CHAPTER XX
WHERE IS ANGELA?
For a moment as they drew under shelter the stricken form of thesoldier, there was nothing the defense could do but dodge. Then,leaving him at the edge of the pool, and kicking before them the onecowed and cowering shirker of the little band, Blakely and the singletrooper still unhit, crept back to the rocky parapet, secured acarbine each and knelt, staring up the opposite wall in search of thefoe. And not a sign of Apache could they see.
Yet the very slant of the arrow as it pierced the young soldier, thenew angle at which the bullets bounded from the stony crest, thelower, flatter flight of the barbed missiles that struck fire from theflinty rampart, all told the same story. The Indians during the hoursof darkness, even while dreading to charge, had managed to crawl,snake-like, to lower levels along the cliff and to creep closer up thestream bed, and with stealthy, noiseless hands to rear little sheltersof stone, behind which they were now crouching invisible and secure.With the illimitable patience of their savage training they had thenwaited, minute after minute, hour after hour, until, lulled at lastinto partial belief that their deadly foe had slipped away, some ofthe defenders should be emboldened to venture into view, and then onewell-aimed volley at the signal from the leader's rifle, and thevengeful shafts of those who had as yet only the native weapon, wouldfall like lightning stroke upon the rash ones, and that would end it.Catlike they had crouched and watched since early dawn. Catlike theyhad played the old game of apparent weariness of the sport, offorgetfulness of their prey and tricked their guileless victims intohope and self-exposure, then swooped again, and the gallant lad whoselast offer and effort had been to set forth in desperate hope ofbringing relief to the suffering, had paid for his valor with hislife. One arrow at least had gone swift and true, one shaft that,launched, perhaps, two seconds too soon for entire success, had barelyanticipated the leader's signal and spoiled the scheme of bagging allthe game. Blakely's dive to save his fallen comrade had just saved hisown head, for rock chips and spattering lead flew on every side,scratching, but not seriously wounding him.
And then, when they "thought on vengeance" and the three brown muzzlesswept the opposite wall, there followed a moment of utter silence,broken only by the faint gasping of the dying man. "Creep back toCarmody, you," muttered Blakely to the trembling lad beside him. "Youare of no account here unless they try to charge. Give him water,quick." Then to Stern, his one unhurt man, "You heard what he saidabout distant firing. Did you hear it?"
"Not I, sir, but I believe _they_ did--an' be damned to them!" AndStern's eyes never left the opposite cliff, though his ears werestrained to catch the faintest sound from the lower canon. It wasthere they last had seen the troop. It was from that direction helpshould come. "Watch them, but don't waste a shot, man. I must speak toCarmody," said Blakely, under his breath, as he backed on hands andknees, a painful process when one is sore wounded. Trembling,whimpering like whipped child, the poor, spiritless lad sent to theaid of the stricken and heroic, crouched by the sergeant's side,vainly striving to pour water from a clumsy canteen between thesufferer's pallid lips. Carmody presently sucked eagerly at thecooling water, and even in his hour of dissolution seemed far thestronger, sturdier of the two--seemed to feel so infinite a pity forhis shaken comrade. Bleeding internally, as was evident, transfixed bythe cruel shaft they did not dare attempt to withdraw, even if thebarbed steel would permit, and drooping fainter with each swiftmoment, he was still conscious, still brave and uncomplaining. Hisdimmed and mournful eyes looked up in mute appeal to his youngcommander. He knew that he was going fast, and that whatever rescuemight come to these, his surviving fellow-soldiers, there would benone for him; and yet in his supreme moment he seemed to read thequestion on Blakely's lips, and his words, feeble and broken, wereframed to answer.
"Couldn't--you hear 'em, lieutenant?" he gasped. "I can'tbe--mistaken. I know--the old--Springfield _sure_! I heard 'em wayoff--south--a dozen shots," and then a spasm of agony choked him, andhe turned, writhing, to hide the anguish on his face. Blakely graspedthe dying soldier's hand, already cold and limp and nerveless, andthen his own voice seemed, too, to break and falter.
"Don't try to talk, Carmody; don't try! Of course you are right. Itmust be some of our people. They'll reach us soon. Then we'll have thedoctor and can help you. Those saddle-bags!" he said, turning sharplyto the whimpering creature kneeling by them, and the lad drew handacross his streaming eyes and passed the worn leather pouches. Fromone of them Blakely drew forth a flask, poured some brandy into itscup and held it to the soldier's lips. Carmody swallowed almosteagerly. He seemed to crave a little longer lease of life. There wassomething tugging at his heartstrings, and presently he turned slowly,painfully again. "Lieutenant," he gasped, "I'm not scared to die--thisway anyhow. There's no one to care--but the boys--but there's onething"--and now the stimulant seemed to reach the failing heart andgive him faint, fluttering strength--"there's one thing I ought--Iought to tell. You've been solid with the boys--you're square, and I'mnot--I haven't always been. Lieutenant--I was on guard--the night ofthe fire--and Elise, you know--the French girl--she--she's got mostall I saved--most all I--won, but she was trickin' me--all the time,lieutenant--me and Downs that's gone--and others. She didn't care.You--you aint the only one I--I--"
"Lieutenant!" came in excited whisper, the voice of Stern, and thereat his post in front of the cave he knelt, signaling urgently."Lieutenant, quick!"
