Home > Authors Index > Charles King > Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War > This page
Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War, a novel by Charles King |
||
Chapter 25 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXV The Gray Fox had returned to his own. The general commanding the department was spending a month at head-quarters--for him, who loved the mountains and the field, a most unusual thing. The wild tribes of Arizona, with the exception of one specially exempted band of Chiricahuas and a few hopeless desperadoes with a price on their heads, were gathered to their reservations--a most unheard-of thing in all previous annals of the territory--and a season of unprecedented gayety had dawned on the post of Fort Whipple and the adjacent martial settlement, the homes of the staff and their families. The general and his good wife, childless, and boundless in their hospitality, had opened their doors to army wayfarers. New officers were there from 'Frisco and the States. Matrons and young women, new to Arizona, had come to enliven the once isolated posts of the desert and mountain. Major Dennis, of one supply department, was accompanied by a young and lovely and lively wife, who danced, if Dennis did not. Major Prime, of another, had recently been joined by his wife and two daughters, bright, vivacious girls, just out of school and into society, and, perhaps most important of all, Colonel and Mrs. Darrah, of the Infantry, had come, accompanied by their daughter Evelyn, as beautiful and dashing a belle as had ever bewildered the bachelors about the Golden Gate, and from every camp or post within a hundred miles or more junior officers had been called in to Prescott, on "Board," court-martial duty or leave, until nearly a dozen were gathered, and while boards and courts dragged their slow length, and maps, reports and records of the recent campaign were being laboriously yawned over at odd intervals during the sunshiny days, far more thought and time and attention were being given to riding, driving, tramping and picnic parties--even croquet coming in for honorable mention--while every night had its "hop" and some nights their ball that lasted well toward morning, and for the first time in its history "head-quarters" was actually gay. Time had been in the recent past when a Fort Whipple hop consisted, as said a cynical chief commissary, in "putting on full uniform and watching Thompson dance a waltz," there being then but one officer at the station equipped with the requisite accomplishment. Now there were more dancers than girl partners. The latter were in their glory, and the married women in clover. "Let them have a good time," said the chief, when his pragmatical adjutant would have suggested sending some of them back to their posts to finish maps and reports they were only neglecting here. "But they'll be getting impatient at division head-quarters," said the man of tape and rule. It was a whip which often told on department commanders, but not on Crook. "Let them have a good time. Every one of those youngsters has been scouting and fighting and living on bacon and beans for the last six months, and I like to see them dance." The office-bred officer sighed, and wondered what the papers, or Congress, would say if they knew it. The service-tried soldier said he'd take all the raps and responsibility, and that ended it. So here were the young gallants of the cavalry and infantry, active, slender, sinewy, clear-eyed, bronze-cheeked fellows, as a rule, capital dancers and riders, all-round partners, too, though few had a penny laid by for a rainy day, and several had mortgaged pay accounts. There was Billy Ray, from Camp Cameron, who could outride a vaquero, and "Legs" Blake from McDowell, who could outclimb an Apache, and Stryker, of the scouts, who had won fame in a year, and "Lord" Mitchell, his classmate, whom the troopers laughed at for a fop the first few months, and then worshipped for his daring after the pitched battle at the Caves. There were three or four young benedicts with better halves in the far East, who had forgotten little of their dancing days, and not too much of their wooing, and there were lesser lights among the subs, and two or three captains still uncaught, and even one or two men of whom others spoke not too highly, like Craven, and "that man Gleason," to whom Blake would not speak at all. Then there were Steele and Kelly from Wickenberg and Date Creek, and Strong was to come up from Almy, bringing with him in chains the desperado, 'Patchie Sanchez, secreted by his own people when charged with the killing of the interpreter, but tamely sold when a price was set on his head. And the commander sent still another missive to Archer, whom the luckier general held in especial affection, enclosing one from the good wife to Mrs. Archer, begging that she and Lilian should be their guests for a week, "and as long thereafter as practicable," that the engagement might be ratified and celebrated, "for we all think Mr. Willett the most fortunate of men." And then, of course, there were Wickham and Bright, the general's other aides, who were famous entertainers, and then, above all, perhaps--pitted for the first time against all the soldier beaux of Arizona--there was the general's latest acquisition, handsome, graceful, charming Hal Willett, who had, with characteristic modesty, made no mention of the fact that he was an engaged man until Mrs. Stannard's letter to Mrs. Crook told all about it, and we, who knew and loved Mrs. Stannard, knew just why she wrote, and never blamed her, as did Willett. The very night of the very day it came he was dancing gloriously with, and had been saying things to, Evelyn Darrah that she one day earlier had listened