THE CORPORALS ARE PROMOTED
The three Indian boys were doing their utmost to excite their ponies to their greatest speed up the height. As they sped on they glanced repeatedly backward, as if fearing pursuit. Higher and higher they came up the steep until we could not doubt it was their intention to reach the command.
"What does it mean? What does it mean?" exclaimed Frank. "Why are those Navajo boys running their horses in this direction? It can't be—"
"Never mind, Frank," I interrupted. "Let us get down to the men as soon as we can. The Indian women are already riding after the war-party."
At considerable risk to life and limb we slid down the ragged angle which we had ascended, and hurried to where Baldwin and the soldiers stood beside their saddled steeds.
We had barely reached the crest from which we could see the valley when the three whitewashed boys appeared on their panting and foaming animals, the little one on the buck-skin pony in the lead.
"What in the world is this?" exclaimed Baldwin. "Three whitewashed young redskins! What do they want of us?"
"Here we are!" shouted a familiar voice, in excellent English. "Here we are—Manuel, Sapoya, and I!"
Before we could sufficiently recover from our surprise, or, rather, calm our joyful realization of a hope born of the boys' start from the valley below, they were among us, and Henry had sprung from his horse and embraced his brother, leaving a generous coating of yeso upon the army blue. Tears of joy had ploughed two streaks through the whiting on his face, and lent a comical effect to the boyish countenance. A general handshake ensued, and Corporal Frank asked, "Where are your clothes, Henry?"
"Confiscated by the chief Elarnagan."
"Not to wear?"
"Well, no; I think they might prove baggy on his diminutive person."
"Then why did he take them?"
"He has a numerous progeny, and the young Elarnaganitos have an article apiece. My saddle and bridle went to Mrs. Elarnagan. She rides astride, you know."
"When did the chief take your clothes?"
"Just as soon as I arrived in the valley my horse and I were stripped of—But hold on, Frank; what am I thinking of?" and Henry ran to one of the other boys, a graceful youngster whose perfect limbs and handsome face the yeso could not mask, and who sat his horse as if he were a part of the animal. Saying something to him in an undertone, the boy dismounted and approached me with Henry, who said, in Spanish: "This is Manuel Augustine Perea y Luna, of Algodones. It is he who planned the escape when I told him there were soldiers near."
I took the Mexican boy's hand and assured him of the great happiness his escape afforded me, and the greater happiness it would afford his mother and relatives.
Frank approached, took Manuel's hand, and then dropped it to give him a hearty and brotherly embrace.
"Ah, Manuelito mio, I dreamed many dreams of rescuing you as we marched through this country, but I never believed they would be realized," he said.
"But the little Enrique acted, and I am here," laughed Manuel.
"And Frank acted, too," said I, "as you shall soon hear; and you will learn that it took both boys to effect your rescue."
"Pardon me," replied Manuel, "but it is not safe to remain here longer. Elarnagan, whom you saw leaving the valley with his warriors, is intending to move down the Lithodendron to attack your train somewhere on the Colorado Chiquito."
At the close of his remarks Manuel turned away, as if to mount his horse, and then, as if correcting an oversight, he said, "Wait one moment, sir." Going up to the third boy, he spoke a few words to him in an unknown tongue. The boy sprang to the ground and came forward. "This is Sapoya," continued Manuel, "a Cherokee boy, whom I found a captive when I joined Elarnagan's band. He is my brother, and will go with me and share my home."
Sapoya extended his hand and clasped mine. He was a handsome Indian boy, about the same age and height as his friend. He addressed me in Navajo, which was interpreted by Manuel: "I am glad to meet one who has helped to open the broad land again to my brother and me. But our horses stand still, while those of our enemy fly to retake us."
Evidently the Mexican and Cherokee boys had no desire to again fall into the hands of the Navajo chief. We made no further delay, but mounted and forced our animals down the mountain defiles as rapidly as possible. As soon as the route would permit, Henry and Manuel rode on each side of Frank, and I heard the former ask about Vic. Frank answered in Spanish, so that the Mexican boy might understand. Such expressions as "La perra brava!" "La fina perrita Vic!" from time to time showed they were hearing of Vic's adventures.
Finding that Corporal Frank was not doing himself justice in his narration, I drew alongside the boys and related what I knew of Frank's midnight ride and rescue of Vic, an event which, had it not occurred, would have left Henry and his friends still in captivity. At the conclusion of my tale Manuel changed his position from the flank to one between the brothers, and, taking a hand of Frank in his left, and one of Henry's in his right, rode on a few moments in silence. Then he said: "God has given me, among many friends, two that are something more. But for your brave acts I should still be a captive. Thank you for myself, my dear mother, and Sapoya."
Having reached the wagon-road crossing of the Carizo, we turned at a canter over the divide between it and the Lithodendron. As we rose above a terrace our attention was attracted to two mounted Indians scurrying off into the broken and higher country on our right.
"Ah, look!" shouted Manuel; "they expected to stop three naked, unarmed boys, and they are surprised to meet a troop of cavalry! Viva los Estados Unidos! Run, you sheep-stealers, we are safely out of your hands!"
Upon reaching the summit of the divide the whole war-party stood revealed, far to our right, out of rifle-shot. Plainly, our presence was a great surprise to them. Although they greatly outnumbered us, the country was too open for their system of warfare, and they were poorly armed. They stood sullenly aloof, and allowed us to canter past unmolested.
"'GOD HAS GIVEN ME, AMONG MANY FRIENDS, TWO THAT ARE SOMETHING MORE'"
Just as our rear was passing them we noticed a solitary warrior advance and show a white cloth.
"That is Elarnagan," said Manuel. "He wants to speak with you."
Accompanied by the Mexican boy to act as interpreter, I advanced to the chief. He took my hand with dignity, and said he accepted the loss of his pale-faced captives as the fortune of war, but he demanded the return of Sapoya. He said that in a fight with the Utes, ten years before, his people had captured a Cherokee chief, who was visiting that tribe with his wife and child. The chief and his wife had died, and he, Elarnagan, had brought up the child as his own. He asked that Sapoya be restored to him.
I called the Indian lad to me and, repeating the words of the chief, said, "You may answer for yourself."
"Sapoya says to the bravest warrior of the Navajos, that he is grateful for all the favors that he has received, and that he thinks he has returned by hard service ample payment for all. He brought parents, three horses, and ample clothing to the Navajos; he takes nothing away but the pony he rode. He has shared his blanket and food with his brother, Manuel, for these many moons, undergoing fatigue and exposure with him, until his heart beats as one with his comrade's, and he desires to go with him to his home and become one of his people."
The chief said nothing in reply, but advancing gave his hand in amity to both boys, and rode back to his people.
"He is a good chief and a brave one," said Manuel, as we rejoined the command, "but I should cherish kindlier memories of him if he had given us some clothing and an extra blanket."
Later, as we were riding slowly out of the bed of Lithodendron, Frank said, "I do not see how the Indians came to spare Vic."
"One of them did attempt to kill her, but I threw my arms about her and the chief patted her head and gave orders that she should not be hurt. I think if her collar had not been taken off at Laguna she would have been killed in a scramble to possess it. Even Elarnagan would have considered her life worthless compared with the possession of such a beautiful trinket."
"The chief seems to have taken quite a liking to Corporal Henry," I remarked.
"Not enough to allow him to retain his clothing," said Manuel; "but he would not permit him to be deprived of his pony. Perhaps you saw him, when you were on the butte, dash round the herd with Henry on his shoulder?"
"Frank and I saw it," I answered.
"He said, when he placed Henry back upon Chiquita, 'He will make a brave chief.'"
Camp was reached a little after dark, and the boys plunged into the river to remove the yeso, and then dressed themselves in civilized garments, Henry drawing on his reserve, and the others from the quartermaster's stores.
Had not Victoriana been a modest doggie, the amount of praise and attention she received from the four boys would have turned her head; and the boys themselves had no reason to complain of the kindly congratulations they received from the infantry company.
Word was sent to Lieutenant Hubbell that Manuel Perea had been rescued, and the following morning all the New Mexicans not on duty rode into camp to congratulate the boy upon his escape. Spanish cheers and Spanish felicitations filled the air for an hour.
When the volunteers had gone and quiet was resumed, Brenda came, and her delight at seeing the boys again showed itself in ceaseless caressings of Vic and many requests for a repetition of the account of their flying ride when the signal was waved from the butte. When she at last withdrew, to repeat the story to her relatives, the corporals and I wrote a letter to Señora Perea, to be delivered by her son. In my portion I related the circumstances attending his recovery, detailing the part taken by the boy corporals, the dog, and the troop. I said no one desired to claim the generous reward she had offered, since no one in particular had rescued Manuel; many things had combined to enable him to escape. If the lady insisted upon paying the reward, we all desired that it should be devoted to the education of Sapoya.
Frank added a few lines, and Henry closed the letter. The younger corporal wrote:
"I've laughed with the rest over my two days' captivity among the Navajos, and made light of it. I don't mind telling you that after shivering through two nights without clothes and without enough blankets, being bitten by mosquitoes and flies, and scorched daytimes by the sun, I begin to think Manuel a great hero.
"You know when I saw you I told you I was going to bring back Manuel or be a prisoner with him. That, of course, was all foolish talk, for I planned nothing. To be sure, I was a prisoner with him for two days and had something to do about bringing him back, but it all happened without planning. It seems as if God directed us all through. Frank, Vic, the soldiers, officers, and myself—even the dry time from Jacob's Well to the Lithodendron—all had something to do with finding Manuel.
"About the reward the lieutenant speaks of, we think none of us deserve it. We've talked it over, and we think if you would give Sapoya a chance at school, and if you cannot make a white boy of him make him an educated man, that would be the best reward. He's very intelligent, and if he can have a good chance will learn fast.
"Frank and I have a scheme we hope you will approve of. Mr. Duncan has secured a detail from the War Department to a boys' military school in the States as instructor in tactics, and will probably go in November. We are intending to ask papa to let us join that school after the Christmas holidays. We want you to send Manuel and Sapoya there. Won't you, please? Be sure and say yes. Think what a fine chance it will be for Sapoya.
"You know we boys feel something more than a friendship for one another. I suppose it is like the comradeship of soldiers who have stood shoulder to shoulder in battle. There is a tie uniting us that is closer and firmer than friendship; we feel more like brothers.
"We will write often. Hoping Manuel will arrive home safe, and that he may never again be a captive,
"I remain your friend,
"Henry Burton."
Our letters were despatched by Manuel and Sapoya to Lieutenant Hubbell's camp, where Captain Bayard directed the boys to await the detachment of New Mexican cavalry which had accompanied us from the Rio Grande and which was shortly to return there.
We resumed our march the following day at a very early hour, and as we passed the cavalry camp two half-dressed boys came bounding out to the road-side to once more repeat their affectionate good-byes and renew their promises to meet in the future.
The march continued for a week longer, through a region over which the Pullman car now rushes with the modern tourist, but through which we moved at the gait of infantry. The boy corporals and Brenda Arnold climbed eminences, looked through clefts in precipices into the sublime depths of the great cañon, stood on the edge of craters of extinct volcanoes, penetrated the mysterious caverns of the cliff-dwellers, fished for trout in a mountain lake, caught axolotl in a tank at the foot of San Francisco Mountain, shot turkeys, grouse, and antelope, and enjoyed the march as only healthy youngsters can. Brenda became a pupil of the boys in loading and firing their revolvers, carbines, and fowling-pieces, and made many a bull's-eye when firing at a mark, but invariably failed to hit anything living. Henry said she was too tender-hearted to aim well at animals. That she was no coward an incident to be told in a future chapter will prove.
When our train and its escort reached Fort Whipple, or, rather, the site of that work—for we built it after our arrival—the Arnolds caught up their cattle from our herd, and after a two weeks' stay in Prescott removed to a section of land which they took up in Skull Valley, ten miles to the west by the mountain-trail, and twenty-five miles by the only practicable wagon-road. This place was selected for a residence because its distance from Prescott and its situation at the junction of the bridle-path and wagon-road made it an excellent location for a way-side inn.
At a dress-parade held the evening before the family's departure for their new home, Brenda sat on her pony, Gypsy, near Captain Bayard, and heard an order read advancing her young friends from the grade of corporal to that of sergeant, "for soldierly attention to duty on the march, gallant conduct in the affair at Laguna, and meritorious behavior in effecting the rescue of captive boys from the Navajos at Carizo Creek; subject to the approval of Colonel Burton."