The redoubt at Marl Springs was only a few months old. Lieutenant Manuel Eyre, of the 14th Infantry, had directed the building of it; at the time he had been the officer commanding at Camp Cady. The corral, twenty-four feet on each side, was built of strong cedar logs cut in Cedar Canyon not far from Rock Springs. At each of the opposite corners there was a stone house twelve feet square and just over six feet high. The largest spring issued from a tunnel between the fort and the mountain.
The redoubt was too close under the mountain for comfort, unless a sentry was kept on the small peak as a lookout. Originally it had been planned to have a sergeant and eight men at this post, but this had rarely been done. To the best of his knowledge there were three or four men holding the position at present. There were several horses in the corral, and as they approached he caught a glimpse of a blue uniform at the gate to the corral.
Callaghen studied the area carefully as they approached, and scanned the country around. He walked his horse on ahead of the stage, a gun ready to his hand.
A man wearing sergeant’s stripes came out to greet them. “Ah, Sergeant O’Callaghan is it? Sure ‘n’ when I last saw you, man, you wore something better than stripes.”
“MacBrody? I’m damned if I can believe it’s you. I thought you were dead, man killed in the fighting at the war’s end. I saw you go down under three men.”
“And if you’d waited you’d have seen me come up with only one, and he didna last long. They were only boys, Morty, good boys but young to the fighting, and I’m afraid they did not live long enough to grow wise in their days.”
He looked past Callaghen. “And what is it you have here? A stage?”
“Bound for Vegas Springs, but there’s been trouble along that route. They’d left the trail, so I brought them here… Any word of Sprague? I’d gone on ahead of his patrol.”
“We’ve seen nobody but skulking Indians, and a-plenty of them to trouble us.” He glanced at Callaghen. “We’re short-handed here. One man took a horse and left us in the night… I hope he made it through, although I’d not say as much in the hearing of the others.”
The stage rolled up to the gate, which was opened to allow it through. “We can use water,” Ridge said. “The horses, and all of us.”
“There’s water here,” MacBrody said. “Although it is slow to come, it never stops at least it never has. But you’ll have a drink, all of you, and by daylight the trough should be full again, and the canteens can be filled.”
He stopped close to Callaghen. “Is it true about Major Sykes? If it is, you’ll be having no good luck.”
“It’s true, but I’ll be paying out soon.”
Ridge was helping the women down and Callaghen went over to the stage. Becker walked up to him. “Thanks, friend,” he said. “Without you we wouldn’t have made it.”
MacBrody approached the women. “We’ve little enough for you, but we’ll do our best.”
Malinda smiled at him. “Thank you, Sergeant. Whatever you do will be appreciated, and whatever it is will be better than a dry camp out there.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Ah, ’tis of the frontier you are? Well, it is better than. The eastern ladies ar lovely now, but they expect too much. I will have couple of the boys rev it up in yonder.”
Callaghen looked around the corral. He saw that it was strong, and the water was close. Leaving here might present something of a problem, but they could face it when they came to it.
“How many men do you have?” he asked.
“Three and myself, and one of them the mail man who should be riding on. They ran him into this place and he’s not very anxious to be out again for a while.”
“Let him wait. There’s nothing in that mailbag that I’d lose a man for.”
Four soldiers here… the Stick-Walker and himself, Becker, Ridge, Wylie, and his friend. The Indians would not be wise to come against them now ten men and a good strong stockade, with plenty of water.
“How are you for rations? The usual emergency stuff?”
“No.” MacBrody spat. “The train’s overdue and we’re running short. That’s not to say we can’t manage a day or two.”
Malinda crossed the corral to Callaghen’s side. “Mort, will we be able to go on? Tomorrow, I mean?”
“No.”
“You think they will still be out there? That they will wait?”
“Why not? The desert can provide them with most of what they need. There is food out there if a man will work hard enough to gather it, and the Mohaves grow food… they grow corn, melons, beans, and a lot of other stuff on land flooded by the Colorado. But their hunting, gathering, and planting can’t give them guns that will kill at the range of ours, can’t provide them with needles as good, clothing as well made… so they ride land they raid. The stage represents more wealth to them than several seasons of planting. They will eat the horses, use the harness, trade some of the items in the stage for other things, and will keep some of them.
“When Sir Francis Drake captured a Spanish galleon loaded with gold it meant no more to Elizabethan England than a stagecoach or covered wagon does to these Indians… Drake was a hero to his people, and so will the warrior be who brings back the loot from a wagon.”
“I think you like these people, these Indians.”
His eyes looked across the wide valley. Beyond was a age of mountains, sheer rock reaching up for a thousand et or more. “Like them? I do not know them, but I believe I understand them to some extent. They are fighting men, and one fighting man always has some understanding of another. All down through the pages of history the warrior has been venerated. Only Solomon is respected for his wisdom. Most leaders have been respected for their skill or their success in war. It is the same with the Indian.”
“You sound as if you believed in war.” ‘
“No… I’ve seen too much of it. But I don’t know what to believe. This is a young land, its people love freedom, and by and large they are tolerant; but we must not become tolerant of evil, simply because it exists.
“Do you suppose we could escape at night?” Malinda asked. “Isn’t it true that some Indians do not believe in fighting by night?”
“That is true of some. They believe the soul of a man killed at night must wander forever in darkness; but there are skeptics among the Indians as well as among ourselves. I’ve never paid much attention to such generalities, and it would be just my luck to run into a non-believer with a good rifle.”
He looked again at the mountain range across the valley, feeling drawn to it by some urge he could not name. It was a rocky ridge, sharp against the sky. He tried to estimate the distance, which was difficult in such clear air. Ten miles? No… closer to twenty.
“My uncle will be worried,” Malinda said.
“Yes, I know. But one should never expect too much of time. No man who begins a journey knows how it will end. Nor when.”
CHAPTER 13
Southwest of the redoubt was a small pocket in the hills where a little grass and brush grew. A trickle of water came out of a hole in the rocks and disappeared into the ground, but its subirrigation kept the grass alive. The pocket was surrounded by low rocky hills.
Under ordinary circumstances there was sufficient grazing there to handle a few horses for a short time, but supply trains brought grain for the stock. As a rule, aside from the horses of the troopers, if they happened to be cavalry, there would be no more than four to six extra horses at the post. Now there were only four besides the one belonging to the mail rider.
Callaghen was sure that the Indians were out there. Those who lurked about the post were there, and those who had followed the stage. At a rough guess, there might be anywhere from fifteen to thirty of them probably around twenty and that was too many.
The place was small enough to be easily guarded without undue strain on the personnel, and with the fire power they now had at the redoubt they could stand off an attack. There was water enough to keep them going, but no more than that. The spring produced water constantly, but in small quantity.
MacBrody came over to join Callaghen near the gate. Callaghen explained then, in detail, about Sprague’s command and their separation from it. He also added some comment about Wylie.