TROOPER ROSS 
 
 AND 
 
 SIGNAL BUTTE 
 
 GENERAL CHARLES KING 
 
r <2) /iV /? 
 
t^L, c-Z.-. ■. uUi^^ 
 
 
 -fum, 
 
 ^ Q 
 
 
'Oh, murther, murther, Koddie boy, what vilhiln let yt>u across 
 river?" 
 
TROOPER ROSS 
 
 AND 
 
 SIGNAL BUTTE 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN CHARLES KING 
 U. S. A. 
 
 illustrated by 
 Charles H. Stephens 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 .r B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 1908 
 
COPTBIGHT, 18^6>' 
 
 ' y. B. L'ippincott Compaq. 
 
 ELECTflOTYPEB AND PRINTED BY J. B. LiPPlNCOTT COMPANY, Ph.UDEUPH.A, U.S.A. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAQE 
 
 " Oh, murther, murther. Koddie boy, what villain let you across 
 
 the river?" Frontispiece. 
 
 The next thing he knew he had shot over the cracking edge . . 107 
 
 Collaring both, a muscular hand to each, he half pushed, haJf 
 
 dragged them out of the way 150 
 
 The two riders wave rejoicingly their fur caps in answer to the 
 
 frantic cheers from the hither shore 177 
 
 From the dark low ground to the west came the lithe, swarthy 
 
 young courier himself 216 
 
 The trail clambered to a projecting point, commanding a view of 
 
 the canon for two miles 272 
 
 Mi3i)49 
 
»-.■< 
 
 
 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was a scene of wild excitement one 
 summer's night at old Fort Frayne. With the 
 exception of one company of infantry, the entire 
 garrison was in the field. The families of some 
 of the officers had been sent East for the time 
 being, because every one realized that a long and 
 arduous, probably dangerous, campaign was in 
 the wind, and no post in all the wide North-west 
 was in so exposed a position. It lay in the very 
 heart of what had been the Sioux country. The 
 Indians loved the mountains that loomed up to 
 the southward of the old stockade, and resented 
 it that they were forced by treaty stipulations to 
 keep on the north side of the river that swept in 
 grand semicircle around the bold bluff whereon 
 stood the fort. Ever since the grass began to 
 
4:^^^'J.i':':l. ; /• TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 peep had tliey been swarming to join the hostile 
 camps hidden far up among the fastnesses of the 
 Big Horn Mountains and in the deep valleys of 
 the Rosebud and the Deje Agie ; and even while 
 by thousands the young warriors gathered about 
 the war chiefs of their tribes and covered the 
 whole country beyond Crazy Woman's Fork and 
 rode like red scarecrows all over the miles and 
 miles of broad trails that led from the reserva- 
 tions in North-western Nebraska, smaller bands, 
 swift, agile, daring, kept twinkling into view of 
 the sentries at Frayne, Fetterman, and Laramie, 
 sometimes fording or swimming the stream and 
 raiding far down to the settlements and ranches 
 on the Chug, killing and scalping the men, bear- 
 ing away women and children, running off herds 
 of cattle, and later, daring even to creep close to 
 the stockades themselves at night and shout chal- 
 lenge and defiance in stentorian tones to the sol- 
 diery of the depleted garrisons. 
 
 But there were many of the officers' families 
 that were far too poor to afford the costly journey 
 to the East, and there were others that would not 
 have gone even could they have afforded it, and 
 of these latter were the wife and child of Captain 
 Boss. A " first-class soldier" was the captain, a 
 soldier educated at West Point, and the son of a 
 soldier who had died at the head of his company 
 charging the Mexican line within sight of the 
 
TROOPEE ROSS. 5 
 
 walls of the capital. He loved his profession, 
 gloried in the efficiency and reputation of the 
 troop he commanded, was proud of his regiment, 
 and had no hope or ambition that was not centred 
 in them and in the little family dependent upon 
 him. Mrs. Ross was, at times, a brave and cheery 
 little woman, almost as brave as lived in all our 
 little army, and as proud of her soldier husband 
 as he was of his troop, but during his enforced 
 absence in the field and in the midst of all the 
 dangers which surrounded him her heart some- 
 times failed her. As she expressed it herself, she 
 was apt to " lose her nerve" and to become to the 
 full as timid and hysterical as some of the younger 
 matrons of the garrison. But the hearts of both 
 herself and her husband were bound up in their 
 one remaining child, their only son, a sturdy, 
 healthful, hearty little scamp, barely nine years 
 old at the outbreak of this eventful summer, the 
 boy who became the central figure of the wild 
 excitement at Frayne this summer's night, and 
 from that time forth the hero of many a story 
 told at many an army fireside, and of these stories 
 none were so long as this which you are now 
 invited to read, for it includes many of the others. 
 They had taken to calling him " Buster" when 
 he was a four-year-old, and the name clung to 
 him, and he rather liked it. His own name, that 
 which was given him in honor of his distinguished 
 1* 
 
6 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 grandsire, was rather too high-flown for garrison 
 use. It was the name that now, however, his 
 father much desired to have him called by. The 
 playful pet name of his baby days, though still 
 appropriate in the opinion of Fort Frayne, con- 
 veyed too little of the dignity that should hedge 
 an officer's son, and the men of " B" Troop had 
 already learned that they could easily find the soft 
 side of their energetic commander by referring to 
 the little boy as Master Roderick. Oddly enough, 
 or jDerhaps characteristically enough, he being a 
 boy with views of his own, the main obstacle to 
 reformation in this respect lay with Hod himself, 
 who stoutly maintained that Buster was the name 
 he had first got to know himself by, the one he 
 was accustomed to, and if they didn't want him 
 called that, said he, why on earth did they ever 
 give it to him ? especially when he was a baby and 
 knew no better. " Boderick sounds stuck-up," he 
 added, with a pout, " and I like Buster best any- 
 how." 
 
 And this lovely June evening Buster had the 
 blues. It was nearly nine o'clock and still faintly 
 light. He had been out hunting gophers down 
 the bluif all the summer morning, had been 
 required by his devoted mother to take an after- 
 noon nap, had slept through an important event, 
 the arrival of a courier from the field column with 
 a bagful of letters and a hatful of holes, and 
 
TEOOPEE EOSS. 7 
 
 now this gallant fellow, Downey by name, was 
 lying in hospital faint with loss of blood, for one 
 bullet had missed the hat and hit his shoulder, 
 and still he had managed to outstrip his foes and 
 ride to safety, though his gallant horse would 
 never race again. What was of even greater con- 
 sequence, however, Corporal Billy O'Toole, Bus- 
 ter's own particular friend and confidant, who had 
 been sent in from the Crazy Horse fight in March 
 with a fractured arm, and had been looking for a 
 chance to get back to the command ever since his 
 discharge from hospital, had volunteered to make 
 the attempt to ride through the Indian scouting 
 parties and carry despatches to the field column 
 long two hundred miles away. It wasn^t that 
 Corporal Billy should be going on this desperate 
 mission that made Buster miserable : it was that 
 Billy couldn't and wouldn't take him too. 
 
 Like most army boys of those days. Buster had 
 his Indian pony, and like not a few of their num- 
 ber, his own theories of Indian warfare and Indian 
 character. These theories were not in all cases 
 reliable, but they were no more absurd than those 
 of many older and more influential citizens who 
 lived farther from the Indians and nearer the 
 powers at Washington. Buster believed his pony 
 could best any Indian's pony, and he himself 
 could lick any Indian except Crazy Horse. He 
 drew the line at Chunka Wiltko, because Chunk 
 
8 TROOPEK EOSS. 
 
 had outwitted a colonel and lots of cavalrymen 
 that bitter cold day of the 17th of March, and 
 was a splendid, daring, fighting warrior, who, per- 
 hajDS, could get away with his weight in white men. 
 '"Course," said Buster, "I don't mean I could 
 fight a whole lot of Indians, but any one of them 
 that got within reach of my gun would be dead 
 before he could wink," and "my gun" was a 
 diminutive target rifle which fired a pellet of lead 
 the size of a quinine pill with remarkable accuracy 
 for a distance of nearly fifty yards, and Buster 
 shot straight, too, for a boy of nine. He had a 
 famous imagination, had Buster, and not infre- 
 quently had come galloping into the post panting 
 as hard as his pony, and frightening the little girls 
 and boys in the neighboring quarters with tre- 
 mendous tales of Indian war-parties swimming 
 the Platte two miles up-stream or of signal 
 smokes in the Medicine Bow, whose meaning he 
 professed to read as readily as other boys could 
 their primers. Yes, it must be admitted that when 
 Buster was a little boy he told the biggest kind 
 of sensational stories, but he believed them, or 
 most of them, and he believed thoroughly in 
 himself. Once when some Arapahoe Indians 
 were camped on the flats down by the river, Billy 
 O'Toole rode down with Buster and challenged 
 some of the little Indian boys to shoot at a mark, 
 and they did, and were badly beaten, for Buster 
 
TKOOPEK EOSS. 9 
 
 had a wonderfully keen eye and a steady hand, 
 and both with bow and arrow and his little target 
 rifle could shoot admirably. This exploit made 
 him famous at the fort, for you may be sure that 
 Corporal Billy lost no opportunity of dilating 
 upon it in the presence of his protege's devoted 
 mother or in the hearing of his proud papa. 
 Neither, for that matter, did Buster fall far behind 
 when it came to telling of this archery contest, 
 and other little boys were not a little envious, and 
 other little boys' mothers wondered, you may be 
 sure, how Captain and Mrs. Ross could let their 
 only child spend so much time with uneducated, 
 irresponsible persons like Corporal O'Toole, and 
 in visiting Indian villages where everything was 
 so dirty and disreputable. But Captain Ross did 
 what few other fathers in old Fort Frayne did. 
 Regularly every day, when he was not absent on 
 duty, he took his little son for an hour's ride. 
 Even in severe and stormy weather the big 
 trooper on his pet Kentucky horse and the ruddy 
 little son on his Indian pony would go trotting 
 out of the garrison and come back glowing and 
 healthful, and it was only when papa was away 
 that Buster spent so much time with O'Toole. 
 Besides, Corporal Billy was very proud of his 
 charge, very careful of the boy — and his own lan- 
 guage — ^when thus intrusted with his care. He 
 taught him many things, too : how to ride bare- 
 
10 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 back Indian-fashion, how to make the pony lie 
 down, how to make him stand near by while 
 Buster dismounted to shoot at sage-hens or occa- 
 sional antelope (not that he ever got near enough 
 to these latter to reach them with his tiny Bal- 
 lard), how to make him swim the Platte or go up 
 hill or down like a mountain goat. That pony, 
 said Buster, knew more than any two horses at 
 Fort Frayne, and a good deal more than any 
 other boy's. O'Toole would have backed Buster 
 to ride a race against any of the Indian urchins, 
 but this Mrs. Ross forbade. She drew the line 
 at further contests between Buster and the little 
 breech-clouted heathen in the frowsy tepees down 
 on the fiats, and so the Arapahoes went away 
 without getting a bet out of Billy in something 
 they could do better than shoot, and that was ride. 
 But Buster believed he would have won, and 
 bragged accordingly, and as we shall see not 
 entirely without reason, for the boy was a born 
 horseman if nothing else, and well was it destined 
 to help him in the hour of need. 
 
 Knowing, therefore, that he could shoot better 
 than the Arapahoe boys, believing their boastful 
 stories (Indians can out-brag any bipeds on earth) 
 that they could out- shoot the Sioux, Buster's con- 
 fidence extended still further, as we have seen. 
 He believed he could shoot or ride as well as any 
 of the young men in any of the tribes, and that 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. H 
 
 if it ever came to a fair fight with guns and pistols 
 he could hold his own with the best of the red 
 warriors provided they came singly, ani stoutly 
 maintained that he would be glad of a chance to 
 show what he was made of. 
 
 And this particular night in June he was ready 
 to cry his young heart out because Billy O'Toole 
 was going to leave on this perilous mission and he 
 was forbidden to say another word about going, 
 too ; for, just think of it, no sooner did he hear 
 that the corporal was to go, this little scamp of a 
 nine-year-old flew to his mother and demanded 
 that he be allowed to accompany him and join his 
 father in the field, which, of course, was utterly 
 out of the question. 
 
 Nine o'clock had come. The old major com- 
 manding the post was saying a few parting words 
 to the brave young Irish trooper who had come to 
 report for orders before mounting. They were 
 standing at the gate-way of the major's quarters, 
 the adjutant in close attendance, one or two sym- 
 pathizing fellows looking wistfully on from the 
 porch of the adjutant's office across the dim, 
 moonlit parade, a dozen army wives and daugh- 
 ters grouped about the neighboring piazzas, seem- 
 ing to have no thought but for the husbands and 
 fathers in the field and the courier who had thus 
 offered himself for the perilous attempt to run the 
 gauntlet through the intervening wilds. Their 
 
12 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 soft voices were hushed, the ripple of their laugh- 
 ter, usually so blithe and merry, was stilled to- 
 night, and the only sound that seemed to break 
 the stillness of the broad expanse, between the 
 snow-capped pinnacles of Cloud Peak far to the 
 north and the black crests of the Medicine Bow 
 to the southward, was the murmuring rush of the 
 river over its stony bed and the distant yelp of 
 the prairie-wolf, skulking among the sage brush on 
 the other shore. 
 
 Gray-haired and yet sturdy and erect, the old 
 soldier, it could be seen, was saying some low- 
 toned words, probably of caution, to the trooper 
 who stood respectfully at attention before him. 
 Once or twice the major raised his hand as though 
 to emphasize his words, and once he turned and 
 pointed to where, unseen yet ever constant, the 
 huge shoulders of the Big Horn range lay sleep- 
 ing under the northern stars. And then from the 
 direction of the cavalry stables a man came lead- 
 ing a saddled horse and stopped before the major's 
 gate. " It's Buford," murmured one of the ladies, 
 standing with Mrs. Koss on the veranda next to 
 the commanding officer's. " He means to trust to 
 speed entirely. See, he hasn't even a great-coat 
 or blanket." 
 
 "No, and he doesn't carry a carbine," said 
 Buster's mother. " Perhaps he's right. It would 
 be of little use against the whole band. Buford's 
 
TKOOPEK ROSS. 13 
 
 heels are his best safety, and the less he has to 
 carry the faster he can run. Why, he's mounting 
 already." 
 
 True enough, as though wishing to avoid fur- 
 ther words or farewells, O'Toole had brought his 
 hand to his battered hat-brim in soldierly salute, 
 faced about the instant the major had finished, 
 and, merely strapping down the flap of his saddle- 
 bags after inserting the last packet of letters he 
 had received, threw his leg over Buford and 
 turned to go. But even this little delay had given 
 them time. Down they came, ladies and children, 
 to wish him God-speed and good-by. It was the 
 very thing poor Billy wanted to avoid, yet what 
 could he do but stop, for kindly voices were call- 
 ing his name and soft tear-dimmed eyes were 
 gazing up at him. 
 
 "Now, do be cautious, corporal. Please run 
 into no danger," were the words addressed him by 
 one of the most impractical of all the girls at 
 Frayne, as though she did not know that one 
 could not so much as venture to the north bank 
 of the stream without running imminent risk. 
 At any other time all would have laughed at the 
 incongruity of the words; now all were far too 
 anxious and troubled. 
 
 " Never fear, ma'am, I'll get through all right," 
 said Billy, trying hard to release the hand to 
 which little Mary Crane, the major's twelve-year- 
 
14 TKOOPEE EOSS. 
 
 old daughter, was clinging. "Say good-by to 
 ]\Tasther B — Koderick, ma'am, please ; an' it's fine 
 accounts I'll be givin' the captain of him four 
 days from now." 
 
 And then for the first time it occurred to them 
 that Buster was not there to bid his friend good-by. 
 That was, indeed, extraordinary. " Where can he 
 be ?" said Mrs. Ross, in genuine alarm. " I left 
 him on the sofa, in the sulks, not ten minutes ago ; 
 but it isn't possible he hasn't come out to say fare- 
 well to O'Toole." 
 
 Letting go the corporal's hand, Mary Crane and 
 a little friend rushed at top speed into the Rosses' 
 yard and up the steps. Another minute and one 
 of them reappeared on the veranda. "He isn't 
 anywhere here," she cried. " We've hunted every 
 nook and corner." Then mamma ran in and 
 joined them, and presently her voice could be 
 heard loudly crying his name. No answer. Si- 
 lence everywhere. 
 
 "I can't wait. I must go, ma'am," pleaded 
 O'Toole to the lady who still held by the bridle. 
 " I should have been out of sight across the Platte 
 five minutes ago. Good-by now," he added ; and 
 then whirled his horse about, and in defiance of 
 cavalry precedent and regulation, went cantering 
 down the slope. 
 
 He carried neither carbine nor rifle, as has been 
 remarked. He was weighted with no "prairie" 
 
TROOPER EOSS. 15 
 
 belt crammed with heavy copper cartridges. His 
 saddle was a trimmed-down McClellan tree, devoid 
 of straps for coats and blankets, but a pair of 
 light saddle-bags hung from the cantle. A haver- 
 sack with two days' supply of hard bread, bacon, 
 coffee, salt, and sugar was swung on the left side, 
 and a felt-covered canteen, a smoke-begrimed tin 
 quart mug, and a stout lariat and picket-pin hung 
 on the other. As for the corporal himself, his 
 dress consisted of light shoes, Shoshone leggings, 
 a pair of snugly-fitting cavalry breeches, as was 
 the fashion of the day, dark-blue flannel shirt 
 with rolling collar, and a knotted silk handker- 
 chief at the throat, a battered felt scouting hat, a 
 relic of the Apache campaigns, and not another 
 sign of uniform about him. A light leather belt 
 for pistol cartridges and his revolver holster 
 swung at his waist, but even the gauntlets were 
 discarded. Even the revolver was not so much 
 for the foe in case he was cut off or run down. 
 Terrible experiences had taught the officers and 
 men of his regiment, and many another, that in 
 warfare with our savage tribes the one thing that 
 must never be allowed to happen was capture 
 alive. The revolver was for himself, though its 
 last shot was never meant to be turned heartward 
 until some at least had been sent in face of the 
 foe. The fearful hours of agonizing torture to 
 which prisoners were subjected when captured by 
 
16 TKOOPEK EOSS. 
 
 the Indians of America no pen could well portray, 
 and no man could read without horror the stories 
 were they really told. 
 
 It was only a little after nine when the hoof- 
 beats died away down the winding road that led 
 to the ferry, where a bulky old scow did duty as 
 ferry-boat, and was pulled to and fro across the 
 Platte without loosing the grasp of her trolleys 
 upon the heavy guy rope. Listening for a mo- 
 ment to the hearty voices of the garrison soldiers 
 stringing along the roadside to bid adieu to their 
 popular comrade of the cavalry, the anxious group 
 of ladies and children clustered about the major 
 and his young adjutant, while some of their num- 
 ber, with bowed head and tearful eyes, walked 
 slowly home. Mrs. Ross had already gone. The 
 moment it was announced that Buster was no 
 longer in the little parlor she had hastened to 
 search for him, and even as O'Toole rode sturdily 
 away upon his perilous mission her voice, clear 
 and ringing, yet plaintive in its evident anxiety, 
 could be heard calling loudly for her boy. " Rod- 
 die ! Koddie !" she cried, up and down stairs, out 
 on the rear porch overlooking his own little play- 
 ground, the back-yard. Then, candle in hand, 
 she darted to the upper rooms, half praying, half 
 hoping, she might find him, sobbing in wrathful 
 petulance, — spoiled boy that he was, — in his own 
 little bed. But it was unrumpled. The room 
 
TROOPEK ROSS. 17 
 
 was dark and deserted. She ransacked the closet, 
 peered under the furniture, still half believing 
 that Buster might only be in hiding, but not a 
 sign of Buster was there high or low about the 
 house. Meantime, her old cook had joined the 
 search, and was loudly proclaiming her indigna- 
 tion over the misconduct of her associate, half 
 nurse, half housemaid, who, poor girl, was sob- 
 bing out her own heart down the bluff-side as 
 her straining eyes took the last glimpse she 
 believed they were to have of Billy O'Toole for 
 many a long, long, weary month. Alas ! in the 
 light of her own bereavement, Kathleen had for- 
 gotten all about Buster. It was not until the sound 
 of the creaking blocks of the ferry-scow was borne 
 upward on the evening wind, telling her her gal- 
 lant Irish lover was well on his way across the 
 Platte, that poor Katty heard the clamor at the fort. 
 Mrs. Ross, failing to find Roddie anywhere about 
 the premises, had gone wildly weeping to the 
 major, while Katty herself was brought to bay by 
 her usually placid friend and ally. Cook. Then 
 indeed was she frightened. The major's orderly 
 had gone on the wings of the wind down the 
 winding road, asking eagerly of every man had 
 he seen anything of Buster, — all in vain. The 
 adjutant had run, following a clue of his own, 
 post haste to the troop stables, black, grim, and 
 deserted now that their occupants were all absent 
 
 b 2* 
 
18 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 in the field, and just beyond had come upon the 
 lone sentry pacing his post at the quartermaster's 
 corral. " Seen anything of Captain Boss's little 
 boy down here, sentry ?" he panted. 
 
 " Not a sign, sir." 
 
 " Sure he hasn't taken out his pony and gone — 
 anywhere ?" 
 
 " Not since I came out, sir. I was posted only 
 at dark, though." 
 
 The adjutant hurried on to the big barred gate 
 and shook it violently, shouting for admission, but 
 the word had gone the rounds that Billy O'Toole 
 was to start at nine to try to ride through the 
 Indians to the field column, and every man except 
 the guard had dropped what he was doing and 
 swarmed out on the roadside to see him off. Not 
 until the bugle was sounding the mournful notes 
 of tattoo did the adjutant succeed in getting the 
 key and gaining admission to the corral, and, just 
 as he expected. Buster's pretty Indian pony was 
 gone. Fancy having to take that news to the 
 now terrified mother ! 
 
 The secret was soon out. Only a few minutes 
 before O'Toole started, and while they were still 
 saddling his horse for him at the corral. Master 
 Eoderick had slipped in, and without saying a 
 word to the corporal in charge or his one assistant, 
 had quietly saddled his pony and led him forth 
 in the gathering dusk. Of course the corporal 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 19 
 
 noticed him when he came in and knew it was 
 later than he had ever been there before, but 
 everybody was excited about the post, he said, and 
 he supposed Buster was too. It never occurred 
 to him to look to see what he was doing. It 
 never occurred to him to go and search the pony's 
 stall. They were gone, boy and pony both, and 
 that was all there was to it. 
 
 And no one knew where. A rush was made 
 for the ferry, where stout old Pete Driscoll, a 
 veteran of six enlistments, was in charge, and 
 Pete swore solemnly that Buster had never come 
 near there. Long since had Peter received orders 
 never to take Buster across, and the boy knew 
 that with the old soldier orders were orders. No, 
 he had ridden away, and it was so dark by this 
 time that no one as yet had found his trail. 
 Search of the house disclosed that his Ballard 
 was gone and his game-bag, his little haversack 
 and canteen, also that a hole had been made in 
 the supply of commissary crackers, and by this 
 time Mrs. Ross was nearly frantic. 
 
 " For goodness' sake, my friend," said the major, 
 soothingly, "don't take on so. You know per- 
 fectly well he can't get across the river. The 
 stream is bank full everywhere, and there isn't 
 a ford, up or down, for twenty miles. He'll be 
 coming home tired and hungry inside of an hour, 
 and then all you've got to do is spank him soundly 
 
20 TKOOPEE ROSS. 
 
 —I'll do it for you gladly — and then put him 
 supperless to bed. Confound the little rascal! 
 What wouldn't his father give him by way of 
 punishment !" 
 
 "How can you talk of punishment, major!" 
 protested Mrs. Koss, with streaming eyes. "I 
 should be only too thankful to have my precious 
 boy back again in my arms. Oh, the idea of his 
 daring to run away in such a way ! He'll try to 
 make Beppo swim the river, I know he will. He 
 has always declared he was going to make him, 
 and it would be just like him to try it this night." 
 
 And then before the major could protest against 
 the utter absurdity of such an idea, the corporal 
 of the guard came running up to the steps. 
 
 "Major," said he, breathlessly, "Private Con- 
 ners, sentry on Number Three, says he heard 
 shots and saw flashes out on the prairie across the 
 river " 
 
 "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" gasped Mrs. Ross. 
 "They've killed my boy." And with that the 
 poor distracted soul fainted helplessly away. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The first thing the major did after seeing Mrs. 
 Ross partially restored and in the hands of sym- 
 pathizing lady friends was to hasten out to the post 
 of the sentry on Numher Three and closely ques- 
 tion him as to the report brought in by the cor- 
 poral of the guard. A sturdy young soldier wa« 
 Private Connors and one who knew his duty well. 
 " There can be no doubt about it, sir," he said, " I 
 assure the major that I saw three flashes about 
 half a mile above the ferry landing and as far to 
 the north of the river. I could faintly hear the 
 reports, too, and they sounded like rifles. Two 
 were close together, — like that, sir," said he, quit- 
 ting the small of the stock with his right hand as 
 he stood at " port arms" and slapping twice the 
 polished surface of its butt. "The other came 
 perhaps five seconds later and was fainter, both in 
 
 sound and in flash." 
 
 21 
 
22 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 And tlie major's heart sank to his boots. Only 
 that very afternoon, as has been told, the courier 
 Downey had reached the post wounded, after a 
 desperate ride. The Sioux had "jumped" him, as 
 he said, on the Reno road about twelve miles out, 
 and had never given up the chase until within 
 three miles of the fort. Closer than that by day 
 they dare not venture, for there were traditions 
 among them of a fearful new gun the white sol- 
 diers had which could squirt a shower of bullets 
 twice as far as their best rifles could carry, — a gun 
 they didn't have to aim, only turn it in the di- 
 rection of the enemy and it would spatter death 
 all over the land and sweep them down like leaves 
 torn from the cottonwoods in an autumn gale by 
 the angry breath of the Great Spirit. But though 
 they came no nearer then, the major knew they 
 were hovering somewhere along that perilous 
 path, probably as near as Trooper Springs, where 
 the men so often filled their canteens when the 
 cavalry were on scout. Alas ! He had no cavalry 
 now to send out after these fleet marauders — 
 nothing but an infantry guard, and no way of 
 mounting them beyond a dozen mules, ponies, and 
 worn-out troop horses in the quartermaster's corral. 
 The Indians knew this as well as he, and felt entirely 
 safe in camping for the night somewhere among 
 the sheltered nooks in the valley of Trooper Fork, 
 a clear, cold, sparkling stream that came winding 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 23 
 
 down towards the river from the heights to the 
 north-west. *' I'll mount under the low bluff across 
 the Platte, sir," O'Toole had said before he rode 
 away, " follow up-stream about half a mile, so as 
 to be well to the west of the road, and then strike 
 out across the prairie for Eagle Butte." And the 
 major had no better plan to suggest. Down-stream 
 and to the east he could have found a country more 
 open, perhaps, but it was a longer way. It was 
 cut up by numerous deej) valleys, all of which led 
 eastward, the direction of the reservations, and 
 therefore likely to be the lurking-places of braves 
 by the dozen, watching for a chance to swoop upon 
 the road. 
 
 Up the river, therefore, O'Toole had un- 
 doubtedly gone, then out across the open prairie, 
 and he had been gone quite long enough to reach 
 the point described by the sentry as that from 
 which came the sound of the shots. The moon 
 was young and feeble, already low in the west, 
 and casting but a faint, pallid light over the 
 broad waste of rolling prairie across the stream ; 
 so little further could be seen. With all his heart 
 the major had hoped to find in the sentry some 
 nervous, sensational fellow, — a grown-up edition 
 of Buster himself, perhaps. He found instead a 
 cool, self-possessed, soldierly man whose words 
 and bearing commanded his respect, and there was 
 no hesitation whatever in the major's action now. 
 
24 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 " Mount ten men on anything you can find in 
 the corral," said he to the quartermaster, who was 
 standing silently by his side ; " and, Warner, you 
 will go in command." 
 
 A young lieutenant touched his cap and turned 
 quickly away. " Lend me your horse, Billy," 
 he said to the quartermaster, as he hurried to his 
 quarters to get his arms. And then sharp and 
 clear the bugle-notes of the assembly rang out 
 upon the evening air. The men, gathered but a 
 few minutes before for tattoo roll-call, as was the 
 custom at that time, were already at their barracks 
 and quick to spring to ranks. Only Sergeant 
 Curran was missing. He had gone with the adju- 
 tant full tilt for the ferry at the first assurance of 
 Buster's disappearance. 
 
 By this time the heavy old scow was moored to 
 the south bank again, — Driscoll, the ferryman, 
 and the brace of infantry soldiers who had gone 
 with him as guard, hardly caring to remain longer 
 than was necessary so far from under the protec- 
 tion of the fort. What was to prevent a squad 
 of a dozen Indians dashing down upon them in 
 the gloaming and murdering every man before 
 help might come ? What but the fact that most 
 Indians are superstitious and as afraid of the dark 
 as many a school-boy. True, the soldiers had 
 their Springfields and the old ferryman his re- 
 peating rifle, and all three had had more than 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 25 
 
 one brush with savage foes. All the same, it was 
 nervous work, this pulling slowly over in the 
 silence, broken only by the lapping of the stream 
 upon the sloping bows of the clumsy craft, the 
 creak of pulley, or some murmured word of ad- 
 monition. In that dim, ghostly, uncertain light 
 men see shapes that become goblins damned or 
 Indians vengeful to the excited brain, and the 
 fact that, only two nights before, somewhere out 
 there on the prairie an Indian had lurked and 
 shouted sonorous boastings and challenge across 
 the stream, as though tempting the far-away sentry 
 to fire, served to make the trio more cautious than 
 usual. They were still there at the old ferry- 
 house when the adjutant, close followed by Ser- 
 geant Curran, bore swiftly down upon them, and 
 they were evidently startled by the sudden, excited 
 coming. The first question was, of course, of 
 Buster: had anything been seen of him? to 
 which, of course, the answer was no. Then, had 
 they heard or seen anything from up-stream, the 
 direction taken by O'Toole ? Not a sight, not a 
 sound. They were amazed when told of the 
 firing. 
 
 " But I believe it, sir," said one of the guards. 
 "Indeed, I might have expected it. Corporal 
 O'Toole's horse was that excited, sir, that he al- 
 most backed off the boat. He was staring and 
 snorting all the way over, and pricking up his 
 
26 TKOOPEK ROSS. 
 
 ears and pulling back. The corporal said he had 
 never seen him act so but once before, and that 
 was the morning they came in sight of Crazy- 
 Horse's village last March." 
 
 But they were overcome with consternation 
 when told that little Roderick was missing, — had 
 taken his pony and provisions and ridden away 
 no one knew where. Excitedly, and in low, eager 
 tones, they continued to chat and conjecture, while 
 the adjutant turned and ran swiftly back up the 
 slope to convey this last intelligence to his com- 
 mander. 
 
 " Stand by your scow !" he shouted back. 
 " She'll be wanted in a few minutes to carry the 
 patrol across." And, surely enough, in just about 
 ten minutes down through the gloaming they 
 came, the boy lieutenant, Warner, and perhaps a 
 dozen soldiers on all manner of mounts, but all 
 the riders silent, eager, resolute. Quickly the 
 leader dismounted and led down the steep ramp to 
 where the scow swung uneasily at her moorings. 
 The others, following the lieutenant, led their 
 steeds aboard, not without some sharp urging in 
 some cases, one little mule in particular that 
 braced all four feet and refused to budge until a 
 bayonet prick, followed by a resounding whack 
 from the butt of a rifle, sent the obstinate brute 
 sputtering down the muddy slope and plunging 
 in among the quadrupeds on deck. Then willing 
 
TROOPER ROSS, 27 
 
 hands grasped the guy-ropes, and the heavily-laden 
 craft a second time breasted the stream, and full a 
 quarter of all Fort Frayne's available garrison 
 was launched upon the waves and sent in search 
 of Buster, — Buster who could only by any pos- 
 sible chance have crossed the stream by swimming 
 his pony over in the da.k, which mighty few boys 
 of nine would dare to do, or else by stumbling 
 across the rocky ford a mile away up-stream. 
 
 Yet the sounds of fight had come from the 
 northern side, and some distance away, and while 
 it might mean an attack on O'Toole, it might still 
 mean, as poor Mrs. Ross declared, that the sav- 
 ages had attacked and killed her precious baby 
 boy. 
 
 Meanwhile, another squad, just a sergeant and 
 three men, had started out afoot to follow the 
 right bank of the stream westward, with orders to 
 search and signal everywhere. Another, still, went 
 down-stream; not that any one believed Buster 
 had gone that way, but because he might have 
 done so, and no stone was to be left unturned in 
 the effort to trace him. Meantime, too, sur- 
 rounded by her closest friends in the little garri- 
 son, Mrs. Boss was striving hard to be calm and 
 hopeful and courageous, feeling ashamed already 
 of her weakness in fainting away just when her 
 wits were most needed. Yet what mother could 
 be calm under such fearful strain ? Other women 
 
28 TKOOPEK BOSS. 
 
 at first had suggested that it was all some trick of 
 Buster's, — " some utterly abominable, inexcusable 
 freak," they said to themselves or to one another, 
 as they thought of a dozen places where he and 
 Beppo might be hiding, but these places were 
 searched, and not a sign of the boy was found, 
 not a print of Beppo's hoofs. But neither these 
 theories nor their failure detracted one whit from 
 the poor mother's distress. From the very first 
 she had never doubted that the boy was really 
 gone, and before the wailing notes of taps had 
 died away at ten came tidings that banished doubt 
 and hope at one and the same time. In the soft 
 sand of the river bottom, not five hundred yards 
 above the post, they had found fresh imprint of 
 Beppo's hoofs. Every soldier knew them, and it 
 was evident that in two places the boy had striven 
 to force him to enter the stream. Then, as both 
 times Beppo had refused and backed out, they 
 had gone on westward towards the ford, — a ford 
 bad enough at noonday and at low water, but now 
 dangerous for horse and almost certain death to a 
 pony and such a pygmy rider. One of the men 
 had come back with the tidings of the finding of 
 the hoof-prints ; the others had followed on up- 
 stream. 
 
 Incredible as it might seem, then, this nine- 
 year-old infant had made up his mind to escape 
 from Frayne that very night and make his way 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 29 
 
 far to the north through the Indian-haunted wilds 
 with his friend O'Toole, and join his father in the 
 field beyond the beautiful snow-capped mountains 
 of the Big Horn. 
 
 And now while all was suspense and eagerness 
 at the fort and dread anxiety at Captain Ross's 
 home, the major returned to his post on the bluff 
 close to the sentry, and, with his adjutant and a 
 veteran captain of infantry in close attendance, 
 stood almost breathlessly waiting for the next sign 
 or sound from the dark prairie across the stream. 
 Even at the point where the ferry-boat was moored 
 to the northern bank all was dark as the bottom 
 of a well, and not a sound broke the stillness of 
 the night. There crouched the old ferry-man 
 and his two guards, listening intently for the 
 return of the first messenger from the searching- 
 party, and warily scanning the low bank that 
 loomed up against the stars of the northern sky, 
 watching for signs of war-bonnet or unadorned 
 Indian head. Out at the northward end of the 
 bluff half a dozen soldiers, rifle in hand, had 
 grouped in silence, watching, waiting like their 
 superiors. Others still clung at the edge of the 
 steep bank just below the point where the major 
 watched, the murmur of some whisper or low- 
 toned question and reply floating once in a while 
 to the ears of those higher up the bank. Over 
 at the officers' quarters vague, womanly shapes 
 3* 
 
30 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 seemed flitting to and fro along the piazzas, pass- 
 ing rapidly from liouse to house, and occasionally 
 the sob of some nervous, frightened child added 
 to the gloom of the situation. Five, ten, fifteen, 
 minutes they waited, and not a sign came from 
 the front, — no further word from up-stream. 
 
 At last a young soldier came. He was running 
 slowly, heavily, wearily. The major turned im- 
 patiently towards him. " Well, what news ?" he 
 queried. 
 
 " He's gone, sir ; leastwise he's tried the ford, 
 and he never came out again on this side. The 
 pony made a fight against going in among the 
 rocks, but there's no signs above or below. 
 Whether he got across or not I cannot say. The 
 only thing certain is that he got in, sir." 
 
 "Are you sure there are no back tracks?" 
 asked the major, almost imploringly. 
 
 "Not for two hundred yards above or below, 
 major. Indeed, it's too dark to see and too deep 
 above and below for them to get back if swept off 
 the ledge of rocks." 
 
 The major wrung his hands In silence a mo- 
 ment. It was a hard time for him, for had he 
 not promised Ross he would take the best care of 
 that precious youngster ere the father went away ? 
 and now here he had the whole garrison on tenter- 
 hooks about the boy, and all because the wilful, 
 fearless little scamp had not been watched and 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 31 
 
 prevented from taking out his pony. If he and 
 Beppo were drowned in the Platte as the result of 
 this night's work, he'd never dare look in Ross's 
 face again ; and if the boy had really crossed, had 
 actually gotten over to the northward side and 
 then been nabbed by Indians, — God have mercy 
 on him and on the negligent men who had let 
 him slip away ! 
 
 Not daring to face the mother now, Crandall 
 sent his adjutant, as he had promised, to tell as 
 gently, as hopefully as he could the latest news, 
 and no man envied Mr. White his mission. 
 
 And now it was high time something had been 
 heard from the searching-party on the north 
 shore. Well they knew that the moment Warner 
 discovered evidence, good or bad, he would hasten 
 to communicate with the fort. In the little party 
 that rode away under his command was the orderly 
 bugler, a boy of seventeen, a good deal of a scamp, 
 too, in his way, and, as need be no matter of sur- 
 prise, a stanch friend in consequence of Buster's. 
 Just as they were starting, and the major was 
 giving his hurried instructions, a happy thought 
 occurred to him. 
 
 " If by any chance you should find Buster over 
 there and all's right, tell Lanigan to gallop back 
 and sound a bar or two of the reveille as soon as 
 he thinks he can make it heard at the post. 
 That's the brightest, liveliest call of the lot. If 
 
32 TKOOPEK EOSS. 
 
 it's O'Toole you find, and he needs help, sound 
 sick-call. If you can find nothing of either of 
 them, sound ' taps,' and we'll know what to pre- 
 pare Mrs. Koss for. You understand?" And 
 Warner had nodded appreciatively and spurred 
 away. 
 
 They had been gone full thirty minutes, long 
 enough to have reached the point whence came 
 the shots and flashes twice over again, and not a 
 sound had come from the front. All eyes now 
 were peering out to the north-west, as though 
 striving to pierce that impenetrable darkness. 
 Hearts were beating heavily, thumping like little 
 trip-hammers in the brawny chests of these veteran 
 soldiers. Only in whispers dared they utter even 
 an occasional word for fear of missing that longed- 
 for bugle-call. Down in the depths at the foot 
 of the bluff the river went murmuring over its 
 changeful bed, lashing the rocks at the sharp 
 bend down-stream, and tossing little waves upon 
 the shallows under the cottonwoods on the 
 "bench" below the fort. Over on the major's 
 piazza some one was walking nervously up and 
 down, and he sent a messenger begging whoever 
 it was to be quiet, so severe was the nervous 
 tension among the listeners at the bank. 
 
 And so thirty minutes passed away, and others 
 of the searchers on the southern bank returned, 
 reporting no signs. Some one called attention to 
 
TKOOPER KOSS. 33 
 
 a faint light flickering like a will-o'-the-wisp away 
 up-stream, and some one else said that Sergeant 
 Curran had a lantern and was studying the shore 
 above the ford in vain search for more of Beppo's 
 tracks. The sergeant would not give up hope; 
 he still believed the boy would turn up somewhere 
 along that bank, but the quartermaster sadly shook 
 his head. 
 
 " What I dread," muttered he, " is that the poor 
 little chap has dared the ford at the rocks, — he 
 and Beppo crossed it often last fall when the water 
 was low, — and the pony has stumbled and thrown 
 him, and they've been swept into that black pool 
 below the rapids. The moon was so low and faint 
 even before tattoo that they couldn't have* picked 
 their way among those slij^pery rocks," 
 
 " But Beppo could swim like a spaniel," pro- 
 tested the major. " Boss took me down once to 
 that very pool to see the little beggar paddle 
 through it. O'Toole used to drag him in along- 
 side his big bay until he seemed to like it. He 
 swam high, too, with his withers 'way out of water, 
 and if Buster could only hang on My heav- 
 ens ! Is that bugle never going to sound ?" 
 
 And just then the sentry slowly pacing by 
 them, his eyes fixed on that dim, desolate waste 
 across the waters, stopped suddenly. There were 
 low excited words among the watchers farther up 
 the bank. " What is it ? What do you hear ?" 
 
34 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 were the breathless questions of the officers, and 
 for answer the sentry pointed, north-westward. 
 Far out under the stars a faint, ruddy light had 
 suddenly popped into view, easily distinguishable 
 from the pallid, phosphorescent, bluish twinkle 
 of the northern heavens, — a tiny red-yellow but- 
 ton on the black robe of night that hovered and 
 waxed and waned and waxed again and grew 
 broader and bigger, and then began to illumine 
 the rugged outline of the heights, and men's hearts 
 began to throb with hope and relief as presently 
 a waving tongue of flame could be seen creeping 
 higher, and the orderly came running out with 
 the major's signal-glasses, and the cry went up, 
 " O'Toole's all right ! It's a signal from Eagle 
 Butte!" 
 
 And then came even greater dread than before. 
 If O'Toole had reached the butte in safety across 
 that intervening league of open prairie, what 
 could have become of Buster? If the corporal 
 had found him across the river he would long 
 since have brought him back, unless their return 
 had been cut off by prowling Indians. Under 
 no circumstances would the faithful Irishman 
 have taken the little fellow with him on his way. 
 If that little beacon had been fired that night by 
 Billy O'Toole, — a trick they had learned from the 
 Indians themselves, and often used in the old days 
 of hunting-parties returning to the post as warning 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 35 
 
 of their coming, — it meant that he was there, safe 
 and sound and unmolested, for were Indians after 
 him there would have been no time to stop 
 and gather pine and fir branches and heap them 
 in that little niche which, opening only to the 
 southward, concealed its flame from other points 
 and signalled only towards the Platte. The more 
 they thought and reasoned, the more the oflicers 
 knew it couldn't be fired by the courier who had 
 left them so short a time before. What earthly 
 object would he have had in signalling if he were 
 unpursued ? If Indians were south of the Butte, 
 it would betray him instantly. And then reaction 
 set in ; the sudden flutter of hope and joy gave 
 place to newer, deeper anxiety, and even as they 
 looked speechlessly at one another, wondering what 
 this might portend, away over across that north- 
 ward stretch of barren, rolling, night-shrouded 
 prairie there came a cry, querulous, complaining, 
 mournful, weird, and one after another a pack of 
 vagrant coyotes lifted up their voices to the winds 
 of night and began their unearthly serenade, and 
 then that, and the tiny blaze among the crags at 
 Eagle Butte and the flutter of hope that had 
 sprung for the moment in every heart, all seemed 
 to die away together, and men could only look 
 blankly in one another's worn faces and whisper, 
 " What can it mean ?" 
 
 "I never want to live over again two such 
 
36 TEOOPER EOSS. 
 
 minutes as followed tliat fire," said the major, a 
 day or two later, "and I never knew anything 
 like the darkness and depression that settled over 
 the old fort." 
 
 But that was just the darkest hour that precedes 
 the radiant dawn. Two woful, dreadful minutes 
 of suspense and misery were theirs, and then once 
 again, and this time with no reaction, every heart 
 along that northern slope bounded anew and beat 
 with exultant joy, for, faint and tremulous at first, 
 but rising fuller, surer, gladder with every second, 
 there came floating through the night the ringing, 
 rollicking notes of the soldier's reveille, — " Buster's 
 found, thank God !" went up the cry, as strong 
 men clasped hands, and two fleet-footed fellows 
 dashed away to bear the news to Mrs. E-oss. 
 "Buster's found, thank God!" they shouted to 
 the weeping women at the quarters across the 
 parade. Then — hark! Another peal, faint, yet 
 clear, imperative, unmistakable, — Bugler Lanigan 
 was sounding sick-call. 
 
 Buster was safe, and O'Toole needed help. 
 Who, then, could have fired the beacon at Eagle 
 Butte? 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 And now, as this is Buster's story, it might be 
 only fair to let him tell some part of it himself. 
 But the trouble with Buster, as has been said, was 
 that he was a boy gifted with not a little imagina- 
 tion for a nine- year-old, and that he had rather 
 impaired his credibility as a witness by exagger- 
 ative, not to say unreliable, statements in the past. 
 To such an extent was our sturdy little friend 
 believed to color his narratives that his very pet 
 name had become a sort of synonyme at Frayne 
 for garrison tales of doubtful veracity. " That's 
 what I call a buster," was the quartermaster's 
 remark when he heard a typical frontiersman 
 telling how many Indians he had killed since the 
 Fort Phil Kearny massacre. "That's a buster" 
 became a post expression as significant at Frayne 
 as was " that's a whopper" among school-boys. 
 
 And yet people laughed not unkindly when 
 they said it, for Buster's tales of personal prowess 
 
 4 37 
 
38 TEOOPEE ROSS. 
 
 had this to back them, — that he believed he could 
 do everything he said he did do, and as his cour- 
 age and nerve had often been tried, the officers, at 
 least, felt sure the little man would " take chances" 
 to make good his word. Among the j)ost children 
 there were the same lively jealousies and heart- 
 burnings to be found among those very human 
 little people in similar sets at home, but, as luck 
 would have it, Buster was the only boy of the 
 age of nine in all the fort. There were older 
 boys, bigger boys, and mites of boys, but none 
 just suited to be his playmate ; so when his father 
 was in the field Buster was rather alone in the 
 world, after all, were it not for Billy O'Toole and 
 Lanigan and Beppo, for Buster affected to despise 
 girls. He couldn't bear it that twelve-year-old 
 Mary Crandall should sometimes try to order him 
 about. He became obstreperous if his ex-nurse 
 ventured to exert authority. That was all very 
 well until he was five years old, said he, but a boy 
 who could ride and swim and shoot wasn't to be 
 bossed by any girl, and he wouldn't stand it. 
 
