CHAPTER VI.

Meantime there had been the mischief to pay at Sandy. Captain Canker, as we have seen, was irate at the defeat of his little scheme for the “discipline” of his subordinates. It was some consolation to discover that Glenham had escaped the toils only at the expense of Truscott, who, thought Canker, would be far more missed at the ball than the officer whose going he had originally interdicted. Then when the telegraphic summons reached him which virtually made it his duty to send Truscott up to Fort Whipple, he was chagrined and disgusted beyond expression. There was an implied censure in the words “unless services are urgently needed” which indicated to him that the general thought his detention of either Glenham or Truscott a piece of arbitrariness (“not so much that as contrariness,” explained Colonel Pelham afterwards) and unwarranted by the circumstances as known to him the night before the start. But Canker, like many a better man, was judged subsequently by the light of events that he could not then have known, and, unlike many a better man, received support and sympathy in place of censure. Now that two of the colonel’s favorites had escaped him, Canker bethought him of a third victim, the regimental quartermaster. This officer, a gentleman who had grown old in service, was already gray and rheumatic, who habitually walked with a cane when he walked at all, had originally been appointed to his staff position because, said the then commanding officer, “He isn’t good for anything else.” He had, nevertheless, proved a very efficient and valuable quartermaster, and had for some years performed the varied and intricate functions of that office without having added much to his own comfort, but a great deal towards the comfort of others. There is never a time on the frontier when the dames of the garrison, from the lady of the commanding officer down to the widow of the late Private Moriarty (who still hangs on to her husband’s old company for sustenance), are not besieging the post quartermaster with some plea or other,—a partition to be put up here, a chimney repaired, glass put in, a new coat of paint in the parlor, a storm-door like the colonel’s, a new stove like the one you gave Mrs. Major, or a wash-biler an’ findher like Mrs. Mulligan’s. They are always pestering him for something. The great depot of Jeffersonville does not contain the volume of stores that could be asked for by the women of a four-company post in one winter; there is never enough of any one item to go round, and always more applicants than there are coal-scuttles; somebody has to be refused, and frequently fifteen or twenty somebodies, and then nothing under heaven can save that quartermaster’s reputation. The patience of Job (without his boils), the meekness of Moses, and the resources of Rothschild might help that functionary in his desperately hopeless task of satisfying a whole garrison, but they couldn’t do it long. The more you give some women the more they demand, and the annual appropriation for the purchase of army stores and supplies could readily be distributed among the laundresses of any one regiment (in the days when we had those blessings) without satisfying their cravings for more. It isn’t always that they really need the article demanded, they simply want something that some other woman hasn’t, so that she may want and cannot get it, and the rule is general, being by no means confined to the sturdy wives of the rank and file, but applicable to the ladies whose garments they weekly washed and mutilated at New York prices. God help the nervous, sensitive, or irritable man who has to take these duties on his shoulders; not one in a hundred could long maintain a mental balance, let alone the financial ditto.

But Bucketts was no such martyr. He had been a colonel of volunteers, was shot through the leg in the Wilderness, and hobbled into the veteran reserves, thence into the infantry of the line as a second lieutenant, and had succeeded only in getting a modest bar on his shoulders when the consolidation of ’71 took place and wellnigh stranded him. Thrown upon the unassigned list, he would have had small chance of retention but for the fact that the “Benzine Board” speedily made more vacancies in the cavalry than in the rest of the arms of service combined, and very properly, said the slow going infantry and artillerymen, we should profit by the fastness of you horsemen which has rendered promotion a possibility. And so several score of semi-invalided and semi-mustered-out footmen, dozens of whom had never straddled a horse in their lives (and to this day are objects of wonderment to their men when they “get into saddle”), became full-fledged cavalry officers. Bucketts accepted the situation like a man, came out and joined the —th in Nebraska when the Union Pacific was being built, his baggage consisting of one trunk and three baskets of champagne. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I understand that a cavalry officer who is thrown has to set up the wine for the crowd. The law of the land has made me a cavalryman, but all the Congressmen from the Capitol to John Chamberlin’s couldn’t make me a horseman. There’s my credentials: pitch in, and let up on me hereafter!” Bucketts was a popular man from that day. Whereas Canker, who entered the —th at the same time and under precisely similar circumstances, barring the wound, seemed to imagine that his new commission as captain of cavalry carried with it all that the name implied, and that he became an authority on horses and horsemanship without further qualification. Profound discretion in the selection of his “mounts” had enabled him thus far to escape the ignominy of a “throw,” but he never rode or could ride a horse twenty-five miles without laying that horse up chafed and sore for days afterward, yet he was incessantly punishing his men for faulty horsemanship.

