“It was too much for Becker. He had to have a shot. He was just lifting his rifle he’d got within a couple of hundred feet of it when three arrows took him in the back.”
“How’d you get his body?”
“Oh, he wasn’t done for. Becker was always a tough man. He loosed a couple of shots at them, then started back. He almost made it, and whilst the women and MacBrody gave me cover, I went after him.”
Callaghen was tired, but he wanted to shave. He had been an officer too long in outfits where every officer was supposed to be neat and well groomed at any hour. He heated water, shaved, and combed his hair. He felt better, but he was hungry and he wanted water. He drank from the spring, and the water was cold and pleasant, and he felt refreshed all through his body.
He was thinking that by now Sykes must know something had gone wrong, for Sprague was overdue, and if anyone had come to Camp Cady along the Vegas trail he would have learned the stage had not arrived.
Sprague’s small command had been whittled down. Spencer had deserted, and possibly had escaped with Wylie and Champion. Sampson was dead, and Becker was dead. Sutton had recovered from his fever and was moving about, although he was weak. Garrick seemed to get no better.
Guarded by four men, the horses were taken out to graze, and no Indians appeared. Perhaps they were willing for the horses to be kept in good shape… they intended to eat them soon.
Seated near the wall, Callaghen tried to focus his thoughts on their problem. Lieutenant Sprague sat near him. The officer had aged considerably in the past few days. Losing good men had hit him hard.
“We will have to kill a horse,” Sprague said, suddenly. “There’s not food enough for another day.”
“Let’s wait.” The thought of killing a horse did not appeal to Callaghen… nor to Sprague.
When the horses were once more within the stockade, all was quiet. Callaghen went into the stone house to look at Garrick. He was sleeping or in a coma, he could not tell which. His breathing was ragged, and Callaghen did not like the look of him.
Ridge was waiting for him when he emerged. “Sergeant, I’ve been thinking. The horses are rested, and they’ve done better than any of us. I think I’ll hitch up, take the women, and make a run for it.”
He lit the stub of a cigar. “Look at it this way. If the women are willing, and I could make it, there’d be three mouths less and it would be easier all around. We could harness up at night. I’ve been studying a map MacBrody drew for me, and once I hit that road no Indian is going to catch me. They were ready for us out there on the route we always travel, but this time they won’t be waiting and won’t be able to get word ahead to stop me. I think I can make it to Fort Mohave.
“I’ll need one man to fight them off whilst I drive. I’d like it to be you or the Stick-Walker.”
“Have you talked to Mrs. McDonald?”
“They’d like to go. They feel they are a burden here, and they think we can make it.”
The more Callaghen thought of it, the better he liked the idea. There was no telling what would happen here. Unless relief came soon there would be starvation within the stockade. The men had all been on short rations for days. With the stagecoach gone, they would have more room to move, and there would be fewer horses to watch and to feed. But could they make it?
Callaghen went to Lieutenant Sprague, who was sitting on the edge of a cot, figuring on a small notebook. As briefly as possible Callaghen explained. “And he would like one man, sir.”
Sprague studied the matter, chewing on his pencil. He gestured at the pad. “I’ve been studying the rations and what ammunition we have. We are in a bad way, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think of their chances?”
“Very good, sir. I do not think the Indians would suspect anything of the kind, and they’d have a running start.”
“They want to try to get back to the Vegas road?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think this road would be better. Get the stage to Fort Mohave and let them provide an escort for the stage on the road to Vegas from there. I doubt if Ridge could get over the desert to the Vegas road fast enough.”
“You may be right, sir. I would suggest, if the Lieutenant will permit, that Private Jason Stick-Walker, the Delaware, be assigned to the stage. He’s a reliable man, and knows this desert as well as anyone.”
“You tell Ridge he has my permission to go, if the ladies wish to make the attempt.” He considered a moment, and then added, “But one man is not enough. Why don’t you go yourself? Sergeant MacBrody is here, and I’ll have other good men beside me.”
After hesitating, he went on, “Callaghen, your discharge is overdue. I think you should go… and take Beamis.”
“Beamis, sir?”
“Yes. He was newly married when he joined, Sergeant. He might get out of this alive.”
“Major Sykes will be coming along, Lieutenant. By now he knows something is seriously wrong.”
“Perhaps. But Sergeant, take Beamis and go. Try for Fort Mohave. I think Ridge himself favors that route. You’ll have to run for it.”
“Yes, sir. I know, sir.”
At Camp Cady there was shade beneath the trees. The air was hot and still except where that shade offered an island of suggested coolness. Major Sykes mopped the sweat from his face and swore softly when he saw that the sweat from his writing hand had ruined the report he was preparing.
Captain Marriott stood in the door. “Sir, there’s still no report. No mail has come through from either Vegas or Fort Mohave.”
“Sprague will investigate, Captain. He’s a competent man.”
“He may have run into trouble, sir.” Sykes put down his pen. The heat had made him irritable, but he stifled the feeling. Marriott was a good man, and whatever he himself accomplished out here would be due in great measure to the land of men who served him.
“You may be right,” he said, and walked to the door. Maybe this was his chance. At any rate it was an excuse to take the men into the field. If he could pin down the Mohaves…
It was abominably hot, but if they traveled early and late, resting through the heat of the daytime, they could make good time and save the horses.
“All right, Marriott. We’ll take three men and a pack train. Rations for three weeks. We will march to Marl Springs, eastward to Rock Spring and Fort Piute, and if necessary to the Indian villages on the Colorado.”
Marriott thought of the discharge, pigeon-holed in Sykes’s desk. “Sergeant Callaghen is out there, sir.”
“Oh, yes. So he is.”
Marriott hesitated a moment, then went about his business. Callaghen wanted that discharge badly, and Sykes knew it, and in all justice he should deliver it to him. However, if Sykes wanted Callaghen to return here it was Sykes’s business, except… Marriott frowned. Sykes had had the discharge beforeCallaghen left the post.
There was much to do. Captain Marriott was a man who knew his men and delegated authority well, but on this occasion he personally checked every horse, walking among them, making certain they were in the best of shape, and talking to the riders. A desert campaign is fiercely demanding, and Marriott was uneasy. His every instinct told him there was trouble out there, or the others would have been back. Sprague was a good man, and he had good men with him.
He checked the supply list, and after that he returned to his quarters to write letters. Several times his thoughts returned to Callaghen. He had liked the man a good, solid man… and that girl… there was something going on there, all right.
If they were still alive…
The morning was clear and bright when the command moved out from Camp Cady. Major Sykes, on a fine chestnut horse, rode in the van, preceded only by two scouts. The route he had chosen would follow the Mohave River, for the water it would provide. And that route would take them through Cave Canyon.
Major Sykes had never entered Cave Canyon. He simply knew that it was the route followed by Jedediah Smith, by Fremont, and others… therefore a good route. The bed of the Mohave River as it left the Camp Cady area was broad and sandy. It was easy traveling, and the two troops moved out with confidence.
CHAPTER 19
At Marl Springs the night was dark. A slight wind was blowing, and against the skyline the rugged mountains at which Callaghen had so often gazed stood out sharply against the sky.