 And now that Lanigan's bugling assured the 
 garrison that Buster was safe, even before he knew 
 what might have befallen O'Toole, or before any 
 one could explain the meaning of the mysterious 
 signals from Eagle Butte, the grim quartermaster 
 remarked, "Only fancy the story Buster will 
 have to tell now !" 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 39 
 
 And the little man did not entirely disappoint 
 his critics and detractors. Not until eleven o'clock 
 that night was he safely restored to his mother's 
 arms, and to her and to the crowd of inquisitive 
 neighbors did he deign again and again to tell 
 his experiences. The men meantime were getting 
 what they could out of Billy O'Toole, who was 
 back once more, this time with a broken leg. As 
 for their respective " mounts," little Beppo, look- 
 ing as though he had been rolling in the slough, 
 was now setting his ears back and biting at his 
 groom in the comfort and seclusion of the stall, 
 while with wisps of hay he was being vigorously 
 rubbed down, and as for poor Buford, he would 
 never race again. We'll hear O'Toole's story 
 first. 
 
 Half a mile north-west from the ferry, soon after 
 the gallant fellow had ridden out from the shelter 
 of the low bluff and was bounding away over the 
 turf, two rifles flashed their greetings from over a 
 little ridge less than thirty yards away. Buford 
 plunged, swerved, staggered, and plainly showed 
 that he had received his death wound. The only 
 hope was, could he hold out long enough to bear 
 his rider back to the bank, and gallantly, faith- 
 fully, had he obeyed the almost frantic summons. 
 Whirling about, O'Toole headed him for the 
 stream, and was sore amazed when out from the 
 shadowy slope ahead there came a sudden flash 
 
40 TROOPEE EOSS. 
 
 and a sliarp report. "My God," thought he, 
 "they've headed me !" but Buford tore frantically 
 on, and fell, all in a heap, close to the water's 
 edge, with Corporal Billy underneath. By the 
 time he, poor fellow, had worked himself out from 
 under the cruel weight, he was conscious of a 
 voice, in clear, childish treble, calling his name, 
 and there, by all that was wonderful ! — there, Bal- 
 lard in hand, and Beppo towing sulkily behind, 
 there came little Buster, trotting to him down the 
 bank. And both Buster and Beppo were dripping 
 wet. 
 
 And then poor O'Toole was in worse plight 
 than before. It was bad enough to be lying there 
 helpless and in mortal pain with his pet horse 
 just stiffening in death, thwarted, defeated, and 
 driven back before he had got a mile on his way 
 with those j^recious letters and despatches. It was 
 bad enough to lie there not knowing what instant 
 the hated, triumphant savages would reajDpear, 
 creeping slowly into view over that nearest bank 
 and making a target of him as he lay there power- 
 less, finishing him from behind their natural breast- 
 works before venturing down to claim his scalp. 
 It was bad enough to lie there crippled and with 
 no better weapon than his revolver, but what had 
 he ever done that here there should suddenly 
 appear, claiming his protection, the only child of 
 the captain he so loyally loved, the little son Billy 
 
TEOOPEK ROSS. 41 
 
 had so proudly promised the father to guard as 
 he woukl his own life ? " Oh, murther, murther, 
 Koddie boy, what villain let you across the 
 river?" he moaned aloud, and then was utterly 
 amazed, — startled out of all remembrance of his 
 own pain and terror, by the utterly unexpected 
 answer. 
 
 " Huh ! Guess you've forgotten how Bep could 
 swim. That's how we got across, — -just in time, 
 too, or you'd never ha' got away from those In- 
 dians." 
 
 " Mother of Heaven, boy ! what are you saying ? 
 You swam the Platte, — you f 
 
 " I didn't, — I could though easy enough, — Bep 
 did. All I had to do was to stick on ; but you 
 ought to have seen that Indian light out when I 
 fired. I shot him, I'm sure I did !" cried the boy, 
 mad with excitement and big with importance. 
 " They was two of them came a-chasing after you 
 and I took good aim, and you ought to have seen 
 them make tracks !" 
 
 " Koddie, it's dreaming you are, or It's crazy I 
 am ! Sure you could never make Bep swim the 
 Platte by day ; how could you do it in the dark ? 
 As for shootin', I heard ye, and thought 'twas me 
 you was firing at and you was another Indian. 
 Koddie, ye don't mane it. Did ye hit him ?" 
 
 " Hit him ? Of course I did !" vowed Buster, 
 stoutly, though dripping and beginning to shiver 
 
 4* 
 
42 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 witli cold and excitement. " He went down on 
 his pony's neck like that," said he, bowing low. 
 
 "Then crawl behind poor Buford here, you 
 young limb, and lay low, or they'll pick you off 
 instead of me. Don't be frightened, boy," he 
 added, seeing how little Rod's teeth were chatter- 
 ing and the boy was trembling as though in a fit 
 of ague. " The fellers'll come galloping out from 
 the fort in a few minutes if we can only stand off 
 the blackguards meantime. Bedad, I believe you 
 did hit him or they'd have been here now." 
 
 And this was Buster's firm conviction, too, and 
 one that grew with every minute as time went 
 on and never an Indian feather appeared. On 
 the contrary, the new moon sank behind the low 
 horizon ; O'Toole managed to unstrap his big 
 canteen from the saddle and drink a long, refresh- 
 ing draught and to unsling the cincha and wrap 
 the saddle blanket about his little friend and 
 cuddle him close up against poor Buford's still 
 warm body, and all the time he kept wary eye 
 upon the low bluff line, watching for foemen, lis- 
 tening for friends, and by the time he grew a little 
 warmer Buster believed he had killed that In- 
 dian stone dead and the others had dragged the 
 body off. And then, far out over the prairie, they 
 heard the sound of hoofs and voices, and presently 
 a bugle call, and then they let drive a shot or two 
 from the revolver, and both Irish barytone and 
 
TEOOPER KOSS. 43 
 
 boyish treble went up in a shout, and by the time 
 the rescuers came galloping in, Roderick Buster 
 Ross firmly believed and was ready to declare that 
 he had killed both Indians and put to rout a 
 dozen. 
 
 Whether that little pill of a bullet ever hit 
 either one of those pursuing Sioux is very doubt- 
 ful, but the fact that the lone horseman had turned 
 and darted back, and that he had at least one friend 
 in that direction, was quite enough for the warriors 
 in the case. Cavalry on the march always had a 
 little advance guard, preceded something like one 
 hundred yards by a single horseman. Very possi- 
 bly this horseman had darted back to his supports, 
 it was one of these latter who had fired, and the 
 Indians lost no time in circling about and getting 
 a mile away. Very probably Buster's little pill 
 of a bullet would hardly have stung an Indian at 
 the distance, but the flash and report were enough 
 for them, when awed by darkness, too, and they 
 fled from dangers they knew not of. 
 
 But that one shot, fired perhaps blindly, ex- 
 citedly, desperately, made a hero of Buster Ross. 
 All the way back to the scow, in tones of wonder- 
 ment and admiration commingled, Warner's party 
 plied the little chap with questions, and his boy- 
 ish voice rose shrill on the night air as again and 
 again he repeated his story. " I was bound to 
 catch O'Toole," he said, " an' the moment Bep 
 
44 TKOOPEE BOSS. 
 
 struck bottom on the other side we galloped out 
 towards the road, an' before we were half-way 
 across the prairie I heard the shots an' saw him 
 a-coming an' the Indians after him, an' I just 
 took good aim as ever I took in my life at the 
 headmost buck, an' waited till they were almost 
 on top of me before I fired, an' he went right 
 down on his pony's neck " 
 
 " Well, of all the army boys I ever heard of you 
 take the cake," muttered Mr. Warner. " Either 
 you're the littlest big hero or the biggest little 
 liar that ever lived ! Why, half an hour ago I 
 was for having him soundly thrashed and put to 
 bed for scaring his mother and the rest of us out 
 of our seven senses, but I'll be switched if he 
 hasn't done the pluckiest thing I ever heard of in 
 a boy in all my life." 
 
 Certainly that was O'Toole's opinion. They 
 had to bear him along very slowly, but he could 
 talk of nothing but Buster and Buster's exploit, 
 and Warner went ahead with the little man, 
 Beppo readily consenting to a rapid gait, as it 
 was homeward now, and there at the ferry landing 
 was Mrs. Ross, weeping with excitement and re- 
 joicing, and her anxiety forgotten, and all sense of 
 proper indignation at Buster's outrageous miscon- 
 duct banished by the story of his exploit. A won- 
 derful night they had at Frayne while the mother 
 and one or two sympathetic souls with her were 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 45 
 
 giving the bantling his warm bath and trying to 
 still his excitement and hush his tongue and get 
 him to go to sleep, but over at the hospital where 
 the doctor was setting Corporal Billy's leg, and 
 out on the bluffs again where Major Crandall with 
 his officer of the day was seeking explanation of 
 that signal-fire at the Butte, and along among the 
 parlors and piazzas of officers' row, the talk was 
 of the wonderful pluck — or sense — or something, 
 which prompted that little rascal to a deed that was 
 to resound throughout the whole army. "That 
 he should fire when he saw those Indians coming 
 I can understand easily enough," said the major. 
 " That was the obvious — the natural thing to do, 
 since escape would have been impossible on Beppo. 
 but what gets me is, how the mischief he got across 
 the river, and that's something only he and Beppo 
 know and that Beppo won't tell." 
 
 And not until long, very long after, when he 
 had grown several years older and wiser, did 
 Buster tell the real truth about that escapade and 
 how he came to cross the Platte, but we may as 
 well have the story now while waiting and watch- 
 ing for explanation of that sign at the Butte. 
 Fort Frayne couldn't go to bed until every man 
 and woman in it had talked over the stirring nar- 
 rative of Corporal O'Toole and the marvellous 
 doings of Master Roderick Boss. Nor could they 
 sleep until something came to explain that strange, 
 
46 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 unlooked-for signal. Once more liad Warner, with 
 half a dozen men at his back, ridden cautiously 
 out north-westward, crossing the now pitch-dark 
 prairie in long extended line so as to discover, if 
 a possible thing, any human being approaching 
 from the direction of the Butte. Only a mile or 
 so were they bidden to go, for the major did not 
 mean to run the risk of having a part of his little 
 garrison cut off and surrounded in the open field. 
 If the signal came from friends, who merely 
 wanted to herald their own approach, they might 
 need aid through running into the same party of 
 Indians, two of whose number had striven to kill 
 O'Toole. Therefore Warner was sent to recon- 
 noitre and watch and listen, and while we are 
 waiting for his report we will hear Buster's story 
 as told after he had grown old enough to be 
 ashamed of exaggeration and to despise a lie. 
 
 " I was all broken uj)," he said, " about O'Toole's 
 going. He had sometimes talked of taking me 
 with him when he went, and I had bragged to all 
 the boys and girls at Frayne that I was going, 
 and made them believe I was, and made myself 
 believe it, too, and when I thought how they'd 
 laugh and jeer next day I couldn't stand it. It 
 made me miserable, desperate, and I made up my 
 mind I'd saddle Bepj)0 and try to cross up-stream. 
 You know that I never was afraid of the dark as 
 a boy, and out of sheer mischief used to run all 
 
TKOOPEE KOSS. 47 
 
 over the post just to hide from nurse and mother. 
 I really meant to go with O'Toole. I felt sure I 
 could ride as long and fast as he could, even on 
 Bep, and so I took my rifle and saddle-bags and 
 hid them down under the west bluff, and crammed 
 some eatables in the haversack and stole down to 
 the corral and got Bep saddled, and sneaked out 
 with him while they were saddling Buford. Then 
 I led him quietly out into the moonlight, got my 
 duds and strapped them on the saddle, and then I 
 galloped Bep up to the first bend. The moon was 
 low, but I could see across easily there, and drove 
 Bep in until up to his chest, and then he fought 
 and backed out. So he did farther up, and I 
 found it was of no use, he wouldn't swim, so I 
 thought of the ford at the rapids. It's almost 
 dry in midsummer. We had crossed there dozens 
 of times, but I never knew it boiling high as it 
 was that night. At first it was shallow and only 
 up to his belly. Then it got deeper, and then 
 shallowed up again. We pushed ahead all right 
 until we were more than half-way across, and then 
 came the big bowlders and the deep, swift water, 
 and the first thing I kn^w Bep was swept off his 
 feet, and away we went sailing down into the pool. 
 I tell you I was scared nearly dead, but I had 
 sense enough to cling tight to the mane. We 
 went clear under once, up to my chest, and I 
 thought we were gone, and you bet I cried out, 
 
48 TEOOPER KOSS. 
 
 but Bep struck out like a little spaniel for tlie 
 shore and I stuck on, and the next thing I knew 
 he was wading again, in mud too, and then I 
 thought of quicksands, and got another awful 
 scare when he began plunging and bucking, and 
 at last landed me, wet to the skin, but safe and 
 sound, on the north bank. Then I just had to 
 strike out to find O'Toole, for there was no getting 
 back the way we came, and I never thought of 
 Indians coming in so close up west of the road 
 where the prairie was open, and then, after we'd 
 gone out a little distance, I heard Buford's hoofs 
 and the shots, and then he came a-running. I 
 was almost frozen stiff with fright at the minute, 
 and without ever looking to see what was coming 
 fired desperately at the dim shapes that were gal- 
 loping towards us, and then Bep and I went for 
 all we were worth. Buford veered and ran for 
 the bank and past us, going on out of sight, and I 
 thought we were lost, but Bep galloped on as 
 though a million Indians were coming, and at last 
 I saw the shining water just ahead and came to 
 the steep bank, and there on the shore below lay 
 Billy and poor Buford, and I jumped off and led 
 Beppo down, and then as the Indians didn't come 
 I besran to see what a tremendous influence that 
 one shot from that pop-gun of mine had had, and 
 upon my word I began to believe I must have shot 
 one of those Indians instead of Billy, and then he 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 49 
 
 made such a fuss over me and they all made such 
 a fuss that I grew to think that there wasn't an 
 Indian fighter on the frontier that could hold a 
 candle to Buster Ross, and that's the whole truth. 
 If Bep hadn't been swept off his feet he wouldn't 
 have swam at all, and I couldn't have made him, 
 and as he had to swim or drown, he put out for the 
 nearest shore and took me along. Our getting 
 over was the biggest kind of an accident, but I 
 made the most of it and swore we swam, which 
 was partially true, — we'd have drowned if we 
 hadn't." 
 
 And that was how Rod Boss got his start in 
 what proved to be an eventful boyhood, and led 
 on to the life in which, as a mere stripling, he won 
 distinction many an elder envied him. But on 
 this particular night in June it must be admitted 
 that he deserved a larruping, and a sound one, 
 about as much as any little scamp in America, 
 and Buster's friend, the major, was thinking of 
 this and how he would ever be able to face Boss, 
 the father, on his return from the campaign, 
 when the first news came from the party far out 
 on the northward prairie and put Buster and 
 Buster's doings for the time being utterly into 
 the shade. 
 
 It was just as the sentry at the guard-house 
 began the midnight call of " Number One, Twelve 
 o'clock," that the new sentry on Number Three 
 
50 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 sang out to the little group of officers, " Some- 
 tliing coming, major. I can hear galloping 
 hoofs." Five minutes later a horseman was being 
 ferried over, and in ten was dismounting at the 
 major's side. 
 
 " Lieutenant Warner's compliments, sir," said 
 he, "and he wants permission to push ahead 
 another mile or so. We can hear distant firing at 
 intervals, and he is sure the Indians have got a 
 little party corralled at the Butte and that that 
 signal was for help." 
 
 Major Crandall was a brave man, — a cool, reso- 
 lute old campaigner. No one had ever heard of 
 his failing in his duty or would accuse him of 
 neglect of comrades in their hour of need, but the 
 major hesitated now, and well he might. Only a 
 few years before, only a few days' march away 
 around the shoulder of those beautiful Big Horn 
 mountains to the north, a post commander like 
 himself, with women and children to guard like 
 himself (but with half a dozen companies at his 
 disposal, while Crandall had only one), sent out a 
 little detachment one day to protect the men 
 engaged in chopping wood for the winter supply. 
 The sentries reported sounds of firing, and word 
 was brought in that reinforcements were needed, 
 as some Indians had "jumped" the wood-cutters, 
 and they were too many for the few soldiers out 
 there among the pines. Three companies were 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 51 
 
 hastily assembled, and marclied jauntily forth to 
 make short work of those marauding Sioux. 
 Women and children watched husbands and 
 fathers march away with only slight anxiety. 
 What could a few beggarly braves do in face of 
 such a force of regulars as these ? But though 
 the wood-choppers they marched to rescue and 
 the comrades they were sent to relieve were barely 
 two miles off, that confident little battalion never 
 came back. Once well out of range of the stock- 
 ade, there rose up as from the teeming earth, like 
 the clansmen of Roderick Dhu, from every ravine 
 and swale, from behind every ridge and point, 
 group after group of savage warriors, full pano- 
 plied, the entire fighting force of the renowned 
 Ogallalla chieftain Red Cloud, and out upon a 
 narrow ridge, almost in full view of the now 
 horror-stricken wives and children at old Fort 
 Phil Kearny, Major Fetterman and his command 
 were slowly massacred until not one was left to 
 tell the tale. 
 
 Then how could Major Crandall say the word 
 that should send even a single platoon of his one 
 company five miles away through the darkness 
 of night, and leave only a beggarly squad to de- 
 fend in case of need the women and children of 
 old Fort Frayne. No wonder his heart sank 
 within him as he listened to the appeal of his 
 young subaltern, eager to push ahead to the res- 
 
52 
 
 TKOOPER KOSS. 
 
 cue, yet restrained by his orders. No wonder the 
 hoarse words rose to his lips, " God help them ! — 
 I cannot — I dare not. Who could defend these 
 women and children here if my men were slaugh- 
 tered there ?" 
 
>»>Vlno^S«^' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Whenevee a disaster occurs it is the first im- 
 pulse of the populace to wreak summary vengeance 
 on some supposably responsible party. Somebody 
 must be to blame, and people at first seem to care 
 little who that somebody may be, provided they 
 can relieve their minds by upbraiding him for 
 the misfortune that has occurred to others. It 
 was thus the first impulse of the critics when they 
 heard of the Fetterman massacre to lavish abuse 
 upon and demand the punishment of the com- 
 manding officer of the post because he had not sent 
 out the rest of his little command to the succor of 
 the half that was already gone. This was precisely 
 what Red Cloud hoped and planned that he should 
 do, as in that event the women and children would 
 be left to the tender mercies of himself and his 
 braves, while their defenders were being slowly 
 butchered by overpowering hundreds of well- 
 armed warriors out on the open hill-sides. Luckily, 
 
 5* 63 
 
54 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 the Indian plan became apparent as soon as it was 
 seen that the Sioux were in strong force, and 
 though it wrung his heart-strings to refuse the 
 appeals of some officers and men to be allowed to 
 go and do what they could to save their com- 
 rades, the colonel refused, and was right. 
 
 And now, this still June midnight. Major Cran- 
 dall was confronted by a somewhat similar prob- 
 lem. True, there was nothing definite as yet to 
 prove that friends were signalling for help from 
 Eagle Butte. That striking landmark stood full 
 seven miles west of the Eeno trail, far off the line 
 of travel. Downey, the courier, who had ridden 
 through at such peril to his life the previous day, 
 declared that no detachment from the field column 
 was out in that direction. There was absolutely 
 no other post or party from which such detach- 
 ment could have come, and the more the major 
 and his officers thought of it, the more they be- 
 lieved that it was all part and parcel of an Indian 
 plan to lure the little garrison out towards the 
 butte, then to surround and slowly shoot it down, 
 as was done at Kearny years before, and then 
 help themselves to all that was left at the defence- 
 less fort across the stream. Oh, what rich spoil 
 was there ! "\\Tiat glorious revel in fire and blood 
 and rapine would they not enjoy ! "What food 
 for years and years of boastings and exultation 
 about the village lodges, — around the fires at the 
 
TROOPEK ROSS. 55 
 
 war-dance! On every account, therefore, Cran- 
 dall's decision seemed to be the proj^er one. 
 
 But the young sergeant who brought Warner's 
 message was a soldier who had enlisted to make 
 a name for himself, and win, if possible, his way 
 to a commission. He listened respectfully to the 
 major's decision, and yet ventured another appeal. 
 
 " The lieutenant feared that the orders couldn't 
 be changed, sir," said he, as he stood there sturdily 
 at attention, the dim light of the corporal's lan- 
 tern striking on his clear-cut face, " and he, too, 
 thought of its being an Indian trick ; but if it were, 
 sir, wouldn't they have been apt to keep up the fire 
 or to repeat the signal when they saw that we didn't 
 come ? If Indians are trying to lure us farther 
 out from the fort, some of them must be hanging 
 about that little party out there on the prairie, and, 
 noting that they have halted and that they seem 
 undecided, wouldn't it be natural to do a little 
 more firing, or to start up the beacon again ?" 
 
 Crandall turned and studied the sergeant's face, 
 a deep shade of anxiety on his own. " I own I 
 have been expecting the signal-fire to start again ;" 
 said he, " and was there no firing after you finally 
 halted?" 
 
 " Only a far-away shot or two, sir, nothing else. 
 We lay and listened some time before I was sent 
 in. We distinctly heard scattered shots just as 
 soon as we got far enough away to lose the sound 
 
56 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 of the rush of the river, and — I beg the major's 
 pardon — but the one reason why that fire hasn't 
 been repeated, it seems to me, is, that some white 
 men are corralled in the rocks and can't get more 
 fuel. Indians could get all they want and carry 
 it into that cleft and start up a blaze any time, 
 and so could white men if Indians weren't all 
 around them." 
 
 "I appreciate all that, sergeant," said the major, 
 while the infantry captain nodded, as much as to 
 say, " That's one of my non-coms, — a fine speci- 
 men of what we carry in ' C Company." And 
 then the major looked again long and anxiously 
 out to the north-west. " The main point against 
 that theory is the utter improbability of any white 
 men, soldiers or scouts, being out in that direc- 
 tion. Downey says no detachment is scouting 
 south of Crazy Woman's Fork, and no parties have 
 been allowed to hunt in the Big Horn. Then, 
 who could it be ?" 
 
 " I can't say, sir, unless — the major knows some 
 of the men volunteered to try to work their way 
 through the Indian country to the Yellowstone 
 and find General Gibbon's camp that ought to be 
 there somewhere. Suppose some of those men 
 got headed off along the Big Horn Kiver and put 
 back west of the mountains because the Sioux got 
 between them and the main body of our people. 
 Then that's the direction from which they would 
 
 i 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 57 
 
 come trying to put in here for rations. It may- 
 be some of our own men, sir. Some of Captain 
 Eoss's troop perhaps. They've got that near home 
 only to be corralled by Indians at the last." 
 
 "By heaven, Sergeant Decker, you may be 
 right, and a few men can reach them easier by 
 night than by day if Indians are their only be- 
 siegers. At all events, the post is safe for the 
 night, perhaps, and we can let a few men venture 
 to try and open communication. Do you wish to 
 be one ?" he asked, as though sure of the answer. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; and the lieutenant says he 
 wishes to go, and Sergeant Curran, and, for that 
 matter, all the others want to go." 
 
 " That settles it, then," said the post commander, 
 decisively. "Get all of *C' Company but the 
 guard down at the ferry, captain. We'll cross 
 over and move out a mile or so in support, and let 
 Warner reach forward and see what he can find. 
 They'll never dream how small our force is, and 
 we'll be back before it's daylight." 
 
 But the dawn comes very early in the long 
 June days and these high latitudes. It would be 
 broad daylight by four o'clock, and now it was 
 long after twelve. Silently, without sound of 
 bugle or tap of drum, Captain Bosworth marched 
 his remaining thirty soldiers down the sloping 
 roadway to the ferry, where old Driscoll was still 
 up and alert. Lights were peeping from many 
 
58 TEOOPEE BOSS. 
 
 of the officers' quarters and burning brightly at 
 the guard-house and adjutant's office as the little 
 column trudged away, the major, his adjutant, and 
 Sergeant Decker, mounted, following a moment 
 later. At the post there remained now only the 
 quartermaster and the officer of the day with the 
 few soldiers of the guard, the surgeon and steward, 
 the two or three sick and wounded, and, as their 
 sacred charges, probably thirty families of the 
 officers and sergeants. No wonder that among 
 these latter there was weeping and anxiety, for 
 the near presence of Indians and the incidents of 
 the earlier night had unstrung everybody. 
 
 Gazing from her window on the dim outlines of 
 the little command as it marched away across the 
 parade, Mrs. Ross thanked God that her husband 
 was safe among his trusty men, even though far 
 away in the heart of the Indian land, and that 
 her baby boy, the hero of the evening gone by, 
 was sleeping soundly, peacefully, wearily, at last. 
 Other ladies, too worried and excited to sleep, 
 gathered for the time being at the quarters of the 
 commanding officer, near the edge of the bluff, 
 and listened to the rush of the river over its stony 
 bed, the creaking of the blocks as the heavily- 
 laden scow was slowly pulled to the northern 
 bank, and then in awe-struck silence hung about 
 the north gallery, listening with painful anxiety 
 for any sound or signals from the front. Here 
 
TKOOPER EOSS. 59 
 
 they were joined by the doctor, while the quarter- 
 master and Lieutenant Morton, officer of the day, 
 remained out on the grassy part of the bluff, close 
 to the foot of the tall flag-staff, and the silence of 
 desolation seemed to fall on old Fort Frayne. 
 And so another long, long hour passed away and 
 not a sign or sound came from the front. Down 
 at the ferry landing Driscoll's dim light was burn- 
 ing, and over at the opposite shore, under the 
 bank, another faint glimmer told where two or 
 three men had been left to guard the ferry. In 
 pushing forth by night into the enemy's country 
 Crandall meant to keep secure his line of retreat. 
 It would have been quite possible for Indians to 
 slip in behind them, provided they could overcome 
 their superstitious fears, and with their keen 
 knives, under cover of the darkness, hack away 
 at the great cable of the ferry until the last strand 
 was severed, and thereby cut off all possibility of 
 reinforcements reaching them from the fort, or 
 indeed of the return of those soldiers already at 
 the front. The lantern lay under the bank, but 
 the guardians, flat on their stomachs, were close 
 to its top, where all approaching objects were 
 thrown into relief against the starry northern sky. 
 One o'clock, and half-past one, in muffled tones 
 the sentries at the post had cried, and some one 
 of the guard across the stream, as though to re- 
 assure the watchers at the fort, echoed back the 
 
60 TEOOPEK KOSS. 
 
 glad " All's well." Surely, though, it was time 
 to hear from Warner and the venturesome little 
 party that had been pushed forth into the night 
 to scout the jagged slopes of Eagle Butte. Surely 
 it was time, high time, for news of him. 
 
 And this was what poor Billy O'Toole, corporal 
 of Captain Boss's troop, was thinking, as he lay 
 there in hosj)ital bemoaning the fate that laid 
 him up with a broken leg no sooner than he had 
 recovered of his bullet-broken arm. The de- 
 spatches that had reached Major Crandall to be 
 forwarded to General Crook in the field near 
 Tongue Biver were, he felt assured, of grave im- 
 portance, and he had done his best to make the 
 run with them, only to be beaten back at the very 
 start and saved from death, perhaps, only by the 
 accidental presence of his captain's little boy, and 
 now, to think of it ! when the garrison was out 
 against the very Indians who had driven him in, 
 and when there were indications that every man 
 with a soldier's heart in his breast was needed on 
 the fighting line, here was he. Corporal O'Toole, 
 the Irish boy who had sworn he'd win his ser- 
 geant's stripes this very summer, laid by the heels 
 like a bedridden old woman, of no use to himself 
 or anybody else. " Bad luck to it all," moaned 
 Billy. " Why didn't I remember what the captain 
 said, and never go the east side of the mountains 
 if I wanted to keep out of the way of the Sioux ?" 
 
TKOOPEE ROSS. 61 
 
 And with that a sudden idea occurred to him. 
 He couldn't sleep, knowing all the movement and 
 excitement around him this night. The hospital 
 attendant couldn't stay there by him with all his 
 own eager desire to hear what was going on out- 
 side, and so, at one o'clock, after a brief visit from 
 the surgeon, here were these two lively troopers, 
 Downey with his shoulder in bandages, O'Toole 
 with his leg in splints, comparing notes and 
 cursing their luck as soldiers will, and sadly dis- 
 turbing, I fear, the two or three patients in hos- 
 pital with mountain fever or kindred ailments. 
 Soldiers don't get the fight taken out of them by 
 fractures or gun-shot wounds. Wasting disease it 
 is that makes them childlike and meek, and now 
 when the other poor fellows were apathetic and 
 only wanted to sleep, these two feverish cripples 
 were keeping themselves and everybody else 
 awake. The doctor had ponderously felt their 
 pulses and bidden them go to sleep when he came 
 in to see how they were getting on, but had told 
 them nothing of the situation at the front, hold- 
 ing, no doubt, that it was no longer any of their 
 business. Downey, to whom opiates had been ad- 
 ministered to relieve his pain, had been drowsing, 
 but was now awake and under a fire of cross- 
 questions. The attendant had let O'Toole know 
 that everybody, almost, had gone across the river 
 to back up the effort of Lieutenant Warner to find 
 
62 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 out what those signals meant at Eagle Butte, then 
 he himself had vanished, and it was while he was 
 gone that Billy's idea came. Downey had stoutly 
 asserted that ujd to the time he left the general's 
 camp on Tongue River no scouting-parties or de- 
 tachments had been sent out to the south or east, 
 therefore none from camp could now be there at 
 Eagle Butte. " Of course," said he, " some fel- 
 lows might have started behind me with later 
 news and nearly caught me, and they've been 
 headed ofi* perhaps at Trooper Creek. They 
 might have fled westward and got up among the 
 boulders and niches of the Butte, but I don't be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 " But was no one out scouting west from camp, 
 over towards the Big Horn River or north towards 
 the Yellowstone?" queried Billy, merciless of 
 Downey's pain ; and then at last as late as one 
 o'clock did the courier remember that not one but 
 several parties had gone out, among them a lieu- 
 tenant and a number of men from their own regi- 
 ment, and these fellows he remembered having 
 heard were sent out westward, and had not been 
 heard from up to the time of his leaving camp 
 three days before. This was indeed news, and 
 news of such importance that O'Toole, reckless 
 of the peace of the two fever patients, lifted up 
 his voice in a shout for a hospital attendant, who 
 by that time had sneaked far over to the guard- 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 63 
 
 house to learn what he could from the sergeant 
 there on duty, and in their chat and the excited 
 talks of the half-dozen soldiers in the guard- 
 room, Billy's shouts went up unheard by their 
 objects, but were loudly audible across the parade. 
 Mrs. Ross, kneeling by Roddie's bedside, started 
 at the sound, and so did her sleeping boy. Even 
 in his almost dreamless slumber the little fellow 
 seemed to hear and answer the summons of his 
 friend. 
 
 Calling her sturdy ally, Cook, to come from her 
 room where she had been consoling Katty much 
 of the night, and telling her to watch over Roddie, 
 Mrs. Ross slipped a shawl over her shoulders and 
 hastened out across the dark parade. Up by the 
 flag-staff she could see the dim light of the cor- 
 poral's lantern, and in the glare of the parlor 
 windows distinguish mantled forms on the major's 
 porch. Even as she hurried along the gravel 
 path that led to the hospital, she heard O'Toole's 
 voice again, angrily and appealingly uplifted. 
 " Schlenger, — Schlenger, ye thafe ! Where are 
 ye ?" It was a wonder the sound did not reach 
 the watchers at the north end of the post, so pow- 
 erful was his shout. But Mrs. Ross stopped for 
 no one else. It was Roddie's friend O'Toole who 
 was calling for aid, and that was enough. Breath- 
 less, excited, but full of kind intent, she reached 
 the old wooden building and eagerly made her 
 
g4 TROOPEE ROSS. 
 
 way to tlie dimly-liglited ward. There was 
 O'Toole braced up in bed, squirming like a mad- 
 man in bis effort to reach the curtain and direct 
 bis next sbout through the open window. 
 
 "What is it, O'Toole?" she asked. "What 
 can I do ?" And then a flash of joy lit the Irish- 
 man's face. 
 
 " For the love of God, ma'am, get word to the 
 major it's some of our own troop— the captain's 
 troop— that's corralled out at the Butte. Sure he 
 told me, he told them, if ever they was cut off 
 when riding courier, or out hunting, to kape to 
 the west of the mountains, and that's what these 
 fellows have done until theysighted the Butte. I 
 kuo^ it,— I'll bet on it, ma'am !" And then came 
 the attendant hastening in just as she would have 
 turned to go, and the excited voices of the guard 
 could be heard as they ran by, some of them, in 
 answer to sudden summons from the bluff. 
 
 " They're signalling again !" cried Schlenger, as 
 he hastily entered, then stopped abashed at seeing 
 the captain's wife. 
 
 " Go on !" she cried. " Tell us what you know." 
 " There's a new blaze at Eagle Butte, ma'am, 
 and Lanigan's sounding sick-call again. The 
 ambulance is wanted at once." 
 
 And then for the second time that beautiful 
 June night there was wild excitement at Fort 
 Frayne. 
 
CHAPTEK V. 
 
 Oke thing that had disturbed Mrs. Eoss not a 
 little was the fact that among the very few letters 
 brought in by the courier Downey there was none 
 for her. Captain Ross never lost an opportunity 
 of sending her letters or messages when separated 
 from his wife by the inevitable duties of Indian 
 campaigning. Not one summer of their married 
 lives had this devoted couple been able to pass in 
 peace and each other's company. All through 
 the war of the Rebellion Ross had been with his 
 regiment of volunteer cavalry in Virginia. After 
 the war, gazetted to a mounted regiment in the 
 regulars, he had been sent to the Western frontier, 
 and there life had been one long succession of 
 Indian raids, chases, and campaigns that in Arizona 
 or Texas lasted all the year round, but here in 
 Wyoming were fortunately limited, except on rare 
 occasions, to the months from April to November. 
 Hitherto every courier or scout coming in had 
 e 6* 6S 
 
66 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 brought at least some little missive with a few 
 words of love for her and her boy, while the 
 regular mail-carrier, sent in with a strong guard 
 once in ten days, brought a big budget. Now the 
 last long letter had come five days before Downey, 
 and it told that the general had spoken of sending 
 out two or three detachments to scout the northern 
 foot-hills of the Big Horn and the beautiful valleys 
 between them and the Yellowstone. His scouts 
 sent forth to penetrate the Indian country and 
 carry despatches to the commands of Generals 
 Terry and Gibbon along the Yellowstone had 
 either been driven back or were heard of no more 
 until long months had elapsed, and no one knew 
 just where the great Indian villages lay. On 
 every side their active war-parties harassed the 
 outposts and pickets, sometimes even creeping 
 close enough to fire into the camps, but all efibrt 
 to locate the main body had been vain. One 
 reconnoissance in force had demonstrated the fact 
 that there were far too many warriors for the Gray 
 Fox, as the Sioux called General Crook, to tackle 
 with the troops he had, and while waiting for more 
 to reach him, he was striving to find out what he 
 could with regard to the numbers and position of 
 the Indians. 
 
 Captain Koss was a man after Crook's own 
 heart, a soldier who loved his duty and did it " up 
 to the handle," and the moment Mrs. Ross read in 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 67 
 
 the letter that somebody was to be sent out to scout 
 for the villages, she felt sure it would be her hus- 
 band and his gallant troop. The surgeon had 
 assured her that Downey had said he left under 
 sudden orders and in a great hurry, that Frank 
 Grouard, Crook's favorite scout, had just come in 
 with some important information, and the general 
 wrote despatches at once to General Sheridan, and 
 these, carefully packed in oil-skin, he had been 
 told to dash through with to Frayne, and from 
 there Major Crandall would forward them to 
 Laramie. Downey only brought a small pouch 
 of letters hurriedly scribbled by the few officers 
 who happened to be around head-quarters just be- 
 fore his start. He hadn't seen Caj)tain Ross for a 
 day or so and hadn't heard of his being out scout- 
 ing, but he might be for all Downey knew. And 
 now when she heard this summons for the ambu- 
 lance and soon heard Lanigan's bugle far away 
 across the Platte winding the familiar tones of 
 sick-call, poor Mrs. Ross would again have be- 
 sieged Downey with questions, but the doctor came 
 hurrying in, and saw how flushed and feverish 
 his patient was already looking, had him screened 
 off forthwith, ordered O'Toole to silence, and 
 sternly rebuked him for making such a row in 
 the hospital at night, and then, offering Mrs. Ross 
 his arm, politely but positively invited her to 
 leave. 
 
68 TROOPEE ROSS. 
 
 " Let me take you back home," he said. " You 
 can do nothing but harm over here. I had to 
 order that crazy pate Katty of yours out of the 
 ward two hours ago, and now here you are doing 
 almost as much mischief as she might. And Mrs. 
 Boss, though sorely anxious, could not but see 
 that the doctor was right. But instead of going 
 home she begged to be allowed to join Mrs. Cran- 
 dall and other ladies at the major's, where, as it 
 would soon be daybreak, they could perhaps see 
 what was coming from across the Platte. 
 
 And so for a second time this eventful night 
 did even so devoted and watchful a mother quit 
 guard over Master Roderick Boss, who, flushed 
 with the triumph of early evening, was sleeping, 
 to be sure, but with no one but sleepy Cook to 
 watch over him. Meantime, poor Katty, learning 
 in some way that O'Toole had been shouting for 
 help, was again up, and, dishevelled and carelessly 
 dressed, had run out ostensibly "to find the 
 missus," but really to be near her lover, and there 
 at the hospital the doctor found her, as he was 
 hastily preparing his field-case of instruments, 
 bandages, etc., while some of the men were hitch- 
 ing the only remaining mules to the ambulance, 
 and then the doctor said all manner of rebuke as 
 he hustled the protesting maiden out into the still 
 and starry night, and bade her go back to bed and 
 not come around there again making a bedlam of 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 69 
 
 the hospital and a fool of herself. Dr. Short was 
 sometimes as brusque as his own name, and poor 
 Katty went home weeping and wailing to pour out 
 her sorrows to Cook, who in turn upbraided her 
 for making such a noise, and between them they 
 woke up Buster. 
 
 Now, Buster had been dreaming over the events 
 of the evening, not as they occurred, but rather 
 as he had painted them, and he was in most heroic 
 mood when, the first scare over and Katty with 
 her tears had been banished from the room, Cook 
 told him how his mother had gone to the major's, 
 where most of the ladies were, because there had 
 been a fight out by Eagle Butte and somebody 
 was wounded and they had sent for the ambulance, 
 and then nothing would do but the boy must 
 scramble out of bed and sit by the window where 
 he could hear for himself what was going on. It 
 was useless for Cook to remonstrate and worse for 
 her to use compulsion. Buster would have raised 
 an outcry that would appall the garrison. Believ- 
 ing that his mother would soon return. Cook sur- 
 rendered and rocked resignedly in her big chair 
 by the now deserted bed, while Roderick, rifle in 
 hand, and clad only in his bifurcated night-robe, 
 took station at the window. 
 
 Away went the ambulance rattling down the 
 hill just about quarter to three o'clock, while an 
 anxious group, augmented every moment by new 
 
70 TEOOPER ROSS. 
 
 arrivals from otlier officers' quarters, gathered in 
 the major's parlor and piazza. It was growing 
 chilly, and the ladies wrapped themselves closer 
 in their shawls, or their husband's military capes, 
 as they huddled together on the gallery overlook- 
 ing the valley, wistfully, tearfully in many cases, 
 peering out into the darkness beyond and speak- 
 ing occasionally in low, awe-struck tones. They 
 heard the rattle of hoof and wheel as the ambu- 
 lance was drawn aboard the scow, the creak of 
 blocks as the old craft once more went swinging 
 out across the stream, the voices of men indis- 
 tinctly audible above the murmur and wash of 
 the waters, and then saw the good-by wave of 
 the lantern, as the vehicle was rushed up the 
 opposite shore and clattered away to the front. 
 
 And then for half an hour more they watched 
 and waited, and then, just as a pallid light began 
 to creep up into the eastward sky, and the sentries 
 had done crying, " Three o'clock," the officer of 
 the day came springing in from the bluff and 
 asked for the major's field-glasses. " Somebody's 
 coming slowly in 'way out there to the north," said 
 he, "and we can hear distant firing." 
 
 Mrs. Ross could never afterwards explain what 
 strange fear it was that took her homeward a 
 moment later, but it was something about Roddie, 
 and something apparently well grounded, for when 
 she ran panting up the stairway and into the 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 71 
 
 pretty, dimly-lighted room where she had left 
 her baby-boy placidly sleeping less than an hour 
 before, lo ! there was Cook snoring beside the 
 empty bed, and for the second time that night her 
 birdling had flown. 
 
 Gone was the little rifle ; gone were the little 
 boots and stockings and the blue flannel shirt he 
 loved to wear because it was like that which daddy 
 dressed in on campaign ; gone were his cap and 
 cartridge-belt ; gone, alack ! was Buster. The 
 sounds of skirmishing perhaps had reached him 
 from afar. At all events something had fired his 
 soul with longing for another show at the front, 
 and the son and heir, the hope and pride, but, alas ! 
 not the comfort, of the household of Ross was up 
 and away, and there was no man to follow him. 
 
 This time Mrs. Ross did not faint. She flew at 
 Cook and then at Katty, and then down-stairs, and 
 then to the quartermaster's corral, where a recruit 
 sentry was scared out of his seven senses at her 
 frenzied coming, and only escaped shooting her in 
 his frantic dread that the Indians were upon him 
 through the fact that his rifle refused to go off" at 
 half-cock. 
 
 Into the gate she rushed in hopes of overhauling 
 her fledgling ere he could mount and gallop, but 
 this time came on a wrong scent. Here in his 
 stall dozed Beppo, heedless of the gathering ex- 
 citement at the post, and then it dawned upon her 
 
72 TKOOPER BOSS. 
 
 that her little man might not care to swim the 
 Platte a second time that night, and, whatever his 
 plan might be, it involved no more of Beppo, unless 
 indeed she had followed so quickly that he had 
 had no time to saddle and get away. 
 
 Bidding the sentry guard that door-way until 
 the corporal came, and, on peril of his life, not to 
 let her little boy in if he were out or out if he 
 were in, back she scurried — a long weary climb up- 
 hill again to the major's quarters — to gasp and cry 
 and tell, what they already knew, that again had 
 Master Roderick broken bounds. They could 
 hardly give ear to her now. The officer of the 
 day had sent the corporal down to head him off 
 if he appeared at the ferry. There was really 
 nothing more to be done, only listen, — listen ajid 
 look. " They are fighting dreadfully out there," 
 sobbed one poor wife and mother, gazing with 
 staring eyes across the now vaguely lighted valley, 
 out towards where the crests of distant heights 
 were taking on faint hues of purple and pink. 
 There in the intervening lowlands, like fireflies, 
 every now and then came spiteful little flashes, 
 every now and then the sharp though distant 
 ping-g of the death-dealing rifle, and now all 
 Fort Frayne was crowding to the bluff and wait- 
 ing for the sound of battle, and old Driscoll, with 
 his ferry-boat and his two guards, was grappling 
 sturdily the north bank and getting everything in 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 73 
 
 readiness to carry over the troops as soon as they 
 should come in, and not a word could be got out 
 of him or anybody else across the stream as to 
 what had become of Buster. 
 
 But over on the northward prairie were men 
 who could answer the question, though it was too 
 much for any one at the fort. Out over that hard, 
 elastic turf, bearing straight away from the Reno 
 road and heading for the dimly outlined butte, 
 the ambulance had been driven at a lunging gal- 
 lop, following Lanigan's lead. A mile away, and 
 within view of the occasional flashes that told 
 where the fighting line was at work, there came 
 a faint hail from a clumj) of dark objects off to 
 the left that fortunately caught the bugler's ear, 
 despite the rattling of the rickety trap behind 
 him. 
 
 "Who are you fellers?" shouted he in the 
 " lingo" of the frontier, and the answer promptly 
 came. 
 
 "Drive over here with your ambiance. The 
 lieutenant can't hold out no longer." 
 
 And even as Lanigan called to the excited 
 driver to follow close in his tracks, the figure of a 
 horseman loomed into view, coming from the 
 direction of the firing, and a voice they all knew 
 and obeyed instinctively called a halt. 
 
 " Wait just where you are, Lanigan. I've two 
 more right here. We've seen the last of the 
 p 7 
 
74 TKOOPER EOSS. 
 
 Indians this trip." Then, as the vehicle came to 
 a stand-still, the young adjutant rode a bit to one 
 side, calling, "Where are you, Fred, old boy? 
 Let's get you oif that horse now and into the 
 ambulance," and there came reply from the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 "I'm 'fraid the lieutenant's fainted, sir, 'n' I 
 can't " and the last words were lost in inarticu- 
 late sound. It was evident the speaker was stag- 
 gering under some heavy load. The adjutant 
 sprang from his saddle and ran to his assistance. 
 Lanigan, tumbling off his horse, tossed the reins 
 of the two over the front wheel and followed his 
 officer, and dim figures came into view supporting 
 some sorely wounded comrades from the direction 
 of the front, where the firing had died away 
 entirely, and presently the major's voice was 
 heard conveying to invisible skirmishers instruc- 
 tions to " fall back there on the left and swing in 
 towards the river," and then, in charge of the little 
 party of bearers and burdens, came Sergeant Cur- 
 ran, just as a diminutive, boyish form backed out 
 from the dark depths of the ambulance and 
 lowered itself to the steps at the rear and thence to 
 the ground, and then, Ballard in hand, stood bolt 
 upright by the rear wheel just in time to receive 
 the incoming party, and lo ! there was Buster. 
 
 Sergeant Curran didn't know whether to swear 
 with wrath or shout with ecstasy. He caught the 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 75 
 
 little rascal iu his arms and lifted him to his 
 shoulder. " You young imp !" he cried, " how on 
 earth did you get here this time ?" 
 
 " Corned in the ambulance," said Buster, stoutly. 
 " Caught it on the jump as it went down-hill and 
 climbed in behind. I knew old Driscoll wouldn't 
 let me cross if he saw me, so I hid under the seat. 
 Is the fight all over ?" 
 
 " Hark to him now, lieutenant ! Sir, I beg par- 
 don, but will you listen to this ? Here's Masther 
 Roderick wants to know is the fight over. Oh, 
 Lord, what wouldn't his father say !" 
 
 But the lieutenant who came running up was 
 in no mood for praise. It was Warner this time. 
 " You here, you precious young scalawag ? 'Pon 
 my soul, but you deserve a larruping ! Do you 
 never think of the misery you are causing your 
 mother? How'd he get here? What do you 
 mean by bringing him over at this time of night, 
 — at such a time, anyhow ?" he asked, indignantly, 
 of the driver. 
 
 "I never dreamed the boy was there, sir," 
 protested the poor fellow thus wrathfully accused. 
 " He must have jumped in as I was driving down 
 the hill." 
 
 "I did," said Buster, proudly. ''I wasn't 
 going to stay over there with all those crying 
 women when — when there was fighting goin' on 
 over here. How'd I know that it mightn't have 
 
76 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 been papa and his men that were corralled over 
 there at the butte ?" 
 
