"Now, Jim," said Pike, "the wild-cat's gone, and no Apaches will be apt to prowl up here to-night, but I want you to keep the sharpest lookout you ever did in all your life—not only over their movements down in the road, but for cavalry coming from the west. There's just no telling how soon those fellows may be out from Verde, and when they come we want to know it. The Indians have their sentries out, so they evidently expect them. Watch them like a hawk, but don't give any false alarm or make any noise. Let me sleep until it begins to get light, then call me. Now, can you do it?"
"Of course I can, corporal, but where are you going to sleep?"
"Right here by you. I'll hand your blankets and mine out by the parapet, so that if you want me, all you have to do is put out your hand. If you are chilly, or get so towards daybreak, throw that saddle blanket over your shoulders."
For a long time, despite fatigue and watching, Pike could not get to sleep. He lay there looking up at the stars shining in the clear heavens and thinking how peaceful, how far removed from strife or battle, they seemed to be. Then he kept an eye on Jim, and was glad to note that the darkey seemed alert and aware of his responsibilities, for every few minutes he would creep out and peer around the shoulder of the ledge where he could get a better view of anything going on down in the road, and, after half an hour of this sort of thing, he reported to Pike that he "reckoned the whole gang had gone to sleep down there." The old trooper assured him, however, that some must be on the alert and warned him to relax in no way his vigilance, and then at last wearied Nature asserted her rights, and the soldier fell asleep.
Four o'clock came,—five o'clock,—and there had been no sound from below. Then, far in the east the skies began to hoist their colors in honor of the coming Day God, and rich crimson and purple soon blended with the richer gold, and all around the rocky fastness the pale, wan light of the infant morn stole over rock and tree, and still old Pike slept, but not the deep, restful slumber of three hours before. He was dreaming, and his dreams were troubled, for his limbs were twitching; he rolled over and moaned aloud; inarticulate sounds escaped from his lips; but still, as one laboring with nightmare, he could not wake—could not shake off the visions that oppressed him. In his sleep he saw, and saw beyond possibility of doubt, that the Apaches were hurriedly rousing their comrades; that they were quickly picking up their rifles and then nimbly speeding up the rocks; that even as they came towards him up the mountain side several of their number went crouching along towards the east and eagerly watching the roadway through the Pass, and, following their fierce eyes, he could see, winding up the gorge, coming at a trot, a troop of the longed-for cavalry—coming not from the west, as he had expected, but from the direction of the magnificent sunrise that flashed on their carbines and tinged the campaign hats with crimson. At their head rode two officers, and one, he knew at once, must be his old captain, but why that bandage about his head? Why the rude sling in which his arm was carried? Plainly visible though they were to him, the Apaches were completely hidden from the approaching troops. Two minutes' ride brought the leaders to the smouldering ruins of the baggage wagon, at sight of which, and the charred and unrecognizable body in their midst, his captain had groaned aloud, then forced his "broncho" up the rocky path to where they had made their camp, and then, when he saw the ruined ambulance and all the evidences of Apache triumph, he reeled in his saddle and would have fallen headlong had not two stout troopers held him while their young lieutenant thrust a flask of brandy between the ashen lips; and then in his wild vision Pike saw them ride on and on up the road right beneath them—only a quarter of a mile away—never heeding, never looking for him and his precious charges. He strove to shout: he screamed aloud, yet only a suffocated groan seemed to issue from his lips; he shouted to Jim to fire and so attract their attention, but there was no response; and then, in his agony, he started up, wide awake in an instant, and, hurling off his blankets, seized his rifle and sprang to his feet.
Broad daylight; sunbeams dancing through the trees; and there, doubled up at the back of the parapet, lay that scoundrel Jim—asleep on guard. One vehement kick and curse he gave him: then peered over the barrier down the rocky hillside. God of heaven! what a sight met his eyes! The Apaches were almost on them.
