The Delaware crawled up beside Callaghen. “They have gone, I think. They want to kill us all, but they do not want to lose even one of their own.”
“We have four canteens, five men. We will need water before anything else.”
They rolled the body of their officer into a shallow place and scooped sand over him. Callaghen mentally took note of what landmarks there were, and they started on. No shot came, no Indian appeared.
Callaghen now had the lieutenant’s pistol and thirty-two rounds of ammunition. He had also taken his papers, money, and whatever else was of value. These must be returned to the post, not only so that the lieutenant’s relatives might have them, but so the Indians might not get them.
The sun appeared over the mountains, and already they could feel its heat. Callaghen mentally measured the distance to the mountain toward which he was aiming. It was far, much too far.
The surface was firm for a change. There were scattered, fist-sized rocks, and there was more brush, but none of it was more than knee-high. He led the way, holding his stride to easy, measured steps. There was no cover near them now, neither shelter for an enemy nor for themselves.
Suddenly he saw two riders off to the left. He recognized his own horse, and swore softly. On the other side were two more riders, who made no attempt to draw closer. They did not fire, and they remained well beyond shooting range.
At ten o’clock Callaghen stopped the men. It was in the middle of a broad, open area, but they were ready to drop with weariness. He nodded off to their right. “See that bunch of rocks?” he said. “We can make them by noon, and we can find shade there, enough to sit out the day.”
Nobody spoke. Their faces showed their extreme fatigue. Croker, the wounded man, was bearing up well. Callaghen went to him. “Don’t worry,” Croker said, “when you get there, I’ll be with you.”
After a few minutes Callaghen got them on their feet and started on once more. He held his course straight ahead as if to bypass the rocks, then when not more than two hundred yards from them he suddenly flanked his men. “All right!” he said sharply. “On the double!”
He knew they were ready to drop. He also knew that if the Mohaves guessed his intention they would ride to head him off. He could only hope his line of march would deceive them until the last moment.
They ran, and for men half-dead from heat, exhaustion, and thirst, they ran well. Each man knew it was his own life that was at stake, his own life for which he ran. Shots rang out, a man stumbled, ran on, then fell. The Delaware was about to stop but Callaghen waved him on. “Into the rocks!” he commanded.
He dropped to one knee, aimed at a rider, and fired. The Mohave pulled up sharply and swung his horse, hanging far over. The others veered off, and he walked to the fallen man. It was Baldwin, and he was dead.
Stripping him of his ammunition, rifle and almost empty canteen, Callaghen straightened up and began to walk. The others were just reaching the rocks, where there was shelter.
They had found a little shade. The Delaware had crossed to the far side, taking up a half-shaded position from which he could watch. Croker also had found a good firing position.
Sweat dripped down Callaghen’s face. He was surprised there was so much moisture left in his parched body, for his lips were cracked, and his eyes smarted from sunburned rims. He put a fresh pebble in his mouth, but it produced little saliva in his dry mouth.
One by one he studied the men as they rested. That they had come so far was a marvel, but they must still move on. If there was water near Eagle Mountain, as the Delaware believed, they would wait there, refresh themselves, and then set out again. Callaghen knew what he hoped the Indians did not know: that there was no relief. There were no other soldiers to come looking for them; and in all that vast wasteland of the Mohave Desert there was no one from whom they could expect help.
At Camp Cady, when they had ridden out on their patrol a patrol that was expected to give them some knowledge of the country, but no contact with the enemy there was a captain and four enlisted men.
One thing they had that Callaghen and the patrol’s survivors did not have. They had water plenty of water.
CHAPTER 2
Callaghen considered the odds and found no comfort in them. His men were obviously dehydrated, some in much worse shape than others. He knew the signs.
None of the men complained; they were beyond that. From their flushed skin, labored breathing, and sleepiness, he could judge their degree of exhaustion. Walsh was rubbing his arms and legs, and several times Callaghen had seen him shake his head. A tingling of the limbs, dizziness, and difficulty in breathing indicated that he was worse off than the wounded man. These symptoms would be followed by delirium, swollen tongue, and partial deafness.
If they could get water tomorrow… Walsh emptied his canteen, then made as if to throw it away.
“Don’t do that, Walsh,” Callaghen said. “If we get to water tomorrow, you’ll need a canteen.” Walsh blinked, then shrugged, but he kept his canteen. It was a long, slow day. The minutes seemed like hours, and the men mostly lay still, but once in a while one moved into a bit of shade, one man to a spot, for nowhere was there enough shade for two. Occasionally a shot splintered rock near them as the Mohaves let them know they were out there, waiting.
At sundown Callaghen got them up. Walsh he had to lift to his feet. Croker, rifle in the hollow of his arm, stood waiting. His features were drawn, but there was a cold determination in the man’s face.
“Don’t you fret about me, Irish,” he said grimly. “When you get there, I’ll be with you.”
“I’m gambling on it.”
They moved out, scattered a little, making a poor target in the dim light, and the Mohaves did not fire.
Callaghen looked at the mountain peak before them, and headed for it. As mountains went, it wasn’t much, really, but it was their landmark, it was their hope. Once Walsh stumbled and fell, but he got up without help.
After an hour they halted. It was open country, nothing abound them, and ahead it seemed to stretch even flatter and emptier. When they went on, they saw the rocks drawing nearer again, the flat land becoming a shallow saucer with baked earth at the bottom where water must have stood after a sudden rain. There were a few scattered desert plants along the rim of this hollow, which afforded no real cover, but with these and the occasional brush they would at least be less of a target. The Delaware staggered and almost fell, but braced himself with his rifle butt against the sand. He stood for a moment, swaying.
“How far would you guess?” Callaghen asked him.
“To the mountain? A mile, I think. A little farther to the water.”
They rested then, and some of them slept. Callaghen did not. The Mohaves were out there, not far away, and they would know about the water, too. Would they guess that the soldiers knew? If so, they would try to stop them before they reached it.
Callaghen forced the dullness from his mind, forced himself to study the ground between themselves and the mountain ahead. From here on, every step they could take would be a victory; and safety, at least for the moment, lay where water was.
Eagle Mountain was ahead of them. Before them there was a long, shallow trough in the desert floor running toward the peak, a place where water must have run off, perhaps finding a way to the hollow where they had stopped.
When to turn to the right toward the water hole? He considered that, and was suddenly aware the sky was already gray. He roused the men and they started on.
For a hundred yards, two hundred yards, they walked fairly well. Then Croker’s legs began acting oddly. He stumbled, and could hardly keep from falling. Walsh did fall. The Delaware helped him up, almost lifting him to his feet, and holding him until he gained his balance. Walking and stumbling, falling occasionally, the men made another two hundred yards. It was light enough to be able to make out tracks, but Callaghen saw none… and with water near there should have been tracks.
Suppose there was no water? Suppose that mountain ahead was not even Eagle Mountain? This was not the Delaware’s native country, and he had been through here only once… he could be wrong. And if there was no water, they were dead men.