"From Captain Turner," said he gravely. "I read it, hoping not to have to disturb the general, but—there's been a fight and some are wounded. Turner needs instructions."
The army-bred woman needed no further word. She knew at once what had to be done. "Wake father, Lilian, dear," she gently called from the foot of the stairs. "Will you come in, Mr. Briggs? I can light up in a moment."
"There's light in abundance out here, thank you, Mrs. Archer. Besides, I have our runner." And, turning back, he pointed to the steps where, still watched by Corporal Hicks, the dusky messenger squatted wearily. All Apaches looked alike to Hicks. His attitude was plainly indicative of a conviction that treachery of some kind was afoot, and this particular envoy had designs on his commander or that commander's wife. They could hear the veteran bustling about upstairs, hurriedly donning his uniform. Then came Strong, with his quick, bounding step, for Briggs had called him before disturbing the "Old Man." A moment later, by the clear light of the unclouded moon, Archer was hurriedly reading Turner's brief despatch.
Bivouac on Toronto Creek, November 24th, 187—.
Post Adjutant,
Camp Almy.
We have had two more brushes with Tonto Apaches, resulting in the breaking up of two rancherias and the scattering of the band, leaving several dead in each affair, also a few wounded bucks and squaws that I had to leave, as we had no means of sending them to the post or caring for them in any way. Sergeant Payne, Corporal Smith, G, and Troopers Schreiter and Wenzel, wounded, are doing as well as can be expected, but must remain at this point under a small guard while we follow the renegades. The scouts report many signs toward the Black Mesa, and we shall strike wherever we find the hostiles, but I shall have but twenty-five men with me now, and barely forty rounds per man. Instructions sent by bearer may reach me among the foothills toward Diamond Butte. Otherwise, we shall return by the way we came. Trooper Hanson, died of wounds in the affair previously reported, was buried here.
Respectfully,
Turner, Commanding.
"Then the other runner failed to get in," said Archer gravely. "There was a fight before this. Turner's found a raft of Indians. This despatch is two days old now. Have we nobody who can talk with this Indian?"
"Nobody, I fear, sir," answered Strong, bending over the scout and examining the brass identification tag worn by each of those regularly employed and mustered. "He's a Hualpai. No. 21. Even Harris doesn't know that tongue, sir."