The letter which Lieutenant Decker wrote to his old classmate, who had a pleasant berth at Washington, was not precisely what he expected to write when bidding him farewell.
“But for the prospect of active service,” he said, “I would agree with many of my old friends, including yourself, that I made a great mistake. This is one of the most frightful regions of our glorious country. If it was not that the atmosphere is dry no one could stand it. Human beings would be driven out as from Sahara, but no one knows what he can undergo until he makes the experiment. Trouble is certain to come with the Apaches and I am as confident as ever that if I can bring my scalp out of the flurry I shall win promotion, which you know is the dream of all of us.”
Having located the brave young lieutenant in his new quarters, with his dreams of glory, some attention must now be given to others with whose fortunes he became closely identified before he had spent a year at Fort Reno in Arizona.
Maurice Freeman was a veteran of the Southern Confederacy, who had moved into the section nearly two years before Lieutenant Decker was assigned to that post. His family consisted of his wife Molly, his little boy Fulton and a girl Fannie. It was on a pleasant day in winter, when the climate in that region is delightful, that Freeman set out to ride to Fort Reno, ten miles distant from his ranch.
The ranchman was accustomed to make periodical visits to the military post, where he had a pleasant acquaintance with the officers and received a cordial welcome and courteous treatment. There were many little articles which he could obtain there that were useful to his family and which, therefore, rendered unnecessary, except at distant intervals, his journeys to Prescott, Phœnix, Tombstone and the other comparatively large towns.
Freeman was riding at a brisk pace, for his animal was excellent and the weather favorable. Ascending a gentle slope, some distance from Salt River, a tributary of the Gila, he checked his pony and looked off over the broad stretch of country spread out before him, with a winding branch of the Gila showing at varying distances across the undulating plain.
But the scene was so familiar that it excited little interest and he had not paused to admire it; he was looking for friends or enemies, as the case might prove to be.
His scrutiny of the sandy expanse was not in vain, for the first sweeping glance revealed three horsemen to the northwest, all galloping at a swift pace, and heading toward him.
“Who can they be?” he asked himself, shading his eyes with his hand and peering intently in that direction. “If I had a glass, I could make them out, but they will soon disclose themselves, for they seem to be in a hurry.”
It was early in the afternoon, and since nothing was to be gained by remaining where he was, the ranchman spoke to his horse, which instantly broke into an easy, swinging pace toward the others, who were studying the single man as closely as he was trying to make them out.