"One minute, Carmody! I've got to go. Tell me a little later." Butwith dying strength Carmody clung to his hand.
"I must tell you, lieutenant--now. It wasn't Downs's fault. She--shemade--"
"Lieutenant, quick! for God's sake! They're coming!" cried the voiceof the German soldier at the wall, and wrenching his wrist from theclasp of the dying man, Blakely sprang recklessly to his feet and tothe mouth of the cave just as Stern's carbine broke the stillness withresounding roar. Half a dozen rifles barked their instant echo amongthe rocks. From up the hillside rose a yell of savage hate and anotherof warning. Then from behind their curtaining rocks half a dozen duskyforms, their dirty white breechclouts streaming behind them, sprangsuddenly into view and darted, with goatlike ease and agility,zigzagging up the eastward wall. It was a foolish thing to do, butBlakely followed with a wasted shot, aimed one handed from theshoulder, before he could regain command of his judgment. In thirtyseconds the cliff was as bare of Apaches as but the moment before ithad been dotted. Something, in the moment when their savage plans andtriumph seemed secure, had happened to alarm the entire party. Withwarning shouts and signals they were scurrying out of the deep ravine,scattering, apparently, northward. But even as they fled to higherground there was order and method in their retreat. While several oftheir number clambered up the steep, an equal number lurked in theircovert, and Blakely's single shot was answered instantly by half adozen, the bullets striking and splashing on the rocks, the arrowsbounding or glancing furiously. Stern ducked within, out of the storm.Blakely, flattening like hunted squirrel close to the parapet, flungdown his empty carbine and strove to reach another, lying loaded atthe southward loophole, and at the outstretched hand there whizzed anarrow from aloft whose guiding feather fairly seared the skin, soclose came the barbed messenger. Then up the height rang out a shrillcry, some word of command in a voice that had a familiar tang to it,and that was almost instantly obeyed, for, under cover of sharp,well-aimed fire from aloft, from the shelter of projecting rock orstranded bowlder, again there leaped into sight a few scattered,sinewy forms that rushed in bewildering zigzag up the steep, untilsafe beyond their supports, when they, too, vanished, and again thecliff stood barren of Apache foemen as the level of the garrisonparade. It was science in savage warfare against which the drill bookof the cavalry taught no method whatsoever. Another minute and eventhe shots had ceased. One glimpse more had Blakely of dingy, trailingbreechclouts, fluttering in the breeze now stirring the fringing pinesand cedars, and all that was left of the late besiegers cameclattering down the r
ocks in the shape of an Indian shield. Sternwould have scrambled out to nab it, but was ordered down. "Back, youidiot, or they'll have you next!" And then they heard the feeblevoice of Wren, pleading for water and demanding to be lifted to thelight. The uproar of the final volley had roused him from an almostdeathlike stupor, and he lay staring, uncomprehending, at Carmody,whose glazing eyes were closed, whose broken words had ceased. Thepoor fellow was drifting away into the shadows with his story stilluntold.
"Watch here, Stern, but keep under cover," cried Blakely. "I'll see tothe captain. Listen for any shot or sound, but hold your fire," andthen he turned to his barely conscious senior and spoke to him as hewould to a helpless child. Again he poured a little brandy in his cup.Again he held it to ashen lips and presently saw the faint flutter ofreviving strength. "Lie still just a moment or two, Wren," he murmuredsoothingly. "Lie still. Somebody's coming. The troop is not far off.You'll soon have help and home and--Angela"--even then his tonguefaltered at her name. And Wren heard and with eager eyes questionedimploringly. The quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the childhe loved. "Angela--where?"
"Home--safe--where you shall be soon, old fellow, only--brace up now.I must speak one moment with Carmody," and to Carmody eagerly heturned. "You were speaking of Elise and the fire--of Downs, sergeant----" His words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier haddrifted far away and must be recalled. "Tell me again. What was it?"
But only faint, swift gasping answered him. Carmody either heard not,or, hearing, was already past all possibility of reply. "Speak to me,Carmody. Tell me what I can do for you?" he repeated. "What word toElise?" He thought the name might rouse him, and it did. A feeble handwas uplifted, just an inch or two. The eyelids slowly fluttered, andthe dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of theyoung commander. There was a moment of almost breathless silence,broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childishwhimpering of that other--the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier.
"Elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift hishead, "she--promised"--but the head sank back on Blakely's knee. Sternwas shouting at the stone gate--shouting and springing to his feet andswinging his old scouting hat and gazing wildly down the canon. "ForGod's sake hush, man!" cried the lieutenant. "I must hear Carmody." ButStern was past further shouting now. Sinking on his knees, he wassobbing aloud. Scrambling out into the daylight of the opening, butstill shrinking within its shelter, the half-crazed, half-broken soldierstood stretching forth his arms and calling wild words down the echoinggorge, where sounds of shouting, lusty-lunged, and a ringing order ortwo, and then the clamor of carbine shots, told of the coming of rescueand new life and hope, and food and friends, and still Blakely knelt andcircled that dying head with the one arm left him, and pleaded andbesought--even commanded. But never again would word or order stir thesoldier's willing pulse. The sergeant and his story had driftedtogether beyond the veil, and Blakely, slowly rising, found the lightedentrance swimming dizzily about him, first level and then up-ended;found himself sinking, whither he neither knew nor cared; found thecanon filling with many voices, the sound of hurrying feet and then ofmany rushing waters, and then--how was it that all was dark without thecave, and lighted--lantern-lighted--here within? They had had nolantern, no candle. Here were both, and here was a familiar face--oldHeartburn's--bending reassuringly over Wren, and someone was ----. Why,where was Carmody? Gone! And but a moment ago that dying head was thereon his knee, and then it was daylight, too, and now--why, it must beafter nightfall, else why these lanterns? And then old Heartburn camebending over him in turn, and then came a rejoiceful word:
"Hello, Bugs! Well, it _is_ high time you woke up! Here, take a swigof this!"
Blakely drank and sat up presently, dazed, and Heartburn went on withhis cheery talk. "One of you men out there call Captain Stout. Tellhim Mr. Blakely's up and asking for him," and, feeling presently aglow of warmth coursing in his veins, the Bugologist roused to asitting posture and began to mumble questions. And then a burly shadowappeared at the entrance, black against the ruddy firelight in thecanon without, where other forms began to appear. Down on his kneecame Stout to clasp his one available hand and even clap him on theback and send unwelcome jar through his fevered, swollen arm. "Goodboy, Bugs! You're coming round famously. We'll start you back to Sandyin the morning, you and Wren, for nursing, petting, and all that sortof thing. They are lashing the saplings now for your litters, andwe've sent for Graham, too, and he'll meet you on the the way, whilewe shove on after Shield's people."
"Shield--Raven Shield?" queried Blakely, still half dazed. "Shield waskilled--at Sandy," and yet there was the memory of the voice he knewand heard in this very canon.
"Shield, yes; and now his brother heads them. Didn't he send his carddown to you, after the donicks, and be damned to him? You foregatheredwith both of them at the agency. Oh, they're all alike, Bugs, oncethey're started on the warpath. Now we must get you out into the openfor a while. The air's better."
And so, an hour later, his arm carefully dressed and bandaged,comforted by needed food and fragrant tea and the news that Wren wasreviving under the doctor's ministrations, and would surely mend andrecover, Blakely lay propped by the fire and heard the story ofStout's rush through the wilderness to their succor. Never waiting forthe dawn, after a few hours' rest at Beaver Spring, the sturdydoughboys had eagerly followed their skilled and trusted leader allthe hours from eleven, stumbling, but never halting even for rest orrations, and at last had found the trail four miles below in thedepths of the canon. There some scattering shots had met them, arrowand rifle both, from up the heights, and an effort was made to delaytheir progress. Wearied and footsore though were his men, they haddriven the scurrying foe from rock to rock and then, in a lull thatfollowed, had heard the distant sound of firing that told them whitherto follow on. Only one man, Stern, was able to give them coherent wordor welcome when at last they came, for Chalmers and Carmody lay dead,Wren in a stupor, Blakely in a deathlike swoon, and "that poor chapyonder" loony and hysterical as a crazy man. Thank God they had not,as they had first intended, waited for the break of day.
Another dawn and Stout and most of his men had pushed on after theApaches and in quest of the troop at Sunset Pass. By short stages thesoldiers left in charge were to move the wounded homeward. By noonthese latter were halted under the willows by a little stream. Theguards were busy filling canteens and watering pack mules, when thesingle sentry threw his rifle to the position of "ready" and the gunlock clicked loud. Over the stony ridge to the west, full a thousandyards away, came a little band of riders in single file, four men inall. Wren was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Blakely, feverish andexcited, was wide awake. Mercifully the former never heard the firstquestion asked by the leading rider--Arnold, the ranchman--as he camejogging into the noonday bivouac. Stone, sergeant commanding, had runforward to meet and acquaint him with the condition of the rescuedmen. "Got there in time then, thank God!" he cried, as wearily heflung himself out of saddle and glanced quickly about him. There layWren, senseless and still between the lashed ribs of his litter. Therelay Blakely, smiling feebly and striving to hold forth a wasted hand,but Arnold saw it not. Swiftly his eyes flitted from face to face,from man to man, then searched the little knot of mules, sidelined andnibbling at the stunted herbage in the glen. "I don't see Punch," hefaltered. "Wh-where's Miss Angela?"