Book: Sunset Pass

C >> Charles King >> Sunset Pass



SUNSET PASS

OR

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET THROUGH APACHE LAND

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING

AUTHOR OF "THE DESERTER", "A WAR-TIME WOOING", ETC




COPYRIGHTED, 1890
BY JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY

NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE




[Illustration: CAPT. CHAS. KING]




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


Capt. Chas. King

He Drew Little Nell close to Him

Manuelito Was shuffling about the Fire Apparently doing Nothing

"Where's Manuelito?"

His First Duty seemed to be to get the Provisions from the Wagon

"Jim, Old Boy, We've got to pull Together To-night"

"My God! There's not a Living Soul in Sight"

Bending Down He raised Her in His Strong Arms Away He Flew at Full Speed

The Two Men set to Work to build Their Breastwork

Nellie, Clinging to Her Nurse, was terrified by the Sounds

The Poor Devil was now seated, Bound and Helpless, on a Rock by the
Roadside

"That's what Jim took for an Apache"

One Vehement Kick and Curse He Gave Him

With One Backward Look He staggered Wearily on

"My God! What can have Happened? It's Captain Gwynne?"

Evidently the One Who was shot was a Man of Some Prominence among
Them--Possibly a Chief

All of a Sudden a Black Shadow rushed through the Air

Down With these Stones, Now!"

The Bullet of the Little Ballard had taken Him just under the Eye




SUNSET PASS.




CHAPTER I.

A RASH RESOLVE.


"Better take my advice, sir. The road ahead is thick with the Patchies."

"But you have come through all alone, my friend; why should I not go? I
have been stationed among the Apaches for the last five years and have
fought them all over Arizona. Surely I ought to know how to take care of
myself."

"I don't doubt that, captain. It's the kids I'm thinking of. The
renegades from the reservation are out in great numbers now and they are
supposed to be all down in the Tonto Basin, but I've seen their moccasin
tracks everywhere from the Colorado Chiquito across the 'Mogeyone,' and
I'm hurrying in to Verde now to give warning and turn the troops this
way."

"Well, why didn't they attack you, then, Al?"

The party thus addressed by the familiar diminutive of "Al" paused a
moment before reply, an odd smile flitting about his bearded lips. A
stronger, firmer type of scout and frontiersman than Al Sieber never sat
in saddle in all Arizona in the seventies, and he was a noted character
among the officers, soldiers, pioneers, and Apaches. The former
respected and trusted him. The last named feared him as they did the
Indian devil. He had been in fight after fight with them; had had his
share of wounds, but--what the Apaches recoiled from in awe was the fact
that he had never met them in the field without laying one at least of
their number dead in his tracks. He was a slim-built, broad-shouldered,
powerful fellow, with a keen, intelligent face, and eyes that were
kindly to all his friends, but kindled at sight of a foe. A
broad-brimmed, battered slouch hat was pulled well down over his brows;
his flannel shirt and canvas trousers showed hard usage; his pistol belt
hung loose and low upon his hips and on each side a revolver swung. His
rifle--Arizona fashion--was balanced athwart the pommel of his saddle,
and an old Navajo blanket was rolled at the cantle. He wore Tonto
leggins and moccasins, and a good-sized pair of Mexican spurs jingled at
his heels. He looked--and so did his horse--as though a long, hard ride
was behind them, but that they were ready for anything yet.

"It makes a difference, captain--their attacking me or you. I've been
alive among 'em so many years that they have grown superstitious.
Sometimes I half believe they think I can't be killed. Then, too, I may
have slipped through unnoticed, but you--with all this outfit--why!
you're sure to be spotted, followed, and possibly ambushed in Sunset
Pass. It's the worst place along the route."

Captain Gwynne looked anxiously about him a moment. He was a
hard-headed, obstinate fellow, and he hated to give up. Two months ago
his wife had died, leaving to his care two dear little ones--a boy of
nine and a girl of six. He soon determined to take them East to his home
in far Pennsylvania. There was no Southern Pacific or any other Arizona
railway in those days. Officers and their families who wanted to go East
had to turn their faces westward, take a four or five days' "buckboard"
ride across the dusty deserts to the Colorado River, camp there perhaps
a week before "Captain Jack Mellon" came backing or sideways down the
shallow stream with his old "Cocopah." Then they sculled or ground their
way over the sand bars down to Fort Yuma, a devious and monotonous trip;
then were transferred to "lighten" or else, on the same old Cocopah,
were floated out into the head of the Gulf of California and there
hoisted aboard the screw steamers of the Ocean line--either the Newbern
or the Montana, and soon went plunging down the gulf, often very
sea-sick, yet able to get up and look about when their ship poked in at
some strange old Mexican town, La Paz or Guaymas, and finally, turning
Cape St. Lucas, away they would steam up the coast to San Francisco,
which they would reach after a two weeks' sea voyage and then, hey for
the Central Pacific, Cape Horn, the Sierras, Ogden, and the tramp to the
Union Pacific and, at last, home in the distant east, all after a
journey of five or six weeks and an expense of months of the poor
officer's pay.

