"Well, Ackerman," said Captain Clinton as the boy galloped up beside him, "we are in your hands. We want to go to the nearest ford, and we don't want to get there before dark."
"Very good, sir. If you will move the column in that direction," said George, indicating a 'right oblique,' "you will cut off twenty miles, and besides, you can walk all the way, and save your horses for a rapid eighteen-mile ride that must come as soon as we cross the river."
We need not dwell upon the incidents of that day's march, or enlarge upon the feeling of suspense that George Ackerman experienced during that "rapid eighteen-mile ride" to which he had referred. It will be enough to say that they crossed the ford just after dark in safety; that George, without the least difficulty, found the narrow road that led from the river to Don Miguel's ranche; that at his suggestion the column marched "right by twos," which changed the troopers from four to two abreast, Captain Clinton and George riding at the head; that they moved as silently as possible, so as not to alarm any of the people living along the route, and rapidly, in order to reach the ranche before the cattle-thieves could receive notice of their approach; and that at the end of two hours they galloped into the valley and saw Fletcher's stronghold in plain view before them. A single glance at it showed them that they had arrived just in the nick of time. The courtyard was lighted up with lanterns, excited men were moving to and fro, loud voices were heard shouting out words of command, and the whole interior of the building presented a scene of the wildest commotion. Some watchful friend had got ahead of the column and warned the thieves, and they were gathering up their plunder preparatory to beating a hasty retreat. They were on the watch too, for the column had scarcely made its appearance when a sentry called out, "Who is it?" (equivalent to "Who goes there?"), following up his challenge with the cry of "The Americans! the Americans!"
George afterward said that he never had a very clear idea of what happened during the next few minutes. He remembered that he heard the bugle sound a charge; that he dashed through the arched stone gateway at headlong speed side by side with Captain Clinton; and that the rapid discharge of firearms rang in his ears, accompanied by the cries of the cattle-thieves, who fled in every direction, and such cheers and yells from the troopers as he had never heard before. When he came to himself, his horse, which seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the matter, was dancing about in front of a pile of forage that filled one end of the courtyard. When George saw it he threw himself from his saddle and caught up a lantern.
"I have seen the inside of this hole for the last time," said he to himself. "If Fletcher lives to make a prisoner of me, he shall not bring me to this ranche, and neither shall he harbor here to raid on my stock."
As these thoughts passed through the boy's mind he smashed the glass globe of the lantern with one savage kick, and picking up the lamp applied the flame to the pile of forage. He set it on fire in half a dozen different places, and then turned and threw the lamp into one of the nearest rooms, which seemed to be well filled with something. When he had done that he was frightened. What if it was powder in there? But, fortunately, it wasn't. It was some combustible matter that blazed up fiercely, sending huge volumes of flames out of the door and lighting up the courtyard, which was now occupied only by American troopers. The cattle-thieves had behaved just as they did when Bob Owens so gallantly attacked a portion of their number at the squatter's cabin. They fled in hot haste, making their escape by the roof, by doors whose existence George never dreamed of, and by squeezing themselves through the narrow openings that served the ranche in the place of windows. And, strange to tell, there was no one injured on either side. Having satisfied himself on this point by searching all the rooms to make sure that there were no dead or wounded men in them, the captain ordered his troopers into the saddle and departed as rapidly and silently as he had come. George looked over his shoulder now and then, and when he saw the thick clouds of smoke that arose in the air growing thicker and blacker, he told himself that he had made sure work of the old ranche, and that it would never serve the cattle-thieves for a harboring-place again.
Of course there was an "investigation" made by the Mexican government, but if it ever amounted to anything, George never heard of it. The expedition certainly had a moral effect, and no doubt that was just what the department commander wanted. A body of Mexican troops was ordered to the river almost immediately, and after that the raiders were by no means as bold as they had formerly been. They crossed the Rio Grande now and then lower down, toward Eagle Pass, but the troopers there were on the alert, and after they had thrashed the thieves a few times on their own ground, and some of their leaders had been arrested by the Mexican authorities, the Texans began to feel comparatively safe.
George Ackerman was kept actively employed at the fort much longer than he thought he would be when he first went there. By order of Colonel Brown he crossed the river on several occasions disguised in his Mexican suit, and he always brought back some information concerning the raiders; and once he came so near being captured by his old enemy, Fletcher, that it was a wonder how he escaped. But long before this happened Gus Robbins had received his discharge as a minor, and gone back to Foxboro', a wiser if not a happier boy; Bristow had found his way into the military prison at Fort Leavenworth; and the cattle-thieves whom Bob Owens had captured at the squatter's cabin had been turned over to the civil authorities. George did all he could to secure Springer's release, but his efforts were unavailing, and with his companions he was sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years. Mr. Wentworth had come out all right. With the aid of his friend, Mr. Holmes, he had gathered up all his cattle that had been stampeded by the Mexican raiders, and rebuilt his ranche in a more substantial manner, and he and his boys made it a point to visit the post very frequently to see the men who had rendered them such signal service.
The months wore on, the raids in Colonel Brown's district grew less and less frequent until they ceased altogether, and then the colonel told George that he might go home if he so desired. He did desire it, for he was growing tired of life among the soldiers, and besides, he knew it would be a waste of time for him to remain at the fort when he could no longer be of any use there. So, after taking leave of the officers and of the men who had accompanied him on his expeditions, he mounted his horse, took his pack-mule by the halter and set out. The troopers, who had assembled at the gate to see him go, cheered him lustily as he rode through their ranks, and George carried away with him the assurance that their feelings toward him were very unlike those with which they had regarded him when he first made his appearance at the fort.
Sergeant Owens never lost the position he held in the estimation of both officers and men. He did his duty faithfully, never squandered a cent of his pay at the sutler's store, and at last had the satisfaction of telling himself that he had refunded every cent of the Mail Carrier's money, interest included. He kept up a regular correspondence with his father, who told him he was proud of the record he had won, and said everything he could to encourage him. One thing that pleased Bob was the knowledge of the fact that everybody in and about Rochdale was familiar with his history. They knew just what he had done when the steamer Sam Kendall was burned, and the particulars of his exploit on the Staked Plains had been published in the papers. He would go home a hero, instead of sneaking back like a thief in the night; and that is something that runaway boys don't often do.