to with bated breath. Now his mustache swept her pretty ear as he lowered his head in the midst of the loveliest "glide," and murmured something more, whereat she had suddenly swung herself out of the circle of his arm, swept him a stately courtesy and fairly startled--stunned him by the question: "Isn't that just a little high--for a gentleman's game, Mr. Willett?" The very words were enough to amaze him! "What on earth do you mean?" he demanded, as soon as he recovered self-control. "I mean," said she, straightening to her full height again, and looking him fairly in the eyes, "that for an engaged man you have exceeded, or, as you would say, 'raised the limit.'" There were dozens dancing, chatting, laughing about them, and some few watching, for his attentions, first to pretty Mrs. Dennis, and then the devotions by means of which he had swept aside all other suitors of Evelyn Darrah, had set all tongues to wagging. "The old Willett over again," said Bright, who had known him at the Point. Only that day had the mail come up from Almy and McDowell, and he ought to have known what it would betray. There must have been other letters--men's letters--for at mess there had been sly allusions to the fluctuations of fortune, the comparative values of "straights" and "pats," and this girl had turned and taunted him with the very words of that infernal, and he had hoped, forgotten game. Moreover, she, a brilliant, beautiful, practised woman of society, by no means the delicate and sensitive little desert flower whose worship he had won so readily, had dared to fence with him, had interested, piqued, fascinated, and now wellnigh bewitched him. He was not yet well of his wounds by any manner of means. He was still weak--far too weak to ride or climb or do much in the way of walking, but he could look, and be most interesting lolling in an invalid chair. Women had come and ministered to him in his convalescence, and pretty Mrs. Dennis had made quite a fool of herself, said certain elders, but when it came to cutting in for Evelyn Darrah, Willett had had to be up and doing, even finally, for her and her alone, as he murmured, daring to dance. There was nothing else he did so supremely well, and men and women watched them enviously, perhaps, yet delightedly, and men and women were watching now as he followed her to her seat, dropped to the one beside her, and bent absorbedly over her again, pale, agitated, and they saw her speaking, saw him vehemently pleading, saw him prevailing, for his pallor and emotion lent force to his impassioned words. Practised belle, coquette, flirt she might have been, but the woman is rare indeed who can utterly disbelieve, in face of such a combination, that she at least is loved. Stella's impassioned letters once lay in unbroken packages upon his mantel. Another star had risen and set, and sent its missives only to the ashes of his grate, and now this very night, hidden in his desk, lay long, close-written, criss-crossed, exquisite pages, the outpourings of a young and guileless and glorious nature, and they, too, lay, as did that early Stella's, unread, unheeded, almost undesired, for the man was inflamed by this dauntless woman's defiance of him, and the devil in him was urging: woo her, win her, conquer her, crush her, come what may! That night was but one of several in quick succession. On every hand he had to smile, and say conventional words of thanks for the pointed and repeated congratulations showered upon him. Men and women went out of their way at every turn to remind him, as it were, that he was a mortgaged man; and yet, so strangely was he constituted, life for him at the moment seemed to have but one object worth attaining--Evelyn Darrah. Day and night he sought her, pursued her, and men began to shun him, and he never heeded. Women began to shrink from her, and she saw, yet, for to some there is the gambler's madness in the game, she let them shrink. What were their slights in comparison with the thrilling joy of this conquest? This man was at her feet, abject, pleading, praying. It was hers to spurn or sway him as she would. Never doubting her own power to turn him any instant adrift, she found delight in the passion of so virile, graceful, glorious a lover, the man of whom she had heard other women speak for three long years, and now he was hers--hers to do with as she dared--to break or make as was her caprice. What--what if men looked stern and women shrank? This was a game well worth the candle, let them sneer who would. What had promised to be a fortnight of jollification had become charged with matters of grave moment. Strong had arrived, bringing the shackled Sanchez, and, when hospitably bidden to stay a week and have some fun, he said he reckoned he ought to get back as quick as possible--"the Old Man had much to bother him," this in confidence to Bright. "The Old Man's coming up here," said Bright, "quick as the general can coax him, and he's just going to have a welcome that will warm the cockles of his heart," and then, like the loyal aide he was, Bright essayed to make Archer's adjutant see that while the general commanding had been constrained to differ with the commander at Camp, Almy, he personally held him in affection and esteem. "I'm afraid," said he, "General Archer thinks he is misunderstood about this 'Tonio business, and--and--Harris. Here's Willett, now, perfectly willing to drop the whole case against 'Tonio and say no more about it." "What?" said Strong, in amaze. "Why, at Almy he damned him time and again--swore he had twice tried to kill him. If he acquits 'Tonio, whom in God's name does he suspect?" asked Strong, a queer thought occurring to him as he recalled the furious words of the deserter Dooley, alias Quigley, another prisoner to be tried. Bright dodged. "The queer thing about it," said he, "is that Brown there, at McDowell, is demanding investigation, and says he believes there was collusion in camp--men who insist that 'Tonio's a trump. And now we have news from Harris, and he demands investigation, in 'Tonio's name--says there's a side to the story only 'Tonio can tell, and will tell only to the Big Chief." Strong pondered a moment. "There's more than one queer thing we can't fathom at Almy," said he. "Harris and 'Tonio never had anything to do with that Sanchez crowd. 