Low Twelve

LOW TWELVE V

Don't suppose I was unconscious for more than five minutes, and probably not that long. The first vague impression that came to me was that I was being assisted to my feet, a man grasping my arm on my right and another on my left. Then, almost automatically, I began stumbling and walking, my wits clearing every moment until the whole truth dawned upon me.

Despite my care, an Apache warrior had stolen upon me from the rear, without detection. He had struck me a stunning blow as he leaped upon my shoulders and bore me to earth, where his comrade deprived me of my pistol. The stinging, ringing pain in my head told me that the blow which brought me down was a fierce one.

What impressed me as beyond explanation was that these two dusky demons had failed to kill instead of taking me prisoner. In that campaign against Geronimo and his band, it was not the custom on either side to take prisoners. This was especially true of the Apaches. They delighted too much in torture, outrage and suffering to let any opportunity for such dreadful work pass.

When I became certain that only two captors were with me, I resolved to seize the first opportunity and make a fight for it. I would pretend a weakness greater than was the fact, then snatch out my sword and at them. I knew, of course, they had taken my pistol, but I could get on without that - the blade was sufficient.

The ground was rough, sometimes up, sometimes down, and again we circled boulders and rocks, and the stones and dirt crumpled under our feet. I had not walked far, under the uncertain light of the moon, when I discovered that my sword was gone. The scabbard would have flapped against my thigh or made itself felt in some way. Thus I had no weapon of any kind with which to defend myself, while of course my captors were more fully armed than usual.

The two held a viselike grip on my arms, and evidently were prepared for any outbreak on my part. Moreover, though I am of the average height, each was fully as tall as I. The Apache is generally of squat figure, and these, therefore, were of more than the usual stature. Having been smart enough to make prisoner an armed officer, they were not the ones to give him a hope of escape.

With my racking brain clear, I was certain that one of two things was intended. These bucks were taking me far enough away to indulge their fiendish will without fear of molestation, or they were conducting me to their camp that others might have part in the exquisite enjoyment. And yet I was wrong in both surmises.

Once or twice the impulse was strong upon me to call for help. Some of our scouts must be in the neighborhood and would be quick to respond, but I was held silent by the manifest fact that, quick as they were, they could not be quick enough to save me. My captors would never allow me to be retaken. Accordingly, I held my peace, and partly stumbling, partly walking, and in anything but a calm frame of mind, I plunged farther among the hills that were the scene of so many stirring events that evening.

The bucks did not speak a word, for there was no occasion to do so. Nor did I indulge in any observations, for neither was there call in my case. It was an extraordinary promenade through that wild region on that still summer night.

The singular journey came to an end sooner than I expected. After clambering around a score of boulders, ascending and descending several steep slopes, I noticed that we were going through a narrow cañon-like passage in the mountains. This was followed for less than two hundred yards, when an abrupt change was made, and an instant later I was among a group of more than twenty Apache warriors. No camp fire was burning, but enough moonlight penetrated the gorge to give me glimpses of several faces. The first I recognized was Geronimo himself. The others were strangers. There was a good deal of talking in low tones, during which little attention was paid to me. It was useless to pretend weakness, and I was allowed to stand somewhat apart from the red men. I folded my arms, and contemplating the strange scene, asked myself what the end was to be.

To me only one end was possible. They were merely consulting as to the most pleasing method, to them, of torturing me, to death. It would not take them long to agree, but again I was mistaken. Nothing of the kind was in their minds.

It was beyond my comprehension that this company of warriors, under the leadership of Geronimo, should halt for anything of that nature. I could conjure up no reason for such an unprecedented course, and in truth there was none.

The council had lasted but a brief while, when one of the number came toward me, and pausing a step or two distant, addressed me in excellent English:

"My friend, you are doubtless astonished that in the circumstances you should be taken prisoner by these Apaches. I can make all clear in a few words. Your people have made captive of one of our most beloved chiefs, Martana. We have made you prisoner in order that we can bring about an exchange. Several of our scouts have been out looking for a chance to secure one of your men, and it is your fate to fall into our hands. But you need not be alarmed. No doubt your commanding officer will be most happy to do his part, and I assure you that there shall be no lack of faith on our side."

What was my reply to these astounding words? Instead of speaking, I made the Masonic signal of distress, for I had recognized the man before me as Jared J. Jennings, whose Indian name was El-tin-wa, and whom I had first met some months before in my own lodge in the East.

