Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Old Apache Trail

“Get fifty rounds for each rifle, and, Miss, it’s my hunch that you will do well not to pack the rifles away so deep that you can’t reach them in a hurry,” advised Mr. Collins.

After thanking the sheriff for his courtesy, Grace hurried back to the hotel. The rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the journey. Ike Fairweather, now fully informed as to the immediate plans of his party, got away with the wagon on time, and two hours later the Overton girls started on their second journey into the gorgeous mountains that stand sentinel along the Old Apache Trail. The ponies they were riding were a bit lively at the start, especially the one ridden by Grace, as the party galloped out of the town. Emma Dean was making heavy weather of it, bobbing up and down like a chip on the sea, until Grace, fearful that Emma would fall off, rode up beside her for a word of caution.

“Sit your saddle firmly, and do not try to resist the motion of your horse. Move with him, or, rather, permit your body to follow his movements,” advised Grace. “There! You see you can ride.”

“I know, but it bumps me almost to death. How far do we have to ride? This beast isn’t a bit like my pony.”

“Thirty miles or thereabouts.”

“Oh – h – h!” wailed Emma. “Look at Hippy!”

They had barely cleared the town and emerged into the open country when Hippy Wingate’s apparently docile pony suddenly came to life. The animal whirled and started back toward Globe, whereupon Hippy used his crop vigorously. Instantly, the pony began to buck in the most approved western broncho style, and Hippy was more often in the air than on the saddle.

The Overton girls reined in and watched the lieutenant’s battle, offering suggestions and advice that might have been helpful had the lieutenant had time to listen.

Hippy had had no experience with bucking ponies, and, as a result, he was becoming more and more confused from the terrible jolting he was getting.

“Hang on, Hippy, my darling,” encouraged Nora in a shrill voice.

“There he goes!” gasped J. Elfreda Briggs.

Hippy made a long, ungraceful dive over the lowered head of the native pony. At the side of the road there was a ditch with a full twelve inches of water flowing over a bottom of soft mud. Lieutenant Wingate landed on head and shoulders in the ditch. His feet pawed the air for a few seconds, then Hippy flopped over, with face down in the water and mud.

It was Elfreda Briggs who checked Hippy’s pony at the psychological moment, for the little fellow already had whirled preparatory to racing for home. As it was he dragged Elfreda along with him until Grace sprang to her assistance and threw her weight on the bit, at the same time talking soothingly to the animal whose stubborn resentment slowly melted. Elfreda led him back without help and stood holding the pony, waiting for Hippy to take charge of him.

Lieutenant Wingate was plastered with mud, which Nora was solicitously mopping from his face with her handkerchief.

“Let it dry on, then roll him on the grass when we find some,” suggested Emma.

“Yes, who coddled you when you fell out of a cloud and crashed down on the French front?” laughed Grace.

“I didn’t fall out,” protested Hippy indignantly, though a little thickly, for there was still mud in his mouth. “It was the other fellow who fell and crashed.”

“Come, take your pony,” urged Elfreda. “I have my own to look after. I would suggest, too, that if you will treat him right you will have little trouble with him.”

“You don’t have to take the brute’s part. I reckon I know how to handle a horse.”

“And you have a horse that knows how to handle you, if my observation is not at fault,” interjected Grace Harlowe.

Hippy acted upon Elfreda’s advice, however, petted the pony and offered it some candy, which the animal refused, and finally swung himself into the saddle.

The party then moved off at a brisk gallop. The sun was behind the mountains when they reached Squaw Valley for the second time. Down on the level below the trail they saw their tents pitched and ready for them. The wagon team was staked down, a fire was burning in front of the tents, and Ike Fairweather was observed working about the camp. The girls shouted and Ike waved a hand.

Without leaving their saddles, the entire party slid their ponies down the steep bank without a single rider coming a cropper, though Emma lost her stirrups and was clinging to the pommel of her saddle, bouncing up and down perilously as the party trotted into camp. When her pony stopped, which it did abruptly, Emma fell off in a heap. About the same instant Lieutenant Wingate’s pony stepped in a hole and Hippy went off over the pony’s head, but this time he clung to the bridle rein and held the animal.

“Good work,” complimented Grace when Hippy, very red of face, struggled to his feet. “You surely are a graceful animal, Lieutenant. Pinal Creek is a little way beyond this camp, and I suppose you will be falling into that next.”

“That’s right. Abuse a fellow when he is down,” growled the lieutenant.