 And AVarner could storm no longer. Partly 
 in sheer delight at the little scamp's supreme im- 
 portance, partly in admiration of his daring, 
 partly because at this moment the adjutant with 
 Lanigan came bearing between them an almost 
 helpless man, Warner ceased and, with a cry of 
 distress, sprang to aid them. 
 
 " Fred ! AVhy, good God, dear boy ! I didn't 
 dream it was so bad as this." 
 
 And then indeed did Buster's nerve give way, 
 and in sheer distress and shock the little fellow 
 burst into tears, for Fred was none other than the 
 second lieutenant of his own father's troop, who, 
 with a sergeant and six men, had been cut off 
 from their party while scouting in the Big Horn, 
 and, slipping out by night, had made the best of 
 their way around the western base of the moun- 
 tains and almost back to old Fort Frayne before 
 being again headed. Then, retreating to the 
 rocks of Eagle Butte, they had stood the Indians 
 off and signalled for aid, which, thanks to the per- 
 sistence of Sergeant Decker, had at last reached 
 them, but not until two of the little party and one 
 of Warner's men had been seriously wounded. 
 
 " This has been the wildest night I ever knew 
 at any post I ever served at," said the gray-haired 
 major, as at last the sun came peeping up over the 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 77 
 
 horizon and all Fort Frayne seemed gathered at 
 the bluff to welcome the warriors home; "and, 
 Sergeant Decker, your name goes forward with my 
 recommendation for a commission before I'm an 
 hour older, and as for Buster, I'm going to swear 
 him in as high private in ' C Troop this very day, 
 — after his mother gets done whipping him." 
 
 But there was no whipping in store for Rod- 
 die, much as he might deserve it. Perhaps had 
 fewer people recommended and urged it, Mrs. 
 Boss would have administered the unaccustomed 
 punishment, but, somehow, the more people tell 
 parents what they ought to do with their children 
 the less are parents apt to do it. Boddie was 
 doubtless kissed and cried over a great deal and 
 scolded not a little, and Billy O'Toole in hospital 
 said, " Hurrah for Buster !" and Lieutenant Fred 
 Winter said, "Hurrah for Buster !" and " C" Troop 
 to a man, when they heard of the adventure, said, 
 "Hurrah for Buster!" and the story went the 
 rounds of the bivouacs on the Deje Agie, and 
 everybody said the boy was cut out for a soldier 
 and would never be fit for anything else, which 
 was how the little fellow was given his start on 
 the road to a commission and became known, 
 throughout the old regiment, at least, as " Trooper 
 Ross." 
 

 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 And now we come to what might be called the 
 second stage of Buster's climb. He had made a 
 record, as the troopers laughingly said, and came 
 very near being spoiled as a result. Captain Ross 
 being away much of the time, as his duties de- 
 manded in those days of almost incessant cam- 
 paigning, the boy was left to the control of his 
 mother, and his mother, as we have seen, was 
 somewhat variable and certainly over-indulgent. 
 For a few months after the episode of Eagle 
 Butte our Roddie put on more airs over the other 
 boys at Frayne than they could consistently stand. 
 Big or little, they were more or less jealous of his 
 fame, and when the story appeared in print, as 
 appear it did (a wandering correspondent of a 
 New York daily being stranded there in the wake 
 of the field column, and only too glad to get any- 
 thing to write about). Buster's unpopularity among 
 his kind was something appalling. It must be 
 78 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 79 
 
 owned that lie wasn't the happiest boy in the 
 world the rest of that long summer, but presently 
 there came news — dreadful news that turned the 
 little garrison into a grief-stricken community, 
 and though he wouldn't have owned it for the 
 world, dashed all Buster's tremendous schemes of 
 escaping from Frayne and joining his father's troop 
 in the field. The very day after the Glorious 
 Fourth brought the tidings that General Custer 
 and his gallant troopers of the Seventh Cavalry 
 had been massacred to a man, and the hearts of 
 the women and children at the fort were filled 
 with terror and dread ; nor were there lacking 
 men whose faces blanched at the thought of en- 
 countering such a fate, and fellows who eagerly 
 sought to ride as couriers before couldn't be hired 
 to try it now. 
 
 Indeed, so fearful was the government that, en- 
 couraged by their wild success, the Indians might 
 concentrate all their force first on one, then on the 
 others of the three separate commands of troops 
 then in the field, that strong reinforcements were 
 ordered out, and the valley of the Platte was 
 soon alive with dusty blue columns and the white 
 tops of army wagons creeping steadily up-stream. 
 And then a long, long campaign followed, and 
 early in August, General Crook's command, with 
 which Captain Ross was serving, marched from 
 the camp on Tongue River and was swallowed up 
 
80 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 in the Indian country beyond. The next heard 
 of them they were away up at the Yellowstone, 
 then away down the Yellowstone with Terry's 
 men, and then they cut loose again, and for weeks 
 were heard of no more. Fancy the anxiety and 
 distress of the wives and mothers waiting — wait- 
 ing and praying at those frontier forts. Not until 
 late in September were Crook's soldiers reported 
 again, and then it was far over at the east, in the 
 Black Hills of Dakota, which they had reach.ed, 
 said the papers, " in rags and starvation," having 
 had to eat their horses to keep alive ; and this in 
 great measure proved to be true. The Indians 
 had everywhere burned off the grass. The sol- 
 diers had neither tents nor wagons, — nothing but 
 pack-mules for rations and ammunition, and these 
 rations were speedily used up, and the command 
 left to forage upon a barren country. Buster 
 nearly cried his eyes out when he heard that 
 several of his pet horses in his father's troop had 
 dropped exhausted by the way-side and were 
 killed to prevent their falling into the Indians' 
 hands, and that later three more were shot for 
 food, — such food ! tough, stringy, and revolting, 
 yet better than what was left of cavalry boots. 
 
 Captain Boss came home in November, look- 
 ing like the ghost of himself, so thin and scrawny 
 had he grown, and Mrs. Boss cried over him as 
 she had over Buster, but the boy danced about 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 81 
 
 "Daddy" in exuberant delight. Now tlie rides 
 would begin again, and he'd show papa how to 
 ford the Platte in lots of places and take him out 
 to " Buster's Battle-Field," as the ofiicers fairly 
 maddened the other boys by naming the scene of 
 " the affair of June 20th," as it was termed in 
 military despatches. Grand times had the boy 
 and his fond and devoted father for several weeks 
 after the hard campaign was ended, and many a 
 time did they ride over the scene, and many and 
 many a time did Buster, with flashing eyes and 
 flushing cheeks, go over the thrilling story. And 
 that winter when the Fourth Cavalry came back, 
 after their sharp fight with the Clieyennes, a famous 
 colonel patted Buster on the head with what was 
 left of his hand, — several fingers of it having been 
 shot away during the war, — and told him that he 
 hadn't any boys of his own, but if he had he'd 
 rejoice if they could ride and shoot and fight 
 Indians like him, which still further puffed Master 
 Roderick ; and that miserable, mean, big bully, Jim 
 Parkinson, Captain P.'s boy, three years older and 
 bigger than Roddie, tormented and teased and 
 jeered and nagged him into a fight, and sent the 
 Indian killer howling home with a bloody nose. 
 I'm glad to say Jim Parkinson's papa soundly 
 hided him for his sins that very day, for Roddie 
 had been wantonly set upon, and he made a gallant 
 and furious defence against heavy odds. 
 / 
 
82 TROOPEE ROSS. 
 
 But Captain Ross had long since begun to see 
 that the garrison was no place in which to bring 
 up and educate his son, and had been planning 
 to send him to an Eastern school just so soon as 
 he was old enough to leave his mother ; and this 
 winter, finding lessons utterly neglected for the 
 months of his absence, the father spoke, and pre- 
 cipitated a tearful time. Mrs. Ross declared her 
 precious child should never go without her, and 
 Master Rod declared he'd never go where he 
 couldn't shoot and ride and be near the old troop. 
 "Why," said he, "it would just break Beppo's 
 heart, and Billy O'Toole's, too." Very possibly 
 the captain might have carried his point had he 
 only been able to go East with them for a few 
 months and see the little fellow safely lodged as 
 a boarder in the Rockford Academy, but officers 
 could not be spared that winter, and the whole 
 command was in the field all the following sum- 
 mer ; and though Captain Ross left strict injunc- 
 tions what Rod should study and how much he 
 must learn, the lessons soon flagged with the 
 father away, and another Christmas came around 
 with the boy still struggling with seven times 
 eight and getting it wrong, and never being able 
 to tell whether Albany was the cajDital of New 
 York or New England. 
 
 Another year and they were transferred from 
 Frayne far up into the wilds of the Wind River 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 83 
 
 valley and stationed at a lovely spot close under 
 the beautiful peaks to the south, and there was 
 splendid shooting in the mountains, — deer, bear, 
 lynxes, and catamounts, and wondrous trout-fish- 
 ing in the ice-cold streams, clear as crystal, that 
 came tumbling and foaming down out of the rocks, 
 and there was a big Indian reservation close at 
 hand, — Shoshones, — and Kod spent more days, 
 weeks, and months in saddle and little in study, 
 and there was no school at Washakie, no one to 
 teach him but his father, when father was home, 
 and his doting, but easily influenced mother when 
 father was away. 
 
 Strong, hearty, brimful of fun and mischief 
 and pluck and spirits, not so big a braggart, but 
 still having quite a little to say for himself, Rod- 
 erick Ross burst into his teens as sturdy a looking 
 boy as one could ask to see, with lots of good in 
 him, but precious little geography and grammar. 
 And here at Waskakie they spent a placid and 
 uneventful and, so far as Rod was concerned, un- 
 profitable two years. The captain had to be 
 scouting weeks at a time, and lessons had to be 
 conducted by mamma, and Rod could coax and 
 wheedle her out of all sense of duty in the 
 matter. It was not until that boy was fourteen 
 years old that at last the father set his foot down 
 and took him East to school. 
 
 This was in '81, when there was no campaigning 
 
84 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 to speak of for the old regiment ; but Eod grieved 
 sorely at the idea of giving up Beppo for good 
 and all, though he had long since given him up 
 as a mount and taken to a Shoshone pony. His 
 whole boy life, ever since he could remember, had 
 been spent with the army in the West. He had 
 never seen a locomotive or a train of cars since 
 he was too young to take much note of them. His 
 clothes were made for him by the tailor of his 
 father's troop, and his sturdy boots and shoes came 
 by mail from Chicago, and didn't fit him or please 
 him half as well as did the Shoshone moccasins. 
 He hated what he disdainfully termed the " boiled 
 shirt," and always wore soldier blue flannel except 
 when dressed for some special occasion in garrison, 
 or when fishing, shooting, and exploring in the 
 mountains, when he preferred his hunting-shirt of 
 Indian tanned buckskin, made for him by the 
 squaws in old Chief Washakie's lodge. 
 
 He had had few playmates in the Wind River 
 valley. The officers were very few in number. 
 Their boys, with one or two exceptions, were East at 
 school, and Buster was now in his turn the biggest 
 boy at the fort. He was too big, in fact, to play 
 with young Sammy Baker and the doctor's eldest 
 hope, and indeed it must be owned their respective 
 mammas did not wish him to play with them, for 
 Hod was fond of vigorous out-door life and was as 
 rough as a bear cub in his gambols, and it is a fact 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 85 
 
 that the last summer he spent at Washakie, while 
 his father was escorting the lieutenant-general 
 on the upper Yellowstone, Master Ross preferred 
 to associate with two well-grown scapegraces of 
 Shoshones, bare-armed, bare-bodied, bare-legged, 
 who could teach him no end of things worth 
 knowing in the line of trapping, hunting, and fish- 
 ing, and Rod was little better than a savage him- 
 self, but for the gentler influence of his loving 
 mother, when Captain Ross came riding home- 
 ward late in the fall, and, within the week of his 
 arrival, applied for six months' leave, and broke up 
 housekeeping forthwith. 
 
 Now, strange as it may seem, Mrs. Ross loved 
 that army life far from the comforts of civilization. 
 She liked her army friends and associations, and 
 she had long since lost touch with her own. She 
 had sisters two, and they were both married and 
 busy with their own boys and girls and joys and 
 sorrows, and they had not prospered too well in 
 the world, neither had her husband's people, and, 
 as is not unusual, they often asked for help from 
 the army officer, who, though thrifty and econom- 
 ical, was in no wise the wealthy man they said, 
 and anything but able to support other families 
 than his own, but he had saved a fund for Rod's 
 education, and now meant that the boy should 
 have it. 
 
 Quitting old Washakie one perfect October 
 
86 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 morning, they bowled away over the hard, wind- 
 ing road, — all the garrison out to see them ofF, 
 w^itli Sergeant O'Toole riding alongside all the 
 way to Lander, and Kod's Indian friends grinning 
 good-by at the agency, and that night they slept 
 at Miner's Delight, far up among the bold, beauti- 
 ful heights that separate the Sweetwater valley 
 from the Big Horn, and with another day they 
 were crossing the backbone of the continent and 
 diving down to the Big Sandy, and with the third 
 they were far to the south, across the broad arid 
 desert plateau, and there, at Green River City, 
 Rod's wondering eyes were fascinated by the great, 
 puffing, grinding, roaring engine and the long 
 train of heavy express and Pullman cars that, just 
 at sundown, came rolling in from the dusky west. 
 That night, for the first time he could remember, 
 he slept in a Pullman car, and for hours could 
 hardly sleep at all. 
 
 True to his old plan, Captain Ross strove to ex- 
 plain everything to his boy, to teach him the use 
 and meaning of everything he saw, and in lessons 
 of that kind the youngster proved a ready jDupil. 
 He looked with wonderment at the curving lines 
 of snow-sheds as they crossed the great ridge of 
 the Rockies at Sherman. He looked in amaze at 
 what seemed to him the colossal size of the build- 
 ingjf at Omaha, and clung to his father's side as 
 they stood on the rear platform of the train when 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 87 
 
 it crossed the river, and was dizzy at the height 
 and apparent insecurity of the great bridge and 
 disgusted at the dirty look of the huge volume 
 of water boiling and swirling and rolling away 
 far underneath their feet. 
 
 But Chicago deafened and aj^palled him. Never 
 had he heard anything like the roar of the streets. 
 Never had he seen anything like the swarms of 
 shouldering, bustling, hustling people. Never 
 had he gazed at anything like the great buildings, 
 many of them towering up towards the skies. It 
 made his gentle mother's headache, and but for 
 the excitement and joy of shopping with certain 
 of her friends who came to meet her at the Leland, 
 she would have preferred remaining in her room 
 while the captain took his bouncing, big-eyed boy 
 to get him out of his army-made clothes and into 
 something civilized, and Rod's discomfort in a 
 sack suit with waistcoat and choker and a stiff 
 Derby hat was something almost pathetic. " I've 
 got to do the same. Rod, my boy," said the captain, 
 whimsically, " and I expect I'll look as odd as you 
 feel. You'll soon get used to them, so make the 
 best of it. You can't wear buckskin and moc- 
 casins at Rockford Academy. My only fear is 
 they'll call you a Sioux as it is." 
 
 And the captain's fears were well founded. 
 One week later, after a brief sojourn among rela- 
 tives who had well-nigh forgotten that Captain 
 
88 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 Eoss had any children at all, Rod and his mother 
 shut themselves up in her room for one long hour, 
 and then for the first time the fond creature saw 
 her boy borne away, and knew that there would 
 be no good-night kiss for weeks to come. Leaving 
 her with her kindred for a few hours only, the 
 captain rode away with Rod, who, silent, plucky, 
 but, oh, so mad to bury his head somewhere and 
 sob his heart out ! with trembling, twitching lips, 
 with tear-brimming eyes, leaned back in the dark 
 corner of the carriage, hiding from sight. The 
 father's heart yearned over him. He longed to 
 draw him to his side and fold him to his breast 
 as many a time when a little fellow Rod had 
 nestled there, but he well knew it would only 
 bring on a flood of tears. They would be at the 
 railway station in a few minutes, and that would 
 never do, so, forcing down his great longing and 
 love and pity, the captain talked busily away, just 
 as though he never saw how Rod was grieving ; 
 and little by little the boy plucked up heart and 
 tried to peer about him and be interested, and 
 then, after a few hours' swift run by rail, they 
 were landed at Rockford and whirled away over 
 a hard, country road through the keen autumn, 
 evening air, and just before sundown they spun 
 along beside a smooth, green-carpeted playground 
 whereon a swarm of boys, big and little, at whom 
 Buster stared with all his soul in his eyes, were 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 89 
 
 in the midst of games of every kind, and another 
 moment the father and son were in the presence 
 of a gentleman in semi-clerical dress, a man with 
 fine features, handsome dark eyes, and a sympa- 
 thetic, earnest expression, — the head-master or 
 principal of the Rockford School. 
 
 " And so this is our young Shoshone — this is 
 our Sioux killer, is it ?" said he, smilingly, kindly, 
 yet half anxiously, as he looked the boy carefully 
 over. " He is a sturdy fellow for his years, cap- 
 tain. Only fourteen, did you say ? Why, he can 
 down some of our First Latin already, I'll warrant. 
 How is it, Rod ? Are you pretty good at wrest- 
 ling?" 
 
 " I've wrestled with some Indian boys — and a 
 bear cub," said Buster, blushing, "but I don't 
 think I know much about it." So already the 
 father's admonitions were taking root. Brag was 
 to be a thing of the past. 
 
 Presently a big bell began to ring, and the dis- 
 tant sound of shouting died suddenly away, and 
 looking from the great latticed window. Buster saw 
 the boys flocking in from the playground, speed- 
 ily grouping under the direction of certain young 
 men in authority into sections and classes, divided 
 apparently by age and size. Many were pulling 
 on coats or jackets as they came bounding from 
 the field. Many carried bats and other parapher- 
 nalia of their games. Many were still eagerly 
 
 16* 
 
90 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 chatting, but now in subdued tones, and so, with- 
 out being in any military formation, they came 
 swarming up the broad roadway, the little fellows 
 in the lead, and in a living and particularly human 
 stream swept on under the window where, fasci- 
 nated, the new-comer stood watching them, igno- 
 rant of the fact that his father and the doctor were 
 there at his back, but by no means unconscious 
 of the curious, often mischievous, glances directed 
 at him by two-thirds of the youngsters of the 
 school. And so they trooped by, sixscore of 
 lively urchins of all ages from eighteen down to 
 eight, and disappeared through the broad portals 
 of a brick building to the left of the master's office ; 
 and then arose a prodigious clatter as bats and 
 balls, tennis rackets, cricket stumps, and " shinny" 
 sticks were stored away in an anteroom, and then 
 there was a scurrying of springy feet up the 
 heavily-matted stairway. 
 
 "They've gone to tidy up a bit," said the 
 master. "Then we'll go in and see them at 
 supper. First let me have you shown to your 
 room, captain, for you'll stay with us to-night, I 
 hope." 
 
 " I fear not, doctor. This little man's mother 
 is about to spend the jBrst night of her boy's life 
 without having him near her, at least part of the 
 time. I must be there to tell her how well he 
 started." 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 91 
 
 They went up to the room together all the same, 
 Rod and his father, and there were the boy's new 
 trunk and his few belongings, and there the doctor 
 presently joined them, bringing a gentle-faced, 
 motherly-looking woman, who smiled kindly at the 
 young Westerner, and was presented as " Our ma- 
 tron, Mrs. Lang, the besl, friend the boys have in the 
 whole establishment." And after a little the big 
 bell began to toll, and with a prodigious clatter of 
 feet through resounding corridors the boys came 
 tumbling out into the open air again and gathered 
 about their class officers and were led away, so 
 many little flocks, each with its own attendant 
 shepherd, and the doctor, giving a hand to Rod, 
 now blushing and awkward, and looking as 
 though he would far rather have clung to his 
 father's side, yet was too brave to say so, strode 
 away down the carpeted hall, the big cavalry 
 officer on the other side, and presently, opening 
 an oaken door, led his charge into a great vaulted 
 room where were set a dozen supper-tables, nearly 
 a dozen boys at each, and instantly the Babel 
 of tongues ceased, and the colored waiters, scur- 
 rying through with trays held on high, stood 
 stock-still in their places, and sixscore heads, big 
 and little, close cropped and curly, black and 
 brown and flaxen and two or three lively red, 
 were bowed in silence; and though some young 
 eyes peeped curiously at the new boy, there was 
 
92 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 decorum and reverence in manner, at least, as, 
 in deep, earnest, manful tones, the doctor said a 
 simple, heartfelt " grace." There was a murmured 
 "Amen," and then Babel burst forth again on 
 the instant, and the waiters shuffled with added 
 speed, and as hungry, healthy, hearty a lot of 
 youngsters as ever was seen "fell to" at their 
 smoking suppers. 
 
 "Tell Betts to come to me," said the doctor, 
 briefly, as he led the way to a table set upon a 
 little dais farther up the room, still holding Rod- 
 erick by the hand, and there they were presently 
 joined by a bright boy of some thirteen years. 
 
 " Betts," said the doctor, " this is Ross, — Rod- 
 erick Ross, of whom I told you yesterday. I 
 have an idea you two can worry along together as 
 peaceably as any. What say you, Ross, will you 
 take supper here with us or with Betts and the 
 boys?" 
 
 And with the eyes of the whole school upon 
 him, Trooper Ross stepped from the doctor's plat- 
 form and, making brave effort to keep a stiff upper 
 lip, followed his new acquaintance down between 
 the rows of clattering tables and took his seat for 
 the first time in his life a school-boy at Rockford 
 Hall. 
 
— *.-l^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Most boys find their first few days at school 
 anything but pleasant. The masters, of course, 
 begin by being gentle and considerate, as though 
 making all allowance for the new-comers, but the 
 boys themselves are moved with a spirit of mis- 
 chief that nothing but the sturdiest self-denial 
 can down, and even in so well-regulated an es- 
 tablishment as Rockford Hall there were occasions 
 and opportunities of which the leading spirits did 
 not fail to take advantage in Roddy's case. Betts, 
 who had been selected as his companion and school 
 mentor, was a boy who rejoiced for just about 
 forty-eight hours in the importance of his position 
 in the new-comer's eyes, and by that time Rod 
 had heard and learned all that Betts could teach 
 him about the rules, written and unwritten, of 
 the school authorities, and was struggling with 
 far greater show of interest to master the unwritten 
 
94 TKOOPEK ROSS. 
 
 code of ethics which governed the boys themselves. 
 And right here his troubles began. Homesick, 
 mother-sick as he was ; weighed down by the over- 
 powering sense of strangeness and constraint on 
 every side, hampered here and hindered there by a 
 system of rules for study and employment of time 
 which his military bringing up prompted him to 
 obey despite the fact that, through his love of 
 open-air life, his whole nature rebelled against. 
 Rod found himself like a cat in a strange garret, 
 nervous, anxious, ever on the lookout for some 
 sudden trick or ambush, and all the time his boy 
 heart was yearning for the old free, joyous, buoyant 
 days in which he had moved and had his being, 
 a chief and a leader from the time he was ten. 
 
 Oh, the misery of that examination as to his 
 qualifications ! the shame of those unsolved prob- 
 lems in the Rule of Three and Pro^Dortion ! the 
 blunders in reading ! the agony of standing dumb 
 and crestfallen before his j^atient, helpful tutor, 
 unable to answer questions in geography that 
 were such old stories to even the smallest boys 
 that they hugged themselves in ecstasy over the 
 " Indian Killer's" ignorance ! Sternly the master 
 rapped his desk and called them to order, and told 
 Phipps, junior (who guffawed aloud when Rod 
 said Cheyenne was the biggest town west of the 
 Missouri, and that Kansas City was the caj^ital of 
 Kansas), to write him out a page of Caesar before 
 
TEOOPER EOSS. 95 
 
 evening prayers, and sent Potter, who couldn't 
 repress his snickering, to report to the head-master 
 in his study, but it didn't comfort E,od. " I fear, 
 sir," said the tutor to Dr. Runyon that afternoon, 
 " that Ross will have to begin at the bottom. He 
 knows less of books than any boy of ten we have 
 in the school." Poor Rod could have sat him 
 down and written a long, imj^loring letter to his 
 father when, on the following day, he found him- 
 self reciting with four or five of the urchins of 
 the school, who enjoyed his presence and predica- 
 ment as much as it distressed him ; but even here 
 his lack of schooling and practice interposed. 
 Beyond half a dozen little scrawls, ill-spelled and 
 awkward and blotted, he had hardly written a 
 letter in his life, and knew not how to begin one 
 now. With a lump in his throat and hot tears 
 of mortification starting to his eyes, he sat on the 
 bench among those little fellows, and even the gen- 
 tle manners of Mr. West brought him no comfort. 
 " Don't let it trouble you, Ross," said the tutor, 
 kindly, as he called him back at the end of the 
 hour. " We'll get you into the groove in short 
 order. Meantime, out there is your field, I fancy," 
 and he pointed to the playground, now alive with 
 rushing, shouting boys. " You'll be cock of the 
 walk there before you're six months older, and, 
 though I regret to say it, that amounts to far more 
 in boyish eyes than being head of the school." 
 
96 TKOOPEE ROSS. 
 
 So, let us pass over the first few weeks of the 
 sorrows and sadness so many of us — old boys and 
 young — have known when first transplanted from 
 the home corner to the desk at school, and push 
 ahead to the vigorous winter days that soon came 
 on, and base-ball, foot-ball, and cricket, the sports 
 in which Rod had had no previous training, gave 
 way to snow-balling and skating ; to the days in 
 which Betts and the small boys ceased to laugh at 
 " Shoshonee's" blunders, because he was rapidly 
 overhauling them in their elementary work and 
 ambitiously reaching out for the higher branches ; 
 to the days in which the big boys, who at first 
 had bullied and still strove to patronize him, were 
 sure to take the Sioux Killer among the very first 
 when choosing sides for a snow-fight, for he could 
 throw a ball like a short-stop, and, when it came 
 to a rush, was lengths ahead of the leaders. " A 
 boy that had fought Indians with real bullets 
 wasn't to be stopped by snow-balls," said they. 
 No one knew but Rod himself the misery of his 
 first ten days at Rockford Hall, because his two 
 tear-stained missives to his mother were very 
 brief and very brave. " It's going to be a hard 
 fight for a fortnight, my boy," said the captain, 
 as he strained him to his heart one minute before 
 he left him, " but I want you to remember your 
 soldier -days and say nothing at all about it to 
 vour mother. If it's too hard, tell me and I'll 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 97 
 
 come. Otherwise I think it best for all of us 
 that we keep apart until Christmas." 
 
 And so not until the holidays did he look 
 again upon his mother's face or feel his father's 
 clasping hand, and by that time Rod was himself 
 again, had played with the crack team of "our 
 school" against that of the Kiverview Academy 
 at ice polo (we used to call that '' shinny," or, when 
 very elegant, " hockey," in our days), and he was 
 full of pride and enthusiasm in " our fellows" and 
 of contempt for the Kiverviews, and could brag 
 by the hour of the pluck and prowess of Curran 
 and Hammond and Big Bob Berryman of the 
 " First Latin," who were preparing for college 
 and were the bully players in every game and had 
 taken him into fellowship despite the fact that he 
 was two years their junior in age and immeasurably 
 their inferior in schooling. They were in Virgil 
 and Sallust and Xenophon and Geometry. Rod, 
 alas ! was still battling with the Rule of Three and 
 Proportion, but making giant strides in other 
 branches. "Somehow or other I hate figures," 
 he said, and while his gentle, indulgent mother 
 condoled and comforted and said all would come 
 right, his father looked grave and disappointed. 
 He had long had visions of West Point for his 
 boy, and there no boy might hope to live without 
 he could master mathematics. 
 
 But what secretly wounded the mother's gentle 
 
98 TKOOPEK BOSS. 
 
 heart and surprised the boy himself was that 
 after the first few days of his visit to the home 
 folks, still on their leave of absence East, Kod 
 began to show impatience to get back to school. 
 For the first time in his life the sturdy youngster 
 had found himself among his fellows, boys of his 
 own age. They had twitted him upon his clothes, 
 derided his far Western ignorance of everything 
 in their more civilized circle, and jeered his 
 blunders, yet found themselves fascinated by 
 what they learned from him of frontier life, the 
 mountains, the streams, the great game, the scout, 
 the trail, and the war-path, and even those who 
 would have held him a butt for ridicule and 
 laughter, because of his awkwardly worn " store 
 clothes" and his utter ignorance of school ethics 
 and traditions, secretly envied his experiences 
 and the adulation which was speedily accorded 
 him among the smaller boys. Studying and re- 
 citing with these latter, he had quickly become 
 their leader and presently their champion, for, 
 despite the vigilance of tutors, there were times 
 when the older boys tyrannized over the juniors, 
 not infrequently " taking advantage of a fellow's 
 size" to cuff and maltreat such as had spunk 
 enough to resist and " talk back." Only a day or 
 two before the break-up for vacation " Shoshonee" 
 Koss had interposed when Bill Forrester was 
 kicking little Gibbs for some alleged piece of 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 99 
 
 boyish impudence, and a very stirring scene en- 
 sued right then and there, — a moment of mad 
 and breathless excitement to the youngsters and 
 of boiling wrath to Forrester and his cronies. 
 "You'll pay for this, you Indian thief!" was 
 Forrester's furious cry, as, picking himself up 
 from under the table where he had been tripped 
 and thrown in the first clinch, he shook his fist in 
 Kod's face. " Just you wait till holidays are over, 
 and you'll see !" And Eod, panting a little, but 
 with eyes ablaze and fists firmly clinched, had 
 said he reckoned he would, and he didn't care to 
 postpone matters even that long. Why not settle 
 it now ? 
 
 There were reasons against that, however, with 
 so many school oflicials close at hand and "no 
 place handy." There had never been any square 
 fighting at Rockford, though many a small boy 
 had been mercilessly punched by many a bigger, 
 and this revolt in behalf of " the kids" on part 
 of the Sioux Killer came like a thunder-clap. 
 There was neither time nor place to settle it then, 
 as Forrester and his set asserted, but there was to 
 be a lesson for Koss when the new term began, 
 and they meant what they said. 
 
 Now, like all boys at all schools, they had at 
 Rockford, as has been said, their unwritten code 
 of school-boy ethics, and like most boys at most 
 schools, their code was devised by the elder boys, 
 
100 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 and intended mainly for the guidance and gov- 
 ernment of the younger. Its cardinal principle 
 seemed to be " Don't peach," or, as they more 
 magniloquently expressed it when trying to be 
 particularly impressive, " Never tell on a fellow- 
 student ; that's the meanest thing a boy can do." 
 No matter then Avhat the old boy — the big boy 
 — might do to the little fellow, it was cowardly and 
 Mumanly to complain. A big boy might steal a 
 little fellow's apples, break his pet racket, ink his 
 face or his clothes, cuff, kick, or abuse him, douse 
 cold water over his bed in the dead hours of the 
 night, tease, terrify, and torment, — all this and 
 much more, said the big boys (some of them, at 
 least), a big boy might do to the helpless little 
 fellow who couldn't resent or retaliate, and there 
 was nothing about it either cowardly or mean. 
 But if a tutor happened in just in time to appre- 
 hend the result and not the offender, — to find some 
 little fellow writhing in pain or crying in wrath 
 and excitement and sense of wrong, or drenched 
 and shivering from recent ducking, and if the 
 tutor then demanded the name of the big boy at 
 fault, then, then was the little victim a trump if 
 he wouldn't tell, or a disgrace and discredit to his 
 school and schoolmates if he did. It takes a fel- 
 low with even less than half an idea in his head 
 to see that such a code as that was devised solely 
 in the interest of the worst element among the 
 
TKOOPEE EOSS. 101 
 
 boys. Yet, so oddlj are we constituted, boys and 
 men both, that that is the class we are apt to pro- 
 tect and foster rather than be guilty of telling 
 tales in or out of school. Now, nobody had tried 
 any personal indignity at Rod's expense since his 
 first week at Rockford, when Jack Hammond 
 mashed his hat down over his eyes as they came 
 out from prayers, and Rod, whirling with a mili- 
 tary about face, sent his own hat spinning with a 
 swing of his left hand and smashed Jack Ham- 
 mond's with a blow of his right. Hammond was 
 dazed by the force of it and didn't care to pursue 
 matters further, but Hammond was a thoroughly 
 good-hearted fellow, and mischief, not malice, had 
 prompted his act. Rod's prowess in running, 
 vaulting, and the way he took to base-ball and 
 tennis speedily won his admiration. 
 
 "Take my advice and don't monkey with 
 Shoshonee," he said to his fellows, and " monkey" 
 they didn't. Within two months of his coming 
 among them Rod was looked upon as an equal — 
 indeed, as a valuable acquisition — by the leaders 
 in all the sports and games, and his action, there- 
 fore, in flooring Forrester and boldly declaring in 
 favor of small-boy rights was something the school 
 had never expected for an instant. The boys, big 
 and little, were too amazed to decide on the line 
 of policy to be adopted. The matter was still 
 unsettled as they scattered for the holidays. 
 
 9* 
 
102 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 "Just you wait till next term," as Forrester 
 furiously cried, " then you'll see !" 
 
 And next term came in due time, and with it 
 the Sioux Killer's first experience with the civil- 
 ized savage. 
 
 " I've got it in for you, my buck," said Forrester, 
 with a malignant scowl, the very evening of the 
 reopening, as the boys were shouting their vaca- 
 tion experiences to one another, just after supper. 
 " You'll wish you were back among your Indian 
 friends before I get through with you," and the 
 young fellow looked fully capable of carrying out 
 a revengeful scheme of any kind. He was more 
 than two years older than Rod, one of the oldest 
 boys in school, and about his size and weight, but, 
 as the youngsters gleefully declared, " Koss could 
 lick him with one hand." Yet Forrester had 
 quite a following among certain of the boys. His 
 parents were wealthy and indulgent. He had 
 pocket-money in abundance and in defiance of 
 the rules of the school. He was a smuggler as 
 well as a smoker of cigarettes and a bad example 
 to the little fellows at their most impressionable 
 age. Either in wrestling or sparring or an old- 
 fashioned rough-and-tumble fight he would have 
 been no match whatever for Roderick, not for lack 
 of science or strength, for he had been gymnasium 
 trained, which Rod had not, but because he had 
 weakened his heart by the use of the narcotics so 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 103 
 
 frequently hidden in the cigarettes which he had 
 been smoking ever since his twelfth year. But 
 Forrester had no idea whatever of having a square 
 tussle with Ross, despite all his loud talk about 
 what he'd do if it wasn't for the tutor. He had 
 formed a totally different plan. 
 
 A week went by without especial event. The 
 boys were getting shaken down to their studies 
 again, and Ross, to his speechless comfort, had 
 been moved up a peg because of the marked im- 
 provement in his writing and simpler studies. 
 The bitter weather of late January was upon 
 them. The ice on the lake was superb, and the 
 hardy boys were out every afternoon whacking 
 the ball with their sticks and spinning and shout- 
 ing over the glassy surface and coming in to supper 
 all aglow with health and exercise. Rod never 
 missed it, but Forrester and his set had been 
 keeping in-doors. It was " too blamed cold" for 
 them, said they, and therefore there was surprise 
 on many faces when, on a biting January evening, 
 just after sundown, and perhaps quarter of an 
 hour before the big bell would boom for supper 
 and the preliminary tidying up, Forrester and 
 two of his clique came shuffling out on the ice. 
 Mr. Weld, one of the tutors, who dearly loved 
 the game, was in charge of the players that after- 
 noon, and he too remembered later his surprise 
 at seeing them appear. They were muffled up in 
 
104 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 heavy overcoats, fur caps, and wore arctics on 
 their feet, while the players had long since dis- 
 carded everything of the kind and were in a glow 
 notw ithstanding. 
 
 " Keep away from that gang, Koss," muttered 
 Jack Hammond, a moment after their appearance. 
 *' It'll soon be dark, and Weld's so near-sighted he 
 can't see beyond the end of his nose. They've 
 got some mean trick in the wind and I know it." 
 
 Rod laughed as he grabbed his stick the tighter 
 and tossed back his curly head, while his clear, 
 brave eyes flashed half-merry, half-contemptuous 
 challenge, as he glanced at the trio huddling at 
 the edge of the long rectangle. He felt so secure 
 in his strength and glorious health, his quickness 
 and agility. How could they harm him ? What 
 could they do? he asked. There was mighty 
 little time, and then came the yell, " Look out for 
 goal !" and, whizzing, spinning, skijDping along, 
 with a rush of players in its wake, the wooden 
 ball came whirling down the glassy surface, and 
 with three vigorous, lunging strokes of his skate- 
 blades, Hammond shot under way to meet it, and 
 Rod circled warily back, his eye on the ball, and, 
 bending low, he cruised up and down, forward 
 and back, in front of the goal-posts, ready and 
 alert should the bounding sphere burst through 
 the defence line and come zipping down to his 
 guarded land. 
 
TKOOPER EOSS. 105 
 
 Just a little behind him now, already dark and 
 dim in the gathering dusk, were the goal-posts, 
 and just a few yards beyond them, full ten feet 
 wide, black and forbidding, the boiling, bubbling, 
 swirling waters that came tumbling out from the 
 sluice-gate of the mill-race. Those turbulent 
 waters never froze. Even as he watched the 
 exciting course of the game as it swerved to and 
 fro across the jDond, the shadowy forms of the 
 players sometimes huddled in a surging mass, 
 sometimes careering wildly over the ice, Rod 
 could not but see that Forrester and his two 
 cronies, as though carried away by their interest 
 in the contest, had encroached on the space re- 
 served for participants and were edging off towards 
 the north goal, and just then the ball had broken 
 away from the scrimmage and, no longer visible 
 to Bod, had evidently taken a shoot in his direc- 
 tion, for Hammond, playing well back between 
 the fighting line and the goal, whirled sharply to 
 his right and went with a rush across the dark 
 stretch, a clamoring crowd bearing down on him 
 from the front, but too far away to " rattle him," 
 for in another second Rod heard the resounding 
 whack of his stick as it squarely struck the ball, 
 heard his triumphant shout and Weld's loud 
 " Bravo !" heard the keen scrape and shave of 
 the skates as, like a flock of dusky brant, the rush 
 of the players veered, wheeled, and spun around^ 
 
106 TKOOPER EOSS. 
 
 and within anotlier second or two had strung out 
 on a new course straight for the southward goal. 
 Jack's magnificent stroke had sent the ball far 
 beyond leaders, lungers, and "backs," and into 
 the goal-keeper's hands. Now was Rod's time. 
 He knew Willard well, the safest, surest home 
 guard in the school, if he. Rod Ross, the Sioux 
 killer and nearest rival, had to own it. Cool and 
 imperturbable as Crab Jones, of blessed memory, 
 Willard would mark its coming, and with a 
 counter-stroke, firm as Hammond's, send it far, 
 far back into the northland, and then would come 
 Rod's opportunity. He could now afford to play 
 forward twenty or thirty yards to meet it. Even 
 if he could not fairly see, he could hear it whizzing 
 on its way. And, just as the dim, spectral shapes 
 at the other end of the rectangle seemed huddling 
 all in a bunch again, and, all eagerness and ex- 
 citement, he was just striking out to take ground 
 farther to his front, something came settling down 
 over his shoulders, something suddenly gripped 
 and tightened about his legs, something suddenly 
 jerked them from under him, and the next thing 
 he knew, hurled violently forward on his face, he 
 was slipping, sliding over the ice, half stunned 
 by the force of his fall, yet clutching fiercely 
 though vainly at every little projection on his 
 way. Almost before he could realize it, he went 
 whizzing beyond the goal-post, and then, merciful 
 
''-mi 
 
 L^JtuS 
 
 vj 
 
 
 lMm.^.,m m ' "\ 
 
 1 
 
 < 
 
 
 The next thinsr he knew he had shot over the crackin<r edire. 
 
TKOOPER EOSS. 107 
 
 heaven ! not before he fully realized it, he found 
 himself helplessly, swiftly gliding over the glassy 
 ice, with those black, tumbling, seething waters 
 just ahead, and the next thing he knew he had 
 shot over the cracking edge, and, drowning his 
 cry for help, the icy waves had closed over his 
 head. A mocking, jeering laugh was the last 
 thing he heard before his ears were closed, min- 
 gling with the boom of the big school-house bell 
 summoning all hands to supper. 
 
 Two days later the faculty of Rockford Hall 
 was assembled in conference, and knots of school- 
 boys, whispering excitedly, were clustered about 
 the corridors. Up in the matron's cheery room, 
 propped on his pillows and looking as though he 
 had been pulled through a knot-hole, and yet not 
 altogether unhappy, Hod Ross lay chatting in 
 low tone with Hammond and Willard. The doc- 
 tor with the head-master had left his bedside but 
 a few minutes before, and each had striven to get 
 the boy to answer certain questions, all to no 
 effect. 
 
 " I never saw any one nearer to me than the 
 east edge of the rectangle," was his sole reply to 
 their appeal. 
 
 " He would not peach," whispered boys, big and 
 little, in the thrill of their admiration. He would 
 not accuse those who had all but murdered him. 
 
108 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 " Shoshonee" liad been rescued only in the nick 
 of time, and only after long, long effort liad he 
 been revived. 
 
 Jack Hammond best could tell the story, and 
 we'll let him do it. " I knew Willard would 
 swipe that ball to Kingdom Come if he got half 
 a chance," said he. "I had hoped to send it 
 more to the left where Berryman could reach and 
 drive it, but the moment I saw how it was going 
 I hauled up and waited for it to come back. It 
 came with a rush, even before I could turn to 
 head it, and was away down half-way to the sluice- 
 gate before I could fairly see it. I yelled for 
 'Shoney and lit out after it, and was utterly sur- 
 prised at not seeing him near the goal. Two or 
 three fellows were scurrying off towards school as 
 I raced, and then I remembered what I had told 
 Ross, — that those fellows were out to do him a 
 dirty trick of some kind, and my first thought 
 was that they'd tried it and that he'd sailed into 
 them with his stick and was chasing them off the 
 pond ; so I went for the ball, found it clear up by 
 the water-hole, and drove it back just for the fun 
 of hitting it again, though the game was over and 
 the bell a-banging, and then, close to the hole, as 
 I sat down to take off my skates, I heard some- 
 thing whirling over the ice, and there, right be- 
 side me, like a big water-snake, something was 
 squirming and twisting away towards the hole, 
 
TROOPEE EOSS. 109 
 
 with the tail of it flapping behind. I swear it 
 startled me a second, and then I saw it was just 
 the end of a clothes-line, and I had sense enough 
 to grab it, strength enough to hang on, and then 
 yell for help. Something heavy, something human, 
 was struggling at the other end, far under the ice, 
 and something told me it was Shoshonee. You 
 know the rest. It took four of us to pull him 
 back and half a dozen to get him out, with the 
 rope still slip-knotted around his shins." 
 
 But if Rod wouldn't peach and Forrester dare 
 not confess, there was one miserable sinner who 
 couldn't stand the pressure and who presently 
 told all. They only meant to give Ross a cold 
 ducking. They never thought how the current 
 might carry him along under the ice, since with 
 pinioned legs he couldn't swim. They were 
 horror-stricken when a messenger came running 
 up for help, saying Ross was drowned. They 
 were full of misery and remorse and begged to 
 be forgiven, but the faculty would have no more 
 of them. Forrester and his pals went homeward 
 that night, — expelled from Rockford Hall. 
 
 10 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We have to pass rapidly over Rod's school 
 days, for they were mainly uneventful. Not 
 until later did the real battle of his young man- 
 hood meet him. Life was not without its joys 
 meantime, and, after a glorious summer vacation 
 in the Wind River Mountains, with Jack Ham- 
 mond for his guest and comjianion, after a month 
 of hunting, fishing, and a trip in saddle past the 
 Three Tetons and up to the wonderful Yellow- 
 stone Park, Rod Ross went back to Rockford the 
 first of September, ready for another long year at 
 the books. But that brief sojourn at an army 
 post had "done the business" for Hammond. 
 "I'm seventeen now," he wrote to his father, 
 " and I've seen what I wish to be, and that is a 
 cavalry officer. Tell Uncle Jared that the next 
 vacancy that occurs in our district finds me beg- 
 ging for the place. I'll try a competitive exam- 
 ination with any fellow he chooses to name." 
 