He was attired in the same frowsy costume as the untidy Apaches around him, even to the bare head. His face was not painted, but his long, curling locks dangled about his shoulders. I should have recognized his voice, which was unusually musical, without the sight of his countenance. When he observed my appeal he smiled.

"That is unnecessary, Brother Chichester," he said, "for I identified you before you did me, though I was unaware that you were with Lieutenant Smith until a brief while ago. Be assured that I can never forget my duty to a brother Mason. I need not add that were there no member of our tribe with you, I should have done all I could for you, at the risk of my life."

"I don't doubt that," was my grateful reply. "I am at your disposal."

I would have given much for an explanation from this remarkable man, but it was not mine to question him. I supposed he had returned to the Chippewas, among whom, as he told me, he had lived for a number of years. The last place where I expected to meet him was in the band of Warm Spring Indians, led by Geronimo, but here he was and evidently in high favor.

"You have no doubt of the willingness of Lieutenant Smith to agree to the exchange?"

"There can be none. How will it be managed? You know that no dependence can be placed on the word of an Apache."

"No more than upon the word of some white men; but," he added, sinking his voice, "some of these people, including Geronimo, understand English."

I accepted the valuable hint, and guarded my words uttered in the hearing of the party who were grouped around.

"How will the exchange be managed? Under a flag of truce?"

"Only metaphorically so. I will go with you to your camp and leave you to state the conditions of the exchange; you will stay and Martana will accompany me back. Could anything be more simple?"

"Your plan is simplicity itself. When shall the start be made?"

"Now, for it is past low twelve, or as soon as I have had a little explanation with Geronimo." He turned and began talking with the chief in his native tongue. It was plain to me that the grim old fellow was dissatisfied. He preferred that Martana should join him first. In that case, it is not likely I should have lived ten minutes after the return of the sub-chief, for Geronimo's ideas of honor were much the same as that of the majority of his race. Even El-tin-wa, with his undoubted "pull," would not be able to save me.

'He talked long and earnestly with the leader, and finally prevailed.' I do not know, and he never told me, what was said, but I am morally sure that Jennings staked his own life on the success of the plan he had formulated.

"He agrees to it," he said in his pleasant voice, "and since he is liable to change his mind, we will not delay; come with me."

And, turning my back upon that group of bloody miscreants, I walked as calmly up the ravine as if leaving a party of friends. I noticed that Jennings kept just behind me, as if to interpose his body as a shield. We had hardly turned the corner of the passage when he said in a low voice:

"Let us climb out here; turn to the right; I guess it is safe for me to lead."

He placed himself in the advance, and climbed gracefully up the sloping side of the dry canon. I had left my revolver and sword behind. I should have been glad to get them again, but it wasn't worth while for me to ask for their return. Jennings himself, so far as I could see, had no weapons with him.

The peculiar situation gave safety to us both. None of the Apache scouts were likely to make trouble, for they would identify Jennings as quickly as me, while the reverse would be the case if any of our own people observed us. Impressed with this fact, my friend ventured to talk as we picked our way through the hills toward the camp of Lieutenant Smith.

"Jennings," said I in a guarded voice, "I ought to tell you that Martana is badly, and perhaps mortally, wounded."

"I am glad you did not say so where others could have overheard you. Geronimo knows that he is in your hands and that he must have been hurt, else he wouldn't have been captured, but he has no idea that it is' as bad as you say."

"Suppose the chief dies before we reach camp?"

"That shall make no difference so far as I am concerned. I can think of no possible cause that will prevent your speedy joining of your friends. We have not far to walk, and we shall get there before the news can reach our camp."

The situation being such that neither of us was in personal peril, my companion talked freely. We had not gone far when, being slightly in advance, he abruptly stopped.

"Did you hear anything?" he asked in a low voice.

"Some one is hovering near us. It may be one of your scouts or one of, ours; whoever it is makes no difference. Brother Chichester, how was it you fell into our hands?"

I briefly related the circumstances.

"No bravery or caution could prevent such a misfortune, especially as the ones who captured you were out for the purpose of doing that sort of thing."

"I am sure, too, Brother Jennings, that we have a traitor in our camp."

"What camp is not thus afflicted?" was his non-committal response.

We were still facing each other, and I determined to press tile question that had caused me and Lieutenant Smith so much mental disturbance. He opened the way.

"Do you know who your traitor is?"

"I received proof to-night that cannot be questioned."

"May I ask who he is?"

I saw no reason why I should withhold the information.

