Captured by the Navajos Part 10

We had now reached a point where a small brook entered the larger one from the right. We dismounted at the confluence to make an observation. Vic suddenly began to bark furiously; then a yelp and a continued cry of pain showed that the dog was hurt, and presently she appeared with an arrow through the thick of her neck.

Advancing cautiously I caught sight of Chiquita in a cleft of the rock at my left, and an Indian boy standing behind her and aiming an arrow over the saddle. A sharp tw.a.n.g, and the missile flew through my hair between my right ear and my hat-rim. The boy then sprang forward, and raised a knife as if to hamstring the pony. But it was not to be, for a carbine spoke, and the raised arm of the Indian fell at his side.

"Well done, Frank!" I called.

We ran forward to capture the young Navajo, but he quickly disappeared behind a large rock and was seen no more. Returning to the main brook with Chiquita, we tied the horses to the willows and began a search for Vic. I called her by all the pet names to which she was accustomed, but received no response. I searched over as great a distance as I dared, with a consciousness that a band of Navajos was not far distant.

Reluctantly abandoning our search, we were preparing to return to the train and escort when we descried a large war-party of Indians riding towards us from the direction of the _cienaga_. It was at once evident they saw us, for, raising a terrific war-whoop, their irregular ma.s.s broke for us in a furious charge.

Death certainly awaited us if captured, and this thought prompted us to leave our exposed position instantly. Leading Chiquita, and telling Frank to follow, I dashed down the stream in the direction of the Fort Wingate road.

As we flew along, feeling positive that the Indians would overtake us, I eagerly surveyed the rocky wall on our left, hoping to find a break in which we could shelter ourselves and hold the enemy in check until our friends arrived. But no opening appeared, and it seemed impossible for us to reach Laguna alive.

On we went into the dense bushes, a hail of bullets and a rush of arrows about our ears. But at this moment the clear notes of a cavalry trumpet sounded "deploy," and the California cavalry crashed through the willows and we were saved. They broke into a skirmish-line behind us, but only a few shots were fired and the Navajos were gone.

Being an escort, we could not delay for further operations against the enemy. Our duty was to return at once to the train. Frank and I were both uninjured, but a bullet had raised the chevron on the boy's sleeve, and another had shattered the ivory hilt of his revolver.

The volunteers dismounted for a rest, and I took the opportunity to make a further search for Vic, my faithful companion and friend.

Leaving my horse with Frank, I started towards the place where I had last seen her.

As I descended a shallow ravine to the willow-clad brook I came upon an unexpected sight, and paused to witness it. On his knees, close to the water, his back towards me, was Corporal Henry. Extended at his left side was Vic, held closely under his left arm, her plumy tail hanging dejectedly in my direction. An occasional dispirited wag showed that she appreciated the kindness being shown her. The boy was evidently busy at something that elicited from the animal, every now and then, faint cries of pain. I heard something snap, and saw him lay two parts of an arrow on the ground to his right; then he drew a handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it in the brook, and apparently washed a wound.

All the time the boy could be heard addressing his patient in soothing tones, occasionally leaning his face against her head caressingly.

"Poor little Vicky! Nice, brave doggie! There, there; I will not hurt you more than I can help. They can't shoot you again, girlie, for lots of your friends are here now. You shall ride back to the train on Chiquita with me. We'll own Chiquita together after this."

I felt a little delicacy about breaking in upon this scene and letting the boy know I had overheard all his fond talk to Vic, so withdrew into a clump of bushes and began calling the dog.

Henry promptly answered: "Here she is, sir. This way. She wants to come, but I think she had better not."

"Is she much hurt?" I asked, approaching them.

"Not dangerously, sir. This arrow pa.s.sed through the top of her neck.

I notched it and broke it, so as not to be obliged to draw the barb or plume through the wound. She is weak from her long run and loss of blood. The wound might be bound up if her collar was off."

"I will remove it and not put it on again until the sore heals," I answered, and, taking a key from my pocket, I took off the collar and a.s.sisted in dressing the wound.

After petting Vic for a while, and using quite as much "baby talk" in doing so as Henry had in dressing the wound, I asked the boy how he came to return with the cavalry.

"I ran ahead, as you told me to, sir, and the wagon-master came to meet me. He lent me his mule, and I rode on to Captain Bayard and made my report. The captain sent Lieutenant Baldwin and his men, and lent me a spare horse to come along as guide."

"Have you seen Chiquita?"

"At a distance. Is she all right?"

"Yes, but very tired. Let us join the troop, for it is time we were on our way to the train."

Our return ride was at a walk. Henry turned his cavalry horse over to a trooper to be led, and mounted Chiquita with Vic in his arms.

