Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp Part 6

"He sure did," she replied, striving in vain to keep her eyes from meeting his.

"Nancy," he demanded, "ain't you got nothing for me this grand Christmas morning?"

"What you wanting mostly?" her eyes fairly dancing with mischief and telling what her lips dared not.

A look of triumph swept over the man's bronzed face.

"You--an' I'm a-going to take it right here." He took a step toward her; she turned to run but with one bound he was at her side, caught her in his arms and fairly smothered her with kisses.

He drew back his head and looked deep into her eyes. "How about it?" he demanded.

"About what?" very archly.

He kissed her a dozen times before she replied. Nor did she seem to object to the action.

"You know the Christmas present I most want, Nancy."

He drew her closer to him, her arms found their way about his neck.

"Bill," she whispered in his ear, "you're an old darling, let's go up to the house and tell the news to sister."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Apache Squaw and Baby_]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"JUST REGULARS"

In the dark depths of an Arizona canon, with no light but that which came from the stars, a string of shadowy figures slowly worked its way through tangles of th.o.r.n.y mesquite and cat claw, over rocks and past great bunches of cactus which pierced hands and limbs wherever they touched.

If you looked closer, you saw that the figures were those of men, also horses and mules, most of the men leading their mounts, and here and there the yellow chevrons on some sergeant's blouse, or the broad yellow stripe on an officer's trousers showed them to be cavalry.

There was no talking or unnecessary noise. At times they were fairly on their knees fighting their way up some rocky steep; again they dropped down into the darkness, the well-trained animals following like goats.

At the head of the line, an officer, young in years but old in this kind of work, whispered occasionally to the veteran guide at his left.

Just ahead of him an Apache scout, stripped for the fight, a band of red flannel about his forehead, his body naked except for the white cotton breechclout ("the G string") about his waist, the peculiar moccasins of his tribe on his feet, led the way, like some bloodhound on the trail.

Out of the darkness ahead came the weird hoot of an owl. Three times did it sound. The scout listened till the last echo died away, and then, with his hands gathered about his mouth, answered the call.

Quietly he slipped away into the night, the command stopping where they were as the whispered order flew back along the line, each man sinking down to the ground, glad of the chance for the moment's rest.

The night was cold, although it was midsummer in a region where at noon the earth is baked and burned with the heat.

An hour pa.s.sed, and out of the darkness the Apache returned.

The quarry which they sought was not far ahead, and it was best to leave their animals and go the rest of the way without them.

Turning to the tall Sergeant behind him, the officer gave the orders for the movement, and back down the s.h.i.+vering, scattered line went the instructions: "Number fours hold the horses, every one else take all extra ammunition and their canteens and follow the column on foot."

Then came whispered pleadings from the unfortunate "number four men"

doomed to remain behind to guard the horses and the rear while the others went on into the darkness to--what? Perhaps death, perhaps a wound from a poisoned arrow; in any event plenty of hards.h.i.+p and suffering.

How those cavalrymen begged for the privilege of getting a hole shot through them. They urged the officers to cut down the rearguard and leave but a couple of men to look after the packs and horses.

"Very well, Sergeant," the commanding officer replied, well pleased when told of the men's desire to go with the fighting force, "leave three or four men to guard the animals and let the rest come on; G.o.d knows we are very likely to need them."

Then the Sergeant, knowing his men as a schoolmaster his pupils, left behind: fat Corporal Conn whose asthmatic wheezings and puffings had already brought forth many a muttered curse upon his head; Private Hill who couldn't see an inch beyond his nose in the dark and who had fallen over every bush and rock in the trail since they entered the canon; and two other men whose physical condition was such that he doubted their ability to make the climb which he knew was ahead of them.

Not one of these accepted the detail without as vigorous a protest as soldierly duty made possible. Bless you no! Each of them felt himself an object of especial pity, fat Conn even claiming that the higher he climbed the less the asthma troubled him.

Then the command once more drove into the blackness ahead, following the lithe Apache up a mountain side which seemed almost perpendicular.

Each man carried two belts of cartridges about his waist with a third swung from his shoulder. Most of them wore the Apache moccasin which gave forth no sound as they moved along.

At last they reached the summit of the mountain breathless and tired.

Before them was a mighty canon, the canon of the Salt River. To their left four granite peaks, the "Four Peaks" of the maps, pierced the skyline like videttes on guard over the canon.

From its bed, two thousand feet below, the dull murmur of the river, as it dashed along its rocky way, came softly to the soldiers' ears.

It was the dawning of December 27, 1872. The soldiers were a detachment of the Fifth United States Cavalry, Major Brown in command.

At a little spring some twenty miles away they had left their supplies and pack train.

Their Christmas holidays had been spent in pursuit of several bands of Apaches, and the scouts had reported that a large band of them was located in a cave on the Salt River canon.

A pack mule had died in camp that day, and the Indian scouts were allowed to make a great feast upon its remains that they might set out on the expedition with full stomachs.

For years efforts had been made to concentrate the Apaches, who had been the scourge of Arizona and the Southwest, upon one or two reservations where, under guard, they could be watched and kept in bounds.

In the summer of 1872 General George Crook, after having held numerous councils with the Apaches, issued an ultimatum to the effect that, if those who were outside of the reservation did not return by the fifteenth of the coming November, active operations would begin against them. After that date every Indian found outside the reservation was to be treated as a hostile and dealt with accordingly.

The Apaches knew Crook only too well, for the "Old Grey Fox," as they called him, had always kept his word with them in the past.

Promptly on the day set General Crook took the field against the outlaw Apaches and hunted them down relentlessly day and night.

The region in which these operations took place is one of the roughest in the United States. It is located on the western side of the great "Tonto Basin" in central Arizona, and consists of ragged mountain ranges, and isolated peaks, while the whole area is cut and seamed with deep box canons impa.s.sable for miles.

About fifty miles from the city of Phoenix, as the crow flies, and near the great Roosevelt irrigation reservoir and dam, four granite peaks pierce the sky.

Here Nature is found in one of her most inhospitable moods, and in the fastnesses of these "Four Peaks" several bands of the hunted, hara.s.sed Apaches took refuge.

In its mighty canons the Indians knew of caves and cliffs where they had lived in safety from their old enemies for many years; there they believed no white man could possibly reach them.