Arizona Nights

  ARIZONA NIGHTS

  by

  STEWART EDWARD WHITE

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAP.

  I. THE OLE VIRGINIA II. THE EMIGRANTS III. THE REMITTANCE MAN IV. THE CATTLE RUSTLERS V. THE DRIVE VI. CUTTING OUT VII. A CORNER IN HORSES VIII. THE CORRAL BRANDING IX. THE OLD TIMER X. THE TEXAS RANGERS XI. THE SAILOR WITH ONE HAND XII. THE MURDER ON THE BEACH XIII. BURIED TREASURE XIV. THE CHEWED SUGAR CANE XV. THE CALABASH STEW XVI. THE HONK-HONK BREED

  PART II--THE TWO GUN MAN

  I. THE CATTLE RUSTLERS II. THE MAN WITH NERVE III. THE AGREEMENT IV. THE ACCOMPLISHMENT

  PART III--THE RAWHIDE

  I. THE PASSING OF THE COLT'S FORTY-FIVE II. THE SHAPES OF ILLUSION III. THE PAPER A YEAR OLD IV. DREAMS V. THE ARRIVAL VI. THE WAGON TIRE VII. ESTRELLA VIII. THE ROUND-UP IX. THE LONG TRAIL X. THE DISCOVERY XI. THE CAPTURE XII. IN THE ARROYO XIII. THE RAWHIDE XIV. THE DESERT

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE OLE VIRGINIA

  The ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoiseblue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries areinfrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm.

  We had ridden since sun-up over broad mesas, down and out of deepcanons, along the base of the mountain in the wildest parts of theterritory. The cattle were winding leisurely toward the high country;the jack rabbits had disappeared; the quail lacked; we did not see asingle antelope in the open.

  "It's a case of hole up," the Cattleman ventured his opinion. "I have aranch over in the Double R. Charley and Windy Bill hold it down.We'll tackle it. What do you think?"

  The four cowboys agreed. We dropped into a low, broad watercourse,ascended its bed to big cottonwoods and flowing water, followed it intobox canons between rim-rock carved fantastically and painted like aMoorish facade, until at last in a widening below a rounded hill, wecame upon an adobe house, a fruit tree, and a round corral. This wasthe Double R.

  Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits. We turned ourhorses out, spread our beds on the floor, filled our pipes, andsquatted on our heels. Various dogs of various breeds investigated us.It was very pleasant, and we did not mind the ring around the sun.

  "Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman finally.

  "Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.

  A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and long white hair rodeout from the cottonwoods. He had on a battered broad hat abnormallyhigh of crown, carried across his saddle a heavy "eight square" rifle,and was followed by a half-dozen lolloping hounds.

  The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight of our group,launched himself with lightning rapidity at the biggest of the ranchdogs, promptly nailed that canine by the back of the neck, shook himviolently a score of times, flung him aside, and pounced on the next.During the ensuing few moments that hound was the busiest thing in theWest. He satisfactorily whipped four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree,upset the Dutch oven and the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded thehorses, and raised a cloud of dust adequate to represent the smoke ofbattle. We others were too paralysed to move. Uncle Jim sat placidlyon his white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups, smoking.

  In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because there was nomore trouble to make. The hound returned leisurely, licking from hischops the hair of his victims. Uncle Jim shook his head.

  "Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."

  We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a freshbatch of soda biscuits.

  The old man was one of the typical "long hairs." He had come to theGaliuro Mountains in '69, and since '69 he had remained in the GaliuroMountains, spite of man or the devil. At present he possessed somehundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water, in a dry season,from an ordinary dishpan. In times past he had prospected.

  That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to slumber, he heldforth on big-game hunting and dogs, quartz claims and Apaches.

  "Did you ever have any very close calls?" I asked.

  He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with some awful tobacco,and told the following experience:

  In the time of Geronimo I was living just about where I do now; andthat was just about in line with the raiding. You see, Geronimo, andJu [1], and old Loco used to pile out of the reservation at CampApache, raid south to the line, slip over into Mexico when the soldiersgot too promiscuous, and raid there until they got ready to come back.Then there was always a big medicine talk. Says Geronimo:

  "I am tired of the warpath. I will come back from Mexico with all mywarriors, if you will escort me with soldiers and protect my people."

  "All right," says the General, being only too glad to get him back atall.

  So, then, in ten minutes there wouldn't be a buck in camp, but nextmorning they shows up again, each with about fifty head of hosses.

  "Where'd you get those hosses?" asks the General, suspicious.

  "Had 'em pastured in the hills," answers Geronimo.

  "I can't take all those hosses with me; I believe they're stolen!" saysthe General.

  "My people cannot go without their hosses," says Geronimo.

