The Young Scout: The Story of a West Point Lieutenant

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

When convinced that the chase was over, Mendez checked his speed and turned slightly to the right, so as to draw away from the stream, which had been followed most of the time. He was not far from camp and haste was not necessary.

And again his horse made a discovery. He did not stop but slackened his pace, with ears erect and head turned to the right, toward the open plain.

The keen vision of the rider quickly saw the cause. A dark object was discerned on the sand, but was so indistinct that its nature could not be learned without a nearer approach.

The first thought was that it might be one of the hostiles, trying to steal upon the whites in this characteristic fashion. Mendez held his rifle ready to fire and gently urged his horse to advance. He seemed loath to obey, but did so, once more halting, after advancing a few paces.

That which the scout saw was the figure of a man prone and motionless in the sand. Studying him for some time, no change of position could be perceived. The pony was urged more sternly than before. As if aware that it was useless to disregard his master’s command, he snorted and then walked straight to the figure, not stopping until his owner checked him within twenty feet.

The form on the ground was that of Potter, the scout. He was lying on his face and did not move a muscle. There was good reason for this as was shown by the feather-tipped point of an arrow which projected from between his shoulders.

Mendez slipped from his steed and stooping over rolled the body on its back. The scout had been dead for some time, killed by an arrow driven with such terrific force into his back that the tip showed in front. While he was stealing upon his enemies he must have been discovered by one of them, without the knowledge of the scout. Although the Apaches are experts in the use of firearms, they are equally skillful in handling the bow and arrow, which, because of their noiselessness, sometimes serve their cruel purposes better than the more common weapon. They have often slain a white man within a few rods of his friends, without awaking suspicion, the twang of the bowstring being scarcely louder than a sudden puff of air.

With all his experience in scouting against those people, the white man had met his death at last through their superior cunning.

Mendez vaulted upon the back of his pony and a few minutes later rejoined his friends. The horse of Potter had arrived some time before, so that his companions were prepared for the news. Almost at the same moment, Martin came in with word that he had been unable to learn anything, which, in view of the fate of his comrade, was perhaps a fortunate thing for him.