Grace, with her bridle rein thrown over one arm, walked over to Ike Fairweather.

“Now that Lieutenant Wingate has finished his performance, I wish to say that it is very fine of you to get our supper started.”

The bacon was in the frying pan, and the potatoes, baked in hot ashes, were ready to be served, as Grace discovered upon testing them with a fork; the coffee was done, and the tin plates were already on the folding table that had been included with the equipment. Oilcloth spread over the table made it look quite attractive.

Folding camp stools had been placed by Ike, and Hippy promptly took a seat at the head of the table.

“Being the only male member of this party, proper, my place is at the head of the table,” he declared. “Be seated, ladies, I beg of you. Kellner – Garcon, I mean, bring on the food and – ”

“Please eat and be silent,” urged Grace laughingly, as she began serving the food. “In my childhood days I was taught that children, while at table, should be seen and not heard. Come, Mr. Fairweather, sit down. We are all one family now.”

“Had my grub,” answered the driver gruffly. “Never did like to eat at fashionable hours.”

Darkness had enveloped mountain and canyon by the time the evening meal was finished. It was the deep, mysterious darkness of the mountains. The girls could hear the faint, musical murmur of Pinal Creek, a few hundred yards below them, music that accentuated the romance of the mysterious mountain night. Hippy Wingate, finally, having eaten all he could conveniently stow away, stood up and rapped on a tin plate for order.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, raising the plate above his head where it reflected the light from the campfire. “We are now in the former haunts of the murderous Apaches. We have fallen willing victims to the irresistible charm and the magic power of the waters of Pinal Creek.”

“Some one has been reading a guide book,” observed Anne mischievously.

“Please be silent when your superiors are speaking. Where was I?”

“Up Pinal Creek, I believe,” reminded Elfreda dryly.

“Exactly. We have penetrated far into the labyrinth of the red men of other days, the place where the savages crept with stealthy tread until their primitive language came to know it as the Apache Trail. Along this weird and amazing pathway – ”

Pock!

The tin plate was whisked from Hippy’s hand and fell clattering to the ground.

Bang! came the belated report of a rifle.

Emma Dean uttered a stifled little cry of alarm.

“It is nothing but a bullet, my dear young woman, a chance shot from somewhere up in the mountains. Kindly pass me another plate that I may continue with my narration.”

Grace Harlowe’s face reflected sudden concern, then she smiled, but her companions plainly were nervous.

“Where was I?” again asked Hippy.

“I believe you were laboring along on the amazing pathway,” Anne informed him.

“Thank you,” bowed the lieutenant as Grace offered him another plate. “Along this weird and amazing pathway, as already remarked, are crowded, in bewildering succession, scenes that grip the imagination like phantom photo plays of the world’s creation. It was on this pathway, this weird and amazing trail that – ”

The second plate left Hippy Wingate’s hand as if by magic, again followed by the report of a rifle. Hippy sank down on his campstool, holding the hand that had held the plate.

“The campfire, Mr. Fairweather!” urged Grace calmly, with a note of incisiveness in her tone.

Ike sprang up and kicked the burning embers away, stamping out the little flickering flames, leaving only a scattered bed of glowing coals.

A bullet whistled over the heads of the Overton girls, but the shooter’s aim was not so good this time.

“Some critter shore is tryin’ to shoot up this outfit,” growled Ike Fairweather.

CHAPTER VII

A LIVELY NIGHT IN CAMP

“ARE you hit, Lieutenant?” questioned Grace, stepping over to Hippy.

“Yes, on my right thumb. Don’t get excited, Nora,” begged Hippy as his wife ran to him. “The bullet merely broke the skin.”

“This is what comes of your nonsense, Hippy Wingate,” rebuked Nora. “It was the shiny tin plate that did it.”

Grace nodded.

“Shall I pour water on the coals?” asked Ike, his voice trembling with anger.

“Not now, Mr. Fairweather. We will first see what develops,” replied Grace.

“What do you reckon on doin’ ’bout this shootin’, Miss?” persisted the driver.

“We must protect ourselves, of course, but just how, we shall have to consider carefully. Is the creek fordable along here?”

“I reckon so. No difficulty ’bout anyone gettin’ over thet wants to. Why, Miss?”

“I was wondering if the man who shot at us could easily cross to this side of the stream,” murmured Grace reflectively.

“He could.”

“Then we shall have to take turns at guarding the camp to-night. I will watch it until midnight; Lieutenant Wingate will relieve me then and remain on watch until four in the morning, which is the hour you turn out, Mr. Fairweather,” suggested Grace.

Ike insisted that he could keep watch all night, but Grace shook her head, declaring that such an arrangement would not be fair to him.

“I really believe, Mr. Fairweather, that you would be willing to go without sleep during the entire journey, just for the sake of getting sight of the man who shot at us,” averred Grace.

“I would thet,” rumbled Ike.

“Please don’t let the incident worry you. We girls have been under fire too often to be greatly disturbed by a few rifle shots. Of course, it isn’t comfortable to be shot at by a man who knows how to use a rifle as well as that fellow apparently does, but so long as he doesn’t hit one of us why worry?” laughed Grace.

Ike stroked his whiskers and shook his head. At this juncture, Elfreda, who had taken upon herself the task of dressing Lieutenant Wingate’s wound, announced that it was completed.

“I’m mighty glad it was the thumb instead of the trigger finger,” said Hippy. “I may have use for that trigger finger before reaching the other end of the Apache Trail.”

“Yes, and the opportunity may come to-night,” added Grace. She then told him of her plan for guarding the camp, rather expecting that the lieutenant would protest against being called in the middle of the night to do guard duty.

On the contrary, Hippy eagerly seconded the suggestion, and promptly got out his rifle, which he began to clean and oil.

“I’m ready. Bring on your bad men,” he cried dramatically.

An hour later the camp was in silence, all, save Grace, being asleep in their tents. Her watch passed without incident. At midnight she made a tour of the camp and its immediate vicinity, and, finding the ponies quiet, returned to camp and awakened Lieutenant Wingate. The wagon team being staked down close to the camp, just to the rear of the little pup-tent in which the driver slept, needed no watching, for Ike could hear their every move.

“Nothing of a disturbing nature has occurred,” Grace informed Lieutenant Wingate who came out with rifle in hand, yawning and stretching himself. “Please keep a sharp lookout and have your rifle within reach at all times. That is no more than common prudence.”

“Now, Brown Eyes, I know what to do. Just you turn in for a night of sweet dreams, leaving all the rest to Hippy Wingate.”

Reaching her tent, Grace paused, and stood looking out until she saw Hippy stroll away and disappear in the darkness. She then undressed, crept in between the blankets and immediately went to sleep.

It seemed to Grace that she had been asleep but a few moments, when, dreaming of the war, she was awakened by what, in her dream, sounded like the explosion of a shell. Grace sprang up and ran to the door of her tent.

Two heavy rifle reports told her that trouble was afoot, and she surmised that Lieutenant Wingate was in the thick of it, but hearing the lieutenant calling to Ike in an effort to locate him, Grace began to wonder.

The Apache Trail lay a short distance above the Overton camp; the creek, near which the ponies were tethered, being about an equal distance below the camp. The shooting, she discovered, was occurring somewhere between the camp and the trail.

Grace stepped out into the open, facing the trail, just in time to hear a bullet whistle over her head. She ducked instinctively.

“You watch the camp, Lieutenant,” she heard Ike Fairweather call.

“No, I’m going with you,” answered Hippy.

“Are we attacked?” called Elfreda Briggs from her tent. “Grace! Are you there?”

“I don’t know what the trouble is, Elfreda, but – ” She broke off abruptly as a sudden thought came to her. “Look out for the camp, Elfreda!” Without a word of explanation, Grace whirled and sped toward the spot where the horses were staked. To her rear, somewhere in the vicinity of the Apache Trail, she heard two more rifle reports, but whether from the weapons in the hands of Ike Fairweather and Lieutenant Wingate, or from other sources, she was unable to determine.

Nearing the tethering ground Grace proceeded with more caution, not knowing what new menace she might find confronting her there, but the murmur of Pinal Creek was the only sound that interrupted the mountain stillness, a stillness that, on this occasion, seemed heavy with significance.

At the edge of the tethering ground, Grace halted sharply and peered about her.

“Gone! Every one of them gone!” she gasped. “I suspected this very thing. This is too bad.” Grace started to return to camp and tripped over a tethering stake, measuring her length on the ground. Before rising she fingered the stake and the short piece of rope still attached to it. She finally untied the rope, and, with it, started for the camp at a brisk trot. As Grace neared the tents, Ike and Hippy came in from the trail side.

“I winged one critter,” cried Ike as he espied Grace. “He was sneakin’ towards the camp when I discovered him. You see I kinder thought somethin’ was wrong, so I picked up a rifle an’ went out scoutin’ for trouble. Well, I s’prised the critter an’ let him have it hot, thet’s all.”

“We gave him the run, Brown Eyes,” boasted Lieutenant Wingate.

“Di – di – did you hit him?” stammered Emma.

“I reckon I hit the critter once, for I heard him grunt. We’re all right now, though. I don’t reckon he’ll be comin’ back this night.”

“Having accomplished his purpose, I do not think he will return,” replied Grace dryly.

“Eh? What’s thet you say, Mrs. Gray?” demanded Ike, sensing a deeper meaning behind Grace Harlowe’s remark.

“The ponies have disappeared, Mr. Fairweather!”

“What?” Ike’s whiskers visibly bristled.

“I said the ponies have disappeared. Look at this, will you?” she requested, extending the section of rope that she had removed from the tethering stake. “What do you make of it, sir?”

Ike Fairweather, recognizing the rope, held it close to his eyes and regarded it critically, while stroking his whiskers with his other hand.

“Thet rope has been cut!” he declared after an instant of hesitation.

“Yes, I think so,” agreed Grace. “Before it is too late let’s see if we can find the ponies. I will go with you. Lieutenant, will you please stay here and watch the camp?”

“Yes, but what are you going to do, Brown Eyes?” questioned Hippy.

“I am going with Mr. Fairweather,” flung back Grace, who already was running to catch up with Ike, he having strode away too excited for words. Not a word was exchanged between them until they reached the tethering ground, when Grace suggested that he use her flash lamp, which she handed to him.

For the following few minutes, Ike Fairweather uttered nothing but grunts, now and then pointing to the ground as he followed the faintly discernible hoof-prints of their ponies down to the creek. There the trail turned and followed along the bank of the stream for a short distance, whence it took a turn toward the Apache Trail, which Grace and Ike reached shortly afterwards.

“There! See thet!” Ike pointed down to the Apache Trail, on which a beam from the flash lamp was resting.

“I see horse tracks, if that is what you mean, sir. I suppose they are the tracks of our ponies, and if so, they appear to be headed towards Globe.”

“They shore are, Miss. Listen! While I was chasin’ the fellow thet was prowlin’ ’bout the camp, three other galoots was stealin’ the ponies. I found the men’s tracks back there, an’ you can see ’em right here on the trail. What them critters have done is to start your ponies towards home, an’ the horses prob’ly are a long ways from here this very minute. We shore are in a fix. What do you reckon on doin’ ’bout it?” demanded Ike, caressing his whiskers and regarding his companion questioningly.

“Suppose we return to camp and talk it over,” suggested Grace.

Ike nodded, and they started back toward the camp. Reaching there, Grace quickly explained to her companions what had occurred, and asked if any one had a suggestion to offer as to what should be done in the emergency.

“Do you think the ponies will go all the way to Globe?” asked Lieutenant Wingate.

“They shore will.”

“What leads you to believe that the robbers who took the animals did not go away with them?” interjected Miss Briggs.

“The tracks of the men, Miss. After they reached the Apache Trail the horses started on alone at a gallop, as you can see by the hoof-prints. The two-legged critters went over the edge of the trail an’ hit it up for the hills, thet’s how I know.”

“I see only one way out of our difficulty,” spoke up Grace, who had been pondering over the problem. “We have your wagon team, Mr. Fairweather. That much is saved to us, so I would suggest that you take one of the wagon horses and start at once for Globe to fetch our ponies back.”

Hippy said he would accompany Mr. Fairweather, but Grace negatived his proposal with an emphatic shake of the head.

“You may be needed here, Lieutenant,” she said. “Should Mr. Fairweather find that he needs assistance in leading the ponies back to camp he will hire a man to ride out with him. Will you do all this for us, Mr. Fairweather?”

“I reckon. But first I’d like to get the critter thet teased me out of camp while the others stole the ponies,” the old driver fumed under his breath. “I’m off.”

Ike saddled up in a hurry, Grace in the meantime filling a kit bag with food, which she handed to the driver.

“Now, Hippy, I believe you have something to say to me,” reminded Grace as Ike disappeared in the darkness.

“Brown Eyes, I was asleep when this thing started,” Lieutenant Wingate confessed.

“Hippy Wingate!” rebuked Nora.

“Yes, I was, but only for a few minutes. It was right after I had made my trip to inspect the camp, after Grace turned in. Everything was snug and quiet, so I leaned my rifle against a tree and sat down. Well, I lost myself, that’s all. I ought to be shot.”

“You said it,” approved Emma Dean.

“I promise you, on my honor, that it will not occur again,” protested Hippy.

“What woke you up?” asked Grace.

“Ike’s first shot.”

“I thought so,” nodded Grace. “He must have known you were asleep, but Ike never mentioned it to me. Please listen to me, Lieutenant! We are really in a serious situation at this moment. The thieves who took our horses probably had a further plan in mind at the time, and I should not be at all surprised if they attempted to carry it out this very night.”

“Just what are we to infer from that remark, Loyalheart?” asked Miss Briggs a bit anxiously.

“I mean that this camp may be attacked before morning – that in all probability it will be!” declared Grace Harlowe.

CHAPTER VIII

HIPPY CALLS TO ARMS

EMMA DEAN uttered a cry of alarm.

“Be an Overton girl,” admonished Elfreda Briggs.

“I – I can’t help it. I – I’m afraid,” wailed Emma, starting for her tent where she threw herself on her cot and gave way to tears.

Grace, in the meantime, was making suggestions to Hippy as to how the camp should be guarded during the rest of the night. After he had faithfully promised that he would never again nap, Grace turned toward her own tent.

It was fully an hour later before Grace succeeded in quieting her nerves sufficiently to permit her to go to sleep. She awakened with a start a few moments later. After listening and hearing nothing, Grace decided that hers was wholly a case of nerves, and again tried to sleep.

It was useless. She could not make her eyelids stay closed.

A figure darkened the tent opening.

“Grace!” called Lieutenant Wingate in a low, guarded voice.

“Yes? What is it?” she demanded.

“There’s a bunch of prowlers near where the ponies were, but what they are doing I can’t make out without going down there. I thought best to call you first.”

“Go away while I dress! I will be with you in a moment. Don’t awaken the girls just yet.”

“Where are they?” she whispered, stepping up beside him.

Hippy pointed towards the creek.

“I don’t see them now, but I did just before you came out,” he said.

“Hold your place, please, and keep a sharp lookout. I want to take a look from the other side of the camp.” Grace crept away in the darkness, but in a few moments came back.

“They are up near the trail now, and I think they are mounted, for I heard a horse whinney,” declared Grace. Running to the tents she awakened her companions. Elfreda was directed to take her place out in front, with Lieutenant Wingate and Grace, to assist in defending the camp.

The three defenders were armed with rifles, in addition to which Hippy and Grace each carried a revolver.

“What is the plan?” questioned Hippy, seeking final directions.

“Should we be shot at we will shoot back. That’s all I can say in advance,” replied Grace.

“Can they see us, Loyalheart?” whispered Miss Briggs.

“No, I think not. The camp lies in a deep shadow and we have no fire burning. Hark!”

“I hear it,” muttered Lieutenant Wingate. “I hear horses trotting.”

“Hold your fire and await developments. We must not make the mistake of shooting at some one who doesn’t deserve it,” cautioned Grace.

“Merciful heaven! What is that?” cried J. Elfreda.

A shrill, weird yell, which Grace instantly recognized as an Indian war whoop, split the stillness of mountain and canyon. Many had been the time in the forest depths that Grace Harlowe’s husband had uttered this thrilling war cry for her benefit, in fact he had taught Grace herself to do it.

“A war whoop,” she answered.

“Steady, girls! We’re going to get it,” warned Hippy.

“Down flat, everybody!” called Grace.

The hoof-beats of the galloping horses of the night marauders were now plainly heard by each member of the Overton party. Another yell, then a rattling rifle fire swept the camp.

“Shall we shoot?” questioned Elfreda anxiously.

“No, not yet,” answered Grace briefly.

“I think they are going to circle the camp,” volunteered Lieutenant Wingate.

“We will wait until they have made the circuit, then let them have it, unless you have a better plan, Lieutenant. Every one keep down as low as possible and take no chances,” she called to Nora, Anne and Emma. The three defenders assumed a crouching attitude and waited.

The attackers were howling and shooting at the same time, their bullets being fired so low that Grace feared some of her party would be hit. Horses and men out there in the valley were dim shadows, unreal to the little group of defenders, but real enough when it came to the rifles that were sending out darting flashes of fire and whistling bullets.