Bucketts had not done a particle of guard duty for three or four years. His office duties were constant, and when not at his desk he would bestride a fat, easygoing little saddle-mule and amble about the post with a green-lined sun-umbrella hoisted over his head and blue-glass shades for his eyes, and thus keep track of the improvements and the working-parties; he gave his whole attention to his legitimate work, and was rarely called upon for any other; but this time Canker concluded, in his own language, to “give Bucketts a whirl.”

“My compliments to the quartermaster,” said he to the orderly some hours after Truscott left the poet, “and say I want to see him.”

There had been a time when Bucketts and he were on intimate terms, had wellnigh concluded an alliance defensive and offensive on their entrance into the —th, because they thought that their new comrades would be apt to slight or snob them in some way; but Bucketts had speedily won his way into the affections and respect of the officers of the regiment, a thing which Canker never succeeded in doing, and he hated Bucketts and called him a “bootlick” behind his back because of his better fortune. They had drifted apart, and were only on terms of ordinary garrison courtesy, but Canker never lost an opportunity of endeavoring to worry Bucketts in some way, and generally got the worst of it, since Bucketts, without trying at all, could stir up a company commander a dozen times a day. However, Canker had the whip-hand now and meant to use it. It was just the time of day when the quartermaster, having completed the rounds of the post, was wont to send his mule to the corral, get out of his collar and cuffs into an easy old alpaca duster, and with a palm-leaf fan in one hand, and, not unfrequently, a comforting beverage of his own composition in the other, to spread himself upon a wicker settee in the cool retreat of his own parlor and doze away an hour in a noonday siesta. “I’ll spoil his nap anyhow, d—n him!” gritted Canker between his teeth, “and I’ll partly pay off old Catnip into the bargain.”

Poor old Bucketts rose with a sigh as the orderly delivered his message, and having arrayed himself in his cool white blouse, he took his cane and umbrella and stumped slowly and painfully along officers’ row in the blazing heat until he came to Canker’s quarters, knocked and entered. “Mr. Bucketts,” said the temporary commander (Bucketts was a brevet major, and generally so addressed; but Canker had not a brevet, even in the volunteer service, and ignored everybody else’s when he could), “you will have to do officer-of-the-day duty. The colonel has seen fit to deprive me of the services of the adjutant this morning, and now I have nobody. You will have to act as adjutant, therefore, attend stables with Company A, run your own work, and go on as officer of the day.”

Bucketts merely bowed acquiescence, and looked serenely undisturbed. Knowing his man, the communication was by no means unexpected. Indeed, before leaving, Truscott had asked him to attend to these very matters, and had sent a note to Canker informing him that the quartermaster would do so. Canker had an undoubted right to send for the latter and satisfy himself of the understanding, but if it had put the staff-officer to no inconvenience there would have been no solace to his wounded self-importance. Bucketts’ unruffled urbanity only served to irritate him the more. “Anything further, sir?” asked the quartermaster after a pause, in which Canker had been pettishly tossing about some papers on his desk. “Yes, sir. Mr. Bucketts, when you come into the presence of your commanding officer you should wear your uniform: it is not respectful to appear as you are dressed.”

“This is exactly what I wear every day in Colonel Pelham’s presence, captain; he knows that I have to be out much of the day in the hot sun, and it has grown to be a custom here,” replied Bucketts, coloring slightly, but speaking calmly notwithstanding his sense of annoyance.

“That don’t excuse it, sir,” said Canker; “Colonel Pelham has ideas of discipline which differ materially from mine. When I am in command it will not be permitted. That will do, sir.” And Bucketts, mad enough to hammer his superior’s features into pulp, which he could readily enough have done, stomped sadly off to his lonely quarters. So kindly and courteous himself, so ready to oblige, so considerate in all his relations with others, he nevertheless was keenly alive to any slight or injustice; and that a man who was in every way his mental inferior should take this method of despitefully entreating him was a hard thing to bear. But then that is one of the blissful features of army life.