 110 
 
TROOPER ROSS. Ill 
 
 And Hammond had reason to feel confident. 
 He was Rockford's prize scholar in mathematics 
 and had not an equal at his home. "Uncle 
 Jared" had been for six years representative of 
 the district in Congress, and his reply was not 
 encouraging. " I've about concluded," wrote he, 
 "that nobody can get through West Point but 
 the sons of army officers. They keep it up for 
 their benefit, and lots of my associates here in the 
 House think so, too. The examinations are too 
 hard. I've appointed four bright boys one year 
 after another, and they've sent 'em all back, and 
 
 Mr. , of Indiana, has had seven turned out, 
 
 and we're getting hot about it. Still, if Jack 
 wishes to try his luck, let him come and be ex- 
 amined, and if he wins he can enter next June," 
 
 Rod's heart throbbed with mingled rejoicing, 
 envy, and regret, — rejoicing for his friend's sake, 
 envy that he strove to crush, because, all the 
 Honorable Mr. Hammond's theories to the con- 
 trary notwithstanding, he knew that precious few 
 army officers succeeded in getting appointments 
 for their boys at all, and, even when they did, it 
 was often developed that early education had been 
 neglected and the youngsters fell before that great 
 leveller of military ambition, the .department of 
 mathematics. With remorseless impartiality it 
 performed its work, knowing no man's son from 
 another's except by his proficiency or deficiency 
 
112 TROOPEE ROSS. 
 
 in this vital science, and poor Rod, bending with 
 new determination to his work, none the less felt 
 his heart failing him as he realized, day after day, 
 that examples and problems that were all so clearly, 
 cleverly solved and explained by Jack were only 
 darkness and drudgery to him. Jack went home 
 to the competitive examination and came back 
 an easy winner, the proud possessor, presently, 
 of a document at which the other boys gazed in 
 awe and admiration, — an order requiring him in 
 the name of the President and Secretary of War 
 to report on the 12th of June next to the Super- 
 intendent of the United States Military Academy 
 at West Point. Already Rockford Hall in fancy 
 beheld in Jack a plumed and sword-brandishing 
 officer. Already Jack assumed what he con- 
 ceived to be a martially erect carriage, and was 
 only undeceived when Rod laughingly told him 
 that it wasn't the abdomen but the chest that 
 should protrude, that his back should be straight, 
 not concave, that he should not lean backward 
 with his weight on his heels, but forward, rather, 
 on the balls of the feet; and that winter while 
 Jack was patiently and affectionately doing his 
 best to coach Rod in arithmetic and elementary 
 algebra. Rod began giving Jack brisk half-hours 
 of " setting up exercises" and lessons in the school 
 of the soldier. Like all boys, Jack thought he 
 ought to have a musket and begin with the manual 
 
TKOOPER EOSS. 113 
 
 of arms, but Rod, better taught, succeeded in per- 
 suading him that exactly the opposite was the 
 proper course, — that he must acquire the soldierly 
 carriage and develop and harden the necessary 
 muscles before trying to handle the eight pounds 
 of wood and metal that go to make up the military 
 rifle. Dr. Runyon took immense interest in the 
 drill half-hours, and other boys begged to join the 
 squad and started enthusiastically, but fell out, 
 all but two or three, after the first few days. No 
 boy need hope or expect to become a well-drilled, 
 well "set up" soldier unless he has pluck and 
 determination strong enough to triumph over many 
 a muscular ache, pain, and weariness. And so 
 Shoshonee, though nearly at the foot of his class 
 in algebra, and only moderately well up in other 
 branches, was becoming a centre of interest and 
 influence in the boy community, as he was already 
 among the foremost players in all out-door sports 
 and recreations. His letters were more buoyant 
 and hopeful now. " I still flnd algebra a mys- 
 tery," he wrote to his father, " in spite of all that 
 Jack does to help me, but I am well and strong 
 and get along first-rate in other studies and in all 
 our games. I'm in the cricket eleven and play 
 substitute in the first nine at base-ball and will 
 take Jack's place at second base when he goes, 
 Berryman has promised me, and if we only had 
 riding I think I could show them all a trick or two. 
 
 h 10* 
 
114 TROOPER ROSS 
 
 " But scliool will be mighty different when Jack 
 goes. We're going, perhaps, to have two repre- 
 sentatives at the Point in June. Ed. Mowbray's 
 father represents this district (the 5th), — Jack's 
 uncle has the 8th, — and he gave the appointment 
 to him, although he didn't much care for it at 
 first, but now Ed thinks he does just because 
 Jack's going. I wish Ed's father might take a 
 fancy to me, for, between you and me, I don't 
 think Ed can pass. Jack gave him some of the 
 sample problems and he said he worked out most 
 of 'em, but Hilliard swears he got help, and I 
 guess it's true. I might fail, too, father, and yet 
 I'd work my eyes out if they could only pull me 
 through. Confound Calculus and such things! 
 What does a cavalry officer need of them ? You 
 don't know anything about them, and yet every- 
 body says there's no better officer in the regiment, 
 and to my thinking no better in the whole ten of 
 them. Don't suppose I'm going to be miserable 
 if I can't get to the Point. I'll come back to 
 Washakie one of these days and start a ranch on 
 the Little Wind Eiver or up the Popo Agie and 
 have a home all ready for you and mother when 
 you retire. But all the same I do want to be a 
 soldier, a trooper, more than words can tell." 
 
 And over this letter the father pondered long 
 and earnestly. 
 
 But then came the spring-tide and the soft, 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 115 
 
 languorous mornings, and presently the long after- 
 noons, with nearly two hours after school to give 
 to practice on the diamond, and Rockford Hall 
 was worked up to a pitch of excitement and en- 
 thusiasm over the challenge match to be played 
 commencement week with the crack nine of Ur- 
 bana College, where they had two hundred stu- 
 dents to choose from, many of them well-grown 
 young fellows of twenty and twenty-one, while 
 Bob Berryman, captain of the Rockford nine, 
 was barely eighteen and the oldest boy in the lot. 
 It all grew out of a game played on the fair 
 grounds in the fall, in which the college boys, 
 sure of victory, and, as they said, " not wishing 
 to beat the infants too badly," had put in some 
 of their second-rate players, and, to their utter 
 amaze, were beaten eleven to six. There was so 
 much laughter and ridicule as a result that Ur- 
 bana felt that nothing but an overwhelming de- 
 feat of the Bockford boys could atone for it, and 
 the challenge was the result. School-boys who 
 have searched their histories will remember how 
 the night before Hastings the Normans busily 
 polished their arms and devoutly prayed and 
 prepared themselves for the coming battle, while 
 the Saxon followers of Harold, in boisterous con- 
 fidence, drank confusion to their enemies and spent 
 their night in carousal. Somewhat in like man- 
 ner the Rockford boys, day after day, spent their 
 
116 TKOOPEK EOSS. 
 
 recreation hours in assiduous practice, coaclied by 
 a veteran of the League, once a star pitcher, while 
 the collegians took things easily, serenely confi- 
 dent that all they had to do was put in their great 
 first nine with Clem and Goddard " in the points," 
 — Clem, of whom the big-eyed boys declared his 
 curves had bafiled Pop Anson himself when he 
 was there looking for players ; Clem, who struck 
 out six men in the game with the famous Fort 
 Waynes, and Goddard, who was said to have been 
 ofiered such a big salary to catch for the White 
 Stockings next season, only his family wouldn't 
 let him. Before such a battery the Rockford 
 *Kids" would be shut out without a run. No 
 wonder the excitement was high. Rockford had 
 beaten every boy club of consequence in the State, 
 but now they were tackling men. For weeks the 
 home letters were full of that forthcoming match. 
 Examinations, study, commencement exercises, 
 speeches, honors, the dance for the graduating 
 class, even the coming of sisters and sweethearts, 
 paled in imj)ortance by comparison, and as this 
 is the boys' story, let us follow their bent, for 
 until that game was played and the thing settled 
 nothing else was to be thought of. 
 
 Jack Hammond left the first of June to spend 
 a week with a veteran officer near the Point who 
 eked out his retired pay by coaching candidates 
 for their examination. " Remember," he said, as 
 
TEOOPEK BOSS. 117 
 
 he wrung Rod's hand, "you're to wire me the 
 score the moment it's settled, and remember what 
 I say, — play well out when Leggett and Powell 
 come to bat ; they're the only left-handers they've 
 got." For three weeks Shoshonee had been prac- 
 tised regularly at second. He was particularly 
 strong at the bat and base running, was a daring 
 slider, and absolutely sure and swift in throwing. 
 "If only they won't bat grounders to him!" said 
 Berryman, who was to captain at first base, " he'll 
 play second without an error, but Sioux Killer's 
 shy of grounders." 
 
 Kod felt the lump away up in his throat again 
 as he bade good-by to his faithful friend and 
 chum, and there was a mist before his eyes that 
 afternoon that made grounders even more than 
 usually fateful. There was shaking of heads in 
 the nine when they gathered after practice, and 
 Rod was unusually solemn, so was Berryman, but 
 the die was cast. No better all-round player 
 could be put on second. " Fumble" or not, it had 
 to be Shoshonee. " Pray for flies, fellows," said 
 Captain Bob, as they scattered for bed the night 
 before the match, and no one echoed the sugges- 
 tion with greater zeal than did our " Buster" of 
 the days at Fort Frayne. 
 
 Perfect as a June day could be came the 
 afternoon of the match. The collegians had ar- 
 rived on a special train with half Urbana at their 
 
118 TEOOPEE BOSS. 
 
 back. Tliey had dined with the E-ockford team 
 at the training-table, extended for the occasion, 
 each boy having on his right the collegian who 
 was to play the corresponding position, and Rod 
 found himself blushingly doing the honors to a 
 stalwart, sunburned, brown-moustached young 
 athlete of twenty-two if he was a day, — the cap- 
 tain of the Urban a nine. The managers were 
 there, too, and the change pitchers, the substitutes, 
 and the umpire, a fat gentleman of forty-five in a 
 suit of blue serge upon whom all Rockford Hall 
 gazed in awe, for there was what was left of one 
 of the most famous players of his day. Indeed, 
 with the biggest and best dinner since Thanks- 
 giving before them, the boys of Rockford could 
 hardly eat at all for staring at and commenting 
 upon their distinguished visitors. But they had 
 to hurry through and get out and rest under the 
 trees, while the tables were reset for the array 
 of visitors, — fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, sis- 
 ters, and brothers, and the girls who came with 
 them. And the Urbana contingent, even to those 
 who brought lunch-baskets, were hospitably bidden 
 to the feast, and at last when all were comforted, 
 there was a general scattering over the beautiful 
 park, and at four o'clock the biggest gathering 
 ever seen on Rockford's playground. There had 
 long been a small stand back of the catcher, but 
 this had been added to, and, in great numbers, 
 
TKOOPEK BOSS. 119 
 
 benches, chairs, and camp-stools were extended out 
 to right and left, well back from tL*:? foul line, 
 and the green turf had been freshly mown and 
 looked like velvet, and the base and coaching 
 lines and the pitcher's box had all been newly- 
 traced in snowy whitewash. " Mighty pretty 
 field," said the umpire. " Don't wonder your boys 
 put up a good game of ball. Well, it's time they 
 were here ;" and, even as he spoke, to a burst of 
 martial music, out from behind the big dormitory, 
 welcomed by a cheer, the players came, — Rock- 
 ford in their dainty dress of white, with blue 
 trimmings, belts, and stockings, all freshly " laun- 
 dered" for the occasion, Urbana striding along 
 after them in a business-like costume of gray with 
 U C in big blue letters on the breast. Proudly 
 Urbana's drum-major led the way into the ap- 
 plauding field, and here the nines broke ranks 
 for the fifteen minutes each of preliminary prac- 
 tice. Heavens, how keenly, breathlessly, the boys 
 watched Urbana's famous fielders as the ball was 
 batted skyward to the outer garden or sent skim- 
 ming to the bases, there to be gathered up and 
 fired like chain lightning to first ! and how the 
 Urbanas pretended not to watch their boyish an- 
 tagonists, even while involuntarily applauding 
 some quick, pretty pick up and throw that told 
 how coaching and practice had profited the nine ! 
 At last came the summons, and the captains flipped 
 
120 TKOOPER EOSS. 
 
 up the dollar, as was the fashion of the day, and 
 big Berryman smiled grimly as it came up heads, 
 and he sent Urbana to the bat and trotted nimbly 
 out to his station, the blue legs of his team dan- 
 cing away to the field. 
 
 And then everybody took a long breath, and all 
 eyes were on Jake Lansing, Kockford's main hope 
 and best pitcher, for Jake was a school-boy wonder 
 whom the Urbana's found it difficult to hit when 
 the autumn game was played, and who was re- 
 puted to have improved immensely under careful 
 coaching during the spring. Score-cards with the 
 batting order of both nines had been distributed 
 through the swarm of spectators, and the Urbana 
 contingent, all wearing in some fashion the emerald 
 and old-gold colors of the college, broke into hand- 
 clapping and shouts of " Perry ! Perry !" as a 
 lithe, sunburned, slender young fellow strode up 
 from the bench, his bat over his shoulder. " That 
 fellow can run bases like a streak," said Mr. Weld. 
 " If he reaches first he's good for a run." 
 
 And now for one minute look at the field as the 
 sprinter of Urbana College steps up to the home 
 plate. Never mind the thronged, fan-fluttering 
 grandstand or the long, long rows of parasol- 
 shaded camp-stools and chairs and benches. Look 
 only at the fair, sunshiny greensward, with its 
 fresh, white lines, and the eight sprightly young 
 fellows scattered at broad intervals over its trim 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 121 
 
 and elastic surface. Chunky Billy Cooper, Rock- 
 ford's catcher, is playing far back under the stand, 
 the fat umpire, flicking some dust from his trou- 
 sers with a big silk handkerchief, has just shouted 
 " Play ball," and is stooping now to observe the 
 first shot, while Lansing is waiting for the new 
 white ball to make the circuit of the bases and 
 light in his hands. Buster has sent it like a white 
 streak to Captain Bob at first and trotted back to 
 his line. It is pretty to note how that infield has 
 divided the ground, so that shortstop and Buster 
 are almost equally distant from second base, and big 
 Bob and his opposite at third well out from their 
 goals. The ball that breaks through that picket line 
 will be a stinger and no mistake, and Berryman's 
 brown face is full of hope and pluck and eager ex- 
 citement as he glances at his out-fielders and then 
 at the in and signals to Lansing, " Let her go !" 
 
 Go she does, first ball of the game, with a 
 "whiz" and a bafiling curve at which Perry need- 
 lessly ducks, and over which the umpire makes a 
 sprawling, straddling leap, and vociferates " Ball 
 one!" Another, also wide, follows like a flash, 
 and again does the stentorian shout of " Ball" ring 
 over the field, and little Rockford boys, despite 
 cautions to silence, begin to moan, and Rod feels 
 a cold wave go down his back. Berryman eyes 
 Lansing without a word, and Lansing, scowling a 
 little, eyes Urbana's batsman, the lively Perrego. 
 
 T 11 
 
122 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 This time our pitcher lifts high the ball in both 
 hands, it seems, and balances on his right foot 
 and twists his left leg about his right and gives a 
 writhe that seems to suddenly unwind him and 
 set him a spinning, and out of the midst of a 
 whirl of legs and arms the white sphere shoots 
 over the plate and the umpire bawls "Strike!" 
 whereat there are cheers from big Kockfords and 
 squeals from little ones, and Chunky Bill, who 
 has donned his mask and come up behind the bat, 
 hammers his big mit twice with his bare fist, 
 hitches at his knickerbockers, and squats low. 
 Lansing coils up again, again unwinds, and Perre- 
 go's bat flashes through the air and nearly swings 
 him off his feet, as the ball lands with a " spat" 
 in Cooper's stopper, and a yell of frantic delight 
 goes uj) from Rockford's youngsters, drowning 
 the umpire's unnecessary announcement, for the 
 whole crowd sees the strike. Perrego flushes even 
 through the tan, — that down shoot utterly fooled 
 him, — and the Urbana players hitch uneasily on the 
 bench. Another ball, almost before he has time to 
 gather himself, and, stung by the shouts, he whacks 
 at it savagely. A yell from Urbana's followers that 
 begins full-lunged and forcible suddenly loses vol- 
 ume and then dies out in an " Ah-h !" The ball has 
 popped up, an easy fly, and is circling slowly over 
 first base. Perrego dashes for the base, so does Lan- 
 sing to cover the vacant bag, for Berryman, with 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 123 
 
 his eye on the ball, is trotting slowly backward, 
 and both dashes are needless for the fly settles in 
 his broad palm and the first man is out. Hand- 
 clapping and a school-yell greet the play, and 
 "Perry" comes back to the bench as another 
 blithe young fellow takes his place. No ! not his 
 place exactly, for he stej^s to the right of the plate 
 and Kod edges off towards the field, for this is 
 Powell, a famous left-hand thrower and batsman. 
 Carelessly he swings the hickory over his shoul- 
 der and eyes the pitcher. The ball comes with a 
 rush, and there is a resounding crack and a yell 
 from all Urbana as, tossing aside his bat, the long 
 left-fielder shoots for his base, where Berryman's 
 left foot is already planted and his keen eyes are 
 flashing straight across the field. Zipping over 
 the springy turf the ball has sped, straight for 
 shortstop, and that cool-headed youngster, care- 
 fully taught, stoops, gathers it with both hands, 
 springs suddenly erect, and actually holds it a 
 second, gazing calmly at first ; then he lets go and 
 away it flies across the diamond, lands in Berry- 
 man's clutches two yards ahead of Powell, and 
 Rockford shrieks with joy. " Two out — no runs !" 
 Then comes Rod's guest, Urbana's handsome 
 young captain and second base. Only six balls 
 has Lansing pitched, two men are out and none 
 on bases. The head master is standing up and 
 has forgotten what Urbana's professor of chemistry 
 
124 TKOOPER KOSS. 
 
 was sayiag. Dr. Runyon's heart is with his boys. 
 "Sock it to 'em, McClure !" say the Urbana back- 
 ers. "Home run, Mac!" But Mac shakes his 
 head. He hasn't gauged that boy pitcher yet, 
 and if Perrego could do no better than pop up a 
 fly, what can be expected of him ? " Ball !" shouts 
 the umpire. " Ball two !" " What's the matter, 
 Lansing ? Don't go wild now," are the murmurs 
 in the crowd. "Ball three!" Merciful powers, 
 boys, but that's bad ! " Brace up, Lan !" and Lan 
 braces. He ties himself in a knot again, then 
 suddenly uncoils. Bang goes the captain's bat 
 and away goes the batter, and away, too, goes the 
 ball — high, higher — far over the fielders' heads, 
 far out to the left center, and two pairs of white 
 and blue legs are chasing madly from opposite 
 directions, while the Urbana captain, circling well, 
 has bounded across first and swung out for second. 
 All in vain. All Rockford springs to its feet — 
 scholars and tutors — and screams with ecstasy, for 
 Jimmy Bolton " gets under" that sailing sphere 
 and meets it as it comes whirling earthward, grasps 
 it eagerly, then throws it hard for second, just to 
 show what he could do were the runner not already 
 out. Oh, luckless Urbana ! You are " goose-egged 
 by the Kid Nine!" 
 
 There is a scene of mad joy among the Rock- 
 ford crowd, — of small boys hugging each other 
 and dancing frantically. There is a din of shouts 
 
TROOPEE ROSS. 125 
 
 and squeals and whistles as the blue-legged field 
 comes trotting briskly in and the grays more 
 soberly trot to their stations. There is a chorus 
 of hand-clapping as Berryman whispers a word 
 to big Nugent, Rockford's right fielder and hard 
 hitter, and Nugent steps to the plate. Clem has 
 picked up the ball and, just to set things going, 
 starts it to shortstop, affects to take no interest in 
 the first man at the bat until the ball is once more 
 in his grasp, then with easy confidence faces him, 
 lifts high both hands, lifts high his left knee, bal- 
 ances an instant on his right toe, then unlimbers 
 all at once and sends the ball hissing towards the 
 plate. Nugent ducks as though it were aimed at 
 his head, whereat everybody laughs. Clem grins ; 
 then scowls, for the umpire shouts " Ball one !" 
 and Clem meant it to split the air just over the 
 plate. Clem steadies himself, repeats his gyra- 
 tions ; away goes the ball ; whack ! says the bat, 
 and all Rockford springs to its feet again as Nu- 
 gent streaks it for first, while the ball spins over 
 the turf, straight as a die, just where no infielder 
 can touch it. Up goes a howl of delight as Nu- 
 gent darts across the bag before the ball comes 
 back. Then up steps Billy Gifford, bat in hand, 
 and Rockford's second batter is at the rubber. 
 Two minutes later he is still there, with three 
 balls, two strikes, and a brace of fouls called on 
 
 him, and still Nugent hangs at first, unable to see 
 11* 
 
126 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 a way to second. The coacliers are bidding liim 
 do everything but really run, but Goddard watches 
 him like a cat, and twice sends the ball to the 
 baseman in hoi^es of catching the runner nap- 
 ping. The tension is severe. The Urbana party 
 is silent. Only the irrepressible small boys keep 
 up their twitter, too nervous and excitable to be 
 still. Nugent is dancing like a cork a little off 
 first base, eagerly watching the ball, madly long- 
 ing for a chance to make a dash for second, yet 
 dreading to start lest that active catcher should 
 get the ball there first, and all Rockford knows 
 how Goddard can throw to bases. Possibly Clem 
 thinks the game " easy pie" ; possibly it is a pre- 
 arrangement between McClure and himself to let 
 the Kockford boys get a good start, encourage 
 them amazingly, and then win the game in the 
 last innings. Whether or no, he now gives Gif- 
 ford a chance. The ball comes straight from the 
 shoulder this time, and GifiPord, stifling the long- 
 ing to try to lift it for a home run, hits heavily 
 down as he has been instructed, and the ball 
 bounds fiercely over the pitcher's head and shoots 
 midway between shortstop and Captain McClure, 
 a " rattling" base hit and no more, but Nugent 
 slides into third before it is fielded thither, and 
 Eockford's yells are frantic. Then Gifford does 
 a foolish thing. He is safe at first when, in lioj^es 
 of catching Nugent, the ball is thrown in to third, 
 
TEOOPEK EOSS. 127 
 
 and, under cover of the shouts and cheers and 
 hand-ckxjDping, he loses his head and thinks to 
 play sharp and steal a base. A louder yell goes 
 up as he darts on for second, while the ball is still 
 held by the opposing baseman. The collegian 
 tosses it easily to McClure, who bends and rubs it 
 down along Gilford's spine, as the would-be base 
 stealer slides head-foremost for the bag, and the 
 umpire waves him out. Gilford finds his feet but 
 slowly, and looks foolish and bewildered as he 
 brushes the dust out of his knickerbockers and 
 ruefully trots back to the bench to meet Berry- 
 man's reproving shake of the head. " You can't 
 take chances like that. We're not playing kids," 
 says big Bob. " You could have had second in a 
 minute easy. Goddard won't throw there with a 
 man on third ready to come in. Nugent was still 
 sprawled on the bag when you started. Watch 
 Pepper now," and " Pepper," so-called because his 
 real name is Salter, picks up a light bat and sends 
 the first ball skyward, runs uncertainly at first as 
 though he knows he might as well wait, and his 
 doubt is confirmed. The ball comes slowly over 
 and drops into shortstop's waiting hands. Two 
 out, no runs, and all that is needed to score is a 
 sharp, low crack at the ball. " Hit down, Jimmy !" 
 orders Berryman, and the fourth player trots to 
 the rubber, and Jimmy waits until he gets a good 
 one and hits as directed, hard and down, and the 
 
128 TROOPEE ROSS. 
 
 ball goes zipping across the infield and comes 
 shooting over to first, fielded by McClure, while 
 Jimmy is ten feet away from the base whereon he 
 would be, and Rockford, too, is out. "Well," 
 says Bob, " we've tied the score anyhow !" and 
 silence settles over the field, as the nine take sta- 
 tion for the second innings. 
 
 Lansing is still new to the Urbanas. The first 
 four that came to bat are puzzled by his curves, 
 and only scratch hits or easy poj)-up flies result. 
 Amid shrieks of joy from the younger pupils and 
 shouts of applause from the elders, he actually 
 strikes out young Mr. Porter, one of Urbana's 
 society swells, — an amateur, proud of telling how 
 he has played in practice games with Anson's men 
 and held his own, sir, and made a home-run off" 
 even such a pitcher as " Smiling Mickey" when 
 the Gothams were last in Chicago. Bob Berry- 
 man hugs his pitcher as the latter doffs his cap in 
 response to the plaudits of the crowd. Such a 
 feat is worth more than the Lambert Scholarship, 
 as the holder of that benefice is willing to admit. 
 " Now if we can only do something at the bat !" say 
 the boys, as they cluster together at the bench. 
 " Bunt it. Shanks, and beat it to first," are the cau- 
 tions given to a tall, lanky fellow who is lunging 
 up to the plate, a runner famous at Bockford 
 Hall. Shanks scowls. He wishes to hit hard, 
 but he obeys, for next behind him comes Buster, 
 
TKOOPER KOSS. 129 
 
 as safe and sure a hitter as there is in the nine. 
 " Steal second and 'Shonee will bat you in," Ber- 
 ryman has whispered, as Shanks chooses his stick, 
 and the eyes of all are upon him as the first ball 
 comes. An incurve, and Shanks wisely lets it by. 
 The second is more to his taste. He quickly raises 
 the bat, simply pokes it at the swift flying sphere, 
 then races madly for first while the ball, checked 
 in its course, recoils and rolls slowly up along the 
 foul line, but luckily keeps inside. Clem springs 
 for it, but it is as elusive as a straw hat in a high 
 wind. Some one afterwards said Clem purposely 
 fumbled the ball. At all events, Shanks bounds 
 across the bag, two yards ahead of the throw, and 
 then in the midst of frantic yells gathers himself 
 and dashes for second, for the throw is high over 
 the baseman's head, and nothing but McClure's 
 magnificent play prevents its going out of bounds. 
 He had sped to cover first the moment the bunt 
 was made, and, running like a deer, stops it within 
 five yards of the benches, even though he cannot 
 recover in time to whirl about and throw to second. 
 Shanks, panting, is safe on the bag when the ball 
 lands in shortstop's hands. 
 
 And now comes Rod's turn. " A two-bagger. 
 Buster !" " Smite her for a home, Rod !" " Give 
 her a Shoshonee swat, Sioux Killer!" shout the 
 boys, and a big burly man in a pearl-colored high 
 hat, known as a " Tammany Tile" in the East, 
 
130 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 steps over to Mr. Weld, who is eagerly wateliing 
 tlie game. " So that's Jack Hammond's chum, is 
 it ?" he asks, and cordially shakes hands with the 
 tutor. "He's a likely-looking youngster. You 
 know I sent Jack to the Point, — I re^Dresent the 
 Eighth District in Congress." Mr. Weld doesn't 
 know it, but feigns, politely and diplomatically. 
 " We all miss Jack," he says, " but West Point's 
 the place for him. He's our finest mathematician. 
 " Yes," says the Honorable Mr. Hammond, " I'm 
 only afraid he's studied too hard here. The 
 trouble with those examiners at the Point is they 
 expect a boy to know everything that can only be 
 had by hard study and then show no signs of 
 wear. They've rejected five boys for me in less 
 than three years. Gad ! if this fellow lands on 
 that ball squarely it'll be for a four baser sure,'' 
 and the Congressmen looks admiringly at Pod's 
 sturdy shoulders and deep chest. Four balls have 
 been pitched, not one of them to Shoshonee's 
 liking, though the umpire calls the second a strike, 
 and the boy's eyes are blazing as he stands at the 
 plate, quivering with excitement and eagerness, 
 the bat well over his shoulder. Meantime, Shanks 
 is playing away off second, striving to get a long 
 start so that he may come sprinting home in the 
 event of the promised base hit. The fielders are 
 edging forward, ready for a swift throw to nab 
 him at the plate. The fifth ball comes flashing 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 131 
 
 in on a slanting sunbeam, and Rod's shoulder 
 seems hard behind the grain of the bat as it hits 
 with resounding whack. Like a bird the ball goes 
 soaring over second and, Rockford and Urbana 
 both, the spectators seem to rise from their seats 
 as though to follow it, while, to the music of madly 
 triumphant cheers, Shoshonee speeds on his round. 
 But the roar of triumph dies into something like 
 a moan of apprehension, for Urbana's centre 
 fielder, his eyes upward, is dancing swiftly back- 
 ward. Rod tears past first base, but Shanks is 
 glued to second. If he runs on a caught fly he, 
 too, is out and he dare not quit the bag. Three 
 seconds decide it. A wild, almost frenzied yell 
 bursts from Rockford's throat, for just as the ball 
 is landing in the nimble fielder's hands, his heel 
 catches, he staggers, strives to recover himself, but 
 cannot, and keels over on the broad of his back 
 while the ball bounds harmlessly away. When 
 that wandering j^lanet is recovered and sent whist- 
 ling homeward, Shanks is being pounded on the 
 back and hand-shaken at the bench and Rod is 
 breathing hard and joyously at third base. First 
 run for Rockford, even if it wasn't a safe hit !" 
 
 Then Jimmy Duncan whacks at one of Clem's 
 low " down shoots" and pops up a fly that McClure 
 cannot decline, and then Hoi way, of the " Second 
 Latin," a boy full of promise in field sports, drives 
 a hot liner at the pitcher which he only partially 
 
132 TKOOPEE BOSS. 
 
 stops, and Holway scuds to first to be met tliere 
 by his fate, picked up and fielded by that imp of 
 a shortstop. Then, with two out and Rod on third, 
 Malloy hits an easy one to Mr. Porter, which that 
 young gentleman drops, and an instant later Rod 
 comes bounding over the home plate, chased in 
 by the ball, but safe and sound. The score is two 
 to nothing when the next boy flies out to Perrego. 
 Then comes the third innings and — catastrophe. 
 Urbana has begun to gauge Lansing. Two men 
 have got their bases and been batted or sacrificed 
 around to second and third when " Lefty" Leggett 
 comes to the plate and, true to Hammond's part- 
 ing injunction. Rod edges away from his base to 
 cover the field. Thus far luck has been with him, 
 not a grounder has come his way, but the very 
 first ball Lansing sends at the tall left-hander is 
 met by a swinging crack of the bat and driven 
 like a shot, barely skimming the turf, as though 
 to split in half the line joining the first and second 
 base. All infielders are playing within the lines 
 to head off the runner for home, and Rod has even 
 less time than usual to leap in front, then to stoop 
 and stop it. He never knows just how it hap- 
 pened. His left hand stings for an hour later. 
 A groan of misery and disappointment rises from 
 all Rockford as the ball goes bounding away into 
 centre field, deflected from its course but hardly 
 checked, and a big error is scored against poor 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 133 
 
 Buster, and a big, big lump rises in his throat 
 again, as on that heart-breaking misplay two run- 
 ners come bounding in, and Leggett safely " roosts" 
 on second. The ice is broken, the score is tied 
 and then beaten, for a sharp base hit brings Leg- 
 gett home, and in their half E-ockford is retired 
 without a run. Poor Rod ! He could cover his 
 face and steal away and die of mortification, but a 
 broad hand is laid on his shoulder as he sits mourn- 
 fully at the bench, and Mr. Hammond violates 
 the rules, with no one to object, — he being a repre- 
 sentative in Congress, — by coming out and speak- 
 ing to a player. " You're all right, youngster ; 
 Kelly himself might have fumbled that ball. 
 You'll get your revenge before this game is over," 
 and, glancing gratefully up, Rod's mournful eyes 
 light for the first time on Jack Hammond's friend 
 and uncle and Congressman. " I shouldn't mind 
 so much," he begins, " only I promised Jack to 
 wire," — and then the thought is too much for him, 
 and Rod chokes. " Never you mind, I say," says 
 Mr. Hammond again. " I've been a base-ball 
 crank for twenty years, and you'll come out all 
 right before this game's over. I'm betting on it." 
 At last comes the ninth innings this fair June 
 evening, just as the factory whistles at Rockford 
 are tooting six o'clock, and the bells are chiming 
 and the sun is throwing long slanting beams across 
 the field. Rockford has been doing a little better, 
 
134 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 and even Kod is taking hope and comfort, for a 
 double play, two " assists," and two captured flies 
 have been credited to his fielding, and he has hit 
 safe and sure twice, batting in two runs in the 
 seventh that offset the two he let in in the third ; 
 but the score stands 9 to 6 in Urbana's favor, and, 
 as the friends of the collegians say, " They haven't 
 half tried." But now McClure feels it necessary 
 to increase the score. Three is no safe margin in 
 base-ball, even against boys of seventeen, and he 
 tells his men to hit for all they are worth this time, 
 and hit they do. Before Lansing and his fellows 
 can fairly realize what has happened, Perrego, 
 Powell, and the captain himself have hit safely 
 and got to their bags, for, to the misery of all Pock- 
 ford, every base is full and only one man out when 
 Mr. Porter steps up to the plate, — Porter whom 
 Lansing struck out the first time they faced each 
 other. Porter who missed the easy fly, Porter who 
 feels that now is his grand chance to redeem his 
 name and, by one magnificent hit to the far field, 
 empty the bases and fill with joyous admiration 
 the hearts of all Urbana. 
 
 It is a moment of drooping courage, almost of 
 despair, for Porter can hit and has hit hard since 
 his luckless beginning, and Berryman signals to 
 his fielders and even motions back those who have 
 closed in. Pod is surprised, but obeys. There is 
 absolute silence for a moment as Shoshonee finds 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 135 
 
 himself once more back of tlie familiar base line. 
 He wonders if anything can save them. Per- 
 rego is keeping close to third. There is no sense 
 in risking anything now. Powell, however, is 
 playing away ont, almost midway between second 
 and third, for he well knows that a throw to second 
 to catch him would never be ventured with Perry 
 ready to dash home. No fielder's trick can harm 
 him where he stands, and no fly ball can land in 
 fielder's hands before he can get back to the base. 
 Both he and Perrego, therefore, are crouching like 
 athletes preparing for a dash of a hundred yards. 
 One sharp, low hit is all that is needed, and they 
 see it in Porter's eye as he faces Lansing, and 
 Lansing sees it, too. He cannot give him a base 
 on balls now. He can only pitch fair and square 
 and trust to fate and the fielders. Porter lets 
 three balls go by, then lunges and, like a six- 
 pound cannon shot, that ball whistles through 
 space, a line hit, a sure hit, a safe hit if there ever 
 was one, straight over Buster's head. Perrego 
 and Powell spring to their dash for home, and are 
 half way thither under full headway when checked 
 by a terrific cheer from Rockford, and loud yells 
 of warning from benchers, coachers, and Urbana 
 generally. Whack went Porter's bat upon the 
 leather. Whack an instant later goes the leather 
 into Rod's stinging palm, for, leaping high, he 
 meets it with his right and the arm flies back with 
 
136 TKOOPER EOSS. 
 
 the force of the shock as though it would be torn 
 from its socket, but the clutch of the eager fingers 
 is on the ball and it is firmly grasped. Another 
 instant and the boy has darted for second base, 
 firmly planting his foot upon the sack as he springs 
 by, and then, whirling in his tracks, throws 
 " clean, swift, and sure" into Shanks's grasping 
 hand at third base. " A trijDle ! a triple play, by 
 all that's glorious!" fairly screams Mr. Weld. 
 "Striker out! Out on second and third! Side 
 out !" shouts the umpire, but no man hears. In the 
 twinkling of an eye ; in the flash of a camera the 
 prettiest, sharpest, most fatal play ever seen at 
 Kockford is made, and Buster Koss is the hero of 
 the day. Merciful powers, how the boys scream 
 and shout and pound the benches and toss up hats 
 and blazers, chairs and camp-stools, and how they 
 cheer Shoshonee as he comes running in, blushing 
 like a girl, and oh, so happy ! It is a full minute 
 before the game can go on. It is no easy matter 
 for Perrego to realize that he and Powell are really 
 out, — that the line drive was after all only a cap- 
 tured fly and it caught them off their bases. " My 
 aunt, Rod !" shouts Berry man in his ears ; " if Jack 
 could only have seen that. By Jiminy, we'll beat 
 'em yet !" 
 
 Five minutes later Urbana is standing up on 
 benches, chairs, and tables, for its famous college 
 nine is flying signals of distress. Clem is getting 
 
TEOOPEK BOSS. 137 
 
 wild, and has given a base on balls to one of Rock- 
 ford's ^' tail enders," a boy who basn't made a sin- 
 gle hit, and would have flied out if given half a 
 chance. Burly Cooper " sacrifices" him to second, 
 but loses his own head in the effort. Then Nu- 
 gent sends him home with a beautiful drive, on 
 which he, too, reaches second, and, a moment later, 
 third on Gilford's long fly that Mr. Porter fails to 
 " get under" in ample time, and Giflford, too, is 
 safe. Pepper, too ambitious, strikes out, and then 
 comes Daddy-Long-Legs — Shanks himself — to the 
 bat, and, before he can crouch, an inshoot has 
 stung him in the shoulder, and he trots to first 
 base, rubbing his bruise, but grinning from ear to 
 ear. Bases filled, two men out, two runs to tie 
 the score and three to win the game. "Was there 
 ever such a stake ? — and Buster Ross to bat. 
 
 Rod's heart is fluttering like a girl's, his nerves 
 are all tingling, his head is almost swimming as 
 he hears the shouts, long and loud, with which he 
 is greeted. Never in all the history of Rockford 
 Hall was excitement so intense. Never in its long 
 and successful career has the head master known 
 a moment to compare with this. It seems as 
 though its name and fame — even its reputation 
 for scholarship — are now trembling in the balance. 
 Berryman, who follows Buster on the batting list, 
 strives to say a word, but Rod cannot hear. Seats 
 are abandoned, the whole concourse of people is 
 
 12* 
 
138 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 standing, the din is uproarious. Clem eyes the 
 batsman warily and essays a smile. Rod's Scotch 
 extraction shows itself in the intensity of his gaze. 
 He is far too much in earnest to grin. It is a 
 frown, if anything, that darkens his eyes, and his 
 mouth is set like a trap. Two balls have sped 
 by, narrowly watched, but avoided. Clem lets 
 drive the third just as the sun shoots out from 
 behind a bank of summer cloud low lying in the 
 west, and the flying sphere comes tipped with gold. 
 Rod's shoulder is behind the bat this time for all 
 he's worth. Small boys say that night it sounded 
 like a clap of thunder when bat met ball, but 
 when the echo comes back from the school-house 
 wall it is drowned in the mad yells of exultation 
 of all Rockford, and the fielders are chasing furi- 
 ously into deep right, and, one after another, Nu- 
 gent, Gilford, and Shanks have crossed the plate, 
 and there is no need for Rod to chase his legs 
 off, — he has batted in the winning run. 
 
 " If I had it to do over again, young fellow," said 
 Mr. Hammond that evening before he started for 
 home, " you'd represent my district at the Point, 
 and if I have it to do again or I can do it in 
 any way, you'll get there, and don't you forget 
 it!" 
 
 "Do you think, can you think he means it, 
 father ?" wrote the eager, happy boy to the captain 
 that very night. " Yet, how can I go so long as 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 139 
 
 Jack Hammond holds it ? They can never * find' 
 Jack in ' math' or any other study." 
 
 Just one week later, though, as the great school 
 gathers for commencement exercises, good Dr. 
 Eunyon silently hands Rod a telegram. It is 
 brief and to the point. 
 
 "Jack passed. Mowbray failed. His father 
 has promised me to nominate Ross." 
 
 Signed " Hammond, M.C." 
 

 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 And both to Mr. Hammond and the doctor did 
 the Honorable M.C. keep his promise, and our Kod 
 was duly named a cadet candidate for future 
 honors at the Point, but even then the fruition of 
 his hopes was a long way off. He was only seven- 
 teen and could not be prepared to pass the entrance 
 examination for admission that year, even in Sep- 
 tember, and Captain Ross wisely held that a boy 
 who missed plebe camj) was robbed of an invalu- 
 able experience. " Stick to Rockford and mathe- 
 matics another year, my boy," he said. " Come 
 out to Washakie for another vacation. Shoot and 
 fish and ride and live in the mountains until fall. 
 You'll be all the better for study," and Rod re- 
 ligiously carried out his father's wishes. A very 
 grateful man was Captain Ross, and very grateful 
 letters did he write to Messrs. Hammond and 
 Mowbray for their kindness to his boy. Local 
 politicians, you may be sure, made much complaint 
 
 140 
 
TKOOPEE ROSS. 141 
 
 in the Fifth Congressional District that this valu- 
 able scholarship had been given to " an outsider," 
 but Mr. Mowbray contented himself with saying 
 that Buster was a resident of the district, — that 
 his mother's family, at least, lived in it, — that 
 as the four boys he had appointed in three years 
 had failed, his own among them, he merely wished 
 to establish one of two things, that home boys 
 were no worse than the " outsiders," so called, in 
 case young Koss failed, and that there was collu- 
 sion in favor of army boys in case he were 
 admitted. 
 
 It took a year of hard work to fit Buster for the 
 "preliminary," and Dr. Bunyon and Mr. Weld 
 and the captain himself and Bod, too, for that 
 matter, had many anxious moments. Expert as 
 he was on the playground, thorough as he grew to 
 be in geography, history, and Latin, he still 
 stumbled painfully in parsing, and only the hard- 
 est study enabled him to triumph over equations. 
 Arithmetic he at last seemed to master, but there 
 was still doubt and grave doubt as to how he would 
 stand the long hard lessons and the complicated 
 problems to be met, beyond all possibility of dodg- 
 ing, when once fairly started at the Point. 
 
 Bod was plucky and hopeful; Bod's mother 
 was confident. Hammond wrote encouraging let- 
 ters and often playful ones. " You gave me my first 
 lessons in setting up," said he, along in April, "and 
 
142 TROOPEK EOSS. 
 
 now I'm accused of 'boning' corporalship here. 
 Well, it's true ! I wish to wear the gold lace if 
 for no other reason than that it'll be such rousing 
 fun to be turned out over plebes and have you in 
 my drill squad. Look out for yourself, Sioux 
 Killer. I haven't told the fellows much about 
 you, but Mowbray has been writing to two of the 
 class he got to know during the few days he was 
 here, and they have pumped me with questions by 
 the hour." 
 
 At last came spring and Hod's transfer to the 
 banks of the Hudson for a few weeks' careful 
 coaching under Hammond's instructor of the pre- 
 vious year, and at last the physical examination, 
 which he passed triumphantly. Then came the 
 ordeal of the written tests, and never until 
 months afterwards did Buster learn by how nar- 
 row a margin he finally passed the entrance gate, 
 and was promptly turned over to the tender 
 mercies of the drill instructors and measured for 
 his plebe outfit. 
 
 Story after story has been written of cadet life 
 at the Point, and in each and every one much 
 stress has been laid on first impressions and much 
 space been given to Fourth Class, or "Plebe," 
 Camp. All this in Kod's case is to be omitted, 
 for his story was like that of dozens of other 
 young fellows, his experiences, life, and sensations 
 practically the same as theirs, and his hours of 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 143 
 
 homesickness only a little less. All boys know 
 some days of weariness of spirit, so trying is tke 
 routine, and many feel long hours of dejection and 
 despond, and to poor Kod these latter came only 
 too often. He went through the torments of 
 plebehood like a man, did his guard and fatigue 
 duty like a soldier, was cheery, hopeful, and an 
 enviable fellow in his class just so long as they re- 
 mained in camp. It was after the long ten months 
 of barrack work and study began that his short- 
 comings became apparent. Starting in a far down 
 section because of the alphabetical responsibilities 
 of his name, he found before November that even E. 
 placed him too high, and that he had to drop into 
 a still lower section in that dreadful algebraic 
 course. In other studies he could hold his own. 
 In ranks, in the gymnasium, and on the drill- 
 ground he was the peer of any fellow in his class, 
 a soldier from the ground up, but January 
 nearly severed his connection with the corps. He 
 passed only " by the skin of his teeth." 
 
 "If hard work can do it," he wrote to his 
 father, " I still believe I shall master the course. 
 Hammond is kind as ever. He's coming in to 
 help and coach me on " trig" and geometry, and 
 I can see plainly that our instructor tries to lift 
 me along, though some of our fellows say he 
 would rather find a cadet deficient than marry a 
 fortune. I've no one to blame if I don't succeed, 
 
144 TKOOPER BOSS. 
 
 not even myself, father, for you know well that I 
 have studied hard and faithfully." 
 
 This letter was one that gave the veteran troo]) 
 leader many a sad hour. It is true the boy need 
 never blame himself if he failed to pass the next 
 examination, thought Captain Koss, but is it true 
 he has no one else to blame ? Have not I some 
 accountability for all the long years I let him 
 waste upon the frontier, studying nothing but 
 natural history ? Mrs. Ross, on the contrary, was 
 disposed to look at matters from a very different 
 point of view. She was persuaded that the whole 
 system at the Academy was in need of remodelling 
 if, as Rod said, there was so much difficulty in 
 coming up to the standard. Two of the younger 
 officers of the regiment were on duty at the Point, 
 and they wrote lovely things of Rod. He was 
 one of the manliest boys in his class and one of 
 the most soldierly. He was sure to be "made 
 high" among the corporals, for his conduct was 
 admirable and no one could beat him in soldierly 
 bearing. He had never had a report for a " late" 
 at roll-call or carelessness or inattention of any 
 kind. He was liked by the old cadets and re- 
 garded with not a little jealousy, as sometimes hap- 
 pens, among his comrades the plebes. " Surely," 
 said Mrs. Ross, "a boy so highly spoken of can 
 be in no danger of being discharged. Surely they 
 will not send away a young man of such ability 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 145 
 
 and character because he does not fully under- 
 stand some utterly useless and impractical science." 
 Unluckily for the good lady, Mrs. Ross was not a 
 member of the Academic Board, and her argu- 
 ments bore little weight. She sorely missed her 
 big boy and wrote to him three or four times a 
 week, and exacted of him that he should write 
 letters as frequently and as long until the captain 
 had to say that she was thereby taking up time 
 that, under all the circumstances, could far better 
 be employed in study or exercise, and begged that 
 she be satisfied with one letter a week, written on 
 Sundays. Mrs. Koss maintained that no boy was 
 ever the worse for the time he took in writing to 
 his mother, which as an abstract proposition does 
 very well and is possibly true, but with all his 
 love for her Rod found it very difficult to comply 
 with the requirements unless he gave up to letter- 
 writing the half-hour after supper he ought to 
 spend in the open air. He worked on diligently, 
 painfully, and, thanks to Hammond's assistance 
 and his own earnest labor, he managed to make so 
 reasonable a record in geometry and " descriptive" 
 as to overcome the losses in " trig." He went up 
 for the June examination with an anxious heart, 
 was given at the board a famous demonstration 
 that he happened to have been schooled on time 
 and again, and made a very creditable recitation, 
 and though away down near the foot of the class 
 
 Q k 13 
 
146 TEOOPER EOSS. 
 
 in matliematics he, as lie himself expressed it, 
 " wriggled through" somehow, and two days later 
 found himself safely landed on the winning side 
 and the j^roud possessor of a pair of corporal's 
 chevrons so high up on the list as to make him 
 acting sergeant and color-bearer during his year- 
 ling camj), — the proudest, happiest summer he had 
 known for years. 
 
 For nearly a month his father and mother were 
 visiting at the Point, and the fond creature was 
 there at camp day after day, eager to tell of 
 Koddy's boyish deeds and doings, and so, much to 
 his dismay, many of the exploits over which he 
 used to brag at Frayne became noised about the 
 corps. It was lucky for him they were so little 
 known in his plebe camp, — that only vaguely did 
 the old cadets understand that his school name of 
 "'Shonee, the Sioux Killer," was builded upon 
 certain facts in his past career. Warned by his 
 father and Hammond, he had carefully refrained 
 from any talk of his boy days, and but for his 
 mother, the stories concerning Rod's swimming 
 the Platte at nine years old and beating back 
 single-handed the horde of Indians that swarmed 
 for the scalp of Corporal O'Toole might never 
 have been restored to circulation. Now, however, 
 when he wished them buried, he found they were 
 being bruited about, and, as the two officers of the 
 — th who were there gravely declared Mrs. Ross's 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 147 
 
 description entirely free from exaggeration, it was 
 conceded among the visitors at the hotel and 
 among the families at the Point that Cadet Color- 
 Bearer Ross was really a very remarkable young 
 man. But cadets themselves are sceptical. 
 
 It led to something more, however, than cadet 
 notoriety. 
 
 Bod was senior corporal of the guard one bright 
 August morning towards the close of camp. His 
 father had gone to the city to attend to certain 
 matters of business before their return to the far 
 West, and Mrs. Boss, as was her custom, had 
 wandered down to the visitors' tent at camp where 
 she hoped to see very much of her boy. Several 
 young ladies with their cadet friends were already 
 in possession, however, and Bod was a trifle shy. 
 His own relief was on post at the moment, and he 
 felt the full responsibility of his charge over those 
 six fledgling warriors, most of them plebes, and he 
 declined to remain at the visitors' tent, but placed 
 a camp-stool for his mother just under the spread- 
 ing branches of a little tree close by the first guard 
 tent, and, having secured the consent of the cadet 
 first classman on duty as ofiicer of the guard, 
 there he stood leaning on his rifle and listening to 
 her questions and comments, yet all the time lend- 
 ing attentive ear for possible calls from the sentries, 
 and occasionally watching the movements of the 
 two who were visible from his point of observation. 
 
