



Produced by Carla Foust and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









Transcriber's note


Some of the spellings and hyphenations in the original are unusual; they
have not been changed. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected
without notice. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected,
and they are listed at the end of this book.






STARLIGHT RANCH

AND

OTHER STORIES OF ARMY
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER.

BY

CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,

AUTHOR OF
"MARION'S FAITH," "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1891.




Copyright, 1890, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.




CONTENTS.


                                                      PAGE
STARLIGHT RANCH                                          7

WELL WON; OR, FROM THE PLAINS TO "THE POINT"            40

FROM "THE POINT" TO THE PLAINS                         116

THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP                             201

VAN                                                    234




STARLIGHT RANCH.


We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the night was chill, and
we were yet high up along the summit of the great range. We had been
scouting through the mountains for ten days, steadily working southward,
and, though far from our own station, our supplies were abundant, and it
was our leader's purpose to make a clean sweep of the line from old
Sandy to the Salado, and fully settle the question as to whether the
renegade Apaches had betaken themselves, as was possible, to the heights
of the Matitzal, or had made a break for their old haunts in the Tonto
Basin or along the foot-hills of the Black Mesa to the east. Strong
scouting-parties had gone thitherward, too, for "the Chief" was bound to
bring these Tontos to terms; but our orders were explicit: "Thoroughly
scout the east face of the Matitzal." We had capital Indian allies with
us. Their eyes were keen, their legs tireless, and there had been bad
blood between them and the tribe now broken away from the reservation.
They asked nothing better than a chance to shoot and kill them; so we
could feel well assured that if "Tonto sign" appeared anywhere along our
path it would instantly be reported. But now we were south of the
confluence of Tonto Creek and the Wild Rye, and our scouts declared that
beyond that point was the territory of the White Mountain Apaches,
where we would not be likely to find the renegades.

East of us, as we lay there in the sheltered nook whence the glare of
our fire could not be seen, lay the deep valley of the Tonto brawling
along its rocky bed on the way to join the Salado, a few short marches
farther south. Beyond it, though we could not see them now, the peaks
and "buttes" of the Sierra Ancha rolled up as massive foot-hills to the
Mogollon. All through there our scouting-parties had hitherto been able
to find Indians whenever they really wanted to. There were some officers
who couldn't find the Creek itself if they thought Apaches lurked along
its bank, and of such, some of us thought, was our leader.

In the dim twilight only a while before I had heard our chief packer
exchanging confidences with one of the sergeants,--

"I tell you, Harry, if the old man were trying to steer clear of all
possibility of finding these Tontos, he couldn't have followed a better
track than ours has been. And he made it, too; did you notice? Every
time the scouts tried to work out to the left he would herd them all
back--up-hill."

"We never did think the lieutenant had any too much sand," answered the
sergeant, grimly; "but any man with half an eye can see that orders to
thoroughly scout the east face of a range does not mean keep on top of
it as we've been doing. Why, in two more marches we'll be beyond their
stamping-ground entirely, and then it's only a slide down the west face
to bring us to those ranches in the Sandy Valley. Ever seen them?"

"No. I've never been this far down; but what do you want to bet that
_that's_ what the lieutenant is aiming at? He wants to get a look at
that pretty girl all the fellows at Fort Phoenix are talking about."

"Dam'd old gray-haired rip! It would be just like him. With a wife and
kids up at Sandy too."

There were officers in the party, junior in years of life and years of
service to the gray-headed subaltern whom some odd fate had assigned to
the command of this detachment, nearly two complete "troops" of cavalry
with a pack-train of sturdy little mules to match. We all knew that, as
organized, one of our favorite captains had been assigned the command,
and that between "the Chief," as we called our general, and him a
perfect understanding existed as to just how thorough and searching this
scout should be. The general himself came down to Sandy to superintend
the start of the various commands, and rode away after a long interview
with our good old colonel, and after seeing the two parties destined for
the Black Mesa and the Tonto Basin well on their way. We were to move at
nightfall the following day, and within an hour of the time of starting
a courier rode in from Prescott with despatches (it was before our
military telegraph line was built), and the commander of the
division--the superior of our Arizona chief--ordered Captain Tanner to
repair at once to San Francisco as witness before an important
court-martial. A groan went up from more than one of us when we heard
the news, for it meant nothing less than that the command of the most
important expedition of all would now devolve upon the senior first
lieutenant, Gleason; and so much did it worry Mr. Blake, his junior by
several files, that he went at once to Colonel Pelham, and begged to be
relieved from duty with that column and ordered to overtake one of the
others. The colonel, of course, would listen to nothing of the kind, and
to Gleason's immense and evident gratification we were marched forth
under his command. There had been no friction, however. Despite his gray
beard, Gleason was not an old man, and he really strove to be courteous
and conciliatory to his officers,--he was always considerate towards his
men; but by the time we had been out ten days, having accomplished
nothing, most of us were thoroughly disgusted. Some few ventured to
remonstrate. Angry words passed between the commander and Mr. Blake, and
on the night on which our story begins there was throughout the command
a feeling that we were simply being trifled with.

The chat between our chief packer and Sergeant Merrick ceased instantly
as I came forward and passed them on the way to look over the herd guard
of the little battalion, but it set me to thinking. This was not the
first that the officers of the Sandy garrison had heard of those two new
"ranches" established within the year down in the hot but fertile
valley, and not more than four hours' easy gallop from Fort Phoenix,
where a couple of troops of "Ours" were stationed. The people who had so
confidently planted themselves there were evidently well to do, and they
brought with them a good-sized retinue of ranch- and herdsmen,--mainly
Mexicans,--plenty of "stock," and a complete "camp outfit," which served
them well until they could raise the adobe walls and finish their
homesteads. Curiosity led occasional parties of officers or enlisted
men to spend a day in saddle and thus to visit these enterprising
neighbors. Such parties were always civilly received, invited to
dismount, and soon to take a bite of luncheon with the proprietors,
while their horses were promptly led away, unsaddled, rubbed down, and
at the proper time fed and watered. The officers, of course, had
introduced themselves and proffered the hospitality and assistance of
the fort. The proprietors had expressed all proper appreciation, and
declared that if anything should happen to be needed they would be sure
to call; but they were too busy, they explained, to make social visits.
They were hard at work, as the gentlemen could see, getting up their
houses and their corrals, for, as one of them expressed it, "We've come
to stay." There were three of these pioneers; two of them, brothers
evidently, gave the name of Crocker. The third, a tall, swarthy,
all-over-frontiersman, was introduced by the others as Mr. Burnham.
Subsequent investigations led to the fact that Burnham was first cousin
to the Crockers. "Been long in Arizona?" had been asked, and the elder
Crocker promptly replied, "No, only a year,--mostly prospecting."

The Crockers were building down towards the stream; but Burnham, from
some freak which he did not explain, had driven his stakes and was
slowly getting up his walls half a mile south of the other homestead,
and high up on a spur of foot-hill that stood at least three hundred
feet above the general level of the valley. From his "coigne of vantage"
the whitewashed walls and the bright colors of the flag of the fort
could be dimly made out,--twenty odd miles down stream.

"Every now and then," said Captain Wayne, who happened up our way on a
general court, "a bull-train--a small one--went past the fort on its way
up to the ranches, carrying lumber and all manner of supplies, but they
never stopped and camped near the post either going or coming, as other
trains were sure to do. They never seemed to want anything, even at the
sutler's store, though the Lord knows there wasn't much there they
_could_ want except tanglefoot and tobacco. The bull-train made perhaps
six trips in as many months, and by that time the glasses at the fort
could make out that Burnham's place was all finished, but never once had
either of the three proprietors put in an appearance, as invited, which
was considered not only extraordinary but unneighborly, and everybody
quit riding out there."

"But the funniest thing," said Wayne, "happened one night when I was
officer of the day. The road up-stream ran within a hundred yards of the
post of the sentry on No. 3, which post was back of the officer's
quarters, and a quarter of a mile above the stables, corrals, etc. I was
making the rounds about one o'clock in the morning. The night was bright
and clear, though the moon was low, and I came upon Dexter, one of the
sharpest men in my troop, as the sentry on No. 3. After I had given him
the countersign and was about going on,--for there was no use in asking
_him_ if he knew his orders,--he stopped me to ask if I had authorized
the stable-sergeant to let out one of the ambulances within the hour.
Of course I was amazed and said no. 'Well,' said he, 'not ten minutes
ago a four-mule ambulance drove up the road yonder going full tilt, and
I thought something was wrong, but it was far beyond my challenge
limit.' You can understand that I went to the stables on the jump, ready
to scalp the sentry there, the sergeant of the guard, and everybody
else. I sailed into the sentry first and he was utterly astonished; he
swore that every horse, mule, and wagon was