Now Captain Gwynne was what we called a "close" man. He could not bear
the idea of spending something like a thousand dollars in taking
himself, little Ned and Nellie, and their devoted old nurse, Irish Kate,
by that long and expensive route. He had two fine horses and a capital
family wagon, covered. He had a couple of stout mules and a good baggage
wagon. Jim, his old driver, would go along to take care of "the
Concord," as the family cart was termed. Manuelito, a swarthy Mexican,
would drive the mules; the captain would ride his own pet saddle horse,
Gregg, and a discharged soldier, whom he hired for the purpose, would
ride McIntosh, the other charger. All were well armed. Parties were
going unmolested over the Sunset Pass route every month. Why should not
he?

The officers at Prescott shook their heads and endeavored to dissuade
him, but the more they argued the more determined was he. There were
tearful eyes among the ladies at Prescott barracks, where Mrs. Gwynne
had been dearly loved, when they bade good-by to the children. But one
fine day away went "the outfit;" stopped that night at Camp Verde, deep
down in the valley; started again early in the morning, despite the
protestations of the garrison, and that evening were camping among the
beautiful pine woods high up on the Mogollon range. Sieber's
pronunciation of the name--"Mogeyone"--will give you a fair idea of what
it is really like.

And now, three days out on the Mesa, Ned and Nellie, in silence, but
with beating hearts, were listening to this conversation between their
father and the famous scout, and hoping, poor little mites, that their
father would be advised and turn back until met by cavalry from Verde;
yet so loyal to him, so trustful to him, that neither to one another nor
to Kate would they say a word.

"Well, Sieber, I've argued this thing out with all Prescott and Verde,"
said the captain at last. "I've sworn I wouldn't turn back, and so, by
jinks, I'm going ahead. It's all open country around Snow Lake, and I
can keep on the alert when we reach the Pass."

"You know your business best, I suppose, captain, but--" and Sieber
stopped abruptly and gazed through the open windows of the Concord at
the two little forms huddled together, with such white faces, on the
back seat.

"Well, won't you at least wait and camp here a day or so? I'll go down
by way of Wales Arnold's and get him to send up a couple of men. That
won't be going back, and you'll be tolerably safe here. The cavalry
won't be long getting out this way."

"And meantime having my beasts eating barley by the bucketful so that I
won't have enough to get through? No, Al, I've made calculations just
how many days it will take me to get over to Wingate, and delay would
swamp me. I don't mean to discredit your story, of course, but
everybody, even at Verde, said the renegades were all down by Tonto
Creek, and I cannot believe they would be out here to the northeast. I'm
going ahead."

"Well, Captain Gwynne, I give up. If you're bound to go there's no use
talking. Stop one moment though!" He spurred his broncho close to the
window, and thrusting in his wiry arm drew little Nell close to him,
bent and kissed tenderly her bonny face.

[Illustration: HE DREW LITTLE NELL CLOSE TO HIM.]

"God guard you, baby," he murmured, as finally he set her down. "Adios,
Ned, my lad," and he shook the little man heartily by the hand. "Good
luck all! Now I must gallop to make up time." He turned quickly away and
went "loping" down the trail, but his gauntlet was drawn across his eyes
two or three times before he disappeared from view. Two white little
faces gazed wistfully after him and then into each other's eyes. Irish
Kate muttered a blessing on the gallant fellow's head. "Come on, Jim,"
said the captain, with darkening face, and presently the little train
was again in motion, winding over the range that, once passed, brings
them in view of Snow Lake with the gloomy, jagged rocks bounding the
horizon far beyond. There is a deep cleft that one sees in that barrier
just as he emerges from the pine woods along the ridge, and that distant
cleft is Sunset Pass.