148 TKOOPEK EOSS. 
 
 Even other mothers and other fellows* sisters 
 among the groups of visitors agreed that he was 
 a very manly, presentable young soldier as he 
 stood there, and by this time, the stories of his 
 swimming the Platte and scourging the Sioux 
 being in full swing, the eyes of many were upon 
 him, much to his embarrassment, but more to his 
 mother's delight. 
 
 The artillery drills were going on at the time, — 
 the fourth classmen at the foot battery south of 
 camp, while the "yearlings," with prodigious 
 clatter of hoofs and jingling of chains and rum- 
 bling of wheels and stirring bugle-blasts and 
 hoarsely shouted commands and stunning dis- 
 charges of the guns, were leaping like monkeys 
 about the caissons as they darted from one point 
 to another, often lost to sight in clouds of dust 
 and smoke. So rapid and exciting grew the drill 
 at last that everybody became absorbed in it, and 
 camp-stools were moved almost upon the sentry 
 post of Number One on the west front of camp, and 
 just towards the fag end of the hour the battery 
 instructor started his dozen spirited teams at full 
 gallop from near the foot of the plain and swung 
 "in battery" at top speed just in front of camp. 
 With no little effort the caisson-drivers reined in 
 their horses at the first signal, and sliding over 
 the gravelly surface gradually came to a halt and 
 began aligning to the right as the dust-cloud 
 
TROOPEK ROSS. 149 
 
 lifted. Meantime, the guns had gone bounding 
 straight to the front, and while the cannoneers 
 had sprung from their seats on the caissons and 
 gone sprinting to their stations on the new line, 
 the gun teams, still at full gallop, essayed to whirl 
 about, describing their loop at the same instant, 
 and only reining up long enough to permit the 
 gunners to unlimber and cry " Drive on," then 
 drop the trails of the guns so as to throw the 
 muzzles straight to the front and open fire. It 
 was a race to see which gun would be the first to 
 blaze away, and a race such as one can rarely see 
 the like of unless it be among the Cossack bat- 
 teries of Kussia. If a cadet hadn't as many lives 
 as a dozen cats some of their number would be 
 killed every day. 
 
 Now, as luck would have it on this particular 
 morning some of the children from the ofiicers' 
 quarters had brought over to camp a number of 
 little friends who were summering in the neighbor- 
 hood of the Point. Children reared in a garrison 
 speedily learn the military rules and regulations 
 and more readily observe them, perhaps, than 
 they do those which are entirely parental. City- 
 bred boys and girls, however, are less apt to do 
 so, and there were three youngsters of twelve or 
 fourteen in the party who seemed crazed with 
 desire to "show off" before their friends and to 
 place themselves in some position of imminent 
 
 13* 
 
150 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 danger. Twice had Kod as corporal of the guard 
 been com^Delled to warn these little men that they 
 could not be allowed to run out on the plain in 
 front of the guns, but, boylike, they looked upon 
 his objections as officious interference. The officer 
 of the guard, a swell young first classman, was 
 seated on a camp-stool chatting with an elder and 
 very pretty sister of one of the boys referred to, 
 and he, too, noting her anxiety, had remon- 
 strated with the lad, but not in a manner to 
 make much impression. He was too desirous 
 of pleasing the entire family to venture on 
 offending a juvenile brother. Mrs. Koss was 
 talking eagerly with her boy as the battery came 
 thundering up the plain, and all of a sudden 
 there came a scream of mortal terror, — " Larry ! 
 Larry ! Come back !" and the young lady sprang 
 to her feet and was stretching out her helpless 
 arms to the graceless rascal of a brother, who, fol- 
 lowed by an admiring friend, was dancing out 
 upon the glaring, gravelly surface directly in 
 front of the galloping teams. Before Mrs. Koss 
 realized the trouble. Rod had dropped his rifle, 
 and, springing out beyond the group of specta- 
 tors, he swooped down upon the pair, and collaring 
 both, a muscular hand to each, he half pushed, 
 half dragged them out of the way, and not an 
 instant too soon. The right gun of the battery, 
 whirling around, nearly rolling over as it did so, 
 
Collaring both, a nmscular hand to each, he half pushed, half 
 dragged then^ out of the way. 
 
TROOPEK ROSS. 151 
 
 dashed by within three feet of his kicking, strug- 
 gling captives, and but for his prompt action 
 there is little doubt that, bewildered by the un- 
 looked-for rush of the team to its right as it 
 swung into battery, the two venturesome young- 
 sters would have been run down. As it was, 
 like most other boys when summarily joounced 
 upon in public and interrupted in some prank, 
 they were furious at being placed in so ridiculous 
 a light, and one of them, bursting into tears and 
 impetuous sj)eech, declared that his father would 
 make it hot for Hod when he came up next day, 
 and used further language that spoke ill for the 
 educational advantages of Murray Hill. 
 
 But the pretty sister was profuse in her thanks, 
 and came over to Mrs. Ross, who was a nerveless 
 witness of the affair, to express her gratitude and 
 to beg that they pay no attention to Larry's 
 furious outbreak. Larry and his equally abused 
 but far more reasonable companion had by this 
 time dried their tears and started for the omnibus 
 up by the hotel, and the next thing noticed of 
 them they were in lively conversation with a 
 portly lady who drove up in a carriage. 
 
 How many times out of ten, when a boy goes to 
 tell his story of wrongs to his devoted mother, 
 does he tell the truth ? When Master Lawrence 
 Farwell's mother alighted from her carriage that 
 eventful morning and started for camp it was with 
 
152 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 the avowed intention of appealing to the command- 
 ant of cadets and having Cadet Corporal Ross 
 reduced to the ranks in general orders that very 
 night at parade for brutal assault and inexcusable 
 violence towards her precious boy. Larry had 
 declared he was just doing nothing, only standing 
 there looking on at the drill, when that mean, in- 
 terfering Mr. Koss ran out and grabbed him and 
 hit him and choked him and shoved him right in 
 front of all the people, and he wouldn't stand it. 
 
 Meantime, another mother had been crooning 
 over her boy, and that was Mrs. Koss. Rod him- 
 self knew perfectly well that he was in no personal 
 peril. He had been to light battery drill time 
 and again, knew just where the horses and guns 
 would turn and twist and just how to avoid them. 
 He knew he had done nothing heroic. If any- 
 thing, he was troubled because he had had to dart 
 out there before all that crowd and run those 
 struggling youngsters out of harm's way, but Mrs. 
 Ross thought otherwise. In her mind her boy 
 had performed an act of signal bravery and de- 
 votion, had saved two lives at the imminent peril 
 of his own, and should be crowned with laurels or 
 awarded the cross of honor and named in General 
 Orders because of it. She never thought to look 
 where the disgusted Larry had gone. She never 
 dreamed that by any human possibility could 
 there be found a single human being to entertain 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 153 
 
 an opposing view. Already she was picturing to 
 herself, as she eagerly questioned Rod as to 
 whether he was sure, sure he had received no 
 injury, how beautiful it would all be at parade 
 that night when the ringing voice of the cadet ad- 
 jutant should proclaim to the statue-like battalion 
 and to the hundreds of visitors the promotion of 
 Cadet Corporal Ross for heroic conduct during 
 battery drill that morning. Already she had 
 received not a few congratulations, and Rod, 
 blushing, awkward, and confused, was striving to 
 get away, when there suddenly appeared an anger- 
 ing woman on the scene, and in tones never to be 
 forgotten these words fell upon the ears of all : 
 
 " Is this the young man who has dared to assault 
 my son ?" 
 
 In an instant the young lady had interposed. 
 " Mother !" she cried. " Indeed, indeed, you have 
 been misinformed ! Indeed, if you had seen what 
 Larry was doing " 
 
 "That will do, child," was the imperious 
 anwer. " You always take sides against your 
 brother. I have heard. I shall go to the com- 
 mandant with my demand for justice." 
 
 And a very lively and exciting scene was sud- 
 denly precipitated upon a large and deeply inter- 
 ested array of visitors, many of whom, knowing 
 Mrs. Ross, were only wondering what she would 
 say when sufficiently recovered from her amazement 
 
154 TKOOPER EOSS. 
 
 to say anything at all. But before tliat lady could 
 open her lips another voice, a very quiet one, but 
 most authoritative, was heard, and there, just dis- 
 mounted from his horse, looking somewhat warm 
 from the drill, but s]3eaking very coolly all the 
 same, there stood the young battery commander 
 and instructor. 
 
 "I am commandant to-day, Mrs. Farwell, in 
 
 the absence of Colonel H ," said he, "and as I 
 
 saw the whole occurrence, will you j^ermit me to 
 say that the promptness of Mr. Koss was all that 
 saved your boy from being run over, and I shall 
 so inform both the commandant and Mr. Farwell 
 when they return to-morrow. I had dismounted 
 to congratulate Mrs. Ross. May I not tender my 
 congratulations also to you ?" 
 
 Buster always thought Lieutenant a rather 
 
 cold, unappreciative officer, but that day he could 
 have hugged him, so could his mother, but Mrs. 
 Farwell, poor woman, was utterly at a loss now 
 what to say or do. 
 
 " I do not comprehend," she began, but then a 
 dozen voices chimed in, of men and women 
 witnesses of the affair, all bent on pointing out to 
 her how utterly she had been misinformed and 
 how great was Larry's peril when rescued. And 
 in the midst of the clatter Rod begged his indig- 
 nant mother to come away, and led her flushed 
 and almost tearful to the visitors' tent. Later in 
 
TKOOPEK ROSS. 155 
 
 the day she declined to see Mrs. Farwell when 
 that lady sent up her card. 
 
 But this trifling incident, which caused no little 
 laughing comment among the visitors to the Point, 
 was destined to weave quite an important part in 
 Rod's future. The very next evening, just as he 
 was donning his belts .ind shako for parade, the 
 commandant's orderly summoned him to head- 
 quarters. There at the entrance to the big mar- 
 quee sai Colonel H with the artillery lieuten- 
 ant and a third gentleman, a gray-whiskered, 
 keen-eyed civilian, who arose as Rod halted at the 
 prescribed distance and raised his hand in salute. 
 The commandant, too, arose from his chair and, 
 extending his hand, said, in the kind way that was 
 habitual with him, — 
 
 " I wish to add my commendation to that you 
 have already received, Mr. Ross, for your prompt 
 action during battery drill yesterday morning; 
 and here is a gentleman who desires to thank you 
 in his own name, — Mr. Farwell." 
 
 Whereupon the civilian cordially took Rod's 
 hand in both his own and said, " You rendered 
 me a very great service, sir, and taught my boy a 
 much needed lesson, and I am very grateful to 
 you and very sorry to learn that in her agitation 
 my wife said some utterly unjustifiable things. 
 Lawrence is our only boy, our baby in fact, and 
 has been sadly spoiled, but I hope you can make 
 
156 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 some allowance for his mother. When you are 
 older you'll find that many others are apt to 
 attach undue weight to the doings or sayings of 
 an only son." 
 
 And Eod felt the blushes surging up to his 
 temples again. He had begun to realize the force 
 of that statement already. 
 
 Before Captain Koss left for the West, however, 
 a cordial understanding and regard had sprung 
 up between Mr. Farwell, Rod, and himself, despite 
 the fact that the two ladies maintained towards 
 each other an awful severity of mien when they 
 happened to meet. 
 
 " There may come a time when I can be of ser- 
 vice to you, Roderick," said the New Yorker, 
 "and if it should so happen, command me. In 
 any event I shall not lose sight of you." And, 
 oddly enough, the time came. 
 
 Although of different classes, Hammond and 
 Rod had planned to room together when the 
 former should return from cadet furlough and bar- 
 rack life again begin. The mathematical course 
 of the third class year was one to which Rod 
 looked forward with keen anxiety, but with Ham- 
 mond to coach and aid him there would be less to 
 fear. As luck would have it, however, the list of 
 cadet officers was revised the day after the fur- 
 lough class returned, and Hammond, to his sur- 
 prise and delight, was raised to the rank of first 
 
TKOOPEK ROSS. 157 
 
 sergeant of tlie second company, or Company 
 " B." The drill regulations of Upton were still in 
 vogue and the cadets were assigned according to 
 size, and Rod, who had shot up like a weed, was 
 one of the tall, muscular athletes assigned to Com- 
 pany "D" on the extreme left. Nor could he 
 induce any of the corporals of Company "A" to 
 exchange with him. As first sergeant of "B" 
 Hammond had to room in the third or fourth 
 division of barracks, while Rod, much to his dis- 
 appointment, although he had been raised a peg 
 or two higher on the list of corporals, and was 
 now third in rank, had to go over to the far west 
 wing and take for a room-mate a handsome, reck- 
 less, daring, but absolutely unbalanced fellow 
 whose academic days were surely numbered. 
 
 Poor Rod ! He studied as best he knew how. 
 He worked hard and faithfully. He grew pale 
 and weary-eyed, but all to no purpose. " Analyt- 
 ical" was too much for him, and his marks were 
 as low as his face was long, so low that despite 
 excellent conduct, fine soldierly bearing, and a 
 fair standing in other studies, nothing but abso- 
 lutely perfect work at examination would save 
 him. The story is too sad, yet too well known. 
 Dozens of ambitious and earnest young fellows 
 have found themselves unable to master the intri- 
 cacies of mathematics, and, yielding to the inex- 
 orable law, have had to fall out. Rod's instruc- 
 
 14 
 
158 TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 tor did his best by him, and Kod showed himself 
 grateful and appreciative, but only by the narrow- 
 est squeeze was he carried through the gate in 
 January, — his room-mate laughingly accepting his 
 own deficiency as a matter of course and, with 
 half a dozen other third classmen, doffing the 
 cadet dress and donning " cits" once more, while 
 Rod, with Calculus to cheer him up the hill to 
 June, faced at the foot of his class that still harder 
 subject, but with hardly a grain of hope or confi- 
 dence in the result. 
 
 "Turned back to join the new third class in 
 September," was the decision of the Board in 
 Rod's case in June, and he went on cadet fur- 
 lough in anything but bright spirits. His father 
 and mother were still in the far West and they 
 welcomed him lovingly and strove to comfort him, 
 the one with the belief that another year would 
 enable him to triumj^h over the difficulties of the 
 course, the other with the characteristic assurance 
 that the fault lay solely with his instructors. But 
 Rod had grown older and wiser and had his own 
 views. The young officers, recent graduates, en- 
 deavored to encourage him, and were surprised at 
 his lack of faith. In his other studies he showed 
 the effect of his earnest work, and his knowledge 
 of the practical side of drill regulations made him 
 quite their equal if not, in some cases, their 
 superior, for Rod was soldier, as has been said, 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 159 
 
 every incli of liim. " It seems a shame to think 
 we can't have him in the cavalry," was what more 
 than one officer was heard to say, as they watched 
 Rod's easy seat and practised horsemanship, and 
 perhaps the father thought so too, though he 
 uttered no complaint. " Do your best, my boy. 
 No man on earth can do more. Master that 
 mathematical course if you can, but if you can't," 
 — and here with moistening eyes the veteran 
 soldier took his stalwart boy by the shoulder and 
 turned him squarely towards him, — " if you can't. 
 Rod, come back home to your mother and to me 
 and we'll welcome you lovingly as ever." 
 
 Rod hesitated a moment before replying ; then 
 raising his head, he looked his father full in the 
 face. 
 
 " I used to think I could be content to come 
 back and start a ranch out here somewhere, but 
 that's all in the past, father. I know there's only 
 one thing to suit me, and that is the cavalry, and if 
 I can't win it through the Point there's yet another 
 way. I shall try, father — from the ranks." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Another year went by with Buster, now a stal- 
 wart fellow nearly six feet tall and as sinewy and 
 active as any Indian. Bravely and patiently lie 
 stood to liis work, mourning not a little over the 
 enforced separation from his original classmates, 
 with whom he was deservedly popular, yet striving 
 to make himself at home among the new. This 
 year he worked well up among the " teens" of the 
 class in general standing and passed the June 
 examination with comparative ease, though still 
 far down in mathematics. Again his father and 
 mother spent a portion of the summer near him 
 during camp, and Rod was one of the first ser- 
 geants of the battalion and a very efficient cadet 
 non-commissioned officer. Again they left him 
 with loving wishes and fond anticipation, but Rod 
 and his father both fully understood that the 
 most trying year of the course was ahead of him, 
 and that many a lively young soldier, hopeful and 
 
 160 
 
TEOOPER EOSS. Ifil 
 
 over-confident after his successful passage of the 
 middle barrier, had been tripped and thrown by 
 "mechanics" and chemistry in the second class 
 year. 
 
 The autumn, sad and sombre, yielded to the 
 early snows of winter, and the days grew shorter 
 and shorter as the Christmas holidays came on ; so, 
 too, grew Rod's letters. " I cannot do more," he 
 wrote. "I have been hoping against hope and 
 struggling against fate. I have no head for mathe- 
 matics. It was mistaken kindness to let me try 
 again last year. It only prolonged the fight and 
 set me back still farther in the race for a commis- 
 sion. My class — my own class — will graduate in 
 a little over six months and be lieutenants in the 
 army by the end of June. Well, come what may, 
 I'll be in the army too." 
 
 The Ross's were far across the continent now. 
 The old regiment had gone to the Pacific slope, and 
 they had drunk Rod's health and happiness on his 
 twenty-first birthday just as the first snows were 
 mantling the bold heights about the Point, while 
 the sun still beat warm and ruddy about the adobe 
 walls of old Camp Sandy in Apacheland. The 
 captain was growing very gray and wrinkled, and 
 looking eagerly forward to the promotion so long 
 due him and to release from the exactions of troop 
 duty. He strove hard to control his anxiety as 
 January came and to believe that Rod might still 
 I 14* 
 
162 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 succeed, but Kod himself would hold out no hopes 
 and Hammond was ominously silent. 
 
 One night, just as the trumpets were sound- 
 ing tattoo and a soft wind was whispering up the 
 deep sheltered valley from the sand wastes far to 
 the south, a messenger from the telegraph-office 
 entered with the fateful brown envelope in his 
 hand, and Captain Ross took it, read, and walked 
 out into the dark. Mrs. Ross was visiting some- 
 where among the neighbors. 
 
 This was all it said : 
 
 "Enlisted for the cavalry to-day. I'll win it 
 yet." 
 
 No word of repining, no word of reproach to any 
 one, no word of the wrench it must have cost to 
 say good-by to all that throng of stanch, soldierly 
 comrades with whom he had lived and worked 
 and hoped for more than three long years; no 
 word of disappointment, nothing but pluck and 
 cheer and manful determination, and the old 
 soldier bowed his head upon his arm as he leaned 
 on the gallery overlooking the dark lowlands at 
 his feet where rushed the flowing river, and over 
 the waste of leagues and leagues that separated 
 him from his only son his heart went out in yearn- 
 ing, in pity and compassion and tenderness un- 
 speakable, for all the sorrow and disappointment 
 that had been the boy's lot, but in pride and love 
 ten times as great because of the manful accept- 
 
TKOOPEK KOSS. 163 
 
 ance of his fate. " Quit you like men ; be strong," 
 was the text that had inspired Koss's own rugged, 
 honest, God-fearing life. It was a heartbreak to 
 think of the three years and a half spent in cadet 
 gray striving for the blue and finding only fail- 
 ure at the end, but not one hour had been wasted 
 or thrown away. Rod would be all the better 
 equipped for the race in the new field. For weal 
 or woe it mattered not, the boy had indeed ac- 
 quitted himself like a man, — ^had indeed been 
 strong. 
 
 They were gathered in the club room, quite a 
 party of the officers that night, when Koss came 
 in, an unusual thing for him, and the steward, at 
 his bidding, set fresh glasses and filled them with 
 sparkling wine, and chat and laughter ceased, for 
 the senior captain's face was grave. 
 
 " We drank my boy's health a few weeks back," 
 he said, " and wished him speedy promotion, and 
 you'll all bear me out in saying he has done his 
 duty like a man. He'll be none the worse for 
 cavalry drill, my friends, because he couldn't fully 
 grasp the mechanism of molecules. One of these 
 days he may be one of us, but for the time being 
 he means to fight his own way." There was a 
 choke in his voice as he finished. " Let us drink 
 to Trooper Ross." 
 
 And so another year went by, and neither by 
 the old regiment nor by the lads in gray at the 
 
164 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 Point was Shoshonee seen again. Lovingly they 
 often talked of him in the brief half-hour of 
 recreation that followed supper, and many a cadet 
 — first and second classmen both — would gladly 
 have reopened communication with him, but Rod 
 did not write. For several months, indeed, no one 
 knew just where he was. He had enlisted in New 
 York City immediately after receiving his dis- 
 charge, — a ceremony that cost the adjutant of the 
 Academy the saddest hour he had known in years. 
 He had given their final papers to dozens of 
 deficient cadets at every examination for three 
 years past, but Kod's pale face and uncomplaining 
 sorrow were too much for him. 
 
 "I couldn't feel worse if it were myself, Mr. 
 Eoss," he said, as he took Rod by the hand. 
 
 "Well, you'll bear me out in this, sir, then," 
 was Rod's reply. "No man can say I haven't 
 done my best." 
 
 They tried to find out to what post he had been 
 sent, but the recruiting officer replied that young 
 Ross had asked that no information be given. 
 But when next October came the corps were kept 
 no longer in ignorance. A letter was received 
 from Lieutenant Hammond, graduated only in 
 June and assigned to the — th, with station far out 
 in Wyoming. 
 
 " I joined my troop in the Black Hills, march- 
 ing home a week ago," wrote he, " and three days 
 
TKOOrEPv KOSS. 165 
 
 later I went on as officer of the guard. That 
 night, late, a courier rode into camp with de- 
 spatches, and I sprang up from a doze to receive 
 him. The firelight flickered on his face as he 
 stood there by his horse's head, dusty, travel- 
 stained, but straight as an arrow, and neither dust 
 nor a fuzzy beard could disguise him. As I 
 ste^^ped towards him with outstretched hand, he 
 drew back a half pace and whipped his hand up 
 to his hat-brim and ground his heels together. ' I 
 am Corporal Ross, sir,' said he. ' You're that and 
 more too, dear old man,' I cried, and had my arms 
 around him in a minute. You should have seen 
 the guard stare, but they understood it all soon 
 enough. Shoshonee is a corporal in Captain Ray's 
 troop and a candidate for commission, and he'll get 
 it yet, for Ray says there isn't a better trooper in 
 his whole outfit, and if there's a captain in the 
 cavalry that knows a trooper when he sees one, it's 
 that same Ray." 
 
 Two years as a non-commissioned officer must a 
 soldier serve before he can hope to change the 
 chevron for the shoulder-strap, and another year 
 still had Rod to ride boot to boot with the rough- 
 est fellows in the ranks ; but no favor did he ask, 
 — no help from anybody. Once in a while there 
 came fond letters from his father, now a major of 
 cavalry, serving in a distant field. Every week 
 there came fond, sometimes foolish, letters from his 
 
166 TROOPEE ROSS* 
 
 mother, and Rod welcomed them tenderly, and 
 stowed them away in his little barrack box and 
 went silently, sturdily, on his way. He was the 
 crack " rough rider" in his troop, a superb gym- 
 nast and drill instructor, and Captain Kay's re- 
 cruits somehow or other, were *' licked into shape" 
 quicker than those of any other company, and it 
 was well understood that nothing but the fact that 
 Ray had no vacancy kept Shoshonee still a cor- 
 poral. " Ross is sure of a sergeantcy before the 
 end of his term," said the men, but the time came, 
 and came soon, when sergeant's chevrons, even, 
 were not considered. 
 
 Our story opened one night in June within the 
 walls of old Fort Frayne. Many a change had 
 been wrought in the personnel of the post. Of all 
 the men we met and knew in the eventful Centen- 
 nial year of '76 not one was stationed at the fort 
 when, some fourteen years later, there broke out 
 among the Sioux Indians gathered at the great 
 reservations to the east what was called " the 
 Messiah craze." Indians have their beliefs as have 
 other men, and far and wide among the villages 
 of the red men from the Missouri to the Pacific 
 had been carried by runners and preached by 
 medicine-men the story of the second coming of 
 the Son of the Great Spirit, — an Indian God who 
 was to restore to the faithful among his peoj)le the 
 dominion of the wide waste of lands wrested from 
 
TEOOPER ROSS. 167 
 
 them by tlie pale-faces, who was to lead them iii a 
 war of extermination of the whites, and, once and 
 for all time, make the Indian lord of the Western 
 world. Indian worshij) takes its form in weird and 
 uncouth dances, and the nights were red with the 
 reflection of the dance-fires set in every village far 
 and near, and, despite the efforts of their wiser 
 chiefs, young men and old, the warriors of the 
 great Dakota nation left the agencies and took to 
 the war-path, convinced that the time had come for 
 the final battle. All on a sudden, after years of 
 comparative peace, a general war was forced upon 
 the frontier, and again the cavalry were hurried to 
 the once familiar fields, and among the first troops 
 to cross the Platte was " Buster's." 
 
 It was midwinter. The snow was deep in the 
 mountains. There had been a thaw in the Park 
 country of Colorado, and the Platte was running 
 bank full and whirling huge cakes of ice thick 
 spread upon its turbid flood. The garrison of 
 Fort Frayne had marched some forty miles up- 
 stream before finding a crossing, and their trail 
 through the snow-drifts was still fresh when the 
 squadron of the — th, led by Captain Kay, reached 
 the post after a long day's march through the 
 passes of the Medicine Bow. All that was known 
 of the Indians was that, after "jumping" the 
 agency, they had fled westward up the valley of 
 the Cheyenne, killing, burning, and destroying as 
 
168 TROOPEE EOSS. 
 
 they went. It was hoped that the command from 
 Frayne might intercept them and recapture the 
 women and children the Indians were carrying 
 away. It was to reinforce that little command 
 that Captain Kay had been hurried to the front. 
 Reaching the military reservation of Fort Frayne 
 an hour before nightfall, the captain had ordered 
 the four troops under his command to bivouac on 
 the flats to the west of the post, and be ready to 
 march at dawn. Other captains might have put 
 their horses into the abandoned stables and their 
 men into the vacant barracks, but not Ray. That 
 would be a distinct " let down" from the necessities 
 of the campaign. Men and horses both were out 
 to rough it. But he sent in for any mail that 
 might have been received, and about eight o'clock 
 in the evening a young officer came over to the 
 shelter-tents of Captain Ray's own troop and 
 asked for Corporal Ross. The first sergeant 
 sprang up and stood attention, ankle-deep in 
 snow, and looked about him. " He's down at the 
 picket line most like, sir," said he. " I'll send for 
 him." And a trumpeter went on the run to where 
 the troop horses, tethered at the rope, were munch- 
 ing their hay and wondering whether they could 
 lie down in that cold white blanket, and there, 
 rubbing his charger's legs, was Buster. The men 
 wondered why he called that bay troop horse 
 "Bep." 
 
TKOOPER ROSS. 169 
 
 " Loot'n't Hammond wants you, corporal," said 
 the trumpeter, anxious not to be too polite, as this 
 was a candidate for commission; and Buster 
 quickly arose and went ploughing through the 
 snow to where a camp-fire was burning in front 
 of the sergeant's tent. At sight of Hammond, 
 his old playmate and friend, he halted, stood at- 
 tention, and raised his hand in salute. The 
 salute was as gravely and precisely returned, and 
 then the lieutenant spoke. I wish I had the 
 power of conveying his very tone, first officially 
 dignified, then characteristically, impetuously af- 
 fectionate. 
 
 " Corporal, I sent for you because you ought to 
 see this paper. Our friend Mr. Farwell has gone 
 to Washington as senator. Now, Rod, old boy, 
 we'll have that commission !" And roughly-clad, 
 roughly-bearded troopers saw the lieutenant hold 
 forth an eager hand. It did not surprise them. 
 They had seen him slap that same corporal on the 
 back. They knew the story of the two by this 
 time. 
 
 But Rod was true to his name and stood bolt 
 upright, and unbent not a whit. 
 
 " Even a senator can't pull a man up from the 
 ranks except in accordance with law nowadays, 
 sir," said he, " and I wouldn't ask it if he could, 
 — until I'd done something to deserve it." 
 
 " Well, your chance '11 be here soon enough, or 
 
 H 15 
 
170 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 I'm a duffer. Rod, old boy, you don't have any 
 grounders to stop these days. What if the war 
 game gave us both a chance for a double play for 
 the honors of old Rockford ?" 
 
 " Then I'd jump at the chance, higher than I 
 had to jump for that red-hot liner the day we 
 larruped Urbana," was the answer. 
 
 Just as the wintry dawn was breaking over the 
 far eastward hills. Captain Ray was roused by a 
 messenger, and the messenger brought direful 
 tidings. The Indians, quitting the valley of the 
 South Cheyenne, were raiding that of the Dry 
 Fork as they pursued their swift and untrammelled 
 flight, and word must be got to Colonel Farrar, 
 who had gone out at the head of the Frayne 
 squadrons, and who was probably now marching 
 eastward perhaps forty miles away to the north of 
 Ray's bivouac in the snow. " Well, who," said 
 Ray, pointing to the ice-tossing river, roaring be- 
 tween its frozen banks, " who could possibly cross 
 that stream and intercept the colonel ? The best 
 we can do is to send our lightest riders out on an 
 eighty-mile stern chase, crossing forty miles above 
 here where they did." 
 
 Dozens of the men were already up and eagerly 
 listening, and one of these sprang forward and 
 stood boot-deep in the snow before his captain. 
 
 " I'm your man, sir." 
 
 " You ? Why, Corporal Ross ! Oh ! I remem- 
 
TKOOPER KOSS. 171 
 
 ber, this is your old stamping-ground, and I know 
 your pluck, but, great Scott ! I can't risk one of 
 my best men with one of my best horses on any 
 such mad attempt. The ice would crush you and 
 your horse both." 
 
 " Wait till it's lighter and I'll show the captain 
 where I crossed on a boy pony when I was only 
 nine, when the water was just as high, though 
 there wasn't any ice. Now we've got the ice to 
 contend with, but we have size and strength and 
 determination to oppose against that. Meantime, 
 have I the captain's permission to get ready ?" and 
 Rod's fingers and lips were twitching in his eager- 
 ness and hope. 
 
 Then Captain Kay sprang up and held out his 
 hand. Troopers do not always use the choicest 
 language on the frontier. They know too many 
 moments of intense excitement. 
 
 " My God, Corporal "Ross," said this Kentucky 
 soldier, " I made a ride away down yonder on the 
 South Cheyenne the same summer you made your 
 first trip, and it counted for something, too, at the 
 time, but compared with what you're going to try 
 right up here it wasn't a ride worth mentioning. 
 You're just a man after my own heart, sir, and 
 you shan't be balked, sir, — you shan't be balked !" 
 
 And so it happened that, an hour later, an 
 eager group of troopers, some in saddle, some 
 boot-deep in the snow, were crowding at the brink 
 
172 TKOOPER ROSS. 
 
 where the Platte went roaring over some rocky- 
 rapids half a mile up-stream from camp. The 
 weather was oddly mild for Wyoming. There 
 were indications of more snow and lots of it, and 
 that underfoot was already soft, and what far- 
 down Easterners among the men called " slumpy." 
 There's no place like the army for learning the 
 dialects of all these United States. And through 
 the soft, hazy atmosphere the rushing river was 
 everywhere plainly visible to the opposite shore. 
 Here at the rapids it was swift and raging, toss- 
 ing the ice-cakes through clouds of white foam, but 
 it was shallow, whereas, for miles above or below 
 it would everywhere sweep the tallest horse off 
 his feet. And here just mounting were two tall 
 troopers. The saddles were stripped off their 
 strong cavalry horses. All the weight of saddle 
 and saddle-bags, lariat, picket-pin, side-lines, hal- 
 ter, overcoat, shelter-tent, carbine, sabre, and 
 sockets was left at camp. Sniffing excitedly and 
 stamping the snow as though they well knew a 
 race was ahead and they were to be the centres of 
 attraction, the bony, muscular chargers looked fit 
 match for their riders, except in height. Tall 
 horses never turn out well on frontier duty. 
 Light bridles hung on their heads, and, in place 
 of saddle, each wore a folded blanket, covered by 
 a poncho, which was secured by the surcingle. 
 Other equipment had they none. The riders, too, 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 173 
 
 were oddly clad for a winter dash. The boots 
 were gone and the overcoats, but fur caps, gaunt- 
 lets, and heavy, blanket-lined canvas jackets hid 
 the upper man of each, while legs and feet seemed 
 oddly swathed in black rubber. Underneath those 
 folds were warm woollen socks with Shoshonee 
 leggings and moccasins. The rubber was bound 
 with thongs over and around their feet and legs 
 to high up on the thigh. It was a hard garb to 
 mount in. " Give me a hand. Tommy," said Kod, 
 thrusting his bandaged hoof into the ready grasp 
 of a stooping comrade. " Now up !" and he was 
 astride. " Now help the lieutenant," and in an 
 instant the second was perched on his charger. 
 And then Captain Ray's voice was heard. 
 
 "Now, Hammond, you clearly understand. 
 You're simply to follow the corporal till you reach 
 the bank. You've got to flounder through the 
 ice and rapids and may have to swim the pool 
 beyond, but till you strike t'other shore Ross 
 leads. Then you command. I reckon that's all. 
 You know your other orders. Find that column, 
 turn 'em up towards Dry Fork. Tell 'em we 
 follow by their trail, and we'll ride till we reach 
 'em, ready for the fight ; and if between us we don't 
 whip the hide off those murdering Sioux then I'll 
 give up my commission. Ride for all you're 
 worth, fellows, and — and God go with you." 
 
 Two gauntleted hands go up to the cap-brims 
 
 16* 
 
174 TEOOPEK EOSS. 
 
 in salute. Eacli man gives a final liitch to his 
 pistol-belt. Kod takes off his gloves and stows 
 them in the breast of his campaign shirt, Ham- 
 mond follows suit. There is one quick glance 
 around, one brief word of good-by, and then — 
 Oh, the scene that follows ! Rod turns sharply 
 and puts his sturdy bay straight for the edge of 
 the rapids. " In with you, Bep !" he shouts, and, 
 though amazed and half shrinking, the trained 
 troop horse makes the plunge. Only knee-deep 
 at first, and though he snorts and shivers, Bep is in 
 and at it, the white waves hissing under his belly. 
 Warily his rider watches the swift-shooting ice- 
 cakes. They come big and unbroken here, but 
 many are banged into pieces before they reach the 
 foot of the " sault." Warily Rod checks Bej^po to 
 let some big ice-raft pass in front, then pushes him 
 on again to gain another yard or two before another 
 check. He has gone full twenty yards before he 
 strikes deeper holes, into which Bep plunges, with 
 the water foaming about his breast. Now his 
 rider turns, flashing-eyed, and signals " Come on !" 
 and in an instant Hammond urges " Rockford" 
 into the unseen tracks of " Bep]DO the Second," 
 and a gasp goes up from trooper lungs along-shore. 
 Two of their best and bravest, two who are loved 
 by both officers and men, are fairly launched upon 
 their perilous mission, with the roaring depths of 
 the swollen stream still ahead of them, — with fifty 
 
TROOPER ROSS. 175 
 
 yards of seething water still between them and the 
 northern shore. 
 
 And now Bep is plunging indeed ! Down one 
 instant in some unseen trap ; up with quivering, 
 dripping flanks the next. Once a groan goes up 
 from the hitherto speechless crowd along the bank. 
 " My God, he's down ! He's stumbled !" Then a 
 cheer of exultation, for Rod rides again gallantly 
 aloft. " Bravo, Buster ! Bully boy, Ross !" they 
 shout from shore. Now he's in the heart of the 
 rapids and the waves and the ice leaps high. God 
 guide him now indeed ! 
 
 There is a moment in which Bep seems to falter 
 and to be trying to smell his way, for his black 
 muzzle is sheer in the water. Then up comes the 
 gaunt head. High rises the bridle hand, for, with 
 one determined plunge, the massive shoulders sink 
 into the huge wave that rises in mid-stream, and a 
 shiver goes through the crowd of eager watchers. 
 A big ice-cake sweeps on the next lift and seems 
 to charge directly at them, and yells' of warning 
 rise from the watchers' lips, and Ray, pale and 
 pulseless, has just lifted his hands to his lips to 
 shout through them to Hammond not to dare 
 another step, when gallant Beppo again finds his 
 footing, and, urged now, seems fairly leaping 
 through the icy waves. Hammond hears no sound 
 from shore. He is closely watching Rod, only 
 waiting for his signal, and now drives Rockford 
 
176 TROOPER ROSS. 
 
 straight into tliat same wave. It seems to burst 
 over the withers of the gallant horse, but he never 
 heeds it. It's a game of follow my leader, and in 
 a moment he, too, is leaping and plunging in 
 Beppo's wake. But Rod guides steadily on. He 
 knows what they on shore do not, that in a 
 moment more deep water must sweep them off the 
 ledge into the boiling pool below, and there it's 
 over five feet deep and the brave beasts must 
 swim. Heavens, what a cry goes up next mo- 
 ment as the leading trooper is seen to suddenly 
 swerve, to go sweeping sideways with the stream, 
 and is for the moment lost to view ! Then a 
 mad hurrah, for a fur cap is being waved ex- 
 ultingly over his reappearing head, and the next 
 minute Bep is seen gallantly striking out for 
 shore. By all that's wonderful, he has reached 
 the safe slack water of the pool and is fighting 
 straight for the northern bank, straight at least 
 as horse can go through the floating ice. Look ! 
 He's waving Hammond to come on, and, set- 
 ting his teeth, almost shutting his eyes, and with 
 a murmured prayer, Hammond drives his unwil- 
 ling horse ahead, is in turn swept sidewise and 
 half submerged, and in another moment, dripping, 
 but triumphant, is following Rod up the opposite 
 bank. 
 
 And there with heaving flanks and drooping 
 heads the horses stand, while, glowing with exulta- 
 
The two riders wave rejoicingly their fur c; 
 IVantie cheei's from the hither shore. 
 
 in answer to the 
 
TROOPEE ROSS. 177 
 
 tion despite the icy bath, the two riders wave re- 
 joicingly their fur caps in answer to the frantic 
 cheers from the hither shore. Well, well might 
 they, the two old playmates, glory in such a 
 double play as that ! 
 
 Now off, one moment, to cut loose the lashings 
 and strip away the ponchos and toss the now use- 
 less rubbers on the bank, then each takes one 
 rousing pull at the flask the doctor has given them 
 with his strict injunctions. Then once more they 
 mount, and, with a parting wave of the hand, 
 away they go over the same old snow-covered 
 prairie. In another hour they are riding past 
 Eagle Butte, past the Reno road, and so on into 
 the heart of a falling snow-cloud, riding like the 
 wind, while Ray's bugles are sounding the gallop 
 miles away to the south-west, across the conquered 
 waters of the Platte. 
 
 Oh, what a story it made about the camp-fires 
 when, long weeks after, the short, fierce campaign 
 being closed, a famous gathering was held there 
 of famous cavalry regiments ! and they say it was 
 enough to make strong men grow blind to see the 
 meeting between stern, soldierly Major Ross and 
 his now famous son. They say that Rod was for 
 standing to attention, with his hand at salute, but 
 the father heart burst all bounds of military eti- 
 quette. The major flung himself from his horse 
 and, with something like a great sob of joy and 
 
178 TKOOPEK KOSS. 
 
 pride and thanksgiving, gathered his boy to his 
 breast. 
 
 And a famous night we had of it at Leaven- 
 worth four months later. Of course all official 
 credit, praise, and recommendation had been made, 
 and colonels and generals had pleaded for the im- 
 mediate promotion of our brave "Buster," but 
 you boys at home have no idea how little that 
 amounts to. A medal of honor was of course 
 promptly accorded both Hammond and Koss, for 
 that costs nothing ; and while we are talking of 
 this, about four years later, by which time Ham- 
 mond had been in regular course promoted to first 
 lieutenant, he was tendered the brevet to that rank 
 on account of " gallant and conspicuous conduct" 
 on this very occasion. This simply amounted to 
 offering him less than he already had. However, 
 Buster is the boy we are all concerned in, and 
 you will well understand that Hammond hadn't 
 forgotten to jog Senator Farwell's elbow, and 
 presently that gentleman woke up in earnest. 
 
 " Quit you like men ; be strong," was the text 
 Koderick Ross had stood by from his boyhood. 
 " Do your best, no man can do more," were the 
 loving father's words ; and by neither boy nor man 
 could it be said by one of us, that though Rod 
 might have failed in mathematics, he had not won 
 in every other way. "I'll win it yet!" he had 
 wired when enlisting, brave fellow that he was, 
 
TROOPEK ROSS. 
 
 179 
 
 and win it he did, for presently there came a tele- 
 gram from Senator Farwell, — " The commission is 
 signed," and one week later every officer and 
 soldier at the fort turned to cheer and congratulate 
 the new lieutenant and to bid good*by to Trooper 
 Koss. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The new road from Prescott to the mining set- 
 tlements along tlie Santa Anita followed the Sandy 
 for two or three miles above Apache Caiion, then, 
 turning abruptly, dived under the turbid waters 
 and reappeared, dripping and bedraggled, on the 
 opposite bank, where it was speedily lost in the 
 thick underbrush as it wound away eastward. Time 
 was when the trail followed the cafion itself, — a 
 mere mule-path, — but ever since the night of the 
 big cloud-burst that swelled the stream to the force 
 and fury of a Niagara and drowned old Sanchez 
 and his whole party of prospectors, packers, and 
 pack-mules, even the Indians seemed to shun it. 
 The only survivor of the tragedy was a lad of 
 twelve, the son of a Yankee miner and his Mexican 
 wife, a lad whose name was Leon McNutt, — McNutt 
 
 183 
 
184 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 being the patronymic and Leon the Christian name 
 given him by his dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark- 
 skinned mother, — and Leon, swept away in the 
 flood, was fished out at dawn several miles below 
 by a squad of troopers from old Fort Eetribution. 
 The little fellow was more dead than alive, half 
 drowned, and sadly battered and bruised by the 
 flotsam and jetsam of the wreck whirled along 
 with him by the raging waters, and for a time all 
 effort to revive him failed. When at last he was 
 able to speak and tell his name, he was lying in a 
 dainty little bed in a cool room, with such a gentle, 
 pitying, motherly face bending over him, and such 
 soft hands caressing his heavy crop of coal-black 
 hair, and beside the sweet, womanly face was that 
 of a sturdy Saxon boy of about Leon's own age, 
 whose blue eyes were full of anxiety and sympathetic 
 interest. The first hand-clasp the little orphan 
 seemed to recognize was this other boy's. It was 
 in answer to his questioning that the bewildered 
 patient feebly murmured his name, — Leon McNutt, 
 — and could not at all understand the merriment 
 in the room when his questioner turned with grave, 
 perplexed, incredulous face to the two gentlemen 
 in uniform standing by and wonderingly an- 
 nounced, " He says his name's Layon MacDuffl" 
 
 And that was how the first boy of our story came 
 to be hailed thereafter by his trooper friends as 
 MacDuff instead of the patronymic to which he 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 185 
 
 was entitled. Even officers and ladies seemed to 
 find the title more whimsically attractive than the 
 pretty Spanish-Mexican name of Leon, by which 
 Mrs. Cullen, the captain's wife and Randall's 
 mother, always addressed him. One of the sol- 
 diers referred to him as the Waif of Apache 
 Cafion, but the big tears that rose to the boy's dark 
 eyes at any reference to the tragedy that left him 
 alone in the world crushed that would-be witticism 
 in the bud. Without adoption, either formal or 
 informal, Leon had become an inmate of Captain 
 Cullen's household from the moment of his arrival 
 in Sergeant Kelly's arms, and there he lived as 
 Randall's friend, fellow-scholar, and playmate for 
 sixteen months, by which time he had forgotten 
 his sorrows, and had transferred to his protectors 
 about all the measure of love and gratitude he had 
 ever felt for his parents. 
 
 And then came changes. For nearly a year the 
 boys had roamed together over the neighborhood, 
 hunting and fishing, riding their ponies, living a 
 healthy, active, out-door life, except when at their 
 lessons or asleep, and the bond between them had 
 grown stronger and stronger as the days went by. 
 But old Fort Retribution was one of the relics of 
 the great war of the rebellion, and had been 
 '•'located" by the volunteers for temporary occu- 
 pancy only, with the main idea of being near the 
 water. It was on low, sandy, unprofitable ground 
 
 16* 
 
186 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 in an out-of-the-way corner of Arizona, and was 
 maintained for the sole purpose of the defence of 
 prospectors, settlers, and miners against marauding 
 Apaches. By and by a stage-route was projected 
 from the new mines in the Santa Anita valley to 
 Prescott, and for safety the road wound around the 
 spurs of the Socorro range instead of diving — with 
 the Sandy — through the ten-mile slit of Apache 
 Cafion. Mexicans are superstitious as so many 
 Indians, and Indians as so many sailors, and all 
 manner of ghost stories were told around the camp- 
 fires as a result of that cloud-burst episode of the 
 early '70's. You couldn't bribe a Mexican packer 
 to take a mule-train through there after dark, and 
 the Indians shunned it as they did the Whistling 
 Caves up in the Red Rock country. White men 
 and soldiers didn't care a rap for ghosts, but they 
 didn't wish to take chances on cloud-bursts. The 
 cafion was narrow and tortuous, the rocky walls 
 well-nigh vertical in places, and so it would have 
 cost money and labor to run a wagon road through 
 there. The road was pushed eastward, therefore, 
 from the ford, five miles north of the upper en- 
 trance to the canon, and old Fort Retribution, 
 warned by the cloud-burst of '71 that it would 
 better seek higher ground, was ordered moved from 
 the flats at the southern side of the range over to a 
 plateau several miles to the east, whence there was a 
 splendid view of the Tonto Basin for many a league 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 187 
 
 towards tlie distant cliffs of the Black Mesa and 
 away south-eastward to the Sierra Ancha. Under 
 the bluffs of the Socorro were abundant springs of 
 clear, cold water ; among the foot-hills was abun- 
 dant grass for the horses and pack-mules ; and, but 
 for its utter isolation, the new post of old Fort 
 Retribution would have been all that could be 
 hoped for in Arizona, and the cavalry officers and 
 men rejoiced in the change. 
 