'Tother Sanchez, and Munoz, helped the chase of 'Tonio--did their best to catch him, and yet over at McDowell they're thick as thieves." "Not a bit of it! They never saw each other until--well, somebody made Brown believe the general would censure his showing favors to 'Tonio, so what does he do but order him in with Sanchez. That night both get away. Then 'Patchie's own people brought him back for cash. There isn't money or blood enough in all Arizona to tempt them to lay hands on 'Tonio. Sanchez wants to talk with the general, says he can tell things the chief would like to know. Can he?" "How should I know?" asked Strong. "There's more of a mix in this business than I can straighten out. It looks to me as though more than one man had his grudge against this fine feathered bird that came down to show us how to tackle Apaches," and Bright changed the subject, as was his way when men or women ventured to question the methods of the Powers. All the same, he told his general of Strong's suspicions, and that night the general summoned both Sanchez and Strong, and there was a scene in the moonlight, down by the old log guard-house. Sanchez, heavily shackled and scared almost out of his wits in the belief that he would speedily be hanged, or shot to death, fell on his knees at sight of the tall, bearded commander, and strove to seize his hand. In the indescribable jargon of the Indo-Mexican frontier, he implored the general's mercy; he wailed that he was a poor and wronged and innocent man. He had no thought of killing--only inducing the interpreter to leave him, and the interpreter tried to shoot him. It was to save his own life he slashed at his guardian and ran, never knowing he had hurt him. He was frightened at McDowell; thought soldiers planned to lynch him. He dared not stay. He had filed his shackles and the window bars, and was watching opportunity to tear them loose and run, when 'Tonio was put in his cell. That night he saw his chance, climbed out and slid away to the mountains, just before the third relief was inspected, but he did not wake or tell 'Tonio. 'Tonio was a wicked Indian, who twice tried to kill Lieutenant Willett. 'Tonio should be hanged. 'Tonio's people hated Sanchez, because he "always friend to the Big Chief Crook and the Americanos." 'Tonio knew where to find him, it seems, and set Lieutenant Harris to catch him. Now, said Sanchez, if Big Chief only would let him go he would bring in two, three 'Patchie-Mohaves, 'Tonio's own people, who saw 'Tonio shoot and try to kill Teniente Willett--saw him shoot and club, shoot twice. Sanchez called on the Blessed Virgin and all the saints to witness his innocence, his entire truth, and the chief, with just one gesture of disbelief and disgust, turned quietly away. "You may as well tell him, Wickham," said he, and, with Bright at his side, strode back to head-quarters hill, leaving Strong and his senior aide to settle the matter. "You damned fool!" said Blackbeard contemptuously. "It wasn't 'Tonio; it was your own people gave you up. It wasn't 'Tonio; it was your own brother shot Teniente Willett. His own revolver was found at the spot. Your own people say he did it!" "Lie! Lie!" shrieked Sanchez, livid from fright and amaze. "Jose no have pistol that night. Jose lose him to Case--monte--two days before! Case shoot him! Case shoot him! Munoz see him. 'Patchie-Mohave see him! Look, Senor Capitan, I bring them all--all say so." "I thought we'd be getting at bottom facts before we finished with our greaser gang," said Wickham, with no symptom of either surprise or emotion. "Very good, Sanchez. We'll give you the chance to swear to it and bring your witnesses. Take him in, sergeant, and keep this to yourself. Now bring out Dooley." Half an hour later, just as the midnight call of the sentries was going the rounds, Hal Willett, after whispered words of good-night to a tall and slender shadow at Darrah's door, came swiftly up the steps of his new quarters, and was surprised to find a little group at the adjoining veranda. Two civilians were there, one of whom he knew to be the sheriff. Strong was there and Wickham was giving some instructions in low tone to the three. "You start at dawn," were the words that caught Willett's ear, "and you should have him at Prescott within the week. Sure you need no further escort?" "Sure," was the sententious answer of the tall civilian, as he sauntered to the steps. "What is it?" asked Willett, at a venture. "Just a flyer, Willett," said Blackbeard, in the most off-hand manner imaginable. "Sanchez swears it was Case who shot you, and we're having him up to explain." For an instant four men stood watching Willett's face. Pale at almost any time of late, it seemed to have turned ashen in the pallid light about them. He swayed, too, a trifle, as though from sudden shock, and it was a second or two before he found his voice. Then: "What infernal rot! Didn't they find my own pistol, that 'Tonio had stolen, where his fellows or he had dropped it in their flight?" "O, Lord, yes," was the airy answer, "five miles away. But Harris found the real one, right there at the spot. Case won it from Sanchez just two days before. So he'll be here with 'Tonio the end of the week." _ |
||