Low Twelve

LOW TWELVE IV

The first look was enough. Geronimo, the ferocious leader of the Warm Spring band, was standing within thirty feet of where I lay on my face behind the boulder, with my revolver tightly grasped in my right hand.

My muscles were iron, my nerve cool and the shot a fair one. I had the drop on him and swore he should not escape me.

My second impulse was not to wait, but to bring him down before he turned his head to scan his surroundings. But there was something in such an act at which I revolted. Unspeakable wretch though he was, and deserving of death ten times over, I shrank from a cold-blooded snuffing out of the Apache leader. No; I should wait and give him the shadow of a chance.

I have said that the smothering heat of the days was followed by a chilliness at night which was one of our greatest trials on that memorable campaign. The grim chieftain had a blanket about his shoulders, as if he needed it for comfort. As he stood his side was toward me and his rough, irregular profile was thus brought out plainly.

The strained situation had lasted no more than a minute when it became plain to me that Geronimo had come here to meet some one. His attitude was that of expectancy, and with all his wonderful faculties alert, he was peering fixedly a little to the left, from which direction his visitor probably was to advance.

All doubt on this point was removed when from that point a second form came out of the gloom, with no more noise than that made by the shadow of the cloud which glided over the hills. My heart beat faster than before, for the instant thought was that the chief had moved out from his camp to meet one of our scouts, who was bearing him news of our movements. Such treachery had aided him more than once to escape from critical situations, and now it was about to occur again.

My anxiety was to identify the traitor. I preferred to shoot him rather than the dusky leader, but I compressed my lips with the resolve to make both bite the dust. It would be something to tell in after years that I had brought down Geronimo and the miscreant who was serving him in our own camp.

To my chagrin, the second arrival was not only enclosed in a blanket, but it was drawn so far up around his shoulders that his face was hidden. Only the crown of black, coarse hair showed. Not a feature was visible. Halting within a couple of paces of the chief, the two began conversing in low tones. Their voices were so faint that I could not distinguish a word, and, had I been able to do so, it would have done no good, for naturally they talked in their own language.

The position of the two was such that the side of each showed clearly. They would have to turn their heads at right angles to see my forehead and eyes before they flitted back out of sight. Their training, the strained situation and the peculiar peril in which both stood convinced me that they would neglect no precaution, however slight. Geronimo could have been no more anxious to avoid being seen by our scouts than was the traitor to hide his identity from all except the arch leader of the hostiles.

Incredible as it may seem, neither of these veterans turned his eyes in my direction during the few minutes they talked. My plan was simple. I shifted slightly so as to rest the weight of my body on my left elbow. This gave freedom of the other arm, and I had but to lift my weapon a few inches to bring the wretches within range. First the traitor, then the Apache chieftain, and before either could know his danger.

I expected every moment that the scout would lower his blanket and show his face. I could think of no reason why he should wish to shroud his features when the countenance of Geronimo was as clearly revealed as if the sun were shining. But he remained muffled, and I did not see so much as the tip of his nose.

Suddenly a denser cloud than usual swept over the face of the moon. That which had been illuminated was quickly hidden in gloom. The two forms dissolved and faded from sight. Glancing at the orb in the sky, I saw that it would soon emerge from behind the mists. I decided that the second it did so, and my aim was clear, I should let fly at the couple in instant succession.

But that obscuring cloud played the mischief with this plan. When the light began increasing and my straining vision made out the boulder beside which the Apaches were standing less than a minute before, only one was in sight. Geronimo had vanished as silently as he had entered the field of vision.

The other was standing as before, and seemed to be looking after the chief, who had not yet passed from his view. Only for an instant did he do this, when he turned to move away. With his back toward the chief, he lowered the blanket a few inches-just enough to show his countenance, whose profile was toward me. The traitor was Vikka!

I was dumfounded, for, curiously enough, during the brief interval, and despite my recent talk with Lieutenant Smith, it had not occurred to me that the wretch could be he whom each of us had distrusted more than once. By the time I rallied from my speechlessness he was gone.

The situation was critical to the last degree. I was in advance of our own men, and without further hesitation I rose to my feet, and in a crouching position ran back to where I had left Lieutenant Smith.

He, too, was on his feet, and the forms of the troopers came rapidly to view, as, in response to a signal, they gathered round him. Among them could be seen in the obscurity several of our scouts. I glanced from face to face, but missed two - Vikka and Pedro. I longed to tell our commandant what I had learned, but could not do so in the hearing of the company. Smith was issuing his commands in low, hurried tones.