Though seldom traveled, the mountain road from Fort Verde over to Fort
Wingate was almost always in fair condition. Rains were very few and did
little damage, and so at a rapid, jingling trot the wagons lunged ahead
while the captain and Pike, the retired trooper, rode easily alongside
or made occasional scouts to the front.

Knowing that his children must have heard his talk with Sieber, the
captain soon dropped back opposite the open window and thrust in his
hand for the little ones to shake.

"You're not afraid to go ahead, Ned, my boy! I knew I could count on
you," said he heartily. "And Nell can hardly be afraid with you and her
old dragoon dad to guard her. Isn't it so, pet?"

And the wan little face smiled back to prove Nellie's confidence in
father, while Ned stoutly answered:

"I'm never afraid to go anywhere you want me to go, father. And then I
haven't had a chance to try my rifle yet."

The boy held up to view a dainty little Ballard target gun--a toy of a
thing--but something of which he was evidently very proud.

"And then we've got good old Pike, papa--and Kate here--I'm sure she
could fight," piped up little Nell, but there was no assent to this
proposition from the lips of poor Kate. All along she had opposed the
journey, and was filled with dread whenever it was spoken of. Vainly had
she implored the officers and ladies at Prescott to prohibit the captain
from making so rash an attempt. Nothing would avail. As ill-luck would
have it the lieutenant colonel recently gazetted to the infantry
regiment stationed in Northern Arizona had just come safely through from
Wingate with exactly such an "outfit," but without such guards, and
Captain Gwynne declared that what man had done man could do. There were
plenty of people who would have taken her off the captain's hands, but
nothing would induce the faithful creature to leave the motherless
"childer." She loved them both--and if they were to go through danger
she would go with them. All the same she stood sturdily out in her
resentment toward the captain and would not answer now. Jim, too, on the
driver's seat, was gloomily silent. Manuelito with the mules in rear had
listened to Sieber's warning with undisguised dismay. Only
Pike--ex-corporal of the captain's troop--rode unconcernedly ahead. What
cared he for Apaches? He had fought them time and again.

Nevertheless when Captain Gwynne came cantering out to the front and
joined his old non-commissioned officer, it was with some surprise that
he listened to Pike's salutation.

"May I say a word to the captain?"

"Certainly, Pike; say on."

"I was watching Manuelito, sir, while the captain was talking with
Sieber. Them greasers are a bad lot, sir--one and all. There isn't one
of 'em I'd trust as far as I could sling a bull by the tail. That
Manuelito is just stampeded by what he's heard, and while he dare not
whirl about and go now, I warn the captain to have an eye on the mules
to-night. He'll skip back for the Verde with only one of them rather
than try Sunset Pass to-morrow."

"Why! confound it, Pike, that fellow has been in my service five years
and never failed me yet."

"True enough, sir; but the captain never took him campaigning. They do
very well around camp, sir, but they'd rather face the gates of
purgatory than try their luck among the Tontos. I believe one Apache
could lick a dozen of 'em."

The captain turned slowly back, and took a good look at the Mexican as
he sat on his high spring seat, and occasionally encouraged his team
with endearing epithets, or, as in the manner of the tribe, scored them
with wildest blasphemy. Ordinarily Manuelito was wont to show his white
teeth, and touch the broad, silver-edged brim of his sombrero, when "el
capitan" reined back to see how he was getting along. To-day there was a
sullen scowl for the first moment, and then, as though suddenly
recollecting himself, the dark-skinned fellow gave a ghastly sort of
grin--and the captain felt certain that Pike's idea was right. The
question was simply how to circumvent him.

At sunset the little party was cosily camped on the edge of Snow Lake--a
placid little sheet far up among the mountains. The plateau was broken
by a low ridge a few miles east, through a gap in which, known as Jarvis
Pass, ran the road to Sunset Pass beyond. Horses and mules, securely
tethered, were grazing close at hand. The two wagons were drawn in near
the little camp-fire. The children were having a jolly game of hide and
seek and stretching their legs after the long day's ride in the wagon.
Kate was stowing away the supper dishes. Manuelito was stretched upon
the turf, his keen, eager eyes following every motion of his captain,
even though his teeth held firmly the little paper tobacco holder he
called his "papelito." Out on the open ground beyond the little bunch of
trees Pike could be seen, carbine in hand, scouting the prairie-like
surface and keeping guard against surprise. The sun went down. Twilight
hovered over them; Kate had cuddled her beloved "childer" into their
beds in the wagon and the captain had come around to kiss them
good-night. Manuelito still sprawled near the tiny blaze, smoking and
watching, and at last, as the bulky form of the Irish nurse-maid
disappeared within the canvas walls of the wagon, the Mexican sprang
from his recumbent position, turned, and with quick, stealthy step sped
away through the clumps of trees to where the animals were placidly
browsing. He bent his lithe body double, even though he knew that at
this moment the captain and the ex-corporal were over at the east end of
their little camp-ground, chatting together in low tones. He laughed to
himself as he reached his mules and found them heavily hoppled with iron
chains.