Arrived in camp he took the dog to the surgeon for treatment, and in a few days she was as lively as ever.

VIII

OVER THE DIVIDE--A CORPORAL MISSING

Fort Wingate was reached in two more marches--six in all from the Rio Grande--and we went into camp for two days for rest and some needed repairs to wagons before undertaking the second and longer section of our military journey--a section upon which at that time no white man had set up a home.

Recalling my promise to the priest who had interviewed me in behalf of Senora Perea, I made inquiries of the Port Wingate officers concerning her son. None of them had heard more than she already knew, but a scout claimed he had recently seen a Mexican boy herding ponies for the Navajo chief Elarnagan, thirty miles north of Zuni.

The evening before resuming our march Captain Bayard informed me that there was an emigrant family camped half a mile to the west of Fort Wingate, which had been awaiting our arrival in order to travel to Arizona under our protection. He told me to a.s.sign the family a place in the train.

I went to their camp, and found it located in a grove of cottonwoods a short distance out, on the Arizona trail. Mr. Arnold, the head of the family, never ceased his occupation while I was talking to him. He was constructing a camp-table and benches of some packing-boxes he had procured from the post trader. He was a tall, well-proportioned man, of dark complexion and regular features, with black, unkempt hair and restless brown eyes. He was clothed in a faded and stained b.u.t.ternut suit of flannel, consisting of a loose frock and baggy trousers, the legs of the trousers being tucked into the tops of road-worn boots.

His hat was a battered and frayed broad-brimmed felt. Mrs. Arnold sat on a stool superintending the work, bowed forward, her elbows on her knees, holding a long-stemmed cob-pipe to her lips with her left hand, removing it at the end of each inspiration to emit the smoke, which curled slowly above her thin upper lip and thin, aquiline nose. She was a tall, angular, high-shouldered, and flat-chested woman, dark from exposure to wind, sun, and rain, her hair brown in the neck, but many shades lighter on the crown of her head. Her eyes were of an expressionless gray. A brown calico of scant pattern clung in lank folds to her thin and bony figure.

The three daughters were younger and less faded types of their mother.

Each was clad in a narrow-skirted calico dress, and each was stockingless and shoeless. Mother and daughters were dull, slow of speech, and ignorant.

After staying long enough to give the necessary instructions and exchange civilities with each member of the family in sight, I was riding slowly back to the roadway, intending to take a brisk canter to the fort, when Corporal Henry's voice called from a clump of cedars at the back of the Arnold family's wagons.

"Oh, Mr. Duncan, may I speak to you a moment?"

Turning my horse in the direction of the voice, I saw my young friend approaching, switching a handsome riding-whip in his hand.

"You haven't seen all the family, sir," he said.

"I have seen Mr. and Mrs. Arnold and those the mother said were all their children--the three barefooted girls."

"But there is one more girl, sir, a very pretty one, too--a niece.

She's back of the wagons making friends with Vic and Chiquita. You must not go without seeing her."

I went back with Henry and saw a girl of about fourteen standing by Chiquita, holding her by the bridle-rein and smoothing her neck, while Vic nestled at her feet. She seemed very attractive at my first casual glance, impressing me favorably. A blonde, possessed of abundant flaxen tresses held in a band of blue ribbon, having a complexion which her recent journey had tanned and sprinkled with abundant freckles, but giving promise of rare beauty with added years and less exposure to sun and wind. Her clothing was fas.h.i.+onably made and well fitted, and her delicate feet were encased in neat boots and stockings.

"Miss Arnold," said Henry, "permit me to introduce our quartermaster, Lieutenant Duncan--and Mr. Duncan," continued the boy, "it gives me pleasure to present to you Miss Brenda Arnold."

The quality, modulation, and refinement of the voice in which the girl a.s.sured me of her pleasure in meeting me, confirmed my first impression.

"But how did you make the acquaintance of Corporal Henry Burton, Miss Arnold?" I asked.

"I was riding back from the fort, sir, where I had been to mail some letters, and my pony, Gypsy, lost a shoe and came near falling. The stumble caused me to drop a package, and Mr. Burton chanced to come up and restore it to me, and he also picked up Gypsy's shoe. He accompanied me to camp, and since we arrived has been giving me the history of Vic, Sancho, and Chiquita."

"And that, of course, included something of the history of their devoted attendants?"

"Yes, I have learned something of the gallant deeds of Corporals Frank and Henry Burton and Lieutenant Duncan at Los Valles Grandes and on the march here. When I meet Corporal Frank I shall know you all."

"He will present himself to-morrow, no doubt," I observed. "But about that pony's shoe; do you want it reset?"

"Yes, but who can do it?"