The only sound that reached their ears was the soft flow of the stream, barely distinguishable in the profound stillness. Once they fancied they heard the report of another gun, but, if so, it was so distant it could not be identified.
One distressing question pressed upon Maurice Freeman. Ought he to remain in this lonely place or return to his home a number of miles distant? His family would not be disturbed over his absence, for he had occasionally stayed at the fort over night and had been absent longer at Prescott or Phœnix, but at such times everything was so quiet that there was no ground for alarm.
He reflected that his wife knew nothing of the threatened raid of the Apaches, unless it had come to her after his departure from home that morning. Consequently, in the event of the hostiles making a dash into that section, she would be wholly unprepared against surprise.
Freeman and his friend Murray had taken an active part in chastising a party of Apaches some months before, most of them being killed, and he suspected that revenge might be a factor in inspiring this advance of Geronimo eastward. If such were the fact, nothing was easier than for him and his warriors to push on during the darkness, wreak their vengeance and get away before the sun rose.
The question, put in another form, was whether he and Lieutenant Decker were accomplishing any good purpose by thus lingering in the neighborhood with a view of watching and possibly checking the movements of the hostiles. If the latter were bent on raiding further eastwards they could make a detour which would carry them to the point they had in view without the knowledge of the two men, or of Mendez, who had gone forward to spy out their actions.
The veteran was loath to leave his comrade, but this hesitation was due to the uncertainty whether it was wiser to do so than to remain.
He was on the point of expressing his misgivings, when a low, soft whistle sounded on the still night air.
“Sh!” whispered the lieutenant, “that’s Mendez!”