"An opening has been made; we're to rush the camp; is every man ready?"

The whispered responses showed that they were ready and eager.

"We will follow Jim; he will lead; all ready!"

The next minute we were threading our way among the boulders, rocks and gullies. I caught up my sword, and hurriedly fastened it on while joining the procession, which was led by the faithful Jim. As yet I had not spoken to the commander, but now I twitched his elbow.

"I fear we have been betrayed, lieutenant."

"It can't be; come on; it's too late to stop now."

Less than a hundred yards farther the scout Jim uttered a suppressed exclamation and came to a halt. We were around him the next second. Stretched at his feet lay Pedro dead, the wound in the upper part of the breast showing that he had been killed by a single blow with a knife.

The pause was only for a moment, when, with no further attention to the stark form, Jim led the advance at a rapid pace. The moonlight was uncertain. We were close to the deep basin in which clustered the camp of the hostiles. A few steps more, and we came upon a second figure stretched out on the earth. It was that of the Apache sentinel, who had been stricken down so suddenly that he had no chance to give the alarm. This was the opening through which we were to rush, and we did so with scarcely a second's halt.

As the troopers scrambled, leaped and ran they shouted their battle cry. Down the slope they streamed, some of them stumbling and falling, but they were quickly en their feet again, ardent as ever. Within the same minute that we started the rush, we were in the basin hunting like bloodhounds for our prey.

And then a discovery was made as startling as it was exasperating. Brief as was the time used, the Apaches had taken the alarm and fled. The camp was deserted. They had had their warning, and a few minutes, even seconds, were sufficient.

Vikka, coming from somewhere, was among our scouts, two of whom dashed across the basin like a cyclone. We saw the flashes of guns and heard fierce cries. They had come upon the rear guard, so to speak, and were having it out with them. Among the troopers who were skurrying here and there, baffled and enraged at their failure to find any foes, a half dozen rushed to the help of the scouts. I joined them. We had but a few rods to run, when we struck the farther side of the basin. But we were too late to have any part in the fray. After the exchange of a few shots, in which one of our scouts was wounded and one of the enemy brought down, the others made off swiftly in the darkness and were beyond reach.

As we came together in the gloom, we were a disappointed and furious lot. Angry mutterings were going on, when Smith noticed that one of the Apaches who had fallen was struggling to get to his feet. The scout Jim observed it, and ran forward to finish him with his knife, but the lieutenant was the nearer and stayed his hand.

"He is a prisoner. We don't kill captives, even if they're Apaches."

Seizing the fellow by the arm, he helped him to rise. He was badly hurt, but with the slight aid thus given, was able to stand erect. He looked defiantly around in the faces of his captors as revealed in the moonlight, which was now bright, but did not speak.

"Do any of you know him?" asked the officer, turning to the scouts.

"He is Martaña," replied Vikka; "he is as bad as Geronimo."

All of us had heard that name. He was a sub-chief of the Warm Spring Indians, and one of the most ferocious miscreants that ever helped to ravage the frontier.

"It makes no difference," said the officer sternly; "he seems to have stopped one or two of your bullets and won't make any more trouble for some time to come. No matter how bad he is, I'll shoot the first one who harms him further."

It was useless to attempt to overtake the hostiles during the darkness; and with our scouts thrown out to prevent surprise, we made our way back to camp, where we had left our horses in charge of three of the troopers. Our plan had failed because at the critical juncture Geronimo received warning of the danger to himself and band.

We disposed of ourselves for the remainder of the night. As soon as we could see, the pursuit would be resumed and pressed as vigorously as before. The Indian scouts were kept at work among the hills, to prevent anything in the nature of a surprise by the Apaches, some of whom were likely to steal back in the hope of striking us an unexpected blow.

Our captive Martaña was treated with more consideration than he deserved. A blanket was spread on the ground, upon which he partly reclined. We had no regular surgeon with us at that time, but Lieutenant Smith and several others possessed a practical knowledge of wounds, and gave it as their opinion, that, though the fellow was desperately hurt, he had a chance of pulling through. He was offered food and drink, but refused to touch them. He even knocked aside a whiskey flask that was held to his lips. He could not be persuaded to speak a word, and paid not the least attention to the Apaches who addressed him in his own language. He was a stoic, who shrank from nothing before him. He hated us with an unspeakable hatred. Despite the kindness we had shown him, he would have scalped every one had the chance been his.