 But it was decided upon at a time when Leon's 
 heart was nearly broken. The regiment to which 
 his kind friend and protector belonged was ordered 
 eastward after several years of exile, and a new 
 and strange command was to take its place. Cap- 
 tain and Mrs. Cullen had done what they could for 
 their foundling. They fed and clothed, taught and 
 cared for him as they did for their own, because 
 " Bandy" had been pining for a playmate, and this 
 little fellow came opportunely into his life. They 
 had, furthermore, done all that lay in their power 
 to secure for the orphan such property as might 
 have been his father's ; but this proved a difficult 
 task. McNutt had had a partner in his mining 
 ventures, but the partner swore stoutly that Mac 
 hadn't a cent in the world that wasn't swept away 
 in the flood of Apache Cafion, — even went so far 
 as to declare that Mac owed him money, — and more 
 than once aj)peared at Betribution when times were 
 hard at the mines and thought the officers or some- 
 
188 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 body ought to pay it because they now had Mac's 
 boy as security. He generally compromised, as he 
 called it, however, with requests to be supplied with 
 bacon, flour, coffee, and sugar at commissary prices, 
 which were far less than those at the mines. The 
 soldiers found out that this man, Muncey by name, 
 was in bad repute among his fellow-miners, and 
 openly flouted him when he came among them, but 
 the oflicers, unable to prove anything, continued to 
 show courtesy to even though they disliked him. 
 
 Captain Cullen's troop marched away from 
 Retribution in April, '72, just as soon as Captain 
 Raymond's, of the — th Cavalry, arrived. Mrs. 
 Cullen and Randy in the mean time having been 
 sent away by stage to the Colorado, and thence by 
 steamer around to San Francisco. (This was long 
 before railways were known in Arizona.) But 
 weeks before the departure of the troop there 
 arrived at the old post a swarthy little fellow from 
 Tucson, who announced himself as brother of the 
 late Mrs. McNutt and as Leon's uncle. He had 
 come, he said, to take Leon back to his mother's 
 people in Sonora. He brought letters from officials 
 in Tucson which established his claim, and was 
 fortified in his statements by McNutt's former 
 partner, the malodorous Muncey, who came with 
 him. The officers and men had no claims upon 
 the boy other than those of friendship and affec- 
 tion. They were his rescuers and supporters, — 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 189 
 
 that was all, — but Leon was by this time far more 
 American than Mexican, — " far more Yank than 
 Greaser," as the men expressed it, — and he not 
 only begged and prayed not to be taken from 
 them, he kicked and scratched and fought like a 
 young bear cub when finally forced away. Mrs. 
 Cullen and Randy were spared that scene. She 
 had been ailing a little as a result of too long a 
 stay on the flats of old Retribution, and had been 
 taken up to the mountain perch of Prescott for 
 change of air while the packing for the move was 
 going on, Randall going with his mother, — sorely 
 aggrieved because Leon was not included in the 
 invitation sent by the colonel's wife. Captain 
 Cullen, probably, was party to the arrangement. 
 He knew they could not keep Leon always, and 
 the longer the stay the harder the parting. Less 
 than a week after his friend and playmate had 
 gone his uncle and the partner appeared ; less than 
 a fortnight and the poor little fellow was pulled 
 off the buckboard in the dusty streets of Tucson 
 and turned over to a Mexican packer for trans- 
 portation to Sonora, and less than a month after 
 the Cullens and " C" Troop had left the post, hag- 
 gard, half starved, footsore, and in rags, little Leon 
 reappeared at old Retribution almost as utter a 
 stranger as when, half drowned, he was borne 
 thither in Sergeant Kelly's arms long eighteen 
 months before. 
 
190 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 If you had lived a year or more in a certain 
 village and knew every member of every house- 
 hold within four blocks of your home and were to 
 be taken away for a month or so, and returning, 
 faint, footsore, hungry, and in rags, yet thrilling 
 with hope and joy at the thought of being restored 
 to kind friends and hospitable firesides only to 
 find everything but the houses changed, you can 
 fancy little Leon's dumb misery as he dragged 
 from door to door along ofiicers' row meeting only 
 total strangers. He reached the old post just 
 about two o'clock of a scorching May afternoon, — 
 when everybody was seeking shelter within-doors, 
 — and the servants who came to answer his timid 
 knock looked askance at the little black-eyed 
 ragamufiin and could only say the people he 
 sought were gone. He had turned away with a 
 choking sob from the third door, — the big house 
 where the major of the Eleventh Cavalry used to 
 live, — not knowing whither now to go, and had 
 sunk down upon the steps in utter desolation, when 
 he heard through the screen of the open window 
 a childish voice pleading. " It must be Leon, 
 mamma. Do let me call him back." And the 
 next minute a pretty flaxen-haired girl of ten was 
 at his side. Leon never could tell just how it all 
 came about. He remembered trying hard to keep 
 a stiff upper \i]) and be brave and self-controlled 
 and tell his story calmly and coherently, but he 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 191 
 
 was weak, starved, cruslied with the bitterness of 
 his disappointment, and he broke down entirely 
 and sobbed in utter abandonment, and there was 
 no more thought of siesta at Captain Foster's 
 quarters that afternoon. A pitying, sympathetic 
 group surrounded the boy, Mrs. Foster and her 
 daughter Nellie vying with one another in min- 
 istering to his wants, and other kind women 
 coming in from adjoining quarters as the story 
 swiftly went the rounds. It was all over the post 
 in a few hours how little Leon who used to live 
 here with the Cullens as Randall's playmate and 
 friend had escaped from the packers in Southern 
 Arizona and made his way all those weary, blis- 
 tering, desert miles, begging a ride in freight 
 wagons, herding mules, trotting along behind the 
 mail buckboard, sometimes tramping all alone, 
 until he reached at last the familiar scenes, only 
 to find that his friends were fled. 
 
 No hospitality was ever warmer than that of 
 the soldier in those old frontier days. Tramp or 
 vagabond, gypsy, " Greaser," or Indian, it made no 
 difference ; even vagrant dogs never knew what it 
 was to be turned away uncheered. The Fosters 
 took the little stranger for the time being, at least, 
 because they knew the Cullens well and, meeting 
 them in San Francisco, had heard Leon's story 
 from their own lips, though never dreaming they 
 were to see him so soon. They and the other new 
 
192 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 families were kind to him as people well could be, 
 and yet, though grateful, it was plain the boy- 
 could not be consoled. They were tearing down 
 the frame barracks and in the midst of the move 
 to the new site — some of the troops were already 
 there encamped — when Leon reappeared, and he 
 watched the process of dismantling with a leaden 
 heart. The only real home he had ever known 
 was being ripped to pieces before his very eyes, 
 and he could not bear it. While the new officers 
 and men were strangers to him, there was still at 
 the post his first protector, old Sergeant Kelly, 
 newly appointed ordnance sergeant and retained 
 there after the departure of his old regiment. 
 There was the hospital steward and his family and 
 the clerks and employes about the trader's store, 
 as well as the men at the quartermaster's corral ; 
 they knew him well, but they, too, were in the 
 midst of preparation for the move. They were 
 full of sympathy for him and of distrust of 
 Muncey, the ex-partner, and of Manuel Cardoza, 
 the maternal uncle. They believed implicitly 
 Leon's story of his transportation. The boy said 
 that Uncle Manuel had treated him fairly well 
 until they were south of the Gila Kiver. Muncey 
 had left them and gone back to the Santa Anita 
 after signing and exchanging some papers with 
 Manuel at a ranch on the Agua Fria. Leon could 
 tell little about his journey southward. The 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 193 
 
 driver of the buckboard had made a place for him 
 among the mail-sacks, and there he cried himself 
 to sleep at night. But instead of taking him back 
 to Aunt Carmen, of whom his mother had often 
 told him, Uncle Manuel had turned him over to 
 this boss packer at Tucson, and Leon soon found 
 there was something wrong. Instead of taking 
 the southward trail, the pack-train was travelling 
 eastward day after day, and he learned presently 
 that they were going to old Fort Crittenden, — far 
 over where the Chiricahua Apaches under Cochise, 
 their famous leader, were then in the height of 
 their bloody work. Mrs. Cullen had taught Ean- 
 dall and Leon the beautiful constellations in the 
 cloudless Arizona skies, and from the pole-star by 
 night and the sun by day he knew they were 
 never going towards Hermosillo, his mother's far 
 Sonora home. Then he overheard talk among the 
 packers that boded ill for him. Manuel had 
 reasons for wanting to get him out of the way, 
 was all he could make of it, and if he wasn't lost, 
 as they expressed it, before they reached Sierra 
 Bonita, he must be " lost" there, — where it could 
 be laid to Cochise and the Chiricahuas. Terrified, 
 the boy still kept his wits. They passed a wagon- 
 train — a quartermaster's " outfit" westward bound 
 — one day, and that evening, soon after dark, he 
 slipped out of camp, and all alone and afoot took 
 the back track across the desert, and after an all- 
 
 i n 17 
 
194 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 night tramp caught the train with its soldier escort 
 just as it was starting on the next stage. The 
 troopers gave him food and a place to sleep under 
 the canvas cover of one of the wagons. Leon was 
 carried back to Tucson safely, but from there home 
 to the old j)Ost far up to the north was a matter of 
 days and weeks. He had got there at last worn 
 and weary, but something told him it wouldn't be 
 long before Uncle Manuel and Muncey were after 
 him again, speedily learning that he had returned 
 to his friends instead of being *' lost," as the 
 packers might say, among their foes, the Chirica- 
 huas. He warned his soldier friends, old and 
 new, that he would not and dare not return to his 
 uncle's control. The problem therefore was what 
 to do with him until Captain and Mrs. Cullen 
 could be heard from, and the solution came 
 quicker than might have been expected. Senior 
 captain of his regiment when it left Arizona, Cap- 
 tain Cullen was looking forward to promotion to 
 the grade of major within the year, and probably 
 in his own old regiment. But one of those sudden 
 and unlooked-for opportunities occurred that are 
 so characteristic of army life. Major Wharton, of 
 the — th Cavalry, the new regiment just reaching 
 Arizona, concluded that he would rather retire 
 with the three-quarters pay of that grade after 
 thirty years of hard service than go out to the 
 desert and desolate land of Arizona for four years 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 195 
 
 more. Captain Culleii, promoted major of tlie 
 — th Cavalry vice Wharton retired, was ordered to 
 return to the very station he had so recently quit. 
 Leon's best friends were coming back, and Handy 
 wrote in eager delight to tell the news. 
 
 This was about mid-June. Blazing hot and 
 dry were the days and breezeless the nights, — 
 a most unfavorable time for travel to and fro 
 across the Arizona deserts, — but Major Cullen was 
 losing not an hour. He was a man who had seen 
 much service among the Apache Indians, knew 
 their haunts and habits, and was both feared and 
 trusted by them. No sooner was the old regiment 
 fairly out of Arizona and before the new one was 
 fairly in, there flew a hurried despatch to San 
 Francisco that was flashed on across the Sierras 
 and Kockies and caught the new major at Omaha. 
 In brief words it told him that there was universal 
 uprising among the Apaches, and asked how soon 
 he could return, as the general held open for him 
 an important command. In twenty-four hours 
 the reply was at Prescott : " Start this morning. 
 Expect me by 25th." On the same day a courier 
 from Prescott — riding post-haste with despatches 
 to the new commander at Retribution — warned 
 him that he must guard his working parties and 
 the road between the old and new posts. The 
 Tontos had "jumped." Now, Tonto in the Mex- 
 ican dialect means fool or idiot, but the Tonto 
 
196 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Apache was no fool. The craftiest, cunningest 
 of Indians he, and well had the chiefs and young 
 men reasoned that a good time to strike would be 
 just as the old seasoned regiment left the territory 
 and before the new one — utterly untutored in 
 Apache stratagem and mountain scouting — could 
 begin to get down to their work. And so all 
 through the wild hunting-grounds in the Sierras 
 their war-fires and signals blazed by night and 
 puffed in smoke-cloud by day. All across the 
 rocky chasms and among the pine-crested ranges, 
 from the haunts of the Hualpais in Northern 
 Arizona down through the valleys of the Verde 
 and the Hassayampa, — the home of Apache Mo- 
 have and Apache Yuma, — across the broad basin 
 between the Mazatzal and the Black Mesa, and 
 southward to the Sierra Ancha, the Tonto Apaches 
 had sent their messengers urging instant and 
 united action ; and down from the mountains, 
 on stage-road, trail, and scattered mining camp, 
 swooped the savage foemen, and all Arizona waked 
 to a new reign of terror. 
 
 Among the first mines abandoned as the result 
 of this sudden raid were those on the Santa Anita. 
 The first refugee to claim the protection of the 
 commander of new Fort Retribution was Muncey, 
 speedily followed by half a dozen others, all with 
 fearful tales of massacre and pillage. It was a 
 hot June evening when they gathered at the edge 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 197 
 
 of the bluff looking westward from the adjutant's 
 office over the southern foot-hills of the range to 
 where, faint and dim, the guard-lights of the old 
 post could just be distinguished through the rare 
 Arizona atmosphere, twinkling feebly in the low 
 lands of the Sandy, ten long miles away. " How 
 many of our people are left down there under 
 care of the guard ?" asked Captain Raymond of 
 the stern-faced old soldier in command. 
 
 " Only the ordnance sergeant's family and the 
 workmen dismantling what's left of the post." 
 
 " No women or children besides Kelly's ?" 
 
 " None. The last were moved over to-day, — 
 unless we count MacDuff. Leon said he wanted 
 to stay with old Kelly to the last." 
 
 " Leon !" exclaimed the miner Muncey, in 
 apparent amaze. " Why, I thought that boy 
 was — was safe in Sonora with his mother's people.'* 
 Whereat two of his fellow-miners looked keenly 
 into his face and then exchanged quick and ex- 
 pressive glances. 
 
 " That boy," said Captain Foster, " is like a cat. 
 He found his way back from Tucson to the old 
 post, and sticks to it so long as there's a shingle 
 left. Look there," he continued, pointing to a 
 jagged, conical height clearly defined against the 
 soft hues of the lingering twilight. "Yonder's 
 Signal Butte* overhanging the old rookeries, and 
 
 * " Butte" is universally pronounced " bute." 
 17* 
 
198 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Kelly's rancli is a mile beyond that. Now, sup- 
 pose the Apaches did work around to the west of 
 us and were to swoop down on the Sandy ; sup- 
 pose our people were able to get up there and sig- 
 nal ; how long would it take us to turn out fifty 
 horsemen and gallop over those ten miles, and 
 how much would be left by the time we got 
 there?" 
 
 The commanding officer stood in deep thought 
 a moment without replying. He had sent to the 
 old site only a lieutenant and twenty men. This 
 would be sufficient to protect the property still 
 unshipped and the lives of those still detained 
 there on duty, but there were two ranches in the 
 valley within a couple of miles of the post ; there 
 was the camp of Jose's bull-train ; there was 
 Sergeant Kelly's little farm on the slopes at the 
 south gate of Apache Caflon, — all beyond rifle- 
 shot of the guard, Kelly was an old First Dra- 
 goon man, — a veteran who had fought Aj^aches 
 quarter of a century before, and declared that he 
 despised them. His wife and two daughters lived 
 at the ranch and, though bitterly disappointed at 
 the removal of the post, were by no means afraid. 
 But no such outbreak as this had occurred before. 
 The Apaches were more daring and better armed, 
 and down in the bottom of his heart Major Thorn- 
 ton wished he had left a bigger force of cavalry 
 at the post ; but it was now too late. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 199 
 
 Darkness had settled down on the garrison. 
 The last hues of the twilight faded out of the 
 western sky. The guard-lights at the distant 
 valley twinkled faintly but steadfast through the 
 warm, pulseless air. Over at the half-finished 
 quarters the drums and fifes of the infantry were 
 sounding tattoo, and still the party lingered at 
 the westward bluff, — Wharton, Raymond, and 
 Foster chatting ■ in low tone apart, the civilians 
 talking to some younger officers, eagerly and ex- 
 citedly recounting the circumstances of their 
 morning's flight. Muncey was of these the most 
 voluble. He was just saying, " I tell you the 
 whole Tonto tribe is out of the hills and down 
 here in the basin this very night," when another 
 cried, " Hush !" 
 
 Somewhere over on the north side the call of a 
 sentry rang out sharp, clear, and full upon the 
 night air. 
 
 *' Corporal of the guard. Number 5 T* 
 
 " That's old Hennicke," said Raymond, promptly. 
 " When he has anything to report it's no boy-story. 
 I'll go, sir." 
 
 The cry went echoing back towards the guard- 
 house, sharply passed along by Numbers 6 and 7 
 on the eastern flank. The corj^oral came out on 
 the run, and the guardsmen, sitting or sprawling 
 around the stacked rifles, scrambled, many of them, 
 to their feet. Before even a fleet corporal could 
 
200 
 
 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 reach tlie distant post Thornton and two captains 
 bore down upon it, others at respectful distance 
 following. 
 
 " What's up, Hennicke ?" hailed his troop com- 
 mander, scorning preliminaries. 
 
 " Firing, sir. Out on the Prescott road to the 
 north-west. I could see the flashes." 
 
 "Who on earth can it be?" asked the major. 
 ** Captain Foster, let your troop saddle at once." 
 
CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 That there should be repeated alarms from the 
 north-east, east, and south, where away were the 
 pine-covered crests of the Black Mesa and the 
 Sierra Ancha, where were the haunts of the Tonto 
 and the White Mountain Apaches, every one ex- 
 pected. There were still among the foot-hills some 
 parties of miners and prospectors, over whose fate 
 there was good reason for alarm. The Santa Anita 
 placers had been promptly abandoned, as we have 
 seen. There was eager watch for danger signals 
 from the site of old Retribution down in the Sandy 
 Valley to the west, but from the site of the new 
 post to the crossing of the Sandy above Apache 
 Cafion the road turned and twisted among the foot- 
 hills of the mountains for twenty-three miles, and 
 there wasn't a human habitation for nearly forty. 
 Then, deep in a cleft of the range, a stage station, 
 with corrals and well and lunch-room and bar, had 
 
 201 
 
202 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 been built by some daring spirits, eager to accumu- 
 late money at whatever risk. Beyond tliem, for 
 another thirty miles, the road lay through desola- 
 tion itself, and reached the outskirts of even frontier 
 civilization again among the newly finished ranches 
 in the broad and sunny valley of Willow Creek. 
 
 In view of the sudden and simultaneous swoop 
 of the Apaches upon the roads east of Prescott, 
 everybody had been warned. Even the mail- 
 riders held back for mounted escorts. No stage 
 for Wickenberg and the south, no buckboard for 
 the Santa Anita, had left the territorial capital for 
 three days. No mail had been received at Retri- 
 bution for forty-eight hours. The daring troopers 
 who rode in with despatches early that June morn- 
 ing had come through the Sandy Valley, as they 
 frankly admitted, with revolvers in hand, their 
 hearts in their mouths, and the reins in their teeth. 
 They had passed no party eastward bound. Who, 
 then, could it be who, striving now to reach the 
 post by way of the new road, should have fallen 
 foul of the Apaches only a mile or so out ? Thorn- 
 ton's first imj^ulse was to say the sentry must be 
 dreaming ; but Raymond, who had known the old 
 trooper nearly a decade, as promptly declared the 
 sentry's report reliable. "I not only saw the 
 flashes," said Hennicke, " but I could faintly hear 
 the shots, sir, — fifteen or twenty. It was still as 
 death out here." 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 203 
 
 Meantime, sending an eager boy lieutenant on 
 the jump to order out " G" Troop, Captain Foster 
 had hastened to his temporary quarters — half 
 canvas, half adobe — to make his hurried prepara- 
 tions. Already the rumor was running from mouth 
 to mouth. Only three of the officers had their 
 families with them at the time. Mrs. Foster was 
 one of those women who insisted on accomj)anying 
 her husband on the move to Arizona, even though 
 the rudest of camp life was to be her portion, and 
 she and Nellie, with anxiously beating hearts, were 
 standing on the unfinished porch of the new quar- 
 ters, listening for further sound, as the captain 
 hastened up the slope. 
 
 "It can't be anything very serious, dear," he 
 said, reassuringly. " Probably some belated miners 
 whose mules the Indians are trying to run off. 
 We'll know in half an hour, and I'll send word in 
 at once." Silent and anxious, she followed within 
 the door-way, where hung a Navajo blanket as the 
 only barrier between their army nest and the warm 
 outer air, Nellie clinging to her mother's side. 
 
 " We've been watching all evening for signals 
 from the Butte," murmured Mrs. Foster, as the 
 captain rapidly exchanged his regulation coat for 
 a scouting jacket. "We were so anxious about 
 Leon, and everybody who had to remain there 
 seems so exposed now. We never thought of hear- 
 ing of trouble thereaway," and Mrs. Foster glanced 
 
204 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 out througli the open casement to where the Pres- 
 cott road, winding away down the slope, disap- 
 peared among the dark mountain shapes lying 
 black and silent under the twinkling pointers of 
 the Great Bear. 
 
 " Leon is safe enough if he'll only stay where he 
 is, with Kelly," answered the captain, buckling on 
 his pistol-belt. " Apaches won't attack the post — 
 even the remains of one — at night. But I wish 
 old Kelly and his girls were nearer the guard. I 
 don't like their being so far from help and so close 
 to those overhanging cliffs. Now, don't borrow 
 trouble to-night, dear," he concluded, taking his de- 
 voted wife in his arms and kissing away the burn- 
 ing tears. " You and Nell must be brave. These 
 beggarly Apaches probably think we won't know 
 how to fight them, and are simply starting in for a 
 little fun. I'm only too glad of a chance to deal 
 them a lesson, — so is * G' Troop." 
 
 Ten minutes later, in perfect silence, a double 
 file of horsemien rode briskly away into the dark- 
 ness to the north, Foster leading, — every trooper 
 armed with carbine and revolver. The night was 
 breathless. Not a puff of breeze stirred the pines 
 along the mountain-side or rufiled the foliage of 
 the willows at the Springs. For two miles the 
 road lay through open country, dipping from the 
 plateau on which stood the new post into a mile- 
 wide depression, then winding up the gradual 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 205 
 
 ascent among the foot-liills of the range. Some- 
 where along that ascent the firing had been seen 
 and heard. Hennicke's story had already been 
 corroborated. Two quartermaster's men, enjoying 
 a quiet smoke outside the adobe walls of the new 
 corral, had seen and heard just what he did, and 
 Major Thornton was already in possession of their 
 story. So, too, had the sentry on Number 4 
 heard what sounded like distant shots, but had 
 seen nothing. Now, as Foster and his fifty horse- 
 men disappeared in the night, the major stood at 
 the edge of the bluff* looking out to the north with 
 an eager group around him, — Captains Raymond 
 and Turner, whose companies had silently assem- 
 bled under arms and were waiting for orders 
 within the quadrangle of the garrison, and here 
 were the adjutant and quartermaster and a lieu- 
 tenant or two. There was little talking going on, — 
 all were listening intently for sounds from the 
 north or sight of further firing. One or two of 
 the Santa Anita prospectors had mounted and 
 gone out after Foster, but the mass of the refugees 
 still clustered along the bluff, chatting in low, eager 
 tones. If any one voice was especially prominent 
 it was Muncey's, and like most men given to 
 chatter he found only an impatient audience. " I 
 tell you," said he for the third time, " there can't 
 be less than a hundred of them Tontos out there 
 DOW. They just want a single troox3 or even two 
 
 18 
 
206 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 to come and tackle 'em in the dark," and now he 
 had raised his voice still higher and was talking 
 for the benefit of the major, who had been per- 
 sistent in avoiding him and had twice pointedly- 
 begged him not to intrude upon the council of the 
 officers. " They've just lined the rocks and the 
 roadside out there, and are simply laying for a 
 chance to ambush the whole crowd. What Fd 
 'a' done would be to send two hundred men out 
 deployed as skirmishers and swept the hull bottom, 
 — north and west too." 
 
 These remarks were rewarded by his companions 
 with a contemptuous sniff, or a nervous, half- 
 jeering titter. "You ought to have been a gen- 
 eral, Muncey, — that's what's the matter with you. 
 There ain't Apaches enough in all Arizona to dare 
 a fight in the open — day or night — with fifty white 
 men, soldiers or cits. No Apache plans a fight 
 that's going to get him liable to be shot. The 
 kind of fighting he likes is from behind rocks and 
 trees, and there ain't rocks and trees enough out 
 there to cover a dozen of 'em. I'm betting the 
 firing was done by some party as badly scared as 
 you were yis'day morning. I'm betting they just 
 thought some skulking lynx was an Apache and 
 let drive a volley into the dark. The sentry says 
 the shots were all bunched. You know and I 
 know the Apaches don't own a breech-loader" 
 (this was early in the '70's), "so most of it must 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 207 
 
 have been done by white men or ' Greasers' like 
 that gang you trained with last year, instead of 
 herding with your own kind." 
 
 Evidently this allusion was a stinger. There 
 was a burst of laughter, more or less jeering and 
 unsympathetic, under shower of which Muncey 
 turned angrily away. He went over towards the 
 group of officers, but at sight of him the major 
 lifted a warning hand and lowered his voice. 
 " Here's that fellow Muncey again," said he, " and 
 I distrust him somehow." Everybody seemed to 
 turn an unsociable back on the new-comer, and 
 presently, after a moment's hesitation, he pulled 
 his old felt hat lower over his eyes, thrust his 
 hands in his pockets, and slouched away down the 
 slope in the direction of the corral, within whose 
 adobe walls the horses and mules of the refugees 
 were sheltered. 
 
 And now came on a night of no little excite- 
 ment even for Arizona in the heart of the Apache 
 country. Full three-quarters of an hour after 
 Foster and his men rode away there were strange 
 silence and eager waiting at the post. Taps had 
 sounded just before they left. Half-past ten 
 o'clock, called by the sentries, had gone echoing 
 away across the still and starlit mesa and not a 
 sound or sign came from the front. Then sud- 
 denly far out through the darkness there was 
 faintly audible the thud of hoofs, and a minute or 
 
208 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 SO brought the rider — full canter — into their midst. 
 He could barely rein in his horse at the hail of the 
 major's party. Everybody — officers, civilians, and 
 even soldiers — seem to swarm about the courier in 
 an instant. It was Corporal Foley of Foster's troop. 
 Kecognizing the major, he threw himself from the 
 saddle and stood respectfully before the com- 
 mander, handing him a pencilled note, which the 
 major eagerly opened and read, all eyes upon him. 
 "We found two Mexicans," it said, "with a 
 camp outfit. Thej were badly frightened, but 
 unhurt. They declare they were attacked by 
 Apaches, who succeeded in running off two mules. 
 They say the Indians drew away north-west towards 
 the Sandy, and that there was a party of pros- 
 pectors and packers camped at Raton Springs, 
 eight miles out, who were warned of the outbreak, 
 but who wouldn't believe it. The Mexicans said 
 they were trying to reach the post when headed 
 off, and that there were enough Apaches to wipe 
 out that party. They themselves only escaped by 
 hiding among the rocks down in the deep ravine. 
 Their story is told with such earnestness that I 
 have deemed it best to push on in search of the 
 prospectors referred to. We should reach the 
 Springs soon after midnight. The Mexicans go 
 with us in hopes of recovering their mules. 
 (Signed) " Foster, 
 
 " Commanding troop." 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 209 
 
 "Come with me, gentlemen," said the major, after 
 a moment's thought. " This is something I'll have 
 to talk over with you. No," he continued, as 
 many of the frontiersmen, too, showed evident in- 
 clination to consider themselves included in the in- 
 vitation. " Excuse me now if I have to talk with 
 my officers a moment. There is no news, except that 
 Captain Foster has found a couple of Mexicans who 
 claim to have been jumped by Apaches, and who 
 say the Indians have gone to attack a small camp 
 of prospectors at Raton Springs. Do you know 
 any miners or prospectors who could be there ?" 
 
 A general shaking of heads followed. No one 
 knew. One or two went so far as to say they 
 didn't believe it. " Wliat sort of looking fellows 
 were the Mexicans, corporal?" asked Ferguson, 
 the brainiest, apparently, of the civilians. 
 
 " Oh, insignificant little runts, both of them," 
 said Foley. " One of them spoke English enough 
 to make himself understood, the other could only 
 jabber some lingo I didn't know no more of than 
 I do of Mexican. So far as I could make out 
 they had all been travelling together, but when 
 the bigger part of the crowd stopped to camp at 
 the Springs these two fellows came ahead, — said 
 they were afraid to stay there after what they had 
 heard of the outbreak." 
 
 "Well, where did they hear and how?" asked 
 Ferguson. 
 
 18* 
 
210 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 " Tliey said that they met some of tlie couriers 
 from Prescott and some prospectors who were 
 driven back from the Clear Creek country — ^who 
 were skipping for the settlements. They told the 
 couriers that they were going in, but despite that 
 they came on down to the Sj^rings." 
 
 " Queer !" said Ferguson, reflectively. " The 
 only Mexicans in the Santa Anita country were 
 those half-dozen that Muncey was mixed up with, 
 — Manuel's lot, — and a scrubby lot they were; 
 but they went off to Tucson over two months ago, 
 seems to me." 
 
 "What, the same Manuel that said he was 
 brother-in-law to MacNutt, — Muncey's partner ?" 
 
 " The same. I heard he took Mac's boy back 
 to Sonora with him, and that the kid didn't want 
 to go at all." 
 
 "Indeed he didn't!" answered Foley, stoutly, 
 "for he's worked his way back to the old post 
 inside of a month. He's down there now with 
 the ordnance sergeant." 
 
 " Yes, and Muncey was pretending to be sur- 
 prised when he heard of it to-night; and there 
 was two letters came to him from Tucson last week 
 that prob'ly told him all about it, though I don't 
 suppose Manuel could write. AVhere'd Muncey 
 go to, anyhow?" broke off Ferguson, suddenly. 
 " I reckon he knows where those fellows are if 
 anybody does." 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 211 
 
 "Gone to get a bracer," laughed one of the 
 miners. " Muneey's nerve ain't what it used to 
 be, and he's rattled to-night. He's been shaky 
 ever since that cloud-burst swept his partner into 
 eternity two years ago. I never understood what 
 drew them together ; Mac was a square man and 
 a hard worker, and, what's more, everything they 
 had in the way of an outfit was bought with his 
 money, — wagons, mules, burros, grub, tent, and 
 tools, — it was all Mac's, and he had some coin and 
 gold-dust besides. Yet, when Captain Cullen 
 tried to get hold of it for the boy, nothing could 
 be found that Muncey hadn't a lien on, — him and 
 that damn little ' Greaser' brother-in-law of Mac's, 
 — what's his name ? — Manuel Cardoza." 
 
 " Cardoza ?" exclaimed Corporal Foley. " Man- 
 uel Cardoza ? Why, that's the name of the boss of 
 this party up near Raton Springs where * G' Troop's 
 gone, — I heard it given to Captain Foster twice." 
 
 Ferguson turned quickly around. He had been 
 standing facing the north, keeping intent watch in 
 the direction taken by the troopers. Now he 
 whirled on the corporal. " Are you sure of that ?" 
 he said. "By the great jumping Jehosaphat! 
 that means something I hadn't thought of. Mun- 
 cey swore to me that they had gone to Sonora and 
 wouldn't return till October, but the boy got away 
 and came back. And he's over there at the old 
 post now — to-night ?" 
 
212 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 " That's just where he is, or was yes'day morn- 
 ing," said Foley. " We haven't heard from them 
 since." 
 
 " And Manuel Cardoza had a pack of Mexicans 
 at Raton Springs at sunset, did he ? and wouldn't 
 run for shelter here even when he knew the whole 
 Tonto tribe was on the war-path?" He turned 
 again northward and gazed out over the inter- 
 vening silence and space to where the huge bulk 
 of the Socorro loomed up against the polar sky. 
 Cassiopeia's Chair, traced by clear, twinkling stars, 
 was resting along the black backbone of the range. 
 " The old Tonto trail, from the Springs to the foot 
 of Apache Canon, burrows right through those 
 hills," said he. " The Springs lie not more'n six 
 miles to the left around that point. The miserable 
 * Greasers^ didn't dare go through Apache Cafion, 
 and they didn't want to be seen over here. I'll 
 bet what you like they're bound for the old post — 
 and another attempt to nab Leon. Now, boys, I 
 want just a minute's talk with two men, — one of 
 'em. Major Thornton ; the other's Muncey." 
 
 Major Thornton was found in less than a minute, 
 but not so Muncey. When midnight came it was 
 definitely settled that Muncey was gone; so was 
 Ferguson's pet roan, the fleetest horse of the 
 Santa Anita mines. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 The summer night was still young. The sen- 
 tries had passed the call of " Twelve o'clock and 
 all's well," despite the fact that Trooper Casey, on 
 post at the corral, felt vaguely assured that all 
 wasn't well, with him, at least. " My orders are 
 to take charge of this post and all government 
 property in view," he had begun when questioned 
 by the officer of the day, and as Ferguson's horse 
 wasn't government property, he might have wrig- 
 gled out of his predicament under that head were 
 there not other clauses in his orders which he knew 
 as well as did the officer of the day. One of these 
 read, "Allow no horse to be taken out of the 
 corral between tattoo and reveille except in pres- 
 ence of a commissioned officer, the quartermaster- 
 sergeant, or the corporal of the guard ;" and as 
 Ferguson's horse could neither have climbed nor 
 jumped a nine-foot-high adobe wall, the conclu- 
 sion was irresistible that he had been led or ridden 
 out through the gate-way, and it was the sentry's 
 business to see and stop him. There were still 
 
 213 
 
214 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 other orders bearing on the case. The man Mun- 
 cey must have crossed the sentry's post both when 
 he entered and when he left the corral, and the 
 sentry's orders forbade his allowing any person to 
 pass without the countersign, — the password for 
 the night, — with which only certain few of the 
 officers and the guard were intrusted. The post 
 commander had permitted the prospectors to turn 
 their horses and mules into the big new corral, a 
 privilege of which they had eagerly availed them- 
 selves, but the quartermaster-sergeant and his men, 
 who slept ordinarily in a tent j^itched just within 
 the gate-way, had not slept at all this night, but, 
 in common with those members of the garrison 
 who were not actually in ranks awaiting orders, 
 were out somewhere along that northward bluff, 
 watching eagerly for further sign from the front. 
 The plain truth of the matter was that Casey, too, 
 instead of watching the corral, kept as much as 
 possible at the northward end of his post where 
 he could see or hear what might be going on in 
 that quarter. And so had it happened that the 
 corral was left practically unguarded, and Muncey 
 had been enabled to enter and quit at his own 
 sweet will. 
 
 It wouldn't help Casey to say he didn't see or 
 didn't hear: school-boy excuses are not accepted 
 in the army. A sentry must see and must hear 
 even in nights as dark as Erebus and blustering 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 215 
 
 as a boiler-sliop, which this summer night was 
 not. On the contrary, it was soft and still and 
 starlit. There was no moon, but the sky was 
 cloudless, and had Casey used even ordinary vigil- 
 ance, no one without his knowledge could have 
 trespassed on his guarded land. At 12.30, when 
 the third relief came around. Private Meisner 
 took Casey's post, and the latter was in no sense 
 surprised, though wofully disturbed, to find that 
 the moment the old relief was inspected and dis- 
 missed at the guard-house the sergeant of the 
 guard had ordered his belts taken off, — and that 
 is the soldier way of saying that the ex-sentry was 
 to be relieved as untrustworthy, — his arms and 
 equij^ments turned over to his first sergeant, and 
 he himself turned over to the charge of his fellow- 
 members of the guard, — a prisoner awaiting trial 
 by court-martial for neglect of duty. Everybody 
 felt sorry for Casey, who had lost a good reputa- 
 tion, but sorrier for Ferguson, who had lost what 
 was considered of even greater worth in the old 
 frontier days, — a fine horse. Even as Casey was 
 ruefully slipping out of his carbine-sling and 
 waist-belt, Ferguson and others, with lanterns, 
 were tracing the hoof-prints of the beautiful roan. 
 Out from the corral gate, around by the south wall 
 they followed them in the soft, dusty soil, but they 
 were soon lost along the slope. No one believed 
 for a moment that Muncey had ridden eastward 
 
216 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 any distance, however. That was the quarter from 
 which the Apaches had come. Westward along 
 the south face of the Socorro was his prohable 
 course, for if Cardoza had slipped through from 
 the Springs towards the old post, as now seemed 
 possible, they could meet at the fords of the 
 Sandy not a mile from where the dim lights were 
 twinkling there at old Retribution earlier in the 
 evening, not half a mile from the base of Signal 
 Butte, and barely short rifle-shot from old Sergeant 
 Kelly's ranch. 
 
 And now the question arose, where were the 
 Apaches ? The miners and prospectors who had 
 fled from the Santa Anita said they fairly swarmed 
 in that valley, fifty miles to the east. The de- 
 spatches from department head-quarters represented 
 them as having already, at three different points, 
 swooped down upon the Prescott road both east 
 and west of the Sandy ; but so far as heard from 
 they had not ventured into the valley south of the 
 Socorro Range, — a cluster of rough, rocky, pine- 
 crested upheavals that bulged out eastward from 
 the main range, jutting like some huge promon- 
 tory into the Tonto Basin. It was through a rift 
 in this clump from the Raton Springs to the site 
 of old Retribution that the Tonto trail of past gen- 
 erations ran, and through another, still farther to 
 the west, a deep jagged fissure in the bed-rock, 
 that the Sandy foamed and chafed and tore, — the 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE, 217 
 
 ill-favored Apache Canon. Fifty miles north of 
 the Socorro, on the banks of the same stream and 
 in the very heart of the Apache country, was a 
 military post somewhat larger than Retribution, — 
 old Camp Sandy, — and there were stationed the 
 head-quarters and four strong troops of the new 
 regiment that had replaced the Eleventh Cavalry, 
 all commanded by Colonel Pelham. Thornton, at 
 Ketribution, felt well assured that by this time 
 Pelham would be pushing out his scouting parties 
 after the Tonto raiders and that between Sandy 
 and Retribution they could make it very lively for 
 the Indians in a day or two, but meantime, should 
 they work around into the Sandy valley, south of 
 the old post, just as Captain Raymond said, — 
 " Heaven help the scattered settlers there !" 
 
 " If they reach the lower Sandy by night or 
 day," were the major's orders to Lieutenant Crane, 
 who commanded the guard at the old site, " don't 
 wait an instant. Fire the beacon on Signal 
 Butte." 
 
 And now one o'clock of the hot June night had 
 come. There had been skirmishing to the north, — 
 a chase to the north-west, — signal-fires ablaze to the 
 east, across the broad basin. Couriers had been 
 pushed out north-westward after Foster with news 
 of Muncey's bolt and information as to the Car- 
 doza party. Ferguson and two friends — daring 
 fellows, well armed and mounted — had just left 
 
 K 19 
 
218 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 the post determined to ride westward in the hopes 
 of overhauling Muncey and — well, — hanging was 
 the horse-thief's penalty in those days. The 
 troops of the garrison — arms and equipments close 
 at hand — were sj^rawled about the verandas of the 
 new quarters, eager for the order to saddle, and 
 the major had just despatched a messenger to say 
 to the captain that the men might as well turn in 
 for the night, when once again there came the 
 clear and ringing summons for the corporal of the 
 guard, — this time from the westward bluff. Those 
 who happened to be nearest that side of the gar- 
 rison had already, before the cry, heard the sharp, 
 stern challenge, " Who comes there ?" 
 
 Even before the major's little party could reach 
 the north side, the trim figure of Corporal Lynch 
 came bounding back up the slope. " What was 
 the matter, corporal ?" hailed the post commander, 
 and Lynch, halting short, brought his carbine to 
 the carry and his gloved left hand to the salute, 
 replying with soldierly brevity, — 
 
 " It's MacDuff, sir." 
 
 " MacDuff? You mean little Leon ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, — with a note for the doctor. He 
 stopj^ed to water Sergeant Kelly's broncho at the 
 Springs." 
 
 Another minute and riding briskly up from the 
 dark low ground to the west of the mesa came the 
 lithe, swarthy young courier himself. He reined 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 219 
 
 in the instant he heard the major's voice and 
 threw himself from saddle. 
 
 " What on earth brought you here at this time, 
 Leon ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Downey, sir, was very sick. The folks 
 from Downey's ranch all came up to the post at 
 dark, — said they didn'c dare stay, — the Apaches 
 wore surely in the valley, and they got word some- 
 how they were everywhere along the north face of 
 the Socorro, and Sergeant Kelly sent the girls in 
 to the post from his ranch, but Mrs. Kelly wouldn't 
 leave him. She stayed there. There's really no 
 place around the old post for women to stay, but 
 they've got them into a tent for the night. They 
 daren't remain at the farm-house up by the cafion, 
 and the lieutenant couldn't detach any men as 
 guard, — he needs them all at the post, where the 
 stores are still in the magazine. Mrs. Downey 
 was in such pain that we were all worried about 
 her, so I borrowed the pony without saying any- 
 thing to Sergeant Kelly and came up to get some 
 medicine." 
 
 "Well. Great Scott! boy, that's taking tall 
 chances," said the major. "Didn't you see or 
 hear anybody ?" 
 
 " A fellow passed me riding like mad about five 
 or six miles out, sir. I heard him coming and 
 slipped off the road a few yards, not knowing who 
 it might be, and then just a few minutes ago I was 
 
220 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 halted by three cits, — said they were looking for 
 a horse-thief, but I wasn't the one they were in 
 search of." 
 
 Meantime, the doctor had taken Downey's note 
 and was trying by the light of the guard lantern 
 to decipher the ill-written scrawl. *' She has had 
 the same trouble before," said he, " and I can give 
 her the medicine she needs, Leon, but you oughtn't 
 to risk going back to-night." 
 
 "Oh, I've simply got to go, doctor," said the 
 boy, eagerly. " Mrs, Downey has always been 
 mighty kind to Randy and me. She always gave 
 us lunch at her ranch when we were down there 
 fishing, and I told her I'd fetch the medicine before 
 daybreak or get nabbed trying. Why, the Indians 
 themselves don't know the country around here 
 better than Randy and I do, though I've never 
 been out this far at night." 
 
 The major, too, interposed an objection. "I 
 feel that we are responsible for you, Leon, until 
 Major Cullen gets back and claims you. It isn't 
 Apaches only to be avoided. They tell me your 
 Uncle Manuel is here again, and the man you met 
 riding full tilt was your father's old partner, 
 Muncey, — going to meet Manuel, I judge, some- 
 where on the old Tonto trail through the Socorro. 
 
 Then, indeed, Leon looked very grave. " I'm 
 more afraid of them than I am of Apaches," he 
 said. "They don't mean to take me back to 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 221 
 
 mother's people. I shouldn't want to go if they 
 did. I'm a Yankee like father, and I want to stay 
 here and grow up in the cavalry. Randy and I are 
 going to enlist just as soon as we're eighteen. But 
 all the same I promised Mrs. Downey she should 
 have that medicine before day, and I'm going." 
 
 And so, seeing how earnest the boy was and 
 recognizing from his description that Mrs. Downey 
 must be in great pain, the major reluctantly 
 assented. "I'd send a coujdIc of men back with 
 you, lad, but 'tisn't likely the Indians are any- 
 where along the road between two parties of troops, 
 — I don't think they'd risk that. At all events, 
 we'd probably have known it before if they were. 
 We are all up here yet, waiting further news from 
 Captain Foster. Mrs. Foster is out there on her 
 piazza now, so you might see her while you're 
 waiting. Then come over to my house and have 
 some coffee before you start." 
 
 It was just 1.30 by the guard-house clock 
 when once again the young courier mounted his 
 wiry pony and started for the ten-mile ride back. 
 He went loping away down the starlit slope, the 
 phial wrapped in his saddle-bag, after a hurried 
 good-by, his black eyes gleaming, his white teeth 
 firmly set. 
 
 " Good grit, — that boy," said the major, looking 
 after him. " I wouldn't mind having him for my 
 own." 
 
 19* 
 
222 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 "Good grit, indeed," said Eaymond. "Most 
 boys I know would rather do anything than risk 
 that ride in the dark in the midst of an Indian 
 scare. What time ought he to get there ?" 
 
 " Well, his pony's fresh and speedy, — by 3 or 
 3.15 at latest. Now it's time to hear from Foster." 
 
 They were walking slowly back to the porch of 
 his unfinished quarters as they talked, — he, his 
 adjutant, and his especial friend. Captain Raymond. 
 Quiet had settled down on the post. Wearied 
 with watching, almost everybody had gone to get 
 such sleep as was possible, but the guard and a few 
 officers still remained wide awake. Mrs. Foster, 
 unable to control her anxiety, was still restlessly 
 pacing the veranda or rocking in her big chair, 
 and the officer of the day, returning from a tour 
 of the sentry posts, was standing on the walk and 
 saying some reassuring words when the post com- 
 mander and his party came along. 
 
 " I feel dreadfully nervous about that boy, 
 major," said she. " Of course it was all very 
 brave of him to take such a risk for Mrs. Downey's 
 sake, but when Indians have dared to come within 
 a mile of us, what's to prevent their being all along 
 that westward road now ? Couldn't you have sent 
 a few men ?" 
 
 " Could, perhaps," said the major, with an air 
 that betrayed just a little how much he resented 
 it that any of the ladies should question his 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 223 
 
 judgment, " but there are two reasons why I didn't, 
 — more than two, in fact. In the first place, the 
 boy had just come safely in over the road, and 
 that shows that it is probably safe for to-night at 
 least. Even Apaches have to sleep sometimes, you 
 know. In the second place, Caj)tain Foster has 
 driven ahead of him any Indians that might have 
 been out here to the north, — if, indeed, those 
 Mexicans weren't shooting at spooks. We have 
 only their word for it, you know, that there were 
 any Tontos at all." 
 
 "They ran off two mules," interposed Mrs. 
 Foster, impetuously. 
 
 " Wait a moment. The Mexicans say they did, 
 but I've known these ' Greasers' to lie like Ananias 
 already, and we've only been here a few weeks. 
 Even if they had had two mules and a boy, what 
 was to prevent the mules stampeding into the hills 
 on their own account, and hiding in some ravine 
 to the west of the road as their owners did to the 
 east?" 
 
 " But Captain Foster wouldn't chase spooks all 
 night," said the lady, rocking rapidly and ex- 
 citedly now. She was full of conviction that the 
 Apaches were all around them, and there was no 
 comfort in being argued out of the idea. 
 
 " Captain Foster," replied the major, " knows as 
 well as we do from official reports that the Indians 
 have raided the mines and the Prescott road, and 
 
224 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 he has gone on, — like the good soldier he is," added 
 he, diplomatically, " to warn or rescue these other 
 parties, if they really exist, and stir up the Indians 
 if they get in his way. South of that curtain of 
 mountains," he continued, pointing to the black 
 mass of the Socorro, " and behind your husband's 
 skirmish line, we are free from danger. West of 
 this post, which guards the descent to the Sandy 
 valley, no Indian is going to be fool enough to 
 venture unless he's doubly Tonto, which I'm told 
 means mad. Now, my advice to the wife of my 
 good friend Captain Foster is that she go to bed 
 and sleep. That's what I mean to do." 
 