Bucketts’ misery was not one to lack for company. Too indignant to seek consolation in his customary nap, he was about to return to his office, when the doorway was darkened by the entrance of the officer of the day, one of the subalterns who had not been included in the Prescott party. He looked hot and ill tempered.

“Bucketts, lend me your mule; my horse is out at herd with the rest of them, and that d—d man, Canker, has sent me orders to go out at once and visit the herd guard. What’s got into him, anyhow?”

“Take the mule if you like, but don’t ask conundrums. He sent for me just now and rode over me rough-shod for not being in uniform. I’m mad enough to take a drink. Have one?”

The junior assented, and, pending the arrival of the quartermaster’s mule, the two officers discussed their toddy and the vagaries of their temporary post commander. Ten minutes spent in this occupation had partially blunted the edges of their grievances, and they were prepared to look with more equanimity upon matters in general, when the orderly trumpeter suddenly darted into the room.

“Commanding officer’s compliments, sirs. Wants to see you both,” and was off like a shot.

“Now what new devilment is he devising?” said Bucketts, ruefully, pulling off his “working-dress” and preparing to get into the hot uniform he had to wear. Before he could complete the change, however, there was a quick, sharp step along the piazza, and Canker himself appeared.

“Never mind your blouse now, Bucketts; it’s business this time. Here, Mr. Carroll, get your herds in quick as a flash; take a dozen men with you, armed; I’ll look out for your guard and prisoners; the Tontos have jumped the reservation!”

What change in tone and manner! Ten minutes ago, peevish, querulous, almost complaining, and entirely unjust, Captain Canker had disgusted his subordinates. Now, quick, animated, a soldierly ring in every word, his whole bearing commanded their respect. Many a time before had his comrades noted this odd trait in his character. The presence of danger, the chance of a fight, the excitement of active service wrought an instant change in the very nature of the man—and in the thoughts of his officers. A moment before they were ready to hammer him, now eager to support and obey.

Carroll picked up his sabre, and started across the parade on the run. Canker and Bucketts followed as rapidly as the latter could stump his way while listening to his senior’s recital of the news. Two ranchmen living up the valley had just come in to say that the Indians had swooped down and driven off their horses and cattle soon after noon. Then, before they had half told their story, a teamster came tearing in to the post from the Prescott road, his horse wounded, saying that the foot-hills were swarming with Apaches, and begging for ammunition. At the guard-house Canker ordered the sergeant to call in at once all the working-parties of the Indian prisoners, and himself inspected the locks and fastenings of the room in which some particularly hard cases were confined. Meantime, Carroll, with a dozen or more of the men, had hastened off to the westward, among the hills and ravines, to search for and bring in the herds, while throughout the barracks the men were quickly and without confusion buckling on their “thimble-belts” and revolvers, and gathering, carbine in hand, along the company parades. The civilians who had come in with the news were surrounded by an eager group, and were enlarging upon their experiences of the morning, when suddenly a shot was heard down under the bluff towards the post garden, where many of the Indian prisoners were kept at work during the day. It was quickly followed by another, then half a dozen sputtering shots, and some men over by the hospital, which commanded a view of the low ground, were seen excitedly running towards the quarters, and could be heard shouting that the prisoners were breaking away. Canker seized a carbine. “Take command of ‘A’ company, Bucketts, and stay here. Come on, you other men;” and away he went at a rush, with half the command at his heels. Sure enough, the prisoners were loose. Running like deer, half a dozen of the lithe, swarthy fellows could be seen a thousand yards away, “streaking it” over the sandy bottom towards the foot-hills, others dashing towards the river, while here and there through the sage-brush and cactus, puffs of blue smoke shot out from carbine-muzzles indicated the slower pursuit of the astonished guard. Canker swore with rage. There would have been no earthly chance of recovering his charges, when suddenly, in a great cloud of dust and with the thunder of half a thousand hoofs, the herds of two of the companies came sweeping at full speed around a low hill towards the west, and, skilfully guided by the troopers in charge, bore down direct upon the corrals. “Mount! quick as you can, all of you!” he shouted, and signalling to the corporal in the lead of the herds, he threw himself upon his horse, quick as the other could vacate the saddle in his favor, and, carbine in hand, and calling again to his men to follow, he tore off towards the chase.

Bold horsemen there were in the old days at Sandy. There were men that day who threw themselves without either saddle or bridle upon their horses’ backs, and trusted to voice, leg, and instinct to guide them. Others, less confident, bridled their chargers, but none stopped to saddle. In five minutes a hundred horsemen were scattered over the valley in pursuit of the escaping Indiana. Man after man they were run down, seized, and dragged back, most of them taking it as good-naturedly as though the escapade had been a mere school-boy lark devised for the entertainment of the garrison. Three or four were savage and sullen; only two made any resistance. Poor devils! they had nothing to fight with, and only one had been shot by the guard. Canker at first had furiously ordered his men to fire everywhere, but Mr. Carroll and some of the sergeants had quietly cautioned those nearest them to hold their shots or aim high. It was an easy matter to overhaul and recapture so helpless a foe, and shooting them down in cold blood was something the —th did not believe in. Canker himself thought better of his order as soon as he saw that his men were masters of the situation, and revoked it, so that the firing ceased entirely. In an hour all but five men were returned to the charge of the guard now strongly reinforced, and sending his prisoners back to the garrison, the commanding officer resumed the search for those still missing.

Up the stream-bed, through the willows, east, west, and north over the arid valley, the troopers scoured in knots of two or three, Canker riding to and fro, encouraging or swearing as occurred to him most expedient; and so another hour passed away. The men were widely scattered by this time, and it must have been towards five in the evening when there came from a gorge in the foot-hills, fully eight miles above the post, a sudden rattle of fire-arms. Instead of slackening after the first few seconds it increased, and Canker, pausing but an instant to listen, turned an attentive ear to the veteran first sergeant, who rode on his left at the moment.

“That’s no overhauling prisoners, captain; that’s a fight,” said he.

“Come on, then!” shouted Canker, and putting spurs to their horses, and signalling to all the men in sight, they dashed off in the direction of the firing.

It was a fight, sure enough. Far over among the foothills to the west, Lieutenant Carroll, with three or four men, had found traces of some of the fugitives. Following slowly as they could find further signs, they had at last come in sight of the chase, and way in a winding gorge or cañon had pushed in pursuit, when, without the faintest warning, a volley of rifles and arrows brought them to a sudden halt, and one of the men dropped from his saddle. To rein about and shout to his men to dismount and get under cover among the rocks was the work of an instant, and turning loose their horses, which would only have hampered them there, they scrambled half-way up the hill-side among a lot of loose boulders, and rapidly opened fire on the ambuscading Apaches. In three minutes they were joined by others of the command, and in five, Carroll felt justified in ordering an immediate rush upon the position of the enemy, some of the mounted troopers endeavoring to get around on their flank and rear. No especial order was observed. Every man took a hitch in his belt and a firmer grip on his carbine, and somebody said, “Now then, fellers!” the generic title by which the regular cavalryman invariably addresses or speaks of his comrades, and with that the fifteen or twenty blue-jackets had “bulged ahead,” as Carroll reported, and Canker, galloping in on his staggering charger, found his command skipping up the rocks like young rams, and the Apaches rapidly disappearing among the thickets of pine, scrub-oak, and juniper with which the mountain-side was covered. Horses were there of no avail, and the agility of the sinewy Indians far more of a power than our men could contend with. Pursuit was useless, and before dusk Canker had his mounted men hunting for the loose horses, while his courier galloped in to the post to summon the surgeon and the ambulance. Four of our men were struck and two seriously wounded, and, to his rage and mortification, Canker could not show a dead warrior to offset his losses.

It was in a very unpleasant frame of mind that he rode back to the garrison that evening. Five of his prisoners had escaped, four of his men were crippled, several horses gone. A general outbreak of the Apaches had evidently taken place. He had practically been confronted by them most of the afternoon. Their movements and the attempted escapade of the prisoners were doubtless concerted. So far they had very much the best of it, and what _could_ he report to department headquarters?

At the north gate the quartermaster, with a grave and anxious face, was waiting for him.

“Captain Canker, Truscott has not reached Prescott, and Finnegan isn’t in.”

Canker turned white as a sheet, and with a stifled groan covered his face with his hand. “Come to the telegraph-office,” was all he said, but that was an anxious night at Sandy.