The Young Scout: The Story of a West Point Lieutenant

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

But there came a time when he was within a stone’s throw almost of the spot he had fixed upon as the right one that his phantom-like progress was checked. The slow, silent, gliding motion ceased and the dusky scout stood motionless.

At that moment he was among the stunted pines, where the moonlight was so faint that his keen vision could penetrate only a short distance in any direction, but the conviction was strong upon him that some person was near. He had not seen or heard anything to impart such knowledge, but that peculiar sense known by the name of intuition was as unmistakable as sight or hearing could have been.

Sure enough, while gazing to the right, he outlined the figure of an Apache warrior, standing as quiet as himself, in a spot where the dim illumination would have been secure protection against any eyes except those of Mendez. The figure remained stationary only a few seconds when it vanished among the trees in the direction of the camp of the hostiles.

As it moved off the friendly scout received a shock, caused by observing a resemblance to one whom he had known before, and who was the last person in the world he expected to see. The emotion, however, was transitory, and, waiting but a minute or two, he resumed his stealthy approach to the camp.

A few steps further and he caught the twinkle of a fire among the trees, and he had only to put forth the matchless caution he had displayed from the first to gain sight of that which he was so desirous of seeing.

There was a small fire of broken sticks kindled against the face of a boulder, and in front of it was an Apache warrior stretched on the ground in a lazy attitude, smoking his pipe and seemingly half asleep, as he gazed thoughtfully at the embers; but Mendez needed no one to tell him that every sense of the fellow was on the alert, and that the slightest misstep on the part of the scout would bring him to his feet like a flash.

It was Ceballos who lolled in this fashion, and he was the only Indian in sight. His companion or companions were absent, doubtless on the lookout for the approach of the soldiers, who had been observed hovering on the trail during the afternoon. Mendez scanned every portion of his field of vision, but Ceballos was alone.

That he had friends near, however, was proven the next minute when a call, similar to that used by the friendly scout, sounded among the trees. Instantly the Apache came to a sitting posture, with his head turned partly sideways, in the attitude of intense attention.

Then he answered the signal in the same guarded manner, and looked to the left, whence a second figure emerged, with the noiselessness of a shadow. As the firelight fell upon his face, Mendez recognized Maroz, the fierce Apache, who had led the revolt and whose hands were already stained with crime.