 " But, major," persisted Mrs. Foster, " suppose 
 Leon should be cut off by — by anybody. He 
 told me you said his Mexican uncle was again 
 here trying to capture him. Suppose he shouldn't 
 reach the old post by three o'clock or later, — how 
 would you know ?" 
 
 " Ah, I thought of all that. I told him to start 
 a fire under what's left of that old stack of con- 
 demned hay the moment he got in. The sentries 
 out here on three and four have already received 
 orders to watch for a fire at the old post. If they 
 don't see it by 3.30 at the latest we'll start a party 
 in search. But that fire'll be there all right. Good- 
 night, Mrs. Foster. Now, don't worry." 
 
 But Mrs. Foster did worry. She worried about 
 Leon, exposed as she believed to danger from 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 225 
 
 two sources. She worried about her husband, even 
 though her native common sense told her it was 
 not likely so strong a command as his company- 
 would meet with Apaches that night. If Apaches 
 were in the neighborhood they would be apt to 
 keep well out of the way. She worried so that 
 even by two o'clock when she retired to her own 
 room she could not sleep. 
 
 But she worried even less than her friend the 
 major, who found himself too uneasy to lie down 
 at all. Bidding good-night to the three officers, 
 he had gone to his quarters, and as he took a final 
 look out over the silent and shadowy parade, 
 thanked goodness Mrs. Thornton and the children 
 were safe in the East. Not that they would have 
 been in any particular danger at Ketribution, but 
 because they'd be in the way just now, and women 
 and children will ask questions that are hard to 
 answer, especially of a post commander. " Con- 
 found the Apaches and Muncey and Manuel Car- 
 doza!" said he; "and especially Mrs. Downey. 
 What on earth did she get sick for and have that 
 boy risking his young life to fetch her a camphor 
 julep at three o'clock in the morning ?" He wished 
 he had sent a sergeant and ten men back with him. 
 If Apaches really were in the Sandy valley, Crane 
 would need reinforcements anyhow, — only he hated 
 to " rout out" men and horses in that heathenish 
 way long after midnight. If anything should go 
 p 
 
226 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 wrong with Leon, how his old friend Cullen would 
 blame him! He looked at his watch. Only a 
 little after two. A whole hour to wait before he 
 could hear of the boy's safe return, but surely 
 something should be heard from Foster. It couldn't 
 take his couriers two hours to ride back in the 
 night from Katon Springs. 
 
 Lighting his pipe, the major once more went 
 out into the still night air. Over at the guard- 
 house the lights burned dimly, and he could see 
 the shadowy form of the sentry on No. 1 slowly 
 pacing his post. Stepping out upon the parade, 
 he noted that only in one or two of the windows 
 were the night-lights still burning. Earlier in 
 the night signal-fires could be seen far over to the 
 south-east in the Sierra Ancha, but they had 
 dwindled away. Everything about the garrison 
 seemed to speak of calm and security, yet along 
 the porticos of the opposite barracks, and in their 
 bunks within, a hundred stalwart men lay drowsing, 
 with their arms close at hand. Many of them had 
 not even kicked off their boots. " Number One. 
 Half-past two o'clock," rang the call of the sentry 
 at the guard-house. Then Number Two took it 
 up over at the south-west, adding in cheery, reso- 
 nant tone, " A-a-ll's we-11." Number Three, far 
 out on the west front, — one of the sentries warned 
 to watch for Leon's signal, — came next, and he, 
 too, piped his soldier lay prompt and clear and 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 227 
 
 confident. Tlien came Number Four, at the north- 
 west, — he who had the best view of the distant 
 valley of the Sandy and the bold outlines of Signal 
 Butte, — a big, burly German, he, and his deep 
 bass voice rolled out like the bellow of a bull, 
 "Holluf bahst doo o'glock, unt a-a-wl's veil." 
 Over at the guard-house the men of the first relief 
 were already turning out preparatory to being 
 inspected and marched off to relieve the members 
 of the third, who had gone on at 12.30, and as 
 big Stromberg's resonant bellow went echoing away 
 to the Socorro, there was audible titter and laughing 
 imitation of his German accent, and then sternly 
 the sergeant's voice ordered, "Shut up there! 
 Stop that noise !" 
 
 The call had stopped short with Number Four. 
 Not a sound had come from Number Five. 
 " Who's Number Five on your relief?" asked the 
 sergeant, sharply. 
 
 " Ruckel ; the new man," replied the corporal, 
 already picking up his carbine, but listening in- 
 tently. 
 
 "E-uckel's a snoozer," laughed the boy trum- 
 peter, nervously. 
 
 " Silence, you ! Quick, corporal !" said the 
 sergeant. " The man couldn't sleep through that 
 Dutchman's yell." 
 
 Promptly the corporal went bounding across 
 the parade, the short-cut to the north side, and 
 
228 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Major Thornton — some strange fear hammering 
 at his heart — fast as he could walk had hurried 
 around to the back of his quarters where once 
 more he could see the polar constellations shimmer- 
 ing over the Socorro, and the dim, vague, shadowy- 
 lowland stretching away from the slope at his very 
 feet. Already big Stromberg had begun to repeat 
 his call, in Teutonic observance of the order that 
 if the next sentry failed to pass it, it should be 
 repeated once so as to be sure that it was heard. 
 Already Number Six, far around at the corral, had 
 lifted up a shout for the corporal, convinced that 
 something must be wrong with Five. But the 
 corporal was in rapid rush for the scene. He 
 never pulled up as he passed the major, but 
 hastened on down the bluff. Thornton paused at 
 the brink. 
 
 " Where are you. Five ? What's the matter ?" 
 he heard the corporal's eager hail in the darkness. 
 No answer. 
 
 " Where are you, Euckel ? Wh " Then a 
 
 stumble, a stifled exclamation, the sound of some- 
 thing like a carbine falling on the sandy ground, 
 and then along the bluff — trot — trot — trot — trot 
 — double time — the rapid coming of the sergeant 
 with the patrol and a lantern. 
 
 " This way, sergeant !" cried the major, as he 
 led on down the slope. 
 
 " Come here with that light, for God's sake !'* 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 229 
 
 rang the voice of the corporal. And fifty yards 
 farther they found him bending over an inanimate 
 and bleeding form, — that of Ruckel, the young 
 Bavarian trooper, pierced through and through 
 with Tonto arrows. 
 
CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 Alive, alert, and well at two o'clock, the young 
 sentry on Number Five had passed the call. En- 
 titled to his relief immediately after 2.30, and 
 allowed a few hours' rest and sleep at the guard- 
 house, he had but half an hour now to tramp up 
 and down, up and down, along that dark and 
 dreary post, with the black silhouette of the 
 officers' quarters rising between him and the 
 southern sky, with the black shadows of the 
 northward foot-hills hemming the view of the 
 Prescott road. Soft and sandy was the soil in 
 this depression, with stunted shrubbery and hardy 
 brushwood dotting it here and there. West of 
 the road by which " G" Troop had trotted away 
 the ground lay open and clear. East of it and 
 over towards the upper end of Six's post there 
 remained many clumps of wild vegetation, and if 
 any doubt existed at two o'clock of the near 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 231 
 
 presence of Apaches in force they were banished 
 at 2.30, for " C" Troop, tumbling out in hot haste 
 and formed in fighting line, went down the slope 
 in single rank, out over the post of poor Kuckel 
 lying there skewered with Tonto shafts, and in 
 dispersed order, with carbines at ready, they beat 
 through that chaparral, stirring up the jack- 
 rabbits by the score, and, later on, finding here 
 and there and in a dozen spots the track of Tonto 
 moccasins, unmistakable as the hoof-prints of a 
 moose, but finding not a single Tonto. Fleetest 
 of mountain warriors, they had made their recon- 
 noissance and then, while some drew Foster's 
 troop towards the Raton Springs, others slipping in 
 behind had crept noiselessly within ten yards of 
 the drowsy sentry, lolling in fancied security 
 along his shadowy path, passing and repassing 
 between their lair and the starlit southern sky, 
 until, crawling upon him sinuous and slow and 
 patient as the boa constrictor, they had struck at 
 one and the same instant, and dropped him in his 
 tracks with no more than one gurgling, inarticu- 
 late cry, then sped away for the foot-hills. 
 
 While Raymond's men were beating the bush 
 their comrades of " F" Troop had saddled and led 
 into line at the stables. It was 3.15 when the 
 dismounted company came swinging back up the 
 slope, silent, vengeful, yet thrilling a bit with the 
 sense of unseen danger. Thornton by this time 
 
232 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 was fully aroused to the possibilities of Apache 
 warfare. 
 
 " It will be daybreak soon," he said, "and I want 
 you. Turner, to push out on the trail of those 
 beggars and run them to earth if a possible thing. 
 Raymond will remain with me. They must belong 
 to some bigger band hereabouts. God grant it 
 isn't along the Sandy, — now !" 
 
 Involuntarily as he spoke he turned and looked 
 to the west. There slept old Signal Butte, dark 
 and silent still. No sign of beacon-fire there. 
 There lay the dim and distant ruins of the old 
 post, down in the depths of the shadowy valley. 
 No sign of danger or excitement. Yet if Apaches 
 dare stalk the sentries of a big command as these 
 had done, what would they not dare with so 
 small a detachment as Crane's ? And then those 
 unprotected women and children at Kelly's ranch. 
 Thornton had seen exciting times during the war 
 of the rebellion, but women and children never 
 entered into those calculations. It was after three 
 when Raymond's men returned from their fruitless 
 quest. Turner's troop had gone out to the stables 
 and not a word had come from Foster, — not a sign 
 from the Sandy valley to tell that Leon had safely 
 reached the post. Nervously the major paced up 
 and down his broad veranda now, every little 
 while pausing to address some query or instruction 
 to officers or men hastening by. Lights were 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 233 
 
 flitting about in every set of quarters and on every 
 side. Everybody was astir, even the children. 
 Over at the east the stars were beginning to pale 
 in the faint, pallid light of the coming morn, and 
 little by little the jagged outline of the MogoUon 
 range grew sharp and clear against the reddening 
 sky. Over at the west the peaks began to warm 
 and glow in answer, while at their base the valley 
 of the Sandy still lay dark and unrevealed. Nearly 
 four o'clock, — no further word from Foster. Could 
 he have sent couriers from the Springs who, 
 riding carelessly, confidently homeward, had met 
 poor Kuckel's fate. Certainly by three o'clock he 
 should have been heard from, and here it was 
 almost daylight. In ten minutes, just as soon as 
 coffee could be served. Turner with his troop would 
 push away on his scout, and then all on a sudden 
 a new anxiety flashed upon the major. Nearly 
 four o'clock and Leon's signal had not been fired ! 
 Great heaven ! were the Apaches on the westward 
 road, then, after all ? Was that brave little life 
 another sacrifice ? Taking Raymond and his ad- 
 jutant with him, the major once more tramped out 
 to the westward. There over the tumbling sea of 
 rock and gorge and beetling cliff the gleaming tip 
 of old San Pedro peered at them, his rugged 
 flanks robed in royal purple, but even Signal Butte 
 in the lower valley lay shrouded in gloom. In 
 low tone the sentry on Number Four challenged 
 
 20* 
 
234 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 at their approach. He recognized the voices of 
 his officers, but orders compelled him to demand 
 further token. " Friends with the countersign," 
 answered the adjutant, half impatiently, as though 
 to say, "We weren't coming on or across your 
 post," yet refraining from the words because he 
 knew the sentry's right. 
 
 " Halt, friends. Advance one with the counter- 
 sign," ordered the soldier in the same low, firm 
 tone, and, obediently, Thornton and Raymond 
 waited while the junior officer went quickly for- 
 ward and whispered the mystic word over the 
 lowered bayonet of the infantry guard. Permitted 
 then to hold conversation with his visitor. Private 
 Graham answered the first anxious question of the 
 major. " No, sir, not a sign of a fire anywhere in 
 the valley. I've been watching particular." And 
 just at that moment the call of four o'clock began. 
 
 Only two calls had gone the rounds since the 
 discovery of Ruckel's fate, and once more now, 
 still dim and indistinct, the post of Number Five 
 down in the low ground to the north was uncovered 
 at the front, for Raymond's troop had returned. 
 Instinctively the officers turned away from Number 
 Four and walked back nearer the northward slope 
 as the soldier watch-cry came on from lip to lip. 
 They could just faintly distinguish the form of 
 the sentry well to the westward of the road, — well 
 out of range, small blame to him, of those stunted 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 235 
 
 brusli-heaps and the point where poor Euckel had 
 been done to death less than two hours before. 
 He had halted a moment as though to listen to the 
 call as it came to him, and Number Four — the 
 infantryman they had just left — ^began to take it 
 up as Number Three's voice died away. Then, all 
 on a sudden. Number Five brought his rifle down 
 to the charge and went leaping like a colt along 
 his post to the point where it was crossed by the 
 Prescott road, and instead of the prolonged and 
 melodious call of the hour when it came his turn 
 it was the sentry's challenge, sharp, clear, and 
 imperative, that split the morning air. There 
 was something nerve-tingling, something that 
 smacked of swift coming alarm, in the very tone, 
 and its only answer at the front was the quick 
 rising thud of a galloping horse's hoofs. Again 
 rang the challenge, — all three words jumbling this 
 time into one, — " Whocomesthere ?" then, " Halt," 
 — "Halt or I'll fire !" and then Raymond's power- 
 ful tones rang out through the breathless air, — 
 
 " Hold your fire, sentry ! That horse has no 
 rider." 
 
 But the only answer was the loud bang of the 
 Springfield, and the leaden bullet went whistling 
 away towards the pole-star. That sentry had heard 
 enough of the perils of the post of Number Five 
 for one night and preferred to take no chances. 
 "Sure, I didn't hear the captain," he explained 
 
236 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 a few minutes later. He heard only tlie rapid 
 coming of horse's lioofs, and despite the fact that 
 horses were things the mountain Apaches never 
 thought of using except when hungry, Private 
 Hanrahan thought all the Tonto tribe were coming, 
 and let drive accordingly. It was only a troop 
 horse, blown and bleeding, — only another evidence 
 of the devilish cunning of the savage foe, for the 
 moment Corporal Dunn could reach them on the 
 run he cried, with a sob in his voice, " It's Tralee, 
 of ' G' Troop, sir. Jim Rafferty's horse." And 
 so at last here was Foster's courier from Raton 
 Springs ; but where were the despatches, — where, 
 alas, was Jim ? Tralee's heaving flanks and dis- 
 tended nostril and eyeballs told his story of peril 
 and homeward flight, even as the long welt in his 
 broad haunch and the gash through the high 
 pommel of the McClellan tree were eloquent of 
 its cause. Like Ruckel, the sentry, poor Kafierty, 
 homeward speeding with his cajDtain's midnight 
 despatch, had been ambushed at the roadside. 
 
 Another thrill to the chorus of excitement that 
 had throbbed the long night through, — and yet, 
 not the last ! There were still left a few minutes 
 of darkness and the devil of mischief seemed 
 afloat in the very air. " Go and tell Mrs. Foster 
 the truth the best way you can," said the major, 
 miserably, to his adjutant. " There she is on the 
 veranda now. I'll go round the west side to the 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 237 
 
 office. You can join me there. Yes, Turner, 
 mount and start at once if your men have had 
 their coffee. Now sweep that road clean from here 
 to the Sandy, and don't leave an Indian to tell the 
 story. Look for Foster or his men, — and try to 
 find Kafierty." And so saying he turned to the 
 west and pushed slowly up the slope, a heavy- 
 hearted man. Almost the last thing he heard as 
 he reached the end of officers' row was Nellie 
 Foster's weeping. If stout, soldier-like Irish Jim 
 could be so swiftly, surely massacred by unseen 
 foe, what could have been Leon's fate,- — little black- 
 eyed Leon riding alone, unarmed, with Mrs. 
 Downey's sorely needed medicine, through the dark 
 depths of this Indian-haunted night! But now 
 the mountain-tops were all shimmering with the 
 glow of coming day, and even into the valley 
 depths the faint light seemed to peer, and still 
 there waked no sign of life from the distant out- 
 post, — no reassuring flame to warm his heart with 
 tidings of the boy's safe coming, — but something 
 new and weird and strange was bulging Signal 
 Butte all out of shape, and the sentry on Number 
 Four stood halted in fascination and amaze. The 
 purple fringe of the familiar pine crest seemed to 
 be soaring slowly upward, drawn out into a floating 
 curl, rose tinted at the top where it met the blush 
 of dawn, deep hued below where it left the black 
 base, — then all on a sudden it burst into lurid 
 
238 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 glare, red-yellow banishing tlie rose, and flaming 
 over the valley for many a mile. No welcome 
 signal that, telling of the wanderer's safe return, — 
 no message of hojDe or comfort, but, most dreaded 
 sign of all, it was the cry for help from the Sandy 
 valley, — the appeal of terrified women and chil- 
 dren, — the token that red war had burst about the 
 walls of the old frontier fort and even its little 
 garrison was now in peril. 
 
 If Major Thornton was in grave distress before, 
 he was in the depths of dejection now. For hours 
 he had been longing for day, and day had only 
 brought him new and worse disaster. Here he 
 was with one small company of infantry as per- 
 manent guard and three troops of cavalry, fresh 
 from the saddle-work of the plains and utterly 
 untaught in mountain fighting, as his striking and 
 scouting column. Well had the Apaches chosen 
 their time, and dire indeed was the effect of their 
 concerted blows. All in a flash the major realized 
 that his little force was scattered or scattering, — 
 Foster somewhere uj) in the Socorro to the north- 
 west, possibly pushing still farther away from the 
 post and into peril ; Turner already marching 
 out in support of him and in pursuit of the am- 
 bushing Indians, who at this rate, before another 
 sunset, would line the Prescott road with graves, 
 and this left only Raymond's troop, diminished in 
 strength by the detachment of Lieutenant Crane 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 239 
 
 and his party, to go to the rescue now. Thornton 
 was quick to think and act. " Mount your horse, 
 you," he cried to the orderly trumpeter just issuing 
 from the adjutant's office. " Ride like a streak 
 after Captain Turner. He can't be across the 
 lowlands yet. Tell him to return at once." 
 
 Foster's strong enough, to take care of himself, 
 reasoned the major. Poor Kafferty's done for, and 
 anybody who's fool enough to be riding the Pres- 
 cott road this morning must take his own chances. 
 My first duty is to save these people to the west. 
 Already the sentry's cry had summoned the cor- 
 poral. The guard was springing to ranks at the 
 tidings that the beacon was blazing on Signal 
 Butte. There was no need of sounding "To 
 arms," since the whole command was practically 
 alert and belted now, — no need to sound reveille, 
 since the entire post was up and astir. The sun- 
 beams were gilding the westward peaks and the 
 upper billows of the clouds of dust in which 
 Turner's troop came trotting back, and, met half- 
 way by instructions, — never entering the post, — 
 turned "column half right" midway across the 
 sandy swale and went cantering westward into 
 the dim valley, spurring swiftly to the rescue, 
 Thornton and his adjutant with them, leaving 
 Kaymond in command at Petribution. 
 
 And as the sun climbed higher and blazed 
 slanting down upon the mesa, and the soaring dust- 
 
240 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 cloud faded out of sight, men and women, too, 
 gathered on that westward bluff to watch for 
 further sign of weal or woe. " O that we had 
 kept Leon with us !" was Mrs. Foster's plaint. " It 
 breaks my heart to think of him." Indeed, Leon 
 and Leon's fate seemed uppermost in the hearts of 
 all. Rare, indeed, were the occasions and strong 
 their numbers when Apaches had dared to face a 
 whole troop in the field, and Captain Raymond 
 strove to soothe the fears of those who trembled at 
 the thought of peril to Foster and Turner and 
 their men. "Apaches have raided the ranches 
 most probably," was his theory. " Crane cannot 
 protect them and the old post too. He has prob- 
 ably been penned at the corral, and could hardly 
 look out for even Kelly's homestead. The Apaches 
 are possibly there all around them, but Turner 
 will brush them off like so many flies. Kelly's 
 people are safe in the cellars, I haven't a doubt, 
 and the old man with the assistance he has can 
 easily stand off the prowlers until they see Turner 
 coming, then they'll all skip for the range, — per- 
 haps run slap into Foster, — and between the two 
 there won't be much left of the Tontos." 
 
 All this was very buoyant and reassuring, but 
 women can see so many possibilities of peril to 
 loved ones at such a time. Somebody was sure to 
 be killed and several wounded, no matter how 
 the Indians were driven. It always happened so. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 241 
 
 The troops might win the fight and hold the 
 ground and drive the warriors helter-skelter 
 through the hills, but who suffered most ? who got 
 the worst of the fight itself? was the thing which 
 wives and children, mothers and daughters, most 
 considered, and in almost every case it must be 
 owned that the preponderance of dead and wounded 
 lay with the troops. " Already two of our best 
 are gone," sobbed an Irish laundress, " and what 
 have we to show for it ?" 
 
 " Two killed outright !" cried Mrs. Foster, " and 
 one of them our Rafferty, — and now where is 
 Leon?" 
 
 Alas ! who could say ? Leaving Raymond, his 
 weeping women and angering men, let us spur on 
 after Turner and the sorrel troop, by this time 
 nearly half-way to the Sandy. Even on fleetest 
 of American horses we cannot hope to overtake 
 them until they are almost within pistol range of 
 the willows in the bottom, and when we do the 
 first platoon is dispersed in wide skirmish line, the 
 men riding five yards apart. The other is in 
 reserve, ready to strike wherever the foe may be 
 developed. Only a mile away lie the old ruins 
 across the Sandy. Only a mile and a half up 
 there along the falda * to the north-west are the 
 
 * Falda is the name given by Si^anish-Mexicans to the 
 curving slope with which the mountains or foot-hills usu- 
 ally fall away into the level of the valley. 
 L 2 21 
 
242 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 brown adobe buildings of Kelly's little rancb. 
 Hereaway to the north, nearly opposite the gate- 
 way of Apache Cafion through which the Sandy 
 eomes brawling, towers the black pyramid of Signal 
 Butte, — a thin smoke still floating skyward from 
 its summit. A dozen times, say the men of the 
 /eserve, have they seen Leon's pony tracks on the 
 way, but not once since passing the dry arroyo 
 two miles back. Over beyond that strange, cone- 
 shaped butte, — so strong a landmark as it stands like 
 a sentry guarding the canon's gate, — the shallow 
 rift in the Socorro tells where the trail comes in 
 from Katon Springs over on the north-east. Riding 
 at speed until within a mile of the timber. Turner 
 has been watching with eager eye for any sign of 
 life or action, of friend or foe, from across the 
 stream, and not so much as wave of flag or blanket 
 or even bandanna has rewarded his wistful scrutiny. 
 Kelly's home is apparently deserted. The dis- 
 mantled walls of the old post are now hidden 
 behind the sheltering fringe of timber close to the 
 stream. Downey's ranch below is out of sight 
 behind the shoulder of bluff" that shrugs to the 
 very brink of the Sandy. " Queer," said Thornton. 
 " Not a sign, yet they must have seen us coming ! 
 Look out for every clump of trees or bush ahead 
 there. Turner. Since last night's experience I 
 sniff an Indian in every twig." Turner only nods 
 grimly in rej^ly. All along the skirmish line the 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 243 
 
 carbines are advanced, the men peering eagerly 
 into the thickets ahead of them. The road itself 
 winds through the low bottom and enters the stream 
 at a gravelly bend opposite the walls of the old 
 quartermaster's corral, but that is a couple of hun- 
 dred yards farther to the south now. Turner is 
 aiming to reach the open ground midway between 
 Kelly's and the post, and thereby be enabled most 
 promptly to lend aid to either. If the Tontos are 
 in strong force and lurking in the timber to give 
 him a hot welcome, then the fight will be hand to 
 hand, and that's what he wants. If, on the con- 
 trary, they are too weak to match him, even with 
 the advantage of position, and have fallen back to 
 the rocky fastnesses of the range, then there is 
 little hope of inflicting punishment, for in his own 
 haunts the Apache can only be thrashed when 
 thoroughly surprised, and one might almost as well 
 hope to catch a weasel asleep. One hundred yards, 
 only, to the timber now, and not a sign from any- 
 where. More slowly, cautiously the line advances, 
 expecting any instant to hear the crack of the 
 Indian rifle among the trees. The suppressed ex- 
 citement of the men communicates itself through 
 their muscles, that pardonably quiver a bit, to the 
 mettlesome horses, and these are snifiing the hot 
 air and suspiciously, with wide eye and nostril and 
 erect, twitching ears, studying the j)ossible ambush 
 ahead. Then comes sudden shout from the reserve, 
 
244 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 "Look! Look at Kelly's!" And half a dozen 
 horses cower and shy, and such is the nervous 
 strain of the moment, a score of human hearts 
 bound in young troopers' breasts. 
 
 Some one — they can't discover who — is waving 
 a shawl or blanket from Kelly's door-way. Some 
 one else can be dimly seen lunging out from be- 
 hind the ranch and fiercely gesticulating and 
 pointing towards the range to the north. " It's the 
 old man himself," cries a sergeant. " They're all 
 right !" The next minute, too, waving his hat, a 
 trooper comes spurring through the willows at the 
 front and rides briskly out towards the advancing 
 line. Men breathe freer at the sight. 
 
 " What's gone wrong ? Where are the rest, cor- 
 poral ?" queries Turner, riding eagerly to meet the 
 coming trooper. 
 
 " 'Patchies, sir, — ran off Kelly's mules and killed 
 his herder and tackled the ranch at dawn. They 
 skipped away up the cafion, and the lieutenant's 
 after them with ten men. He said he knew the 
 captain would be coming as soon as the signal was 
 seen. They fired on our corral, too, sir, but didn't 
 harm anybody. Six of us were left to look after 
 the women and children. It's lucky Downey's 
 people had come, or they'd all been killed." 
 
 " Are the women all safe ?" 
 
 " All safe, sir, but pretty badly scared. They 
 must have had a close call at Kelly's. The old 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE, 245 
 
 man wouldn't leave it last night, and Mrs. Kelly 
 wouldn't leave him, but " 
 
 " Then, if you're all safe at the post, we'll go 
 right on to Kelly's," said Turner, impatiently. 
 " Assemble on the right skirmisher !" he shouted 
 to the fighting line. *' Sound the trot, trumpeter !" 
 And away he went, with his orderly and a few men 
 at his heels, to the point where the right of the line 
 had just reached the timber. 
 
 But Thornton lingered. " How's Mrs. Downey ? 
 Did she get her medicine?" he asked, uneasily. 
 
 " Mrs. Downey's better since the Indians skipped 
 her, but I don't know of her getting any other 
 medicine." 
 
 "Didn't Leon get back?" 
 
 " Not here, sir. He may be up at Kelly's. We 
 didn't suppose he'd attempt to come back after Fer- 
 guson and the other fellers got in here last night, 
 — chasing old Muncey. They must have run foul 
 of this very band, sir. Muncey rode in all by him- 
 self, he said, to warn us and Kelly's people, and 
 was then going " 
 
 " Never mind him. I hope the Apaches have 
 got him. You are sure Leon never got back ?" 
 
 " Sure, sir. We never knew he'd left you." 
 
 And then Thornton turned and rode hard to the 
 ranch. There stood the old sergeant mopping his 
 red face and modestly receiving Turner's congratu- 
 lations on the plucky fight he had made in defence 
 
 21* 
 
246 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 of his home ; but the light went out of Kelly's eyes 
 when the major burst forth with, — 
 
 " Sergeant, is Leon with you ? Did he reach 
 you in time ?" 
 
 "Leon, sir? I haven't seen or heard of him 
 since yesterday. I thought he was with the women 
 and children down yonder." And the sergeant 
 pointed to the old post, his face paling with grief 
 and apprehension. 
 
 " I wish to Heaven he were," said Thornton, 
 sadly. "Mrs. Downey was suffering great pain, 
 and the boy rode all the way to us for the doctor, 
 and insisted on going back with the medicine. We 
 never dreamed — at least I didn't — of Apaches here. 
 God grant they haven't got him." 
 
 But just then there rode up from the direction 
 of the canon Sergeant Charlton with sorrow in his 
 sunburned face. " I'm afraid they have, major," 
 said he, dismounting. " See, here's the medicine- 
 phial, — all we can find of him, — and his pony lies 
 dead at the foot of Signal Butte." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 It will be remembered that Muncey with a fleet 
 horse had probably an hour's start of his pursuers, 
 — possibly more, — that he had dropped in at the 
 old post long enough to give them warning, and 
 then had ridden away for Kelly's. " Just as quick 
 as I've warned the old man I'll come back to you," 
 he called to Lieutenant Crane, who had thanked 
 him somewhat inadequately for the service ren- 
 dered. Crane shared the universal suspicion, per- 
 haps, and disbelieved Muncey's report on general 
 principles. Muncey was spurring off when Crane 
 hailed him, " You must have met Leon a mile or 
 so out, — didn't you turn him back ?" And Muncey 
 whirled around in saddle, evidently astonished, and 
 for a moment confused. 
 
 "Leon? Never saw nothin' of him — or any- 
 
 247 
 
248 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 body," he muttered. " Never knew lie was back 
 bere, — at least — er — er — I didn't know it until I 
 beard a rumor of it to-nigbt." Evidently it 
 wouldn't do for Mr. Muncey to tell tbe lie that be 
 originally intended tbere, as it would soon be known 
 bow they bad been talking but a few bours before 
 of Leon's return. " How'd you come to let bim 
 go?" be queried, turning about again and appar- 
 ently forgetting bis urgent mission to Kelly's. 
 
 " Well, be never stopped to ask me," said Mr. 
 Crane, wbicb was very true. " But I can't under- 
 stand bow you missed eacb otber if you kept tbe 
 road. However, go ahead and warn Kelly, and 
 then come back here and we'll talk about Leon." 
 
 And Muncey had gone on to Kelly's, but that 
 was the last seen of bim, despite the fact that he 
 gave Kelly to understand that he must hurry over 
 to Crane again at once. Ferguson and his friends 
 came galloping in to old Retribution and stirring 
 up tbe guard, and they could tell of Leon's safe 
 arrival within easy range of the new post, and of 
 their warning him to stay there ; but they, too, had 
 pushed on over to Kelly's, and thence, scoffing at 
 Kelly's story of Muncey's return to the outpost, 
 had told bim the man was a liar, — which Kelly al- 
 ready knew, — and a horse-thief, — which he more 
 than suspected. They had ridden straight back 
 past the lower gate of the canon and made for the 
 trail to Raton Springs. Whether they had met or 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 249 
 
 had escaped the Indians no one could tell. The fate 
 of Muncey and his pursuers became for the time 
 being a secondary consideration. Thornton's first 
 effort was to ascertain what had become of Leon. 
 
 With any luck at all the boy should have got 
 back to the old post by 3 or 3.15 in the morn- 
 ing. Crane and his little guard, Mrs. Downey 
 and her sympathizing friends, however, had rea- 
 soned that he would not be allowed to attempt to 
 return, and so had ceased to look for him. Crane 
 conveyed to the woman the tidings brought by 
 Ferguson, for up to that moment he had disbelieved 
 Muncey's wild tale. Then, doubling his sentries, 
 but telling the rest of his party to lie down and 
 rest, he coolly sprawled himself on his blankets and 
 went to sleep. The next thing he knew it was 
 nearly dawn, and the sentries had roused the guard. 
 Springing to his feet, Crane demanded the cause 
 of the alarm, and was told there was firing up by 
 Kelly's ranch. It was still dark, though the eastern 
 sky was beginning to flush, as the little detachment 
 quickly, noiselessly assembled in the starlight in 
 front of the old guard-house. Two veteran war 
 soldiers, Tracey and Collins, were on post at the 
 time, and both declared that there had been a rapid 
 fusillade, — at least a dozen shots. It could have 
 come from nowhere but Kelly's, said they, though 
 from their stations they could not see the farm 
 buildings. Corporal Foot, on duty, was inside the 
 
250 SIGNAL BUTTE, 
 
 corral wall wlien the distant firing began, and ran 
 for the gate-way at once, but it had ceased by the 
 time he got to a point whence Kelly's ranch was 
 visible. 
 
 Then for a moment the lieutenant was in a quan- 
 dary. His orders required him to send to and fire 
 the beacon at the butte if the Apaches appeared in 
 the valley, — but this might not have been Apaches 
 at all. It might well have been a skirmish be- 
 tween the horse-thief and his pursuers, who had 
 tracked him to some refuge near Kelly's. That 
 was a matter in which military interference could 
 hardly have been tolerated. Sutlers and frontiers- 
 men, though eager enough to have the army look 
 after the Indians, much prefer to dispose of their 
 own rej)robates in their own way. If an attack 
 had been made by Apaches it was speedily over, for 
 not another sound was heard. Within the corral 
 the women and children, however, had been aroused 
 by the suppressed excitement, and Kelly's daugh- 
 ters were now clamoring to be allowed to go to see 
 if all was well with father and mother, and Crane 
 ordered a corporal and two men to mount, ride 
 thither, and ascertain what had happened. In ten 
 minutes they rode away, and in ten more were back 
 again, driven in by a sharp and sudden volley from 
 the thickets along the Sandy not five hundred yard? 
 up-stream. The prowlers had so secreted them- 
 selves as to enable them to command the road lead- 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 251 
 
 ing to Kelly's and tlie canon, reasoning, no doubt, 
 that some of the troop would be sent up to recon- 
 noitre. Crane had never fought Apaches before, 
 but this served to convince him. He reasoned that 
 the bottom was full of Tontos, that they surrounded 
 him on every side, and that the only thing for him 
 to do was to dispose of his little force so as best to de- 
 fend the terrified women and children and hold out 
 against overpowering numbers until relief reached 
 him from the fort. He now thought it high time 
 to fire the beacon, but who was to do it? With 
 Apaches watching every pathway, how could any 
 one hope to reach that outlying butte? Every 
 minute it was growing lighter, however, and as soon 
 as broad day came he determined to make the at- 
 tempt ; and then Downey, also an ex-dragoon and 
 a stalwart settler, took a hand in questioning the 
 corporal who, with his fellows, had been driven in 
 unhurt, yet a trifle demoralized. Neither horse 
 nor man had a scratch, yet everybody had heard 
 the fusillade, — six or eight rapid shots almost 
 bunched. " I never knew Apaches to fire so many 
 shots before," said he, "and miss. You're sure 
 they weren't more'n ten yards away ?" 
 
 "Certain sure!" said the corporal. "Certain 
 sure !" said his followers, two good-looking young 
 troopers. 
 
 Then, after a moment's pondering, Downey said 
 he believed he could get to the butte in safety, and 
 
252 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 he'd go and fire tlie pile, whereat the women began 
 to wail again and the lieutenant to protest, and right 
 in the midst of the discussion somebody shouted, 
 " Hurrah !" and a column of smoke, speedily burst- 
 ing into flame, shot upward towards the zenith from 
 the summit of the old butte, and everybody thought 
 how plucky a thing it was in Kelly to creep out 
 there and climb that jagged, bowlder-strewn cone 
 in the dim morning light, set fire to the ever-ready 
 stack of light-wood, and steal back to his lair. 
 They were talking of it when broad daylight and 
 Kelly came in together. 
 
 " The blackguards ran off my mules," he said, 
 with a fierce oath, "and killed poor Bustamente. 
 There can't be more'n six all told. Can't the lieu- 
 tenant spare me a few men to go after them ? 
 They've all skipped off for the Socorro." But 
 Crane said he'd go himself with a dozen men, if 
 need be, for he had been chafing at the idea of 
 having done nothing at all, and was eager to re- 
 trieve himself ere relief could reach them and the 
 chance be gone. 
 
 " The bottom must be clear if you came across 
 from the butte," he said, " and very likely they'll 
 run for all they are worth." 
 
 " Yes, the bottom's clear enough, sir, though I 
 haven't been near the butte " 
 
 " You haven't ? Then who fired the beacon ?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, sir. I thought, of 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 253 
 
 course, some of this party liad been sent over to 
 do so." 
 
 And then the men began looking into each 
 other's faces, bewildered. If not by some one at 
 Kelly's or here at the post, who could have scaled 
 the butte and started the signal-fire ? Already a 
 lookout, peering eastward through the lieutenant's 
 binocular, reported a dust-cloud far up the rise 
 towards the new post, — the coming of the rein- 
 forcements, — and if Crane meant to do anything at 
 all, now was his time. 
 
 " I'll leave you to find out who did it, sergeant," 
 he said. " We'll go on after the mules. Perhaps 
 the Apaches did it themselves as a joke." 
 
 "Apaches don't joke," growled the old man, 
 with gloomy face, as the detachment trotted away. 
 " There's been no joke from one end of this night 
 to the other, — but there's been some stupid blun- 
 dering on somebody's part, or I'm a recruit." And 
 then, turning to one of his daughters, who stood 
 silently by, he said, briefly, " Fetch me the pony, 
 Kate ; I'll ride back to your mother." 
 
 " Sure, didn't ye know yet, father ? 'Twas Leon 
 took ut to ride to the fort for medicine for Mrs. 
 Dow^ney." 
 
 And thus for the first time was the veteran 
 trooper made aware that his little friend and found- 
 ling had dared that midnight ride. Fiercely he 
 broke forth, — 
 
 22 
 
254 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 " And was tliere no man among ye," — lie turned 
 to the silent group of soldiers left behind, — "no 
 man among ye fit to do a man's work, that ye should 
 let a boy baby ride into the teeth of them Indian 
 devils ? Where were you, Phil Downey, that you 
 should send a kid like that for yer wife's popj^y- 
 sauce ?" 
 
 " Where was I but tending to my own business, 
 as you were. Sergeant Kelly," answered the other 
 veteran, stoutly, for between the two ex-dragoons 
 and rival ranchmen little love was wasted. " Of 
 course, if I'd been here, 'tisn't Leon or anybody 
 else would have gone for medicine, but me, as you 
 ought to have sense enough to know, if you weren't 
 so keen to be saddling blame on other fellows' 
 shoulders and so devarting it from your own. Me 
 and Mike spent the night at our ranch, as you did 
 at yours, and niver came up till we heard the 
 firing." And Downey's eyes flashed angrily on his 
 more prosjDcrous neighbor. " I haven't a gov'ment 
 post or a gov'ment arsenal to dhraw on to defind 
 me property, and I have to do it meself," he added, 
 in withering sarcasm ; and if anything would stir 
 old Kelly's wrath to the nethermost depths it was 
 the faintest hint that he ever used so much as a 
 single cartridge of all the ordnance stores confided 
 to his care. 
 
 " 'Tis no time for settling our scores, Phil 
 Downey, or you and I would expind a few 45's as 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 255 
 
 soldiers and gintlemen did in the days wlien more 
 gintlemen and fewer frauds were soldierin'. Go 
 to yer wife, you, that's always dyin' if she has an 
 earache, and I'll to mine, that's never known what 
 it was to whimper, and she and I will see what we 
 can do to find the brave little lad that's gone to die 
 for you and yours, — for, by me sowl, the hand that 
 lit yon blazin' signal was his, — as sure as this," 
 and he clinched a hairy fist under Downey's nose, 
 " is at your service in any way ye'll have it, Mr. 
 Phil Downey, — an' it won't be the first batin' it 
 gave ye." 
 
 With that he turned his back on a shamefaced 
 group and strode fiercely away in the direction of 
 his home. Never until that instant had it seemed 
 to dawn upon them that by any human possibility 
 Leon had striven to return, had found the Indians 
 interposed between him and the old post in the 
 valley, and then, realizing, what its original pro- 
 jectors had not thought possible, that the Indians 
 had probably so closely invested the post itself as 
 to prevent any one's getting out to fire the beacon, 
 he had risked his own brave life in the attempt, — 
 had given the signal that brought rescue to them 
 at the gallop, and in so doing had betrayed his own 
 presence to the lurking foe. Here again, therefore, 
 was a case where the ground remained in the hands 
 of one party, but all the telling blows were dealt 
 by the other. The soldiers had felt the sting of 
 
256 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Kelly's words. True, no one of their number had 
 been ordered to make that i^erilous ride, though all 
 had heard Mrs. Downey's cries and moans and ap- 
 peals for aid, and some one might have volunteered 
 and been allowed to go, but not until Leon was 
 well on his way. True, had Downey been there, 
 he would not have permitted the sacrifice, and was 
 now ready to bitterly upbraid his weaker half for 
 inspiring it. A good woman in many a way was 
 Mrs. Downey, and very fond of the boys, — Randall 
 and Leon, — but the least pain or illness prostrated 
 her, and a serious pain frightened her to the verge 
 of distraction. All this Leon was too young to 
 appreciate. He believed her suffering terribly and 
 in dire need, as did all who heard her, j^erhaps, 
 but Kelly's girls and her own Mexican maid-of- 
 all-work, and so, just as he thought Randy would 
 have done had he been there, he determined to 
 go, and went without a word to Crane, who might 
 have stopped him, — as, indeed, Mrs. Downey was 
 shrewd enough to declare he would if he happened 
 to hear of it. 
 
 And now Crane and his party were well away 
 into the Socorro in pursuit, and Kelly, returning 
 wrathful to his home, was anticipated in his search 
 for Leon by the coming of Turner's troop, followed 
 within a moment or two by Charlton's dramatic 
 announcement of the discovery of the slaughtered 
 pony. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 257 
 
 Half an hour later, while tlie old sergeant was 
 bending over and examining the stiffening carcass 
 of his pet broncho, Turner's best trailers, afoot, 
 were scouring every square yard of those jagged, 
 bowlder-strewn flanks of the butte in search of 
 Leon's trail or that of his Indian foes. Others 
 were examining the signs in the timber and along 
 the Sandy, and the more they found the more were 
 they mystified. Apaches, as a rule, in those days 
 were foot warriors. The Tontos, Sierra Blancas, 
 Hualpais, Apache Mohaves, and Apache Yumas had 
 small use for horse or mule, yet there were more 
 hoof than moccasin prints in the timber and around 
 Kelly's corral. What was more, both mules and 
 horses were shod. That meant that they had run 
 off a good deal of stock and were riding instead of 
 walking, said Turner's men ; but Kelly, growing 
 graver and less disposed to talk with every mo- 
 ment, continued searching on his own account, 
 neglecting many a chance to snub some callow 
 young trooper hazarding theories as to the numbers 
 and movements of the Indians. Major Thornton, 
 contenting himself with sending a platoon on the 
 trail of Crane's party, had ridden up to Kelly's 
 ranch to pencil some instructions for Raymond. 
 It was now seven o'clock, and neither he nor his 
 men had seen a single Indian, neither had he news 
 of Foster, nor tidings of any kind ; yet, with the 
 events of the night still fresh in his mind, with the 
 
258 SIGNAL BtTTTE. 
 
 death of Ruckel and Eafferty and Kelly's Mexican 
 assistant and the loss of Leon to mourn, the major 
 felt convinced the Indians had swooped in force 
 upon the valley, and would have killed, burned, 
 and destroyed everything in sight but for his 
 prompt answer to the signal which his forethought 
 had caused to be provided at the top of the butte. 
 The Apaches had desisted from their attemjDt only 
 at his approach, and had fled into the hills, whither 
 his men were now pursuing. Such, at least, was 
 his theory. This, too, was to be the tenor of his 
 report to department head-quarters, to be sent for- 
 ward by a detachment that very day. Already he 
 was framing its diction, and, after a few pencilled 
 words to Raymond, bidding him hold the fort, as 
 he wasn't coming, — for the present, at least, — the 
 major had borrowed a big sheet of the ordnance 
 sergeant's official paper and began : 
 
 " Kelly's Eanch, 
 " South op Apache Canon, 
 " June 2, 187-. 
 " Assistant Adjutant-General, 
 
 Head-quarters Department of Arizona : 
 " Sir, — I have the honor to report that on receipt 
 of your despatch notifying me of the Apache out- 
 break and directing me to guard well my working 
 parties at old Fort Retribution and the road con- 
 necting it with the new post, I detached Lieutenant 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 259 
 
 Crane with twenty men of Captain Raymond's 
 troop and sent him to camp, temporarily, at the 
 abandoned corral, and also took steps to notify the 
 settlers north and south of the post of the new 
 danger. Deeming it possible that the Indians 
 might attempt to pass around us and raid the 
 ranches, I had caused a beacon to be built on the 
 summit of Signal Butte, and instructed Lieutenant 
 Crane to fire it if he learned the Apaches were in 
 the valley. 
 
 "Last evening my sentries reported firing on the 
 Prescott road north of the new post, and Captain 
 Foster with his trooj) was sent to investigate. He 
 reported by courier that he had come upon two 
 Mexicans who claimed that the Apaches had 
 attacked them and run off their mules, they them- 
 selves escaping by hiding in a dark ravine. They 
 also reported a large party of prospectors, etc., at 
 Katon Springs, and represented them as being in 
 peril of similar attack, so Foster pushed on at once 
 to their succor, expecting to reach them at mid- 
 night. At 2.30 A.M., Trooper Ruckel, a sentry on 
 post in the low ground to the north of the post, 
 was found dead, pierced by several Apache arrows, 
 and Captain Raymond with his men made a search 
 through the chaparral as far as the foot-hills with- 
 out discovering anything of the enemy. A few 
 minutes later a horse recognized as Private Raf- 
 ferty's, of ' C Troop, came riderless and wounded 
 
260 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 into the post, and I had just despatched Captain 
 Turner with his troop at daybreak to scout the 
 country along the Prescott road, when the flaming 
 signal at the butte told that the Indians had worked 
 around to the valley to the west of us. Leaving 
 Captain Raymond with the infantry and his half 
 troop to guard the j^ost, I proceeded with Troop 
 ' F' — Turner's — to this point, reaching here after 
 a sharp trot in less than an hour and a quarter, 
 only to find the Indians fled with some stock from 
 Kelly's ranch, and Lieutenant Crane already in 
 pursuit. The only casualties in the valley thus 
 far reported is one Mexican herder killed at 
 Kelly's, and I regret to add the probable loss of 
 a gallant little fellow, Leon MacNutt, whose pony 
 was found a few minutes ago at the foot of the 
 butte with three Apache arrows through him. It 
 is feared that the boy has been killed or run off 
 by the Indians, who are reported to have fled into 
 the fastnesses of the Socorro to the north of us. 
 If so, between Captain Foster's troop already in 
 the field and those here at hand I hope to make 
 short work of them." And here Major Thornton 
 was interrupted by the entrance of the ordnance 
 sergeant. It must be remembered now that old 
 Kelly had served in Arizona in his dragoon days 
 before the war, and had just completed another 
 period of five long years with the Eleventh Cavalry, 
 the predecessors of Thornton's regiment. Like 
 
SIGKAL BUTTE. 261 
 
 every other old soldier, he was inclined to the belief 
 that new-comers had very much to learn, and, as 
 we have seen, the Indians themselves were taking 
 advantage of this inexperience. Kelly couldn't 
 be disrespectful to an officer, but he had much to 
 say and there was no time to be lost. 
 
