"Won't the captain ride with us--now?" asked the nearest sergeant.
"Not if it robs a man of his mount," was the answer. Yet there was
longing in his eye and all men saw it. He had led them day after day,
trudging afoot, because his own lads could not ride. Indeed, there had
been few hours when any horse could safely bear a rider. There came
half a dozen offers now. "I'll tramp afoot if the captain 'll only
take my horse," said more than one man.
And so the captain was with them, as with darkness settling down they
neared the great cliff towering against the southeastward sky. Then
suddenly they realized they were guided thither only just in time to
raise a well-nigh fatal siege. Thundering down the mountain side a big
bowlder came tearing its way, launched from the very point that had
been the landmark of their eager coming, and with the downward
crashing of the rock there burst a yell of fury.
Midway up the steep incline, among the straggling timber, two lithe
young Indians were seen bounding out of a little gully, only just in
time to escape. Two or three others, farther aloft, darted around a
shoulder of cliff as though scurrying out of sight. From the edge of
the precipice the crack of a revolver was followed by a second, and
then by a scream. "Dismount!" cried Brewster, as he saw the captain
throw himself from his horse; then, leaving only two or three to
gather in their now excited steeds, snapping their carbines to full
cock, with blazing eyes and firm-set lips, the chosen band began their
final climb. "Don't bunch. Spread out right and left," were the only
cautions, and then in long, irregular line, up the mountain steep they
clambered, hope and duty still leading on, the last faint light of the
November evening showing them their rocky way. Now, renegadoes, it is
fight or flee for your lives!
Perhaps a hundred yards farther up the jagged face the leaders came
upon an incline so steep that, like the Tontos above them, they were
forced to edge around to the southward, whither their comrades
followed. Presently, issuing from the shelter of the pines, they came
upon a bare and bowlder-dotted patch to cross which brought them
plainly into view of the heights above, and almost instantly under
fire. Shot after shot, to which they could make no reply, spat and
flattened on the rocks about them, but, dodging and ducking
instinctively, they pressed swiftly on. Once more within the partial
shelter of the pines across the open, they again resumed the climb,
coming suddenly upon a sight that fairly spurred them. There, feet
upward among the bowlders, stiff and swollen in death, lay all that
the lynxes had left of a cavalry horse. Close at hand was the battered
troop saddle. Caught in the bushes a few rods above was the folded
blanket, and, lodged in a crevice, still higher, lay the felt-covered
canteen, stenciled with the number and letter of Wren's own troop. It
was the horse of the orderly, Horn--the horse on which the Bugologist
had ridden away in search of Angela Wren. It was all the rescuers
needed to tell them they were now on the trail of both, and now the
carbines barked in earnest at every flitting glimpse of the foe,
sending the wary Tontos skipping and scurrying southward. And, at
last, breathless, panting, well-nigh exhausted, the active leaders
found themselves halting at a narrow, twisting little game trail,
winding diagonally up the slope, with that gray scarp of granite
jutting from the mountain side barely one hundred yards farther; and,
waving from its crest, swung by unseen hands, some white, fluttering
object, faintly seen in the gathering dusk, beckoned them on. The last
shots fired at the last Indians seen gleamed red in the autumn
gloaming. They, the rescuers, had reached their tryst only just as
night and darkness shrouded the westward valley. The last man up had
to grope his way, and long before that last man reached the ledge the
cheering word was passed from the foremost climber: "Both here, boys,
and safe!"