"As if I would take a burro when one stroke gives me a _caballo
grande_," he muttered, and pushed still further out to where the four
horses were "lariated" near the timber. A word to "Gregg" whom he had
often cared for; a gleam of his knife from the sheath and the gallant
horse was free to follow him. Still in silence and stealth he led him
back toward the camp-fire where the saddles were piled. Still he marked
that Captain Gwynne and Pike were in earnest talk down at the other end
of the camp. Warily he reached forward to grasp the captain's saddle,
when a low exclamation was heard from that officer himself and, peering
at him through the trees, the Mexican could see that he was eagerly
pointing westward and calling Pike to his side. Instinctively Manuelito
glanced over his shoulder and saw a sight that told him horse-thieving
would not save his tawny hide; that told him their retreat was cut off,
and their only hope now was in standing together. Back among the pines
through which they had come; well upon the ridge, and not ten miles
away, blazed an Indian signal fire. It was the Apache summons for a
quick "gathering of the clans."

Now God help the bairnies in the wagon!




CHAPTER II.

MANUELITO'S TREACHERY.


All this time Darkey Jim had been sleeping soundly, wrapped in his
blankets, with his feet to the fire. There was never an hour, day or
night, when this lively African could not loll at full length, in
sunshine or shade, and forget his cares, if cares he ever had, in less
than three minutes. In this case, despite Sieber's warning, which he had
overheard, he simply took note of the fact that the captain and Corporal
Pike were looking after things and that was enough for him. There was no
use in worrying when "Marsa Gwin" was on guard, and within an hour from
the time he had had his substantial supper, Jim was snoring melodiously,
with his head buried in his arms.

Manuelito was thoroughly aware of this trait of his "stable-mate," else
he had not dared to bring the captain's horse so close to the fire. Now
his fierce, half Indian face seemed full of perplexity and dread. The
Apache signal fire still glowed among the black pines away to the
westward. The captain and Corporal Pike were hurriedly coming towards
him through the stunted trees,--yet here he stood with "Gregg," all
irresolute, all fearful what to do. Back towards those black pines and
the long reach of road beyond he dare not go. The Tontos held the line
of retreat. Here in camp he hardly dare remain for the keen cut in
"Gregg's" side line showed plainly that the knife had been used, and
left him accused of treachery. Out of the fire light and back to the
grazing ground he must get the horse at once--but what then? Noiselessly
turning, he led Gregg, wondering, back to the glade in which the other
horses were tethered, and quickly drove his picket pin and put him on
the half lariat. But how was he to conceal the severed side line? Off it
came, both nervous hands working rapidly, and then when he had about
determined to cut off the lines of one of Jim's mules and so throw
suspicion on him, his African mate, he was aware of his captain striding
through the trees toward him. He could almost have run away. But the
next words re-assured him.

"That you, Manuelito?" challenged Captain Gwynne in low, hoarse tones.
"All right! Take the side lines off Gregg and saddle him for me at once.
I have work to do."

The Mexican could hardly believe in his escape. For the time being, at
least, he stood safe. It would be easy enough later to "lose" the
telltale side line in the waters of the lake. Manuelito cursed his folly
in having used the knife at all. Haste prompted that piece of bad
judgment. He could have unbuckled them just as well. But all the same he
blessed his lucky stars for this respite. In three minutes he had
"Gregg" saddled and ready by the little camp-fire. There stood the
captain and Pike in low and earnest conversation.

"I shall only go out a short four miles," said the former, "but I must
satisfy myself as to whether those beggars are coming this way to-night.
Gregg and I have 'stalked' them many a time and the country is all flat
and open for six miles back."

"I wish the captain would stay here and let me go," pleaded Pike.

"No! I'm never satisfied without seeing for myself. You and Manuelito
will have your arms in constant readiness, and watch for me as I come
back. There's no moon--no light--but so much the better for my purpose.
Is he all ready, Manuelito? Let me glance at my little ones in the
ambulance before I start."