  So, across the line they goes, and back to the reservation. In about aweek there's fifty-two frantic Greasers wanting to know where's theirhosses. The army is nothing but an importer of stolen stock, and knowsit, and can't help it.

  Well, as I says, I'm between Camp Apache and the Mexican line, so thatevery raiding party goes right on past me. The point is that I'm athousand feet or so above the valley, and the renegades is in such adevil of a hurry about that time that they never stop to climb up andcollect me. Often I've watched them trailing down the valley in acloud of dust. Then, in a day or two, a squad of soldiers would comeup, and camp at my spring for a while. They used to send soldiers toguard every water hole in the country so the renegades couldn't getwater. After a while, from not being bothered none, I got thinking Iwasn't worth while with them.

  Me and Johnny Hooper were pecking away at the old Virginia mine then.We'd got down about sixty feet, all timbered, and was thinking ofcross-cutting. One day Johnny went to town, and that same day I got ina hurry and left my gun at camp.

  I worked all the morning down at the bottom of the shaft, and when Isee by the sun it was getting along towards noon, I put in three goodshots, tamped 'em down, lit the fusees, and started to climb out.

  It ain't noways pleasant to light a fuse in a shaft, and then have toclimb out a fifty-foot ladder, with it burning behind you. I never didget used to it. You keep thinking, "Now suppose there's a flaw in thatfuse, or something, and she goes off in six seconds instead of twominutes? where'll you be then?" It would give you a good boosttowards your home on high, anyway.

  So I climbed fast, and stuck my head out the top without looking--andthen I froze solid enough. There, about fifty feet away, climbing upthe hill on mighty tired hosses, was a dozen of the ugliest Chiricahuasyou ever don't want to meet, and in addition a Mexican renegade namedMaria, who was worse than any of 'em. I see at once their hosses wastired out, and they had a notion of camping at my water hole, notknowing nothing about the Ole Virginia mine.

  For two bits I'd have let go all holts and dropped backwards, trustingto my thick head for easy lighting. Then I heard a little fizz andsputter from below. At that my hair riz right up so I could feel thebreeze blow under my hat. For about six seconds I stood there like animbecile, grinning amiably. Then one of the Chiricahuas made a sort ofgrunt, and I sabed that they'd seen the original exhibit your Uncle Jimwas making of himself.

  Then that fuse gave another sputter and one of the Apaches said "Undah." That means "white man."
It was harder to turn my head than ifI'd had a stiff neck; but I managed to do it, and I see that my oredump wasn't more than ten foot away. I mighty near overjumped it; andthe next I knew I was on one side of it and those Apaches on the other.Probably I flew; leastways I don't seem to remember jumping.

  That didn't seem to do me much good. The renegades were grinning andlaughing to think how easy a thing they had; and I couldn't rightlythink up any arguments against that notion--at least from theirstandpoint. They were chattering away to each other in Mexican for thebenefit of Maria. Oh, they had me all distributed, down to mysuspender buttons! And me squatting behind that ore dump about asformidable as a brush rabbit!

  Then, all at once, one of my shots went off down in the shaft.

  "Boom!" says she, plenty big; and a slather of rock, and stones comeout of the mouth, and began to dump down promiscuous on the scenery. Igot one little one in the shoulder-blade, and found time to wish my oredump had a roof. But those renegades caught it square in the thick oftrouble. One got knocked out entirely for a minute, by a nice piece ofcountry rock in the head.

  "Otra vez!" yells I, which means "again."

  "Boom!" goes the Ole Virginia prompt as an answer.

  I put in my time dodging, but when I gets a chance to look, the Apacheshas all got to cover, and is looking scared.

  "Otra vez!" yells I again.

  "Boom!" says the Ole Virginia.

  This was the biggest shot of the lot, and she surely cut loose. Iought to have been half-way up the bill watching things from a safedistance, but I wasn't. Lucky for me the shaft was a little on thedrift, so she didn't quite shoot my way. But she distributed about aton over those renegades. They sort of half got to their feetuncertain.

  "Otra vez!" yells I once more, as bold as if I could keep her shootingall day.

  It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go through I could seeme as an Apache parlour ornament. But it did. Those Chiricahuas giveone yell and skipped. It was surely a funny sight, after they gotaboard their war ponies, to see them trying to dig out on horses tootired to trot.

  I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In fact, I give one jumpoff that ledge, and I lit a-running. A quarter-hoss couldn't have beatme to that shack. There I grabbed old Meat-in-the-pot and made a climbfor the tall country, aiming to wait around until dark, and then topull out for Benson. Johnny Hooper wasn't expected till next day,which was lucky. From where I lay I could see the Apaches camped outbeyond my draw, and I didn't doubt they'd visited the place. Alongabout sunset they all left their camp, and went into the draw, sothere, I thinks, I sees a good chance to make a start before dark. Idropped down from the mesa, skirted the butte, and angled down acrossthe country. After I'd gone a half mile from the cliffs, I ran acrossJohnny Hooper's fresh trail headed towards camp!

  My heart jumped right up into my mouth at that. Here was poor oldJohnny, a day too early, with a pack-mule of grub, walking innocent asa yearling, right into the bands of those hostiles. The trail lookedpretty fresh, and Benson's a good long day with a pack animal, so Ithought perhaps I might catch him before he runs into trouble. So Iran back on the trail as fast as I could make it. The sun was down bynow, and it was getting dusk.

  I didn't overtake him, and when I got to the top of the canon I crawledalong very cautious and took a look. Of course, I expected to seeeverything up in smoke, but I nearly got up and yelled when I seeeverything all right, and old Sukey, the pack-mule, and Johnny's hosshitched up as peaceful as babies to the corral.

  "THAT'S all right!" thinks I, "they're back in their camp, and haven'tdiscovered Johnny yet. I'll snail him out of there."

  So I ran down the hill and into the shack. Johnny sat in hischair--what there was of him. He must have got in about two hoursbefore sundown, for they'd had lots of time to put in on him. That'sthe reason they'd stayed so long up the draw. Poor old Johnny! I wasglad it was night, and he was dead. Apaches are the worst Injuns thereis for tortures. They cut off the bottoms of old man Wilkins's feet,and stood him on an ant-hill--.

  In a minute or so, though, my wits gets to work.

  "Why ain't the shack burned?" I asks myself, "and why is the hoss andthe mule tied all so peaceful to the corral?"

  It didn't take long for a man who knows Injins to answer THOSEconundrums. The whole thing was a trap--for me--and I'd walked intoit, chuckle-headed as a prairie-dog!

  With that I makes a run outside--by now it was dark--and listens. Sureenough, I hears hosses. So I makes a rapid sneak back over the trail.

  Everything seemed all right till I got up to the rim-rock. Then Iheard more hosses--ahead of me. And when I looked back I could seesome Injuns already at the shack, and starting to build a fire outside.

  In a tight fix, a man is pretty apt to get scared till all hope isgone. Then he is pretty apt to get cool and calm. That was my case.I couldn't go ahead--there was those hosses coming along the trail. Icouldn't go back--there was those Injins building the fire. So Iskirmished around till I got a bright star right over the trail head,and I trained old Meat-in-the-pot to bear on that star, and I made upmy mind that when the star was darkened I'd turn loose. So I lay therea while listening. By and by the star was blotted out, and I cutloose, and old Meat-in-the-pot missed fire--she never did it before norsince; I think that cartridge--

  Well, I don't know where the Injins came from, but it seemed as if thehammer had hardly clicked before three or four of them bad piled on me.I put up the best fight I could, for I wasn't figuring to be caughtalive, and this miss-fire deal had fooled me all along the line. Theysurely had a lively time. I expected every minute to feel a knife inmy back, but when I didn't get it then I knew they wanted to bring mein alive, and that made me fight harder. First and last, we rolled andplunged all the way from the rim-rock down to the canon-bed. Then oneof the Injins sung out:

  "Maria!"

  And I thought of that renegade Mexican, and what I'd heard bout him,and that made me fight harder yet.

  But after we'd fought down to the canon-bed, and had lost most of ourskin, a half-dozen more fell on me, and in less than no time they hadme tied. Then they picked me up and carried me over to where they'dbuilt a big fire by the corral.

  Uncle Jim stopped with an air of finality, and began lazily to refillhis pipe. From the open mud fireplace he picked a coal. Outside, therain, faithful to the prophecy of the wide-ringed sun, beat fitfullyagainst the roof.

  "That was the closest call I ever had," said he at last.

  "But, Uncle Jim," we cried in a confused chorus, "how did you get away?What did the Indians do to you? Who rescued you?"

  Uncle Jim chuckled.

  "The first man I saw sitting at that fire," said he, "was LieutenantPrice of the United States Army, and by him was Tom Horn."

  "'What's this?' he asks, and Horn talks to the Injins in Apache.

  "'They say they've caught Maria,' translates Horn back again.

  "'Maria-nothing!' says Lieutenant Price. 'This is Jim Fox. I know him.'"

  "So they turned me loose. It seems the troops had driven off therenegades an hour before."

  "And the Indians who caught you, Uncle Jim? You said they wereIndians."

  "Were Tonto Basin Apaches," explained the old man--"government scoutsunder Tom Horn."

  [1] Pronounced "Hoo."