Leaving him to himself, Lieutenant Smith drew me aside as before, and lighting his inevitable pipe, as he sat with his knees drawn up, asked me to explain the hurried words I had spoken just before the charge upon the deserted camp. I did so, he listening and puffing in silence. After a time he said in his low, even voice

"You told me that in the same instant that you received proof of Vikka's guilt you would shoot him."

"I did say so, but I was literally paralyzed for the moment, not dreaming of anything of the kind; I'm sorry I let him escape."

"So am I, for the evidence you saw was enough to hang him. And yet after all is said, lieutenant, I don't understand that fellow."

"In what respect?"

"He has had no end of chances to strike us the hardest kind of blows, but never did so until tonight. Why should he sacrifice so many greater for the single less?"

"Meaning that his opportunity tonight was less than many others which he let slip?"

"Precisely. What he has just done was negative; he prevented us from surprising Geronimo, but the most that he did for the hostiles was to give them a chance to get away. Why did he not plan a surprise of us by them? He could have done that very thing three nights ago, in Antelope Pass."

"He may have feared be ran too much risk, He has been playing a hard part, as you can understand, for he must be under the observation of his own scouts most of the time, and some of them are beyond suspicion."

"I wonder whether he has any partners in this," muttered the officer, as if speaking to himself. "It's blamed uncomfortable to think so."

"Where is he now, lieutenant?"

"He and Jim and several others are scouting among the hills."

"Begging pardon, Vikka ought not to be with them."

"He would not have been had you told me this before. It is best, however, to show no distrust of the fellow till we catch him with the goods."

"Lieutenant, I don't feel the need of sleep. I had enough this afternoon to last me for a good while. With your permission, I'll take a look among the hills myself, hoping to pick up a point or two."

"I don't know as I have any objection. I understand that you will give most of your attention to Vikka?"

"Such is my purpose."

"You haven't one chance in a thousand. He is too cunning to be entrapped by a man who is but a child compared to him."

"I got the best of him this evening."

"Hardly; but if so, it was an accident."

"Another accident may occur."

"If he has any idea that you are onto his game, you will be in tenfold greater danger than ever before. Well, good luck go with you."

When I had reached a point fairly beyond our camp I was impressed for the first time with the absurdity of the task taken upon myself. I had set out to circumvent one of the most skilful trailers and scouts in the service. My wood craft as compared to his was foolishness. He could give me cards and spades and beat me every time. True, he was somewhere in these hills, but I might prowl among them for a week without getting sight of him. An unprecedented piece of luck had brought me knowledge some time before, but such accidents are never repeated, or, at least, not often enough to justify hope on my part.

None the less, I had no thought of turning back. If I could not outwit Vikka, I might have a chance to do something else. It was in accordance with Apache customs that some of their scouts would linger in the rear of the main band to learn our intentions, and, if opportunity offered, strike us a blow. They knew the pursuit would be taken up in the morning. We were better mounted than they. In fact, we had scattered the hostiles so often that most of them were on foot. Encumbered with women and children, they were put to it as never before to keep out of our reach. It was, therefore, of the highest importance that they should delay our pursuit whenever possible. By leaving a dozen, more or less, of their best scouts behind, within communicating distance, we might be checked sufficiently to give the main body a chance to increase the distance between them and us.

It was the province of our guides to frustrate these plans, and I was in the mood to take a hand in the desperate business, though common sense dictated that Lieutenant Smith should have prevented such rashness on my part.

I followed a course that led me to the edge of the basin down which we had charged into the deserted camp, and it was with a curious shock that I recognized the very spot where I had seen Geronimo emerge from the gloom and hold his confab with Vikka, when he joined him a few moments later.

"Strange!" I muttered; '1if there is anything in signs, I should accept this as indicating that something of the kind is going to happen again.

There are few of us whose experience has not proved the existence within this marvelous makeup of ours of something akin to that vague faculty which has been called the sixth sense. On no other theory can many things be explained.

I had held my crouching posture only a minute or so when the absolute certainty came over me that some one was near. I glanced in every direction and listened intently, but did not see nor hear the slightest thing that could explain my feeling. None the less, the conviction was unalterable, and rather increased than diminished.

"It can't be that Vikka is prowling here; probably one of Geronimo's scouts is on the lookout, or perhaps one of our own."

What to do was the question that puzzled me. I might steal forward, backward or to one side, and thereby do the very thing I should not do. Surely some clue must come within a few seconds that would guide me.

As before, I held my revolver ready for instant use. My sword was with me, and I may claim to be an expert in its use, but where was my enemy?

As suddenly as if an avalanche had descended upon me, I was crushed to earth by a mountainous weight, my senses vanished and all became darkness and oblivion.