Who can say with what love and yearning the father bent over those
little faces as he peered in upon them? The flickering light of the
camp-fire threw an occasional glimmer over them--just enough to enable
him to see at times the contour yet hardly to reveal the features of
"his babies." He dare not kiss for fear of waking them. "God bless and
guard you, darlings," was the choking prayer that fell from his lips.
Then, vigorous and determined, he sprang into saddle.

"Now, Pike," he muttered, "you've been with me in many a night bivouac
and you know your orders. They never attack at night unless they know
they have an absolutely sure thing, and they haven't--with you three.
Jim, there, can fight like a tiger whenever there is need. Watch the
horses. I'll be back in an hour or there'll be reason for my staying."

Three minutes more and they heard the rhythmic beat of "Gregg's" hoofs
out on the open plateau and dying away westward, sturdy, measured,
steady in the trot the captain preferred to any other gait. Pike moved
out to the edge of the timber, where he could hear the last of it--a big
anxiety welling up in his heart and a world of responsibility with it;
but he clutched his carbine the more firmly and gave a backward glance,
his face softening as his eyes fell upon the wagon where little Ned and
Nell lay sleeping, and darkening with menace and suspicion as he took
one swift look at Manuelito, cowering there over the fire.

"Blast that monkey-hearted greaser!" he muttered. "I believe he would
knife the whole party just to get the horses and slip away. I'll keep my
ears open to the west--but I'll have my eyes on you."

Once out at his chosen station, Pike found himself in a position where
he could "cover" three important objects. Here, close at his right hand,
between him and the lake, the horses and mules were browsing peacefully
and as utterly undisturbed as though there were not an Apache within a
thousand miles. To his rear, about fifty yards, were the two wagons, the
little camp-fire and flitting restlessly about it the slouching form of
Manuelito. In front of him, close at hand, nothing but a dark level of
open prairie; then a stretch of impenetrable blackness; then, far away
towards the western horizon, that black, piney ridge, stretching from
north to south across the trail they had come along that day; and right
there among the pines--Pike judged it to be several miles south of the
road--there still glared and flamed that red beacon that his long
service in Arizona told him could mean to the Apaches only one
thing--"Close in!"--and well he knew that with the coming morn all the
renegades within range would be gathered along their path, and that if
they got through Sunset Pass without a fight it would be a miracle.

The night was still as the grave; the skies cloudless and studded with
stars. One of these came shooting earthward just after he took his post,
and seemed to plunge into vacancy and be lost in its own combustion over
towards Jarvis Pass behind him. This gave him opportunity to glance
backward again, and there was Manuelito still cowering over the fire.
Then once more he turned to the west, watching, listening.

Many a year had old Pike served with the standards of the cavalry. All
through the great civil war he had born manful, if humble part, but with
his fifth enlistment stripe on his dress coat, a round thousand dollars
of savings and a discharge that said under the head of "Character," "A
brave, reliable and trustworthy man," the old corporal had chosen to add
to his savings by taking his chances with Captain Gwynne, hoping to
reach Santa Fe and thence the Kansas Pacific to St. Louis, to betterment
of his pocket and to the service of one, at least, of his former troop
commanders. No coward was Pike, but he had visions of a far-away home
his coming would bless, where a loved sister's children would gather
about his knee and hear his stories of battle and adventure, and where
his dollars would enable him to give comforts and comfits, toys and
"taffee" to her little ones. Was he not conscious that her eldest boy
must be now fourteen, named for him, Martin Pike, and a young American
all through? It must be confessed that as the ex-corporal stood there at
his night post under the stars he half regretted that he had embarked on
this risky enterprise.

"If it were anybody else now but old Gwynne," he muttered to himself,
"things wouldn't be so mixed, but he never did have any horse sense and
now has run us into this scrape--and it's a bad one or I'm no judge."

Then he glanced over his shoulder again. Manuelito was shuffling about
the fire apparently doing nothing. Presently the ex-corporal saw the
Mexican saunter up to the wagons and Pike took several strides through
the timber watching before he said a word; yet, with the instinct of the
old soldier, he brought his carbine to full cock. Somehow or other he
"could not tolerate that greaser."

[Illustration: MANUELITO WAS SHUFFLING ABOUT THE FIRE APPARENTLY DOING
NOTHING.]

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.