"Vikka, the most skilful scout with us."

At this moment the moonlight fell full upon the face of my friend, and I noted his doubting smile.

He slowly shook his head.

"You are mistaken."

I flushed indignantly at this attempt to screen a miscreant.

"You forget that I have had the proof."

"What was that proof?"

"I saw him and Geronimo in confidential converse hardly two hours ago."

"Will you be good enough to give me the particulars?"

I did so. Clearly he was astonished that I should have remained crouching so near without being discovered by either.

"Did you hear what was said by them?"

"No; and had I been able to do so, I should not have understood a word."

"You say that Vikka held his blanket so far up about his shoulders that you could not see his face until he turned away after the chief had left?"

"Such was his action."

"Can you explain why Vikka should take such pains to conceal his countenance?"

"Only on the supposition that he feared some of his companions might be near, to whom his identity otherwise would have become known."

"If that were the fact, he would not have been so quick to reveal it to you when he turned to go away. That was not the case. The reason for his peculiar action was that he did not wish Geronimo to recognize him. He kept his face covered and spoke in low tones and, so far as he was able, in a disguised voice. His aim was to make the chief think he was some other person - the one who had served him before."

"You mean that he took the place of the real traitor and fooled Geronimo?"

"Not quite. Rather, he tried to do that, but failed, though he did not suspect it. Geronimo penetrated the deception, but kept the fact from Vikka, who never suspected that his trick had been read."

"How, then, do you explain the fact that through Vikka your leader learned the truth, for when we rushed your camp soon after all your people had fled?"

The man was still smiling as he made answer:

"Vikka assured him that your troopers were several miles distant. Knowing who said these words, Geronimo saw he was lying, and that the opposite was the fact; he acted upon this information. I have given you the truth."

"We have a traitor among us for all that, and your leader may have learned the real situation through him."

"No; he has been unable to hold any communication with the man for two days. He was on the lookout for him when Vikka appeared with his attempt at personating the other fellow."

"Who is this fellow?"

"Surely you cannot expect me to name him. I am a friend of the Apaches, and it would be base dishonor for me to betray our ally. I cannot permit you, however, to be unjust to a faithful scout. Vikka is unapproachable from our side. I know that of my own personal knowledge."

It gave me immeasurable relief to receive this assurance. I could not refuse to accept his explanation. A gross injustice had been done Vikka, and I longed for the chance to reassure Lieutenant Smith.

But who was the traitor? Despite the value of the minutes and the prudence of our getting back to camp without delay, I racked my brain in the effort to solve the torturing problem. I hastily ran over the names of the different scouts. The only one upon whom I could hang a suspicion was Chato, the cousin of Geronimo, but he was not with us just then, and I reflected, too, that none of us knew anything positive against him. It was his relationship to the Warm Spring leader that caused distrust.

"Well," said I with a sigh, "this business is costing both sides dear. You have lost some of your best men and so have we. One of our finest scouts was killed tonight, besides several who were hurt."

"Who of your scouts has fallen?"

"Pedro, the equal almost of Vikka. I never saw a braver fellow. He faltered before no danger."

I noted the start of Jennings. He was resting easily on one foot, but straightened up and asked in an excited undertone:

"Are you sure Pedro is dead?"

"There is no question about it; I saw his body."

"You have loosed my lips; now that the scout is no more, I will tell you that he was the friend of ours who served us best by staying in your camp; it was his place that Vikka attempted to take he believes he succeeded in deceiving Geronimo, when it was Geronimo who deceived him."

"It looks, then, as if Vikka knew of the treachery of Pedro."

"There can be no question of that. If any proof were asked, it was given by the violent death of Pedro."

"You don't mean to say that Vikka - "

"Certainly; it was Vikka who drove his knife into his breast, as soon as he got the chance, after he learned the truth."

"But how did he learn the truth?"

"Of that I cannot be certain, but my belief is that when Geronimo first met Vikka between the lines he did not suspect the deception. Probably he pronounced the name of Pedro and thus gave him away. Vikka must have known that something of that nature was afoot, and he is shrewd enough to distrust the right person."

It was on my tongue to ask a pointed question or two of a personal nature, the answer to which would have explained how it was that the man who had spent most of his life with the Chippewa Indians was now living hundreds of miles away from their hunting grounds among the unspeakable Apaches; but I was hardly justified in probing the matter.

"I think we have been scrutinized sufficiently," quietly added my guide, "and now we will return to your camp, which is close at hand."