevertheless, the scout moved further down the stream before stepping into the water. He suspected it was sufficiently shallow to be forded, but was prepared to swim if need be. He held his Winchester above his head, stepping carefully into the current, which near the middle reached above his waist. From that point the depth decreased and he finally emerged, having waded all the way. He was now on the same side with the hostiles.

If detected, his situation was tenfold more dangerous than before, and more than likely that reserve shot in his revolver would be called upon. The hostiles could easily run him down with their horses and a plunge into the stream would not save him.

In order to hide his movements he sank upon his hands and knees and began creeping toward the spot whence came the horse’s neigh. A few rods were passed in this manner, when he caught sight of that for which he was searching. A group of horsemen were dimly outlined against the sky.

So far as he could determine, there were at least a dozen. No doubt the entire band had come together and were holding a consultation as to what course they should follow.

It would have been a most desirable thing could he have approached near enough to overhear their conversation, but that was impossible. He was certain to be discovered by the animals, if not the riders, and detection meant death.

He heard the murmur of their voices, but no syllable that could be comprehended reached the crouching figure in the sand.

Suppose they should turn their horses and ride toward him! He could only make a break for the stream and strive desperately for the other shore—a feat which it may be said was impossible of accomplishment, but this was only one of the many risks which a scout has to face when operating in Arizona.

From among the group three warriors emerged on foot. They did not advance toward the solitary figure in the sand, but took a diagonal course to the stream, whose bank they followed until hidden in the gloom. Mendez did not leave or move, but speculated as to the meaning of this singular action.

While still wondering, he heard the signal which Lieutenant Decker mistook for that of a friend.

Mendez was startled, for he recognized its perfect imitation of the call which he had used many times when scouting with the officer. He wondered by what means their enemies had obtained it, and concluded that it was one of those accidental occurrences, such as are seen when two ranchmen, widely separated, fix upon the same brand for their cattle.

The fact caused uneasiness, for the scout feared that it would mislead his friend, but nothing could be done to avert so disastrous a blunder. The officer must be left to his own shrewdness, which, as the reader has learned, proved sufficient for his protection.

Then came the rifle-shot and death cry of one of the hostiles. There could be no misinterpretation of that meaning, and the dusky scout smiled grimly as he reflected that another of the many schemes of the raiders had gone amiss.

If any doubt remained on that point, it was removed a few minutes later, when two warriors were descried returning, whereas three had left the group a short time before. The one stricken down had been allowed to lie where he fell.

It was at this juncture that Mendez became aware of a discomforting fact: the moon was rising and would soon shed a bright illumination over stream and plain. If he remained where he was, discovery was inevitable. He therefore began a cautious withdrawal from the perilous neighborhood.

He adopted a curious artifice. Instead of facing about and creeping away, he imitated the action of Geronimo’s horse some hours before, when confronting Lieutenant Decker. He backed toward the stream, a course which enabled him to keep an eye on his enemies in front.

He had passed half the distance, and was cautiously retrograding, when he experienced a shock. One of the mounted Apaches left the group and rode toward him!

Mendez ceased his motion on the instant and grasped his Winchester so as to aim and fire in a twinkling. His purpose was, if discovered, to shoot the buck from his pony, dash forward and capture his horse, or if that was not feasible, make a break to the stream and run for his own animal.

One of these desperate attempts assuredly would have followed had the horseman kept the course upon which he started, but he had gone only a little way when he made an abrupt change and approached the bank at a point almost as far removed from the scout as was the band of raiders.

This was a vast relief, and all fear would have departed but for the moon which was rapidly climbing the sky and shedding an effulgence that made it like daylight itself. Had the scout risen to his feet he would have been detected at once. He must continue prone and reach the stream in that posture or not reach it at all.

But it looked as if that solitary horseman was doomed to be his death after all; for, instead of crossing the creek or remaining where he was, he turned once more, and, as before, headed toward Mendez, who, believing the critical moment had come, braced himself for the struggle.