They moved out into the desert when the stars were out, and a cool wind blew low across the earth. Scarcely a leaf stirred, the wind was soft and easy, and the only sound was the whisper of their footsteps in the sand. Their canteens were full.
The night was long before them. Callaghen set an easy pace, moving along as if his feet did not hurt and as if he had only a few miles to go. When they had walked an hour, they stopped for ten minutes.
The Delaware walked out into the desert to sit down, and when they started again he joined them and said, “I do not think we are followed, but that means nothing.”
The mountains were on their right, raw, hard-edged mountains of rock thrust up from the desert floor, neither friendly or unfriendly, only indifferent.
Callaghen had traveled many walking miles, or miles on horse or camel, and he could judge distance fairly well. In the first hour they made about two and a half miles. They would do as well in the second. In the third it would be perhaps two miles, for the men would be getting tired and there was a narrow ridge to cross.
The lieutenant had taken them farther north than Callaghen had at first believed too far north. As he walked Callaghen began for the first time to think about that young lieutenant, suddenly puzzled by incongruities.
It was the Delaware’s comment that had started his curiosity, but now he found more and more to puzzle about. So many things had indicated the lieutenant was new to the West and to the desert, and yet he had obviously guided their march by certain landmarks. These might have been given him by their commanding officer except that he, too, was new to this country. Callaghen did not know the orders for the patrol. Only the lieutenant and the C.O. had known their mission. All the men had been told was that they were to familiarize themselves with the country, and to see if any Mohaves were in the area.
They had done that. They had scouted north, farther north than seemed necessary when one considered that the desert troops were to protect freighters and stages along the Government Road. But they had located the Indians… or had been located by them. Now the lieutenant was dead, so one would never know exactly what he was trying to determine.
Thoughtfully, Callaghen went over in his mind the questions the lieutenant had asked, and what implications there were in what he had said. The one comment that stuck in Callaghen’s mind was one about horse thieves needing water and grazing for their stock, and the difficulty of finding it. On their march north they had skirted the Owl’s Head Mountains, and had stopped briefly at the springs called the Owl Holes. The water there was not very good, but on the lieutenant’s orders the catch basin was cleaned out and left in fine shape.
At daylight they reached Ibex Spring, drank deep, refilled their canteens, and found shade in which to rest. The day dragged on, but before nightfall they started south, keeping the mountains on their right. When they had been walking a little more than an hour a faint trail appeared, and they left the one they had followed and crossed over a low saddle and marched down the western side of the mountains.
It was a short march, but Callaghen knew the men’s condition and insisted on stopping. At the springs at the southern tip of the range they camped until night came. Then they marched south once more, again only a short march no more than ten miles to Cave Springs. But the march was uphill, and much of it was on soft sand. At Cave Springs they bathed their feet, rested, and thought of food.
“How far to where we can get help?” Croker wanted to know. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“You’ve got a tough pull ahead of you,” Callaghen answered. “It’s twenty miles to Bitter Springs, and that’s our first chance. We might find somebody stopping there. And then there’s a long trek back to Camp Cady.”
Croker swore, and Walsh stared at Callaghen, then looked down at his boots. “I got a notion to stay right here,” he said. “I don’t think I can make it.”
“You’ll make it,” Callaghen said cheerfully. “No use to waste all the steps you’ve taken.”
Walsh looked thoughtful as he saw the way Croker’s eyes remained on Callaghen. Walsh was keenly sensitive to the strengths and weaknesses of other men. A coward himself, he had no envy for the brave, although in his own way he respected them, and he feared them as willing to do things he might hesitate to do.
There was something in Croker’s eyes now that puzzled him, some peculiar intentness that set him to wondering. Croker had no reason for hating Callaghen, and Walsh was quite sure he did not, but had someone less perceptive seen that look they might have suspected that he did. And there was something else. That look of Croker’s had been an estimating, measuring glance… and there was greed in it.
Walsh could think of no reason why that should be so, but he sensed suddenly that Callaghen might be standing between Croker and something he wanted.
Shortly before midnight on the third day after that the four men walked into Camp Cady. The shelters were miserable hovels built of logs and brush, but there was water there, and there was food, and there was rest.
“Private Callaghen?” The voice of the soldier who spoke was brisk. “The captain would like to see you at once.” He turned and pointed. “Right over there. At the end of the line.”
CHAPTER 4
Captain Hill was seated on a camp chair in his undershirt, suspenders hanging, when Callaghen entered. He was unshaven and he looked tired.
“You wished to see me, sir?”
“What happened out there?” Captain Hill asked.
Callaghen’s report was brief and concise. Hill listened rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. Then he got to his feet and swore softly. He took a map from a group of several that leaned against the side of his bed. He spread the map open on the table. “Can you show me, Callaghen, just where you were when attacked?”
“Yes, sir.” Callaghen put his finger on the spot and stepped back.
“What in God’s name was Allison doing away up there? Did he say anything to you about it, Callaghen? Did he give you any idea why?”
“No, sir. I understood we were merely to learn the lay of the land and try to judge by surface indications what movement there had been… by tracks, sir.”
Hill sat down abruptly. “Callaghen, how long have you been in the service?”
“Three years, sir.”
“Your time is just about up, then?”
“Yes, sir. I have ten days to go, sir.”
“You have been a sergeant twice, I believe. What caused them to break you?”
“Fighting, sir.”
“Fighting?Damn it, what are they thinking of? I’d sooner break a man for not fighting. All right, Callaghen, I need some help. As of now you are a sergeant again.”
He looked up suddenly, sharply. “You are an educated man, Callaghen. Were you ever an officer?”
Callaghen hesitated the briefest moment. “Yes, sir. Several times.”
“Broken for fighting, I suppose?” Hill suggested sarcastically.
“No, sir. I moved on.” Again he paused briefly. “I am Irish, sir. In these days that practically means I am a man without a country. Those of us with military training fight wherever there is employment.”
“Did you serve with Meagher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, all right. You say you have Allison’s things. Go to his quarters, Callaghen, and put his things together. He was not with me long enough to get acquainted, but he had a family, I believe.”
Callaghen waited a moment. “After I sleep, sir?”
“Oh, of course! I’m sorry, Callaghen. You’ve had a rough go of it. I will want to get a complete report later. Having been an officer, I suppose you know how to write a report. Please do so. I shall want to know all I can about the Mohaves, the water, the terrain… you understand.”
It was noon before Callaghen got up. His feet were blistered, and he treated them as best he could. All was quiet. Only eight men were in camp, aside from Captain Hill, and at least three of the others were, as he was, in no shape for duty after the long march. He dressed and shaved, and then went to Lieutenant Allison’s quarters.
He stepped into the crudely constructed shelter and stopped, startled by what he saw. Somebody had been here before him, for Allison’s duffel bag had been opened and the contents dumped on his cot. His things had been hurriedly searched, letters ripped open everything had been gone through.