 "May I speak to the major?" was his abrupt 
 request, as he stood erect at the door-way, his hand 
 raised in salute. Thornton wheeled round in his 
 chair and looked up in quick interest. 
 
 " Certainly, sergeant. Go ahead." 
 
 "As I understand it, sir, Lieutenant Crane's 
 party followed the trail into the canon and would 
 go on through in pursuit." 
 
 " That's my understanding also," said the major. 
 
 " And did the major order the detachment that 
 followed Lieutenant Crane to go on till they came 
 up with him ?" 
 
 " Yes. He couldn't go very far, you know ; he 
 took no rations." 
 
 " I know, sir ; but from what I hear the lieu- 
 tenant rode straight into the canon and expected 
 to find the raiders there somewhere. Once into it, 
 sir, there's no way out but through it." 
 
 " Very true." 
 
 "Well, what I'm afraid of, sir, is this, — the 
 Indians who have run that stock into the caQon so 
 as to make a trail to draw the troops in pursuit 
 are only two or three in number, but if there's 
 
262 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 more Indians in those hills, — and the chances are 
 there are," — and Kelly pointed significantly to the 
 rugged heights so nearly overshadowing them, — 
 " the most of them will be found lying on their 
 bellies up the cliifs and ready to heave down whole 
 tons of rock on our fellows in the gorge." 
 
 Thornton started to his feet and stared eagerly 
 out of the north window in front of him. " That's 
 a very serious matter," he said ; " but wouldn't we 
 have heard of it by this time? The cliffs are 
 nearly all down at this end, are they not ?" 
 
 " Most of 'em are, sir, but there's a bad slit 
 within a mile of the north gate, nearly twelve 
 miles from here, and another about midway. If 
 they jump the troops at this end they'd know the 
 reserves here would be galloping up the game 
 trails east or west of the canon in no time, whereas 
 if they wait and let the lieutenant and his party 
 grope along to that narrow part of the cafion just 
 below where old Sanchez and his people were 
 drowned out, why, they've got 'em, sir, got 'em 
 where they can't hit back or help themselves in 
 any way." 
 
 The major hastened out into the open sunshine, 
 now beating hot and dry upon the adobe walls. 
 " Bring my horse, orderly," he called, as he stowed 
 away his unfinished report, and a boy trumpeter, 
 with his slouched hat pulled down to keep the sun 
 glare from his eyes, turned away from where a 
 
SIGNAL BTJTTE. 263 
 
 little knot of men bad just buried tbe body of tbe 
 luckless Mexican herder and darted into tbe corral, 
 presently reappearing witb tbe major's reluctant 
 charger towing at the end of a taut bridle-rein. 
 " Now let Sergeant Kelly have your horse," said 
 Thornton, " and give my compliments to Captain 
 Turner and ask him to join us. Come, sergeant, 
 show me the trails." 
 
 Old Kelly was already in saddle beside the com- 
 mander and, never waiting to let down the stirrups, 
 but with his long legs dangling, led the way along 
 a winding path to the stream, and then through the 
 willows to its wooded bank. A trot of three 
 minutes brought them to the bluff at whose rocky 
 base the Sandy came boiling out of the canon. 
 Ahead of them, fresh and distinct, the hoof-prints 
 of a score of horses had obliterated all sign of 
 what might have been driven ahead of them; 
 but, wheeling his horse abruptly to the right, 
 Kelly plunged into the foaming waters and sent 
 him sputtering — breast-deep — to the lower bank 
 on the opposite side. Here in a shallow depression 
 to the east of the stream lay some soft and marshy 
 ground, and here the old sergeant reined in and 
 pointed without a word to some peculiar footprints. 
 Thornton, following his lead, gazed down at the 
 sign, then into the sergeant's face for explanation. 
 
 " When did you find these ?" he asked. 
 
 "Not fifteen minutes ago, sir. The animals 
 
264 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 went into the canon as Mr. Crane supposed, and 
 lie followed, but that's the print of the Tonto 
 moccasin, and some of those bucks have cut across 
 below here, skirted the edge of this here cienega * 
 close as they could without getting into it, and gone 
 on up the heights. It's my belief they've planned 
 to trap the lieutenant, and we can't get after them 
 along this trail too quick." 
 
 Thornton turned and gazed eagerly down the 
 Sandy. Out from the willows, loping, rode the 
 tall and soldierly form of the captain of the sorrel 
 troop, hastening to join his chief, but before he 
 could ford the stream, far to the northward some- 
 where among those resounding rocks came, faint, 
 distant, but unmistakable, the ring and rattle of 
 musketry. 
 
 " By heaven ! old man, you're right," cried the 
 major. " Mount your men. Turner," he shouted, 
 " and get them up here, — lively !" 
 
 * Cienega, a little marsh. 
 
^:r^ 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 It was some twenty-three miles, as has been ex- 
 plained, in a general north-westerly direction by a 
 crooked road from the new post of Fort Retribution, 
 around the base of the Socorro, past Raton Springs 
 (eight miles out) , to the fords of the Sandy, which 
 lay some five miles north of the upper entrance to 
 Apache Cafion. It was about ten miles, nearly due 
 west, from the flag-staff at the new post to Signal 
 Butte. Apache Canon, from gate to gate, was a rift 
 of nearly eleven miles, and the course of the Sandy 
 was about south-east by south. So here was a rude 
 scalene triangle with a ten-mile base, a sixteen-mile 
 adjacent side, and a twenty-three-mile hypothenuse, 
 — " crooked as a corkscrew," as the troopers said, — 
 and this little triangle, solidly filled with moun- 
 tains, was the field of operations of Major Thorn- 
 ton's command in this, its first campaign against 
 Arizona Indians. The Sandy took a sudden turn 
 to the south-west as it passed the old post and 
 flowed away in that general direction to its con- 
 
 M 23 266 
 
266 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 fluence to the Gila, and the old roundabout wagon 
 route from Retribution to Prescott went down the 
 Sandy, around the southern end of the mountain- 
 range, and then away north-westward up the valley 
 of Willow Creek. The only short cut through the 
 Socorro clump was by the old Tonto trail from 
 Signal Butte at the south to Raton Springs to 
 the north-east ; and this, said Sergeant Kelly, was 
 not the route by which the raiders retired on the 
 approach of Turner's troop, but was the route by 
 which they descended into the valley. If so, they 
 must have come over from Raton Springs, and 
 Foster's men should not be far behind them, — only 
 Foster hadn't a soul with him who had ever been 
 through there or could trail by night. He had to 
 wait for day, and possibly was waiting for orders. 
 There were game-trails all through the rocky, pine- 
 covered heights, but these would only confuse the 
 uninitiated. 
 
 If, as Kelly declared, the Indians had dared to 
 drive their captured stock straight through the 
 cafion, to lure the troops after them, while a larger 
 party lurked in ambush on the overhanging cliffs, 
 it meant that they had scouts watching Foster and 
 ready to lead him astray, while others, far to the 
 north, keeping wary eye on the movements of 
 Colonel Pelham's troops at Sandy, despatched 
 swift runners or communicated by smoke or flame 
 signal? that only Indian eye could read. 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 267 
 
 " Tliey feel secure for this day, sir," said Kelly 
 to the anxious and perplexed field officer, whose 
 command was now so widely scattered, " or they 
 wouldn't wait to jump the lieutenant." 
 
 Had they "jumped the lieutenant?" That was 
 the absorbing question. The firing had died away 
 almost as suddenly as it began. The sounds came 
 from the general direction of the canon, — not that 
 of the trail to the Springs. It could not, therefore, 
 be a clash between Foster's troop and the Apaches. 
 It must have been Crane's men, to whose support a 
 whole platoon had been despatched, but, if what 
 Kelly said was true, they were little better off than 
 so many rats in a trap. All this the major was 
 rapidly considering while Turner rallied his men 
 down-stream and came trotting up to the cienega. 
 Then, led by Kelly, afoot and in single file the 
 little party began the tortuous ascent to the heights. 
 In ten minutes they were again in saddle and trot- 
 ting now through a bold and beautiful range. 
 To their left lay the deej) chasm of Apache Cafion, 
 and off to the eastward could be seen the dark rift 
 through which ran the trail to Eaton Springs. A 
 guard of ten men, together with Downey and his 
 fellow-ranchmen, remained about the post, so that 
 at this moment, say eight o'clock of a hot June 
 morning. Major Thornton's force was distributed 
 at five or six different points, at both the southern 
 angles and along the outer edge of this rough 
 
268 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 triangle. Verily, the Apaches, indeed, seemed to 
 know how to " play" the new-comers. 
 
 " If poor Rafferty hadn't been headed off and 
 killed," said the major to Captain Turner, who, 
 now that there was greater room, rode up along- 
 side, " we should have known Foster's discover- 
 ies and movements. As it is, we are completely 
 in the dark. I'm not so anxious about Crane 
 now, for he has evidently got through tlie lower 
 part of the canon all right, and hasn't had time 
 to reach the bad stretch at the northern end, but 
 I hope he's safe out of the bad place in the 
 middle." 
 
 And just at this moment the old sergeant, riding 
 a dozen yards ahead and coming to a sharp turn 
 around a rocky point, reined suddenly in and sig- 
 nalled halt. With much clatter and sputter of 
 hoofs the rear of the column seemed to double up 
 on the leaders before the rapid trot could be checked, 
 and then, with heaving flanks, the horses huddled 
 in a bunch. There was an ojiening in the hills to 
 the right, and a game-trail led down around the 
 very point where Kelly had halted and was now 
 off his horse studying the ground. 
 
 " I thought so, sir," said he, pointing eagerly to 
 certain prints in the rock-dust along the trail. 
 Then, bending low, he worked over towards the 
 edge of the cliff. " See here again, sir, and here, 
 — Tonto moccasins ! They probably crept out close 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 269 
 
 to the edge — two or three of them — to watch what 
 might be coming up through the gorge below." 
 
 Turner was listening with a whimsical smile on 
 his face, and here interposed. " Look here a mo- 
 ment, sergeant," said he. "I have been doing 
 some little scouting down-stream, and there are 
 some points that may not have occurred to you. I 
 admit we're new to Apache scouting, but there are 
 some general rules that all Indians recognize. Now, 
 we learned a bit from our Pawnee scouts, — and a 
 Pawnee would say that these fellows" (and here 
 Turner pointed to the footprints in the yielding 
 turf) " were peering over at something going up the 
 cafion ahead of them, and not what was coming 
 behind. Let me ask you. What has become of 
 Muncey and Ferguson and all their crowd all this 
 time ? Where did they go ?" 
 
 " God knows, sir ; but ever since the cloud-burst 
 Muncey's too big a coward to push through the 
 canon alone at night." 
 
 " Ordinarily, yes, — I admit that, — but this time 
 'twas life or death with him. For some reason he 
 stole the best horse at the fort — Ferguson's — and 
 skipped in the dark. I believe he was in hopes 
 of joining Manuel and his gang. I believe he 
 thought he could safely stop and get credit for 
 giving warning to Lieutenant Crane and yourself, 
 — then he pushed out over towards Raton Springs. 
 You say there were the prints of a dozen horses 
 23* 
 
270 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 and mules this morning coming down into the 
 valley?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, they would obliterate any prints of those 
 going up. Now, wasn't that Manuel's party? Don't 
 you suppose Muncey met them in the hills, — had 
 them hide until Ferguson and his friends passed 
 them by in the darkness, and then came on down by 
 Signal Butte, intending to stay with Crane's guard, 
 or else, perhaps, to push on down the Sandy to the 
 Gila and Tucson after they got what they wanted ?" 
 
 "Got what they wanted? Does the captain 
 mean Leon ?" 
 
 "Leon, mules, horses, — anything else to help 
 them in their flight. How do you know who 
 killed your herder and ran off your mules, ser- 
 geant ? Could you see ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; it was lighting up a little at the east 
 and I'd fallen into a sort of doze, and the boy, I 
 suppose, thought everything was all safe and he 
 went out to let the mules out of the stufiy box in 
 which we'd penned them for the night. The next 
 thing Mrs. Kelly and I heard was the firing. It 
 was down the hill-side towards the water, and I 
 could only shoot at the flashes." 
 
 "Exactly! Wliat I believe is that those two 
 bands of thieves — Apache and Mexican — ran 
 foul of each other in the dark. Muncey and his 
 party, scared to death, perhaps, have fled north- 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 271 
 
 ward into the cafion, and the reason you had no 
 more trouble is that the Apaches put out after him. 
 We have got the whole field ahead of us at this 
 minute. I only wish we knew who has Leon." 
 
 "Mount, then, and come on," said the major, 
 eagerly. " Turner, you're probably right." And 
 then, as if in confirmation of the theory, far to the 
 front again the crack of cavalry carbines echoed 
 along the mountain gorge. 
 
 And here, four miles out from the lower gate, 
 the walls of the canon seemed to fall away. Still 
 jagged and steep where the Sandy lashed at its 
 banks, the rocky face of the clifi*s was but a dozen 
 feet or so in height, and thence the pine-covered 
 slopes rose and rolled in bold upheavals, with 
 sheltered valleys between each mountain-wave. 
 Along through the pines led the Tonto trail. 
 Along in single file, now at rapid trot, now at 
 easy lope, but often climbing and sliding clumsily, 
 the sorrels followed. Far down in the gorge the 
 old canon trail could be seen. " It's just around 
 that point, sir," said Kelly, presently, his eyes 
 snapping with excitement, "ould Sancho and 
 Leon's father were drowned out. We knew it 
 because when the flood went down you could find 
 mules and men, saddles and apparejoes,* rifies and 
 
 * Apparejo — pronounced apparayho — is the Mexican 
 pack-saddle, now adopted for use of the pack-trains of the 
 United States army. 
 
272 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 blankets lodged among the rocks and trees for 
 miles below, but nothing above. They was swept 
 out just like so many rats in a mill-race." 
 
 " There's a mule down there now," cried a keen- 
 sighted trooper, riding close behind the captain. 
 
 " He's killed this morning, then, — and yon's a 
 horse. See ?" cried Kelly, pointing eagerly down 
 into the dej^ths. " The first tackle must have been 
 right along here somewhere." 
 
 Once more ahead of them the cliffs began to 
 narrow. Once more the trail clambered to a pro- 
 jecting point, and then skirted a rocky j^alisade 
 commanding a view of the cafion for two miles, — 
 the Sandy leaping in foaming rapids five hundred 
 feet below. One after another the troopers reached 
 the point and then, following the leader, spurred 
 into a lope, for Turner and Kelly — foremost now 
 — had caught again the sound of firing, and pres- 
 ently out from the sockets whijDped the carbines, — 
 the fight was in view ahead. 
 
 But what a fight ! Down in the depths of the 
 gorge — sheltering themselves as best they could 
 from occasional bullet and frequent bowlder hurled 
 from up the heights — some forty blue-uniformed 
 troopers were falling slowly back before the cease- 
 less onslaught of a foe they could neither see nor 
 reach. Just as Kelly had feared, Lieutenant Crane 
 had been lured into a trap, and the supporting 
 platoon reaching him could only share his predica- 
 
The trail clambered to a project! nt 
 the canon for two miles. 
 
 it, com 111 an 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 273 
 
 ment. Just how far up the cafion he had suc- 
 ceeded in following the trail was now a matter 
 of little consequence. Crane and his men were 
 making the best of their way out, bringing their 
 wounded with them. It was the first lesson, — a 
 bitter one, and one that would have been far more 
 tragic but for the coming of their better led com- 
 rades along the upper trail. Long before Turner 
 and Kelly could sight a single Apache the Apaches 
 had caught sight of them, and then, darting from 
 rock to rock, slinking from tree to tree, away sped 
 the lithe, sinewy fellows out of rifle range. Only a 
 few long-distance, scattering shots were exchanged 
 between Turner and the almost invisible foe, and 
 Crane's fellows, sending up stentorian cheer from 
 the stream-bed below, drowned for the moment the 
 roar of the waters. Throwing out some keen shots 
 as skirmishers to prevent the reappearance of the 
 Indians, Thornton and his troop leader signalled 
 Crane to fall back to a point where the Sandy 
 flowed in smooth, tranquil reach for a hundred 
 yards or so, and there, one side clambering down 
 the heights, the other climbing up, the ofiicers 
 were able to compare notes. The first question 
 was as to Crane's losses. Several horses killed, 
 three abandoned, and two men wounded, — " but," 
 said he, " they've cleaned out some Mexican outfit 
 a mile up-stream. We almost caught them at it." 
 And so, leaving the wounded with the guard and 
 
274 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 attendants to make tlie best of tlieir way back to 
 the old post, the two commands again pushed on 
 up-stream, — Crane on the lower and Thornton 
 following the upper trail, both parties in single 
 file. Turner kept the front well covered by a few 
 skirmishers. Half an hour's march brought them 
 around a wooded point, and there deep down in 
 the gorge, — just at the spot where Sanchez camj^ed 
 that luckless night two years before, — under the 
 burning blue of the midsummer skies lay the wreck 
 of another " outfit." Flood and fury had scattered 
 the possessions of the former party broadcast down 
 the canon. Fire and flame and Tonto bullet or 
 barb had huddled those of the second into a 
 blackened hideous heap. Crane had followed in 
 very truth the trail of the raiders at Kelly's ranch, 
 but the murderers of the luckless Bustamente 
 were his own countrymen, — the robbers of Kelly's 
 corral were Manuel Cardoza and the genial 
 Muncey. Here were the stiffening carcasses of 
 the old sergeant's pets, — here the half-dozen pack- 
 mules, — packs and all, — here the mutilated remains 
 of the poor devils whom Cardoza had abandoned, 
 for up the canon went the shod hoof tracks of 
 American horses. Overtaken by Apaches, two 
 well-mounted leaders had left their humble fol- 
 lowers to fight it out as best they could, — and who 
 could be the cowardly pair but Muncey and 
 Cardoza ? 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 275 
 
 Extinguishing tlie smouldering jfires, gathering 
 up such contents of the saddle-bags and apparejoes 
 as were undamaged by the flames, Crane's party, 
 watched by Thornton's from the opposite heights, 
 slowly remounted and set forth on their return. 
 " If Foster comes through the mountains with his 
 troop, tell him we'll join him at the old post in a 
 few hours," sang out the major from across the 
 stream. " We've got to come back for something 
 to eat soon as we scout to the north side, and if 
 this be a specimen of Apache business," added 
 Thornton to himself, as he slowly remounted, " it's 
 too complicated campaigning for me." 
 
 And so by noon that sultry and long remem- 
 bered day, after burying the murdered Mexicans 
 under cairns of stones. Crane and his wearied men 
 were jogging back within hail of Signal Butte, 
 while Major Thornton, with Turner and some 
 twenty hungry troopers, pushed northward, deter- 
 mined to scout the Socorro to the Prescott road. 
 Turner still kept his skirmishers ahead. There 
 was no telling where the Indians might open on 
 them from rock or precipice or tree. Kelly, raging 
 in his heart to think that he had lost his mules 
 and herdsman through such scoundrels as Muncey 
 and Cardoza, attached himself closely to Turner, 
 with whose judgment and foresight he was now 
 greatly impressed. It was extremely hot and the 
 water in the canteens utterly undrinkable by this 
 
276 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 time. The horses, too, were suffering, but it was 
 impossible to get them down the steep to the 
 dashing stream, so even when, after an hour's 
 weary marching over the upland trail, they came 
 in sight of the broad valley of the Sandy above 
 the range, Thornton decided to go on down to 
 the lowlands and water before starting on his 
 return. It was high noon, hot noon, a scorching 
 noon, and the men's eyelids were blistered by the 
 fierce rays of an unclouded sun. They were 
 hungry, too, for not one had had bite or sup since 
 coffee at dawn, but they bit at their plug tobacco 
 and jogged silently on, and up to the moment of 
 their catching sight again of the old trail that 
 wound beside the Sandy, not an Indian had been 
 seen or heard of. Now there rose into mid-air 
 a little dust-cloud far out near the Prescott 
 road, telling of some party in rapid movement. 
 "Muncey and Cardoza skipping for all they're 
 worth," hazarded Kelly, but Turner shook his 
 head. " That cloud's coming this way," said he, 
 "and coming fast, — and it's some of our own 
 people." 
 
 And so it proved. Less than half an hour later, 
 down by the plashing waters the two detachments 
 came together. Comrades of the same regiment, 
 yet from stations miles apart, the sunburned, dust- 
 covered fellows from up the Sandy rode in to the 
 welcoming ranks from Retribution. " What news 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 277 
 
 of the Indians ?" was naturally the first inquiry, 
 and rapidly officer to officer, man to man, the 
 two parties exchanged views. The commander of 
 the little party from Camp Sandy was a brave 
 soldierly fellow, Captain Tanner by name, and 
 with him were two or three experienced scouts ; 
 Al Zieber was one, a fellow who knew Apaches 
 and Arizona even as their old guide, Buffalo Bill, 
 knew the Pawnees and the Plains. " There isn't 
 a hostile west of the Sandy this day," said he. 
 "They've all had their jump and done what damage 
 they could, and now they're skipping back to the 
 Mogollon country." But Zieber looked grave 
 and troubled when told of the deeds of the pre- 
 vious night. ' ' They are little detached war-parties, ' ' 
 said he. " We may strike one of them down near 
 the Springs, but I doubt it." 
 
 In brief conference the officers decided what 
 should then be done at once. Tanner sent his lieu- 
 tenant with a " scout" of twenty men down along 
 the north face of the Socorro to find Foster and 
 follow full speed any of the straggling Apaches 
 whose trails they might discover, hoping even yet 
 to recapture Leon. Then the pack-train came up, 
 and presently cook-fires were blazing in the timber, 
 and from the Camp Sandy supplies a hearty dinner 
 was served out to Thornton's men, while Tanner 
 proposed his plan. "My instructions," said he, 
 " were to leave an escort of twenty men here at 
 
 24 
 
278 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 the ford for the general's ambulance, — he is hurry- 
 ing down from Prescott and should be here by 
 sunset. We have a little party to meet him at the 
 ranch over towards Willow Creek. Now, you and 
 your men and horses need a few hours' rest. Sup- 
 pose you stay here with your detachment, and I'll 
 take my men and see what we can find up yonder 
 in the hills," and Tanner pointed to the Socorro. 
 " Leon's captors may be waiting there for darkness 
 before attempting to cross the open country towards 
 the Mogollon. You can have four hours' sleep 
 and be ready to ride on to Ketribution with the 
 general to-night." 
 
 So said, so done. Soldierly Tanner called up 
 his men, saddled and rode away. Thornton's 
 horses were given a good feed of barley from the 
 j^ack-train, and with a small herd guard on duty 
 the rest of the command sprawled anywhere where 
 they could find shade, and were snoring in ten 
 minutes' time. 
 
 The sun went down red in the western sky. The 
 smouldering fires in the sandy bottom began to 
 glow with the deepening twilight. One after 
 another the troopers began to awaken, stretch, and 
 yawn, and ask if further news had come in, and 
 just at nightfall one of Tanner's sergeants brought 
 in three jaded civilians, — Ferguson and his friends. 
 All night they had hunted Muncey without suc- 
 cess. All day they had hidden from Apaches, 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 279 
 
 who at dawn, said they, were thick as leaves in 
 the Socorro, and Ferguson was loud in his dis- 
 gust at the escape of the two arch-thieves. And 
 not ten minutes after they came in from the south, 
 covered with dust and drawn by six spanking 
 mules, with a dozen grimy troopers as escort, the 
 general's big black ambulance drove in from the 
 north. 
 
 First to emerge from the interior was a snappy 
 aide-de-camp, followed quickly by the grave, quiet- 
 mannered chief himself. 
 
 "What's the truth about Muncey's party?" 
 asked the aide, in a gasp. " He and a Mexican 
 rode by us like mad, — said they'd been cleaned out 
 completely, and were so demoralized they couldn't 
 stop." 
 
 "Only a case of diamond cut diamond," an- 
 swered Thornton, briefly. " They had been run- 
 ning off horses, mules, and boys for what I know, 
 and the Apaches caught them red-handed. These 
 gentlemen," said he, indicating Ferguson and his 
 party, " want them for horse-stealing, — Kelly for 
 murder and mule-stealing, and all of us, I fancy, 
 for boy-stealing." 
 
 A tall man in scouting dress was backing out of 
 the ambulance at the moment, helping a bright, 
 blue-eyed lad to alight. He turned in quick 
 anxiety as the general asked, " What boy ?" 
 
 " Leon, sir, — little MacDuff. If he wasn't with 
 
280 
 
 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Muncey, I'm sore afraid the Apaches have got 
 him." 
 
 Whereupon the blue-eyed boy burst into tears. 
 "Oh, father," he cried^ ^"^have we come too late 
 after all?" 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Major Cullen, hastening back to the field of 
 duty, had made much quicker time than even he 
 had thought possible. Alighting from the Central 
 Pacific express at the Oakland wharf at eight 
 o'clock of the fair June evening, the little party- 
 was met by an aide-de-camp of the general com- 
 manding the military division of the Pacific, whose 
 head-quarters were in San Francisco, and, as they 
 steamed across the beautiful bay towards the grea.t 
 city of the Golden Gate, with its myriad lights 
 rivalling the reflected images of the stars, the 
 latest tidings from Apache land were unfolded. 
 The military telegraph, the pioneer of its kind, 
 had not then been strung across the Mohave Desert, 
 and all communication between Arizona and the 
 nearest telegraph station — Drum Barracks, at Wil- 
 mington, on the California coast — was by courier 
 or buckboard, and it was here, instead of in Ari- 
 
 24* 281 
 
282 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 zona, that for a time the department commanders 
 had been allowed to establish their office. It was 
 here that the news of the revolt at the reservation 
 was received by the new commander, — here that 
 he had wired to Cullen and received his reply, — 
 here, a few days later, that there was brought to 
 him the tidings of the general uprising. Unlike 
 his predecessors, the new general commanding this 
 remote field decided that the place from which to 
 direct operations was not Drum Barracks, several 
 hundred miles from the scene, but the heart of the 
 Indian country, and thither he went, fast as buck- 
 board could bear him. 
 
 "Tell Cullen he'll find me somewhere in the 
 Sandy Valley or Tonto Basin," he said to his ad- 
 jutant-general as he drove away, and this message 
 was placed in Cullen's hands as, with his silent and 
 devoted wife by his side and Bandy looking eagerly 
 into his face, he was borne swifty over the dancing 
 waters. 
 
 " That means that the general expects them to 
 leave the mountains and raid the mines and settle- 
 ments," said he, reflectively. "What's the first 
 stage or steamer down the coast ?" 
 
 " Nothing now before to-morrow night," was the 
 reply, " unless you can catch the ' Maritana.' She's 
 off for Santa Barbara and Wilmington with sup- 
 plies and ammunition in about an hour." Mrs. 
 Cullen gave a little shiver and drew closer to her 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 283 
 
 soldier husband's side, but said no word. She 
 knew that what he conceived to be the soldier's 
 duty would rule. 
 
 " Then you and Kandall will go with Captain 
 Thorpe to mother's," he gently said, after a mo- 
 ment's thought, " and I will take the boat." 
 
 But when the *' Marllana" sailed that night the 
 major's family went with him. Mrs. Cullen calmly 
 announced her intention of going back to Arizona 
 with her husband, and accepting the warmly prof- 
 fered hospitality of the general's wife until their 
 new quarters should be in readiness. The mail 
 buckboard went on across the California desert 
 within an hour of the '^ Maritana's" arrival, and 
 while Mrs. Cullen was cordially welcomed by the 
 little colony of army wives and mothers at Wil- 
 mington, her husband and her only son hurried 
 on to overtake the chief. It was with infinite mis- 
 giving that she had let Randall go, but the boy 
 pleaded with all his heart and soul, and the father 
 decided. " I promised him that he should cross 
 the desert with me," he said, "instead of going 
 round by sea, as he has both ways thus far, and he 
 will be as safe at Prescott or Camp Sandy or Ret- 
 ribution as he is here, — and Mrs. C 's house is 
 
 crowded now. He is wild to meet Leon again, and 
 the two boys can remain together at the post while 
 I'm in the field. I'm only afraid the fun will be 
 all over before we get there." 
 
284 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 And so it was settled. Many a time before the 
 boy bad been bis father's companion in mountain 
 bunt or scout, but never when the Apacbes were 
 swarming as at tbis moment. "We sball find 
 none of tbem west of Date Creek," said Cullen, 
 " and east of tbere our escort will be too formidable 
 for them to jump. Have no fear for him." But 
 what mother could banish fear for the safety of 
 her only boy ? No one saw her parting with the 
 brave, eager, blue-eyed little fellow. Devotedly 
 though he loved her, he was soldier all over, like 
 his father, and eager to act the soldier's part, — 
 eager to go with him to the seat of war, over moun- 
 tain-pass and desert and treacherous stream-bed, 
 regretting, if anything, that tbere was no likeli- 
 hood of encountering Indians on the way. Her 
 heart was wrung, — yet, like many and many 
 another army mother of the old army days, she 
 simply had to face the inevitable. She was to 
 follow with the general's wife and their party of 
 ladies, children, and servants by steamer around 
 old California, and up the gulf to the Colorado, 
 within the fortnight. By the time they reached 
 Fort Yuma the outbreak would probably be all 
 over and the Indians back in their mountain homes, 
 — the troops in garrison. It was one of those tem- 
 porary separations mothers elsewhere marvelled at 
 and declared impossible, but that army mothers 
 wept over yet bowed to. Night and day for forty- 
 
 I 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE, 285 
 
 eight hours, while she prayed for them within 
 sound of the Pacific surges, father and son whirled 
 rapidly eastward across the turbid Colorado, rest- 
 ing only an hour at Ehrenberg, where they changed 
 buckboard, mules, and driver; then, pushing on 
 again by starlight, gradually rising from billow to 
 billow of the long leagues of desolation to the wild 
 and picturesque scenery of the Sierras, — then 
 through resinous forests of pine, through rocky 
 cafion and winding gorge, until they were landed, 
 stiff and sore, dusty, hungry, and thirsty, among 
 the log huts of the little garrison at old Fort 
 Whipple, catching the department commander just 
 two days before even that impatient soldier thought 
 it possible. 
 
 Then, after a refreshing bath and a few hours' 
 rest, in the general's own big ambulance and es- 
 corted now by wary troopers, away they went for 
 the valley of the Sandy. Everything indicated, 
 said the chief, that the Indians, after wiping out 
 the Santa Anita settlements, had swooped upon the 
 lower valley while the garrison at Retribution was 
 in its state of transition, — and very probably they 
 had made it lively for Thornton. Couriers had 
 rushed to Colonel Pelham at Camp Sandy with 
 orders to send strong columns southward at once, 
 one of them following the valley to meet the gen- 
 eral at the fords just above Apache Canon. Away 
 sped their fine six-mule team down through the 
 
286 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 fertile Hassayampa, — across to the broad valley of 
 Willow Creek, changing mules and escort at the 
 mountain ranch, and getting all manner of startling 
 news and rumors on the way. Away at last for 
 the Sandy, passing early in the afternoon, while 
 Randy was dozing in his corner, the foam-covered, 
 dust-begrimed pair, — Muncey and Cardoza, — " too 
 badly stampeded to stop and talk," said the ser- 
 geant commanding the escort, " but shouting that 
 they alone had escaped." 
 
 " We should reach Retribution by midnight," 
 said the general. "And just won't I hunt up 
 Leon and wake him and hug him the moment I 
 get there, and won't he. be amazed !" said Randall, 
 joyfully. 
 
 The story of the boy's long tramp for home was 
 familiar to one and all by this time, and had won 
 the little fellow a host of friends among officers 
 and soldiers alike. " No one can believe what that 
 fellow Muncey says, though I have reason to think 
 the Apaches have reached the Sandy," said the 
 general. And so, on they went, rattling and bump- 
 ing and jolting down the winding road to the east 
 of the range, and at last pulled up in the midst of 
 Turner's troop at nightfall, and then for the first 
 time did Randall dream that his friend and play- 
 mate — his almost foster-brother — was gone, and 
 no one could say how or where. 
 
 Tired and drowsy as he had been during the 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 287 
 
 long liot day, — tired as all miglit well be, tliere 
 was no thought of weariness now. In breathless 
 interest the little party listened to Major Thorn- 
 ton's description of the events of the previous 
 nio'ht, Kandall's heart throbbinp- hard as he heard 
 of Leon's brave ride for Mrs. Downey's sake, and 
 his tears raining afresh as Thornton told how they 
 had found the pony after daybreak, pierced with 
 Apache arrows near the butte. " Had they searched 
 the butte itself?" asked the general. 
 
 " Every crevice of it, sir," replied Sergeant 
 Charlton, who had found the pony. " There was 
 no trace of him there." 
 
 " Indeed, there was no place there where he 
 could hide," said Eandall, sadly. "We had 
 hunted and played scout all over it, — all over 
 the neighborhood, in fact. The only places we 
 had to hide were in the old caiion itself, because 
 we believed there the Indians wouldn't come." 
 
 "And you had some hiding-places in there?" 
 asked the general, placing his sunburned hand on 
 Kandall's shoulder and looking kindly down into 
 the boy's brimming blue eyes. 
 
 " Yes, sir, three or four of them. We had two 
 down under the cliffs near the south end and 
 another up by the cove where old Sanchez camped, 
 — near where they were when the cloud-burst 
 struck them. We were up tliere twice only ten 
 weeks ago," and again Randy's lips were quivering, 
 
288 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 thougli lie fouglit manfully to control his grief. 
 " We had a regular little cache of stores there— 
 hard-tack and cheese and frijoles— in case we ever 
 had to hide there when we were hunting." 
 
 " You'll make a good frontiersman one of these 
 days, Randall," said the bearded chief, calmly 
 glancing at his watch. " I shouldn't be surprised 
 if you and Leon could teach us a thing or two 
 worth knowing now. Now, Cullen, I've got to 
 push right on for Retribution, — the new post. 
 We'll pick up Tanner's people on the way and 
 take a few of Turner's men from here. Thornton 
 and Turner can go on with me, and you and 
 Randy take their horses and a dozen men and 
 search the cafion to-night. It's my belief that 
 your little protege has given both crowds the slip, 
 and that if he is in the land of the living Randy 
 can find him." 
 
 It was then nine o'clock of another hot, still, 
 cloudless, starlit night. In ten minutes, with a few 
 words of encouragement to the boy and a cordial 
 hand-shake and pat of the shoulder, the general 
 bade them all good-night, sprang lightly into his 
 ambulance, the aide-de-camp following, and away 
 it went, escort and all, splashing through the 
 Sandy. Half an hour later. Major Cullen was 
 once again in saddle among the old familiar scenes, 
 and, followed by Randy, Sergeant Kelly (who was 
 overjoyed to welcome back his old captain), and a 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE, 289 
 
 dozen troopers who had never yet served with him 
 but knew him well, as soldiers will, by reputation, 
 the major rode on down-stream to where, dark and 
 frowning, the black gate loomed before them. 
 Kandall in his mad impatience to be off could 
 hardly wait for the men to be served with coffee 
 and the horses with a bait of barley before starting 
 on the night-ride through the dim and ghostly 
 chasm. Old Kelly gave them constant encourage- 
 ment. " If he was caught by Apaches and killed 
 we'd surely have come upon his body, Masther 
 Randall," said he ; '*' and after he fired that beacon, 
 and Muncey's outfit and the Apaches ran foul of 
 each other, neither party wanted to be burdened 
 with a boy. But the Apaches were between him 
 and the old post. He's had only one place to run 
 for, and that was the cafion. Muncey's outfit 
 probably reached it almost at the same time, and 
 he had to hide from both. By this time, it's my 
 belief, he's stolen out and made his way back to 
 the old post." 
 
 It was nearly midnight when Cullen, riding at 
 brisk walk at the head of the column, pointed 
 silently to the huge black bulk of precipice over- 
 hanging the Sandy a few yards ahead. It was 
 so dark that only by giving the horse his head 
 and an occasional prod with the spurred heel the 
 leader could follow the winding trail. "We're 
 within a few rods of the Sanchez camp," muttered 
 
 N t 26 
 
290 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 Kelly to the impatient boy. " The cafion opens 
 out just below here." 
 
 " I know," said Randall, briefly. " I'm wild to 
 signal to Leon now. He knows my call as well as 
 a bird knows its mate." 
 
 " Ah, but it isn't up here ye'll find him, Masther 
 Randall," said the old man, striving to prepare the 
 boy for disappointment. " It's too far for him to 
 have come, and even if they had fetched him this 
 far, he'd be working back now for the post, where 
 Mrs. Kelly and the girls will be 'mazin' glad to see 
 him." 
 
 But no sooner had the leader of the little column 
 passed the base of the cliff than Randall urged 
 his horse forward to his father's side. "I can 
 tell it in the dark," said he. " May I go ahead ?" 
 Cullen nodded, and the boy spurred eagerly on. 
 The Sandy roared and rushed close by the trail as 
 it turned the point, then more placidly swept along 
 over some pebbly shallows where the heights on 
 the western side fell away and gave place to a deep 
 and sheltered nook. They had reached the spot 
 where the Sanchez party was camped when over- 
 whelmed by the cloud-burst, where the luckless 
 Mexicans that very morning, following blindly 
 their rascally leader, were corralled and massacred 
 without mercy. Their bodies, as we have seen, 
 had been buried by Crane's party, but the stiffened 
 and broken carcasses of the mules still lay there, 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 291 
 
 already beginning to taint the summer air. The 
 major had expected Randy to turn into the cove, 
 but the boy pushed sturdily ahead. 
 
 "How much farther, Randall?" he asked, in 
 low tone. 
 
 " Two hundred yards or so, father. There's a 
 pitahaya * right opposite the place." 
 
 Then for a moment more the click, click of the 
 iron-shod hoofs along the stony trail and the soft 
 rush of the waters were the only sounds to break 
 the silence of the night. Dark and shadowy, still 
 in single file, the party rode unerringly on, Ran- 
 dall leading. The boy's heart was bounding with 
 hope and eagerness. The grief which had over- 
 come him when told of Leon's probable fate had 
 given place to high and spirited resolve to play a 
 man's part in the effort to rescue him. What boy 
 with a drop of soldier blood in his veins would 
 not rejoice in being a " leader of men" amidst such 
 surroundings and on such a quest? No trooper 
 could see more than the dim outline of his file- 
 leader, but Major Cullen's eyes rejoiced in the 
 alert, soldierly bearing of his son. They had 
 almost passed the cove and were once more entering 
 the black shadow of the cliff when Randall's horse 
 shied suddenly, stumbled and went down on his 
 knees. The boy's deft, practised hand had him 
 
 * Pitahaya, the giant cactus-tree. 
 
292 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 up in an instant, but something went slinking 
 away down the bank and, over on the opposite 
 shore, the wild, weird cry of the lynx, half snarl, 
 half warning, rose above the rush of the stream. 
 Somewhere farther down the echoing canon the cry 
 was taken up and repeated, and old Kelly growled 
 aloud. *' The major knows best, sir, but if there's 
 Apaches hanging about here anywhere that's the 
 way they'd be signalling maybe, and I wouldn't 
 like to have them heaving rocks down on Masther 
 Eandall." 
 
 " We're almost there now, father," spoke the boy 
 for himself. " They can't roll rocks on us once I 
 get you in there. There's our landmark now." 
 And right ahead, around another abrupt shoulder 
 or cliff, there loomed up through the night the 
 shaft of a tall cactus, — the Cereus giganteiis of the 
 Gila Basin, — and here again the heights broke 
 away, and through a broad opening to the right 
 the stars peeped down in silvery splendor. Un- 
 hesitatingly the boy led on into this nook of the 
 mountains. One after another the click of hoofs 
 on the rocks gave place to soft thud upon the 
 yielding turf, and presently, as Randall reined in 
 and threw himself from the saddle, the party 
 gathered in silence around him. 
 
 " It's quite ^ climb from here," he said. " Will 
 you come, father, — and Kelly? The rest had 
 better stay." 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 293 
 
 A trooper took their reins. Silently the boy- 
 led on, bending low and searching the foot-trail. 
 In a minute they were climbing some steep as- 
 cent, slowly, cautiously. Presently they reached 
 the little ledge of rock and stopped to breathe. 
 Down in the depths of the cove a trooper struck a 
 match to light his pipe, and the stern voice of Ser- 
 geant Charlton reproved him with, "Don't you 
 know that if there are Indians about, that's a sure 
 way of telling them where to fire." 
 
 " I've got to light a match in a minute, father," 
 said Randall, " but it will be so far in the cleft it 
 won't be seen above." Then once again he pushed 
 on, still climbing some old game-trail. About two 
 hundred feet above the bottom he stopped, his heart 
 beating hard. " I'm going to give our signal," he 
 whispered. "It's one we had when we played 
 scout." 
 
 A moment of silence, and then in low, mellow 
 whistle two notes, not unlike the "Bob White" 
 pipe of our quail, were lifted on the night air. 
 Breathless, all the troopers far below — the little 
 party on the hill-side — waited the result. " The 
 boy's right," muttered old Kelly to himself " If 
 Leon's in hiding from Apaches anywhere here, 
 he'll welcome that call." No answer came, and 
 once again, a little louder, Randall piped anew. 
 Still no result, and with a sob in his voice the boy 
 turned. 
 
 25* 
 
294 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 " I'll not give ujd till I've searched the cave,'* he 
 said ; " but he'd have answered if he'd heard," and 
 so once more led on. Presently they came to a 
 deep cleft in a bold outcropping of rock, and into 
 this Eandall cautiously turned. "Keep a few 
 yards behind me," he whispered ; " I've got to 
 light my match." 
 
 One moment, and with a snap and flare the 
 blue flame of the lucifer flashed upon their sight, 
 slowly turned to a yellow-red, and was lifted 
 towards a dark aperture in the rock. One instant 
 of hesitation, — of doubt and bitter disappointment, 
 — and the boy passed stealthily in. Then some- 
 thing seemed to stir far back in the dark. There 
 was a sudden start, — a stifled gasp. Then a simul- 
 taneous cry, " Leon !" " Randy !" And in a con- 
 fusion of sounds of scrambling and hugging, and 
 something suspiciously like sobbing and laughter 
 intermingled, the match went out. 
 
 When, after a moment's lull, old Kelly struck a 
 light and peered with moistened eyes, the boys 
 were apparently doing a bear-dance together, and 
 a bear-dance consists in hugging one's partner 
 tight as tight can and hopping up and down, 
 around and around, — and then the word went 
 down the heights in a jubilant shout, and was 
 answered by a soldier cheer, " MacDuff" is found, — 
 all right !" 
 
 What a story Leon had to tell when late that 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 295 
 
 night they sat about the camp-fire ! Riding back 
 from the new post, his pony had shied in an arroyo 
 some two miles from the Sandy, and he had lost 
 his hat in the dark. Then, while hunting for it, 
 the pony took a notion to wander, and was pres- 
 ently lost to view. Dismayed, Leon searched over 
 the flats, but to no purpose. Not until the dawn 
 was breaking did he come upon him again, close to 
 Signal Butte, quietly grazing ; and then, all on a 
 sudden, he heard the firing at Kelly's, and in less 
 than no time a dozen shadowy forms flitted be- 
 tween him and the distant guard-lights at the post, 
 and he realized that the Apaches were in the valley. 
 Leaving his pony to his own devices, Leon climbed 
 the rocky height and, taking no thought of his 
 own danger, fired the beacon. Then, hurrying 
 down in hopes of escape, discovered several In- 
 dians rushing for the butte, saw that his retreat to 
 the post was cut off", and made with all speed for the 
 canon, thinking to hide in safety there until the 
 coast was clear ; but they followed, or at least he 
 thought it was they. He heard the shouts and 
 hoof-beats at the entrance. Terror lent him wings, 
 and he ran like a deer up the gorge. Walking 
 and running, an hour's flight brought him, almost 
 exhausted, to their cove of refuge. Here he clam- 
 bered to the cave and there lay for hours, listening 
 later to the shouts and sounds of battle, never 
 daring to creep forth even when nightfall came, 
 
296 SIGNAL BUTTE. 
 
 and, after long hours of vigil, worn out, lie fell 
 asleep, only to wake in Randall's arms. 
 
 Leaving the boys to the care of his friends at the 
 new post, Major Cullen, with three troops of his 
 new regiment, chased the scattering Apaches out 
 of the Tonto Basin without further loss to settler 
 or soldier. They had had their dance, and had 
 sense enough to know when to quit. 
 
 Old Fort Retribution is only a memory now. 
 Apache Cafion is threaded by a narrow-gauge rail- 
 way. A populous settlement has sprung up in the 
 Santa Anita. Kelly's ranch is owned by one of 
 the Kellys, but under another name, — that of her 
 husband, — for the old sergeant was gathered to his 
 fathers long years ago. Muncey never came back, 
 even when the Santa Anita mines were worth re- 
 visiting, — even when the claim of MacNutt and 
 Murray was sold to good advantage and Leon's 
 sole benefit. Ferguson's beautiful roan had reap- 
 peared after a time, as did Ferguson and his 
 friends, and they said they found her over in the 
 Agua Fria country, where Muncey and Cardoza 
 seemed to have run foul of the Apaches again, and 
 this time without escape. At any rate. Apaches 
 were seen there just a day or so before the runa- 
 ways, and they covered a multitude of sins. The 
 old butte flamed its signal once again long years 
 later, when the Indians had an outbreak on the 
 Cibicu, but that was after Pelham and the — th 
 
SIGNAL BUTTE. 297 
 
 had served their five years in Arizona, and, with 
 Major Cullen and Kandall, left for the new stations 
 in Kansas and Nebraska and for long campaigns 
 against their old friends, the Sioux and Cheyennes. 
 By this time the boys had spent their high-school 
 days in San Francisco and were sprouting down 
 upon their sun-tanned cheeks and planning for 
 future years of service in the life they loved ; and 
 the last time I saw them was some ten years ago, — 
 Leon a stout, stalwart sergeant in the cavalry, — 
 Randall riding, a platoon commander in his 
 father's regiment, — all the better soldiers, both of 
 them, for the boy days in scout and saddle around 
 Apache Cafion and under the shadows of old Signal 
 Butte. 
 
RETURN K, 1 
 TO— ► N 
 
 R! F 
 
 
 1 '^ 
 
 '2' : 
 
 ] 
 
 4 
 
 5 t 
 
 ) 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 SENT ON ILL 
 
 
 
 \^i)1 1 1 1398 
 
 
 
 U. C. BERKELEY 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD 19 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
Trooper Koss and 
 ' Jiutta 
 
 M12U49 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY