That proved an exciting day. The adjutant's message had temporarily awed and quieted the man, but toward three P. M. the mail carrier arrived from the Gila with his sack of letters and papers. He reported having been stopped only five miles out from Sancho's by masked men who quickly examined his big leather bag, silently pointed to a curious mark, a dab of paint that must have gotten on it while he was there at the ranch, and sent him ahead without a word being spoken. He saw other men, but they passed him by in wide circuit. He met Lieutenant Blake and the troop, and the lieutenant bade him hurry, so the letters were delivered nearly two hours earlier than usual. In the mail were a dozen missives for Captain Nevins, two in dainty feminine superscription postmarked San Francisco, several that might be bills, others that were local, one postmarked Tucson, and one slipped in at Sancho's. The major himself looked these envelopes over as though he thought their contents ought to be examined, but even a convicted man had his rights, and the letters were sent to him. In less than three minutes thereafter the hot, breathless air of the long afternoon was suddenly burdened with another eruption of oaths and ravings. One or two women sitting in the shade of their canvas shelters across the parade clapped their hands to their ears and ran indoors, and the major's orderly dashed full tilt for the guard. Half an hour later Captain Nevins was escorted to a new abode, a tent pitched just outside, not within, the corral, and there he was left to swear at will, with the sentry on No. 4 warned to call the corporal of the guard if the gentleman for one moment quit the seclusion of his solitary quarters.
And this was the status of affairs when the sun went down at the close of the third day after adjournment. When it rose upon the fourth all was quiet about the impetuous captain's canvas home—too quiet, thought the officer of the day after his visit to the guard at reveille, and therefore did he untie the cords that fastened the flaps in front and peer within. Five minutes later two new prisoners were placed in charge of the guard, of which they had been members during the night—Privates Poague and Pritzlaff, of the first and second reliefs, respectively. But the aggregate gain in the column of "in arrest or confinement" was only one, for Captain Nevins had disappeared.
Of course there was a rush to the outlying ranch, whose few remaining occupants grinned exasperatingly and shrugged their shoulders, but gave no information. Of course a courier was sent scurrying away on the trail of the cavalry, but he came back sore-footed at night, relieved of his horse, arms and equipments, and thanking God for his life. Of course another courier was started by night to make the perilous ride to the Salado and order the instant return of at least a platoon, but nothing more was heard of him for a week, and it was nearly five days before these desert-bound exiles of Camp Cooke got another atom of reliable news from Sancho's, and meantime wondrous other things had happened.
It did not take long to determine the means by which Nevins had succeeded in getting away. There was little, indeed, to prevent his doing so if he saw fit to go, for, unless sentries were posted on all four sides of his tent, he might crawl off in the darkness unobserved. The sentry on No. 4 had received orders merely to summon the corporal and report to him if the officer ventured to leave his tent, and as No. 4 was a post over a hundred yards in length, and the sentry responsible for all of it, there was no right or reason in demanding of him that he should give his undivided attention to what might be going on close to the corral. In fact, by removing Nevins from the inner quadrangle of the camp and placing him outside the walls, Major Starke had made it all the easier for him to skip a second time if he saw fit to do so; but Starke reasoned that Nevins still had some hope that congressional influence would save him from dismissal, and therefore would not peril his chances by a second flight. Starke did not know that Nevins was honest at least in one statement, that he expected dismissal. His fate was sealed, his pay was confiscated to square shortages. There was actually nothing to be gained by staying at Cooke in virtual confinement, perhaps eight or ten weeks, until his case could be decided in Washington and the orders received back in Arizona. It actually simplified matters in many ways for Nevins to go. Somebody, for instance, would have to pay the cost of his subsistence all that time at Cooke. Thrice a day his meals were sent to him from the little bachelors' mess, already sorely taxed for the "entertainment" of the members of the court, and the four poor fellows who constituted that frontier club had been only too glad when its members from other stations insisted that they should pay their share of the long three weeks' burden on the culinary department. But Nevins now was penniless, so he said, and why should impecunious infantry subalterns support in idleness a disgraced and virtually dismissed officer? Yet that is precisely what the government compelled them to do—or starve him. Thinking it all over during the day, Major Starke concluded that at least Camp Cooke had something to be thankful for, and sending for Privates Poague and Pritzlaff, he sternly rebuked them for their probable negligence (for "discipline must be maintained"), and with dire threats of what they might expect in the way of punishment if they transgressed in the slightest way for six months to come, he bade them go back to duty, released, which they did, each with his tongue in his cheek and a wink of the inner eye, as they strode off together and went grinning to the guard-tents for their blankets.
All the same Starke wished to know whither Nevins had gone, and whether anything new had started him. This time no horse or mule had disappeared, but the tracks of two quadrupeds were found on the Mesa coming from "Rat Hell," as Captain Post, who had done time in Libby, named the gambling ranch outside the reservation—to a point within one hundred yards of the corral, and thence bore away southward straight as the flight of the crow. Two reprobates in the captain's company declared that the black-bearded clerk arrested with Nevins, but released because he was a civilian over whom the military had no jurisdiction, had been over at the ranch all the previous day. Sentry Poague frankly admitted that he had heard horses' hoofs out on the Mesa and voices in the captain's tent, but saw nobody crossing his post and couldn't be expected to in the pitchy darkness. Whither Nevins went was therefore a matter that could only be conjectured in the light of later events. How he went was a matter of little moment. It was good riddance to bad rubbish, said Starke, until at last the next mail came from Sancho's. For nearly five days the major declared himself content if he never saw Nevins again. Then he turned to and prayed with all his soul that he might catch him—if only for five minutes.
CHAPTER VIII.
It was two long days' cavalry march from Sancho's to Camp Cooke, and many a time it had taken three. Midway, very nearly, the Hassayampa emptied its feeble tribute into the murky Gila. There was water enough, such as it was, for man and beast along the way, but, except in the winter months, both man and beast preferred the night hours for the journey. In order to provide mounts for the three officers Blake had left as many of his men at Cooke, and pushed ahead with the veteran president two hours before the dawn. That his march was watched from afar by mounted men he knew as soon as the sun rose upon his pathway, but Blake's only concern was that they kept at respectful distance. Not more than half a dozen did he see, and these were as single scouts or in pairs. He felt little anxiety for Turnbull and Loring; they, too, were well guarded. The only thing he hated about the whole affair was having to dismount any of his men, but there were only two ambulances at Cooke, one was undergoing repairs and, the inspector being present, the post surgeon wisely protested against the other being sent to the distant south. It was the plan of the party to ride leisurely to Sancho's, there to await the coming of the stage, which should pass through on its way to Yuma Saturday noon.
And early Friday evening the troop went into bivouac at the same old willow clump, and Sancho, profusely and elaborately courteous, had come forth, sombrero in hand, to implore the caballeros to partake of his hospitality. His brother was returned from a visit to Guaymas and Mazatlan, and he had brought wine of the finest and cigars such as Arizona never had known, and Sancho was manifestly disconcerted at the regrets or refusals, coldly courteous on the part of Loring, blunt and brusque on the part of Blake. The veterans, however, saw no harm in going and were sumptuously entertained by mine host in the best room of the ranch. Blake caused a strong guard to be posted at camp, a most unusual thing, and one instantly noted among Sancho's people, and after making the rounds and giving strict instructions to the three sentries, and further ordering side lines as well as lariats for the horses—all this as a result of a low-toned conference with Loring—he came back to find that officer with his valise rolled in a blanket and used as a bolster, while the owner lay on his back gazing dreamily up at the stars. A trooper was silently making down the bedding of the other officers. The sand was soft and dry, no campfire was needed, no tent, no mattress. All four were hardened campaigners and the night was warm and dewless.
For a moment or two Blake fidgeted about. Good wine and cigars were as acceptable him as to anybody. It was Sancho and Sancho's brother he could not stomach, and he would not be beholden to either.