Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache WarKing, Charles
General
Tonio, Son of the Sierras: A Story of the Apache War
King, Charles
Apache Indians -- Wars, 1872-1873 -- Fiction; Soldiers -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Damn 'Tonio's word! He's a renegade and a deserter himself! He's
playing a deep, double game, and you yourself suspected it three days
ago. Now he's proved it. I've no time to talk." And impatiently he
turned away and sprang for his horse. A moment more and he was in
saddle, had set spurs to his excited mount, and then, full gallop, went
tearing to the edge of the mesa, lifted his hat in salutation to the
general, and dove down the slope, across the lower bench, away through
an upper ford of the sluggish winter stream, and out upon the sandy
flats beyond.
"Rides well," said the general, looking after him.
"_Rides_ very well," said the surgeon, looking after Strong. "Can you
see anything yet, sir?"
"Could see two horses ten minutes ago, with some running figures far up
the valley. Can't make 'em out at all. Strong'll fetch 'em--Strong and
Willett. Good stock there, doctor!"
"Tiptop, where Strong is concerned," said the doctor grimly. The events
of the earlier afternoon had tended to add to his disapprobation of the
other. "There's something up at the store, sir, I think," he added,
with a swift change of subject. "I saw men running that way just now.
Here comes Bucketts!"
And Bucketts came, hobbling sturdily. "It's two ranchmen, I think, and
there was a shot down toward the south-east ten minutes ago."
The general looked back. Down in front of the log barracks Bonner's
company, in fatigue dress, had formed ranks, and the sergeants were
distributing ammunition. Across the parade, the verandas of the Mess
and office buildings were deserted, but one or two men stood staring
toward the invisible plant of the trader. Close at hand, near the
hospital and again lining the edge of the mesa, a score of yards
farther to the left, a number of soldiers of the other company were
eagerly watching developments. Even with the naked eye, two miles or
more up the valley, Strong's little detachment, black dots of
skirmishers, could occasionally be sighted pushing on northward, while,
at heavy gallop, heading for the front, Willett was still in plain
view; but, at the moment, nothing could be seen of the objects that